An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3)

by J. D. L. Rosell

  He learned the primary perception spells: nen kord, or "see far," and sen kord, "hear far." At first, he practiced the incantations with the physical aids Kaleras provided, burning the hawk's feather for seeing and the elephant's bone for hearing. Such items, the warlock claimed, were not necessary, but could be helpful to the amateur especially, or in times of great exhaustion for the experienced. Yet it was not long before Garin progressed beyond the crutches and spied upon the others through the Song alone. Despite bending his expanded senses toward Wren, he was disappointed in picking up anything that might solve the mystery that plagued their fraught relationship.

  In addition to perception spells, Garin learned of Darktongue words useful in combat. Jolsh heks produced a shield of wind to repel any attack. With his shoulder still aching from being battered by Easterners during the sack of Vathda, Garin was glad to have an alternate defense. And as Rolan opted to test it by throwing a rock at Garin's casting, it rebuffed the stone without a sign of effort, promising to be potent protection indeed.

  Keld thasht was a more aggressive curse, thrusting forward a plume of fire from the caster's hands. Kaleras, usually sanguine about the dangers of spellcraft, lectured him extensively on the risks involved.

  "Many apprentices have leeched themselves of all heat while casting it," the warlock said. "I will try to prevent this from happening to you, but steady control is your best defense."

  Once more, Garin impressed his new mentor. Though his pillar of fire roared up to a dozen feet away, startling all the stors from their rest, he felt only slightly chilled as he ceased the casting. The Song exalted at his efforts, the cacophonous chorus now a soldier's homecoming chantey. Only Ilvuan's occasional disdain deflated his pride, and then only slightly.

  Kaleras taught him another offensive spell: dord uvthak, or "stone break." As the words implied, it shattered a limited area of rock, the use of which the warlock detailed at length.

  "You might crack the ground beneath an opponent's feet. Or you might more directly attack them with stone shards."

  "You can lead the stone as well as break it?"

  His mentor gave him a mocking smile that reminded Garin of how Tal had smiled at King Aldric. "Not quite. But if you are careful in your angles and strength of propulsion, you may adapt the spell in any number of ways."

  Garin had spent a full evening learning this incantation alone and trying to manipulate it to different effects. The sheer potency of the Song, which insulated him from the hunger-cravings the casting ordinarily brought about, did not also bless him with finesse. More often than not, he failed to do what he desired. But judging by Kaleras' reactions, he guessed he was still progressing by great strides.

  Learning such a wealth of new spells took the first three sessions. But the fourth evening, Kaleras shifted directions on him. He informed Garin they would be practicing the spells he already knew so they could actually be useful in a conflict. Garin immediately saw the wisdom in it. Though each individual spell came easily now, he had seen enough skirmishes to know that it called for a different understanding to use them to any effect.

  So began the new routine of his evenings. Kaleras set challenges before Garin to perform spells in specific sequences, and Garin would do his best to meet them. They took a similar format as the drills that Master Krador had put them through, alternating offense and defense. Though Kaleras didn't name them, Garin began putting titles to the sequences in his head. "Phoenix" entailed a three-spell chain of a fire plume, a wind shield, and then a second fire plume. "Quake" was simply a set of three stone breaks, but with different intents: the first to confound a charging enemy's footing, the second to attack with stone shards, and the third to defend against retaliation. "Wraith" took a subtler form, starting with casting vorl weal to hide the caster among mist and shadows, then confounding an enemy's balance with a simple ice cantrip, and finally striking with a well-timed stone break or fire plume. The trick, he learned, was to track the shadows and keep moving; that way, he would always know where his enemy lay, but he himself would be hidden from any attack but an unlucky blow.

  "Never rely upon rote repetition," Kaleras warned. "Every trained sorcerer practices similar sequences and may recognize yours. The key to overcoming any opponent is to adapt in the moment, to anticipate what they will do, then counteract it with the ideal spell."

