An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3)
Page 22
The warlock tightened his fist. Garin stared at his gloved hand, wondering at the artifact contained beneath it, and all the power it could grant.
"Following the tragedy, much work was necessary to put things aright, and I wasted many years upon it. But when it was done, I returned to the castle that had been my home, and there I stayed. The concerns of the Circle seemed to become less and less important. My fellow Magisters acted with glacial slowness. Cautiousness had turned into cowardice, and I had accepted it without intention."
Kaleras looked unsmiling at Garin. He had to brace himself not to flinch under that stare.
"Somehow, Garin, you have avoided that mistake. You have shown more courage than all the soldiers at Canturith in what we have faced."
Garin could not hold back a laugh. "Me, courageous? I nearly fled before Heyl in Elendol. Wren, Aelyn, and Helnor are the brave ones — they ran into the thick of the fight."
"But you did not run. You knew the consequences and accepted them. That is not the act of a cowardly man. Fearful men take the easiest path. You have taken the hardest."
Garin still shook his head. "No harder than the rest of you are on."
Kaleras' eyes seemed to glitter with the scant moonlight filtering through the clouds. "You know that is not true, Garin. They do not share your fate."
My fate.
He looked aside, not wanting Kaleras to see the terror those words struck through him. The warlock might think him brave, but he knew better. He wasn't taking the hard path; he was taking the only path. And it took all his willpower to keep placing one foot after another upon it.
Desperate to escape the unworthy thoughts, he blurted out the first question that came to mind. "So that's why you left the Circle? To strike more directly at Yuldor?"
Kaleras hesitated, then shook his head. "No. That was the tinder. But the spark was…" He swallowed and seemed to struggle to say the words. "I discovered I had a son."
Garin forgot his discomfort at once. Kaleras has a son? He tried to imagine what the son of the infamous warlock must be like. Yet, if the man had accomplished much, surely Garin would have heard tales of him.
Confounded with questions, he remained silent until Kaleras spoke with wry humor.
"It came as a surprise to me as well. I had never intended to beget, but my indulgences earlier in life had left behind a child. I sought him out, but it was many years before I found him."
Something about the story itched at Garin's mind, as if it was somehow familiar. But he knew if he had heard of Kaleras' son before, he would have remembered it.
Kaleras shook his head and slowly stood. "But that is a different story, and the night is too late to tell it now."
Garin tried to stifle his disappointment. Kaleras was not one to relent to begging. If he wanted to know the truth about Kaleras' son, he had to remain quiet about it until the warlock was ready to speak.
Kaleras took a step away, then paused and turned halfway back, seeming about to say something else. But he only gave a small shake of his head before turning away once more.
Garin wondered what last bit of counsel he had stifled. Or perhaps, even to Kaleras, the illusion he had woven of teaching Garin lessons had worn thin.
He glanced at Helnor, still hunched as he kept watch, then shrugged into the darkness. It was a problem that could wait for the morning.
Pulling his cloak tight about his shivering body, he fled for the warmth of his bedroll.
Sorcery’s Shadow
The fellowship glimpsed mist on the morning of the fifth day.
Helnor had begun wondering aloud how literal the name "Valley of Fog" was meant to be when his answer slowly appeared around them. The fog thickened until their party became silhouettes, then little more than gray smudges. Even castings of wind and light could not keep the heavy pall at bay, for as soon as the spells ceased, the clinging mist would seep back in. At last, Ashelia called a halt and had everyone dismount. Using a coil of rope, they bound their stors together and held to their mounts, ensuring no one would be inadvertently lost along the way.
At any moment, Garin expected the fog to end. After all, how long could it continue? Fog in Hunt's Hollow had sometimes lingered for an hour or two, but it had always thinned before long. This felt like walking through cloud after cloud in an endless trek across the sky.
After what felt like hours, but may have only been minutes, Ashelia called a halt once more and gathered everyone together. Turning their stors into a circle, they stood on the inside of it and conferred blindly with one another. Only Wren was visible next to Garin, and she still avoided his gaze.
