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

by J. D. L. Rosell

  Tal levered himself upright, but couldn't yet find the energy to stand. "Self-control has never been my greatest strength."

  The Extinguished made a noncommittal sound, then turned and motioned to someone Tal couldn't see. A moment later, the Nightelves came into view, creeping forward as if afraid Tal might attempt another such caper.

  They didn't appear as other Nightelves Tal had met. In Low Elendol, they had dressed much the same as their Gladelysh cousins; as Ravagers, they donned a similar motley of armor as the rest of their companions. But these Nightelves dressed much as the hill people of Nortveld, in cured skins and furs as rudimentary in design as they were in material. Bones, colored stones, and pearls made up their ornamentation, and they sported plenty of it — necklaces hung three thick from many necks, and bracelets rattled up their arms. They had a slinking crouch to their gait and approached with weapons raised. Those, at least, saw the modern use of metal, though as spears and arrowheads rather than swords or shields, using the bare minimum of materials possible.

  As they surrounded him, Tal managed to rise to his feet, though he stumbled and had to steady himself on another tree. He tried to keep his smile wide and friendly, but as the thrill of the instance faded, the pain of his inadvertent action flooded back in.

  One of the greeting party stepped before the others, a woman with a crown of black braids. She lifted her spear and planted its end in the dirt as she stared at him with swirling, violet eyes.

  Without speaking to Tal, the Nightelf's eyes slid over to Pim. "Chosen. We were not expecting you."

  "And certainly not like this, I expect," Pim said, his green irises flickering with the movement in his black tendrils.

  "I am Captain Fexe."

  "I remember who you are, Fexe." He tapped his head. "I have a long memory."

  She ignored his explanation and jerked her head toward Tal. "Who is this sorcerer?"

  Tal watched the exchange with fascination. He'd expected Pim to be treated as a god made flesh; after all, he was supposed to be one of four of Yuldor's closest followers. Yet no trace of awe was present in Fexe's stance. Indeed, but for a modicum of manners, she treated him with impatient insolence, as if they were equals at best, and not an ally she much respected.

  Pim smiled wide. "But do you not recognize him? His name is sung across the Westreach, and in parts of the Empire as well."

  Fexe's frown only deepened. "Tal Harrenfel."

  Tal gave his sincerest smile, though it was interrupted midway by a wince as his canker broiled. "Pleasure to meet you, Captain Fexe."

  The Nightelf gave a quiet harrumph, then jerked her head toward the deeper woods. "Come. I must return to my route, and you must reach your destination."

  "I could not have said it better myself," Pim said pleasantly. "Come, Tal. Let us go find your cure."

  Tal levered himself upright and walked with wooden legs after his guide. Too many questions and mysteries abounded around him. How does she know our destination? What are their intentions?

  But, as with the rest of his ill-fated journey into the East, he found himself once more stumbling after Pim, blind to all that waited ahead.

  As they stepped free of the mists and found a forest looming above them, Garin could finally admit it.

  "We're lost."

  "An astute observation." She arched a sardonic eyebrow at him, but he could see the anxiety swirling in her eyes.

  Garin flashed her a smile, hoping it would seem more confident than he felt. The pretense was pointless. They were hopelessly turned around, and both of them knew it.

  After they'd run into the fog after Tal and were confounded by the sorcerous shadows, they had given up their search and tried to find their way back to the camp. Knowing the valley to only be so wide, they tried moving in ever-expanding circles from their location, figuring they must eventually come upon a clue that would lead them to the others. But as the circle expanded, it became less certain if they stayed to the pattern. Though they found both sloping sides of the mountain pass, no indication of their company came into sight.

  As panic began to set in, they'd started to shout. The sorcerer who had cast the misty shadows still lurked out there, but they did not see any choice remaining to them. Yet though they'd howled themselves hoarse, no calls had come in return.

  They came up with a different plan: commit to a direction and keep walking that way. Eventually, they reasoned, they must come out of the mist or stumble upon their camp. Either way, they would be able to gain their bearings and orient themselves to the correct path.

  So they'd walked, silent, each wrapped up in their uncertainties and imaginings. Garin thought he should feel more scared than he did. After all, they had no supplies between them, only a few pocket snacks as well as their personal flasks. They had no shelter or map. They were two youths, barely into adulthood, wandering the most dangerous lands in the World on their own.

  Yet he felt