  The principle, Garin understood; implementing it was a different matter. But I've survived this long, he thought when doubts began to creep in. I can learn to do this.

  He wasn't alone in his sorcerous instruction. Every evening, Wren and Aelyn worked opposite of him and Kaleras. All the while, they were watched enviously by Rolan, who insisted he was of an age to begin learning himself. Falcon's attempts to appease him with lessons in the lute only served to halfway distract him.

  Wren's progress was less straightforward than Garin's, or so he divined from brief glances in her direction. Frustration constantly claimed her expression. More than once, he caught her glaring at him, and he was always the first to look away. Aelyn was more often her target, but Garin suspected he was only the beginning of her troubles. The mage had loosened up his restrictions considerably since Elendol, perhaps swayed by the danger that now surrounded them, or through competition with Kaleras. But even as he taught Wren similar spells as Garin learned, she failed to master them as quickly. Her efforts didn't always yield results, and each attempt cost her more than it did Garin. By the end of each evening, Wren resembled how she'd been in the Coral Castle after they'd imbibed too much Jakadi wine, weaving through the camp back to their tent to crawl inside. Making matters worse was how poorly matched mentor and mentee were. Either was liable to fly into a rage at the slightest provocation, and often one inflamed the other. More lessons ended in shouting than not, and Garin was all the more thankful for the silencing charms Kaleras put in place each night.

  If he was honest with himself, part of him was smugly gratified to see Wren falter. Not only was it a small recompense for how coldly she was treating him, but he had rarely outdone Wren in anything. A trouper from birth, she was keen of wit and tongue, and reading and writing were never any barrier, even in multiple languages. She was better with a blade and bolder in battle. When she cared to, she could employ her training as an actor to manipulate people into acting as suited her, an ability Garin constantly had to guard against. But she made for a poor sorcerer, at least compared to him. In this, Garin had the upper hand.

  And all because you were foolish enough to meddle with a cursed medallion.

  That brought a smile to his lips. Even blunders had their boons.

  After training on the fourth evening, Garin gave his thanks and farewell to Kaleras, as he always did. But before he could make ready to sleep, the warlock halted him.

  "Come. Sit with me for a time."

  Garin hesitated. His head ached. He was drained both from sorcery and the day's travels. But the man had taken Garin as his mentee. If he had to sit and listen to him every once in a while, it was the least he owed him.

  So he complied, sitting on the trunk Kaleras had shaped as his seat that night. Their backs were to the dying fire. He stared into the darkness and tried to stifle his discomfort. The air had turned frigid with the departure of the sun, and now that he was not casting sorcery and moving about, it was swiftly seeping in through his clothes and furs. The others had already huddled into their bedrolls, though he wondered if they would be able to hear them still. Helnor, who kept the watch that night, sat on the other side of the fire, his back turned to them and the fire to keep his night vision unhindered.

  When several shivering moments of silence had passed, Garin spoke up.

  "You wanted to talk?"

  Kaleras still did not answer. Garin found his gaze wandering down to the man's hands. Though he wore gloves to insulate against the cold, it seemed he could almost see the Ring of Thalkuun on his finger beneath the fabric. Always, it protected him, both against sneaking foes and any errant magi
c on Garin's part during their training sessions.

  At last, the warlock spoke.

  "There are lessons you must learn that have little to do with sorcery, Garin. How to resist the lull of the Night. How to persist in the face of Yuldor's Kin." Kaleras glanced at him sidelong, eyes shadowed. "How to face Yuldor himself."

  An involuntary shudder ran through Garin. A Fount he might be, but he still struggled to believe he might have any chance of success at overcoming a god.

  But that's what Tal is for, isn't it?

  Though even as he had last seen Tal in Elendol, he doubted the man could be a match for the Prince of Devils himself.

  Kaleras looked back into the surrounding gloom that had settled over the mountains. "I have dedicated my life to turning back the evils that come down from the East. I learned their harsh lessons early in life. I grew up in the walls of Canturith. My mother was the scribe to the Conveyer stationed there, and my father commanded the kitchens."