"We cannot keep wandering the valley aimlessly," Ashelia said, her voice muffled by the fog. "But neither can we leave it. On the map, this is the converging point for Tal's path. If we stray from it, we may never intercept him."
"But how can we hope to find him in this?" Falcon sounded miserable, his voice gathering a slight whine, which provoked a scowl from Wren. Despite the tension hovering between them, Garin couldn't help but smile. He made sure to hide it, however, as soon as she glanced his way.
Ashelia fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "We will make camp here on the road and send out a regular patrol to circle our perimeter. Aelyn does not think the valley is wide, and Helnor has located no navigable path other than the main road. If we keep a constant vigil, we should find Tal."
If he passes this way. They were all thinking it, Garin knew. But whether it was to spare Ashelia's feelings or to keep their own despair at bay, no one voiced the doubt.
As they moved to follow Ashelia's plan, he remembered how he might ascertain Tal's location in a different way. Gathering his courage, he sent out a questing thought.
Ilvuan.
Garin waited while the others moved around him. He searched within his mind for any sign of the Singer's presence — the draft from wings, the slither of scales, the pressing of claws. But he sensed nothing. Just as with Tal's presumed death, Ilvuan was nowhere to be found.
Part of him wondered if that was a bad sign, even as he guessed the most likely cause. His deluge of questions had seemed to offend the Singer, particularly those relating to the Song and being a dragon. Though Ilvuan had flitted in and out of his mind occasionally throughout the past days, he had rarely given words to his thoughts, and Garin had been hesitant to reach out. Much as it pained him to admit, he needed the Singer. Ilvuan was his connection to the Song, and consequently to sorcery. He didn't know how he could bear to lose it now that he'd so fully claimed it.
And, against his own good sense, he was growing fond of his devilish companion.
They established camp, sent out patrols, and waited. Aelyn, Ashelia, and Helnor took turns on the circuits, firmly denying Wren and Garin's requests to join. Kaleras did not volunteer, and no one asked him, while Falcon and Rolan remained at camp with Garin and Wren. The bard's daughter became increasingly sulky as the evening wound into nighttime, and still no sign of Tal had been detected. As they went to bed, she pulled far away from Garin to huddle against the side of the tent, leaving him to shiver and stew in his resentment.
The next morning saw no better results. As the patrols continued, Helnor finally convinced Ashelia to allow Garin and Wren to patrol together, a compromise to which Wren grudgingly relented. So it was that they found themselves wandering the fog and attempting to unveil their surroundings through blasts of winds and bursts of werelight. There was little to see: snowy cliffs that sloped upward on either end; gnarled trees that clung at impossible angles; stony ground below.
One circuit took roughly a quarter of an hour, they had gathered from the others, and they were to complete four. The first loop passed in silence, both of them too stubborn to break the walls erected between them. But as they entered the second lap, Garin could stand it no longer.
"What's the matter with you?"
It wasn't the most tactful beginning, he knew, but his pent-up frustration had claimed his tongue.
"Is that supposed to be an answer?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong." She stopped walking to face him. "You hiding things, that's what."
That caught Garin wrong-footed.
"Hiding things? What in Yuldor's black name could I be hiding?"
"How could I know? I'm not in your head."
He struggled to keep hold of his temper. "Wren, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Her face twisted into a sneer. "Not very bright for being savior of the bloody World."
A moment passed — then the truth crashed down on him. Garin laughed, overcome with relief. Only as Wren's expression grew uglier still did he realize how that reaction would strike her.
"Wait, wait!" He was having trouble fighting down further chuckles, though he knew every smile was another nail in his coffin. "Wren, I'm not laughing at you. I'm just relieved to know what you're talking about."
"I'm so glad you're amused," she retorted acerbically.
"Is that what you've been angry about? That Kaleras thinks I'm some sort of, I don't know, threat to Yuldor?" Even uttering the absurdity threatened to collapse him into a giggling fit.
Wren looked far from amused. "The crazy old kook can believe whatever he wants! I want to know why you didn't tell me."
"I didn't know! At least, not in the way Kaleras believes it." Seeing he was doing himself no favors, Garin desperately fumbled on. "Look, Tal told me at the Winter Ball that I was in danger. That the Thorn had seized his book and might be after me, for being a Fount and all — whatever that means. I didn't realize that's what he meant."
He could tell Wren was fighting to hold onto her anger. But the scowl was coming undone, to his immense relief.
"Fine," she relented. "But it doesn't change the fact that you should have told me about being in danger."
Garin held up his hands. "We're all in danger. It doesn't feel any worse for me."
But for the first time, a thought came to him. What if the Ravagers had come to Vathda not just for Tal? What if they were seeking me? He tried to smother the notion. He was nobody next to Tal. The Prince of Devils wouldn't send his henchmen after him while the Devil Killer was on the loose.
But the idea refused to entirely die.
Something was working Wren up into a fury again. "Well, you didn't help matters by rubbing your sorcery lessons in my face."
Pulled between thoughts, Garin found himself baffled into speechlessness for a moment. "Rubbing it in your face?" he managed to ask. "Wren, I was practicing, just the same as you."
"I have Aelyn as a mentor, while you have Kaleras the Impervious," she shot back. "And all because of that stupid devil in your head!"
Garin rubbed his forehead. Slowly, he was realizing he had missed something in those incensed looks she'd given him over the evenings. Even if her affront had begun with his unintentional deception, envy had exacerbated it. Envy of his tutor, but even more of his Nightborn inclination for sorcery. He had to tread carefully if he was going to mend this.
He raised his gaze to meet her eyes. "Look. You're far more talented than I'll ever be in most things. You're better with a sword; you're quicker and smarter and cleverer. I can barely read in the Reachtongue, while reading is nothing to you in Reachtongue and even Gladelyshi. You're brave, and I'm a coward."
The gold swirled furiously in her irises, mesmerizing as the flash of jewelry around a noblewoman's neck. Yet around her eyes, her expression was softening.
"You're not a coward," she murmured. "Not entirely."
He gave her a thin smile. "So it turns out I'm a better sorcerer, at least for right now. Can't I have one edge over you?"
Garin hadn't had much hope for the appeal. So he was surprised when she barked a laugh and the scowl disappeared from her face.
"Silence, Solemnity, and Serenity — I'm a Night-blind fool, aren't I?"
"Are you?" Garin didn't dare hope this wasn't another veiled attack.
"Little as I wish to admit it, I think so. You're right — you're entirely right. I've been blind with jealousy for days! But why should I be, when I'm so much more talented?"
Garin grinned at that — for a teasing smile tugged again at her lips. It slackened quickly, however.
"I've been a prick, I can admit that," she went on. "And I won't be any longer. But… there is still one thing."
His hopes faltered. "What now?"
Wren jabbed a finger painfully into his chest, emphasizing her words with it. "You matter. I don't. No, don't argue — I'm not trying to gain your pity. I'm just facing how things really are. You're a Fount, just as you said. You have that devil in your head and grasp sorcery as easily as walking or breathing. You might make a difference against Yuldor. But me? I can scrap, and caper, and read — but none of that matters out here in the East." She flashed him a grin, bitter with revelation. "And though I've never liked the leading role on the stage, I'm not fond of giving up attention."
Garin hesitated, then reached his arms out to her. Wren folded against his chest willingly, leaning her head and body into him with a vulnerability she rarely showed. It was only a moment before she pulled away again, and he saw from her expression the relief of reunion failed to touch the disappointment still simmering within her. He wracked his thoughts for a comforting word.