  "The Conveyer?"

  "A warlock who passes messages through certain goblin-forged artifacts." The former Magister waved a hand as if the question were of no import. "By virtue of my mother's position, I often came into contact with the Conveyer, and thus learned of Jalduaen, the Circle, and sorcery. Curiosity returned me to the warlock again and again, though she was not a willing teacher. But indifference has never dissuaded me."

  The shadow of a smile graced the warlock's lips.

  It was then that Garin realized what their conversation was truly about. He wondered how many people Kaleras had opened up to before. He wagered they could be counted on one hand. How lonely it must be to be Kaleras the Impervious, the Warlock of Canturith. He still feared him; how could he not, having witnessed all he was capable of? But his respect eclipsed his fear, and his trust ran deeper than either.

  And there was the matter of his curiosity. It had awoken at the prospect of illuminating the many mysteries around the man. Once it had its teeth in something, it would not easily let go.

  So Garin returned Kaleras' smile and remained silent. He listened.

  As swiftly as it had come, the warlock's mirth faded. "But it was not until my sixteenth summer that I truly pursued sorcery. Canturith suffered an attack, greater than any we had weathered before. Nightkin swarmed the walls and spilled into the courtyards, slaughtering any they found within. I hid with my mother and the Conveyer while the warlock passed news of the assault to others across the Westreach. A chimera clawed at the door, then broke in. The Conveyer struck it down, but not before it slew my mother before my eyes."

  Garin's gut tightened. He was careful not to look at Kaleras. He thought to tell him he had lost his father when he was young as well, but held back. He knew suffering could not be lifted by words. He had encountered the same challenge in his mother and siblings in the face of their father's absence. Only companionship could lift the lingering sorrow from that wound. Even more, he did not want to turn the conversation to himself, afraid it might never return to Kaleras' shadow-cloaked past.

  If the warlock noticed Garin's conflicting emotions, he gave no sign of it, but continued.

  "After terrible losses, our enemies were driven back. Both my father and mother were dead, along with many of my friends and the other occupants of the castle. The Conveyer received word that the Avendoran army was to abandon the post, leaving only a skeleton force behind. I knew the truth then: Canturith had fallen.

  "Orphaned, friendless, I wandered the ruins of my home, a phantom in the wake of the battle. I performed small chores such as I could. I buried my parents. But only as the Conveyer set off from the fortress to return to the Circle did I discover a new purpose. I begged her to take me with her and take me on as a warlock's apprentice. She refused. She had never wished to teach me before, and desired even less to foster me now that I was a penniless orphan. So she left me in Canturith and rode away on a horse.

  "But I had nowhere left to go, no other dreams to pursue. I stole a pony from the army stables, an offense punishable by death, then fled from the castle. I pursued the warlock, and though I had few supplies and no coin, I managed to follow her back to Avolice, the citadel in Felinan where the Circle has established its base.

  "The Conveyer was impressed by my tenacity, but it was one of her peers who was moved to take me on. Elis was his name, a warlock as wise as he was powerful, and too kind for his own good."

  Elis. Garin frowned into the darkness, knowing he had heard that name before. It came to him a moment later, and despite his resolution to remain silent, he spoke.

  "Isn't Elis the Magister who taught Tal?"

  Kaleras turned and stared at him in a way that put him back into the corridors of the Coral Castle, when he had believed the man to be the Extinguished in disguise. Yet his voice lacked the iron in his eyes.

  "Yes," he murmured. "He was."

  Garin pondered the oddity that the same man had instructed both Kaleras and Tal. But he did not think on it long, for the warlock carried on speaking.