"Wren, if there's one thing Tal taught me, it's that we each forge our own way. He didn't get a legend written about him because he's a Fount. Until Elendol, he barely showed a glimpse of the sorcery he possesses. No — Tal's name is sung around hearths and fires because he never takes any path but the one he believes to be right. No matter what anyone else might claim about him. No matter the cost."
Wren had gathered a small smile. "I'm amazed you've learned anything from that charlatan."
Garin grinned back. "Me, too. But he always was full of contradictions."
She surprised him then by seizing his coat and pulling him close. Staring up into his face, she held his gaze before rising and meeting his lips.
For a long moment, Garin lost himself in the kiss and embrace. When Wren pulled away, his head spun, and his chest felt tight. She smiled, and he returned it. Though the others were no more than two dozen feet away, lost to the fog, it felt as if they two were alone in the World. And Garin had never wanted it to be so more than in that moment.
"Wren, I..." He trailed off, uncertain of how to speak of the emotions swirling through his head.
"Go on." Her words were a whisper.
As he began again, forming words that might change everything between them, words that struck fear in him to his core, he suddenly faltered.
He wasn't alone in his head.
Garin reeled, flinching, his hands instinctively rising as if to shelter from danger. The sensation in his mind was like that of the shadow of a huge, flying predator falling over him. Like the stalking of a gryphon.
Or the arrival of a dragon.
He's near. Ilvuan's words reverberated in his mind without regard for how they affected Garin. His presence was stronger than it had been since Elendol, almost painfully so. You must find him.
"Who?" Garin knew he spoke his thoughts aloud, but it seemed the only way he could form anything coherent with the Singer filling his head. "Is it Tal?"
Ilvuan's disdain radiated through him like a blisteringly hot summer's day. Find him, was all he said, then he swept away as soon as he'd come.
Garin leaned over, breathing through clenched teeth. He felt Wren's hand on his shoulders, her inquiries sharp and urgent.
"I'm fine," he managed to say as he straightened and met her eyes. "It's Tal."
"He's here?"
"It's hard to believe, but yes."
"Which way?"
His sudden smile slipped away. "I don't know. Ilvuan didn't say."
"Then we'll just have to find him ourselves. Come on!"
Grabbi
ng his hand, Wren pulled him off into the fog.
Cries of Syrens
"Tal! Tal Harrenfel!"
He stiffened and stopped where he was. Every sense stood on a blade's edge. Slowly, he scanned the thick fog around him. Only Pim's silhouette emerged from the gray surroundings. And yet…
That voice.
He knew that voice, even faint as it was. It was entirely out of place here in the East. It made no sense to hear it. Yet he couldn't deny who it belonged to.
How in all the World's wonders is Wren calling my name?
Tal looked back to his companion to find Pim had drawn near. No sign of the disguised elf's usual joviality showed as he leaned in. Tal fought down a sudden urge to stab the Extinguished in his stone heart and put an end to his games, debts be damned. But now more than ever, he needed answers.
"You heard them?" Pim asked in hushed tones.
"Them?"
"The calls in the fog." His guide scanned the area behind them for a moment, as if someone might be sneaking up on them. "The syrens luring their next victim into the vast unknown."
Tal frowned, his ears still perked for Wren's voice. Even in the Westreach, most folks had heard of syrens. Rumored to be tempters possessing heavenly songs, they were blamed for duping sailors into shipwrecks, and beguiling travelers through lonely wilderness to veer hopelessly off course. Then, when their victims were most vulnerable, they showed their true forms. What they looked like, no one could say — for none remained alive afterward to tell.
It was this last detail that had made Tal doubt the syrens' existence. In his experience, every beast had a body. True, shades might be summoned for a short time, but they were more spell than creature. Even Garin's Singer, he suspected, was not quite the incorporeal devil it seemed. Magister Elis had also expressed hesitancy in guiding Tal's study of the syrens, and he had prefaced them with a word of caution. Just because we do not understand a thing does not mean it is not so, the old warlock had said in his usual roundabout way. Until you have evidence by which to take a stance, you must entertain every possibility and hold them with equal weight.