  "I trained under Elis for many years, accepting Jalduaen's blessing and touching sorcery myself. At last, I became a Magister in my own right. But though I had mastered everything he knew of sorcery, I had not inherited his wisdom. Still young and rash, I ignored the council of Elis and the Circle and went East, facing every manner of trial I could find. I went to the Deep, and there defeated a spawn of devils such as none had before faced. I traveled the Fringes, vanquishing Nightkin wherever they crossed into the Westreach. I honed my sorcery to deadly precision. Word of my deeds spread, and my renown grew with it — and so, too, did my sense of self-importance. I began to indulge in women and wine, and teetered toward a life of vices."

  Despite the warlock's own criticism, Garin marveled silently at his achievements. He had known Kaleras to be infamous, almost as much as Tal. But he had not dreamed he had accomplished so much. And there was no boastfulness as he spoke of his past. Kaleras carried himself with pride, but it was not inflated. Every scrap of it had been earned.

  "But though few could match me," Kaleras continued, "there always remained a hollowness to my victories. I would look to the East and know that one remained who would not fall to my spells. The true Enemy, the architect of my parents' deaths, lay ever beyond my reach. The one who had stolen my home and the homes of many of those who dared to live in the Fringes. But I did not know how to challenge Yuldor. So I contented myself with a smaller victory: recapturing Canturith.

  "In the years I had spent training and traveling, a Nightkin beast like no other had slaughtered the soldiers stationed there and overtaken the old castle. It was a troll of such size it had to make its bed in the courtyard, for it could fit in no other place in the castle. It spoke the tongue of men and called itself Brigkakor. Like other trolls, Brigkakor was resistant to sorcery, and it wielded an oak trunk as a club. None could drive it from the fortress.

  "I went to Canturith and fought my foe. Though fire and lightning could not touch Brigkakor, I used sorcery to throw stone against him and confused him with illusions of soldiers. When he aimed for me with his club, I turned it aside with wind to knock the weapon against his own skull.

  "Yet my efforts were not enough. The troll's hide was too thick, his bone like granite. Brigkakor weathered all my attacks and finally found me among my illusions. I fled under the courtyard eaves, even as I knew it would not hold long before his battering. I thought I was going to die.

  "Then it came to me: to save the castle, I had to destroy it. So I summoned every morsel of sorcery left to me, and I brought Canturith down onto Brigkakor's head. A hundred tons of stone buried him in the courtyard as the walls tumbled in. At last, my home of old was freed of its invader."

  "And you survived?" Garin shook his head in admiration. Though, he couldn't help wondering if Kaleras didn't have a more mischievous strain in him than he'd thought. Surely, not all of that tale could be true.

  Kaleras gave him a rare, lopsided smile, somehow foreign and familiar at once.
"More by luck than artifice. The balcony above me broke in a slab that protected me from the rest of the wreckage. Even still, I was coughing for weeks, and likely still have the dust in my lungs to this day."

  Garin grinned in return. "So that's how you came to be called the Warlock of Canturith."

  He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, for his mentor swiftly sobered.

  "Only in part. Following my victory, I sent word of it to King Berian — Aldric's father, who ruled Avendor then. Soldiers were sent to reinforce and rebuild. The Circle was also notified. My fellow Magisters urged me to return to Avolice. I refused. I believed then, as I do now, that the Eternal Animus burned hottest on the Fringes, and I would do the most good there. So I remained, fighting against the Night and all the evils that came down from the East.

  "The years stretched long. Often, I had only the company of a few soldiers, and neither of us wanted anything to do with the other. Sorcery separates even as it connects us with the World. It is something only those like you and I may understand, Garin."

  Garin nodded, flushing with pride to share camaraderie with Kaleras.

  "How did you leave the Circle then?" he asked.

  The warlock eyed him askance. "Our separation began with the slaughter of the Circle's council, at the hand of a man familiar to us both."

  His gut tightened. "Magebutcher," Garin whispered.

  Kaleras nodded. "I was on my way to Avolice at the time and arrived just after the deed had been done. There, I overcame Tal in much the same way as I had Brigkakor years before, circumventing the protection of the Ring of Thalkuun by burying him in stone. It only partially worked, yet it was enough for me to take the ring for my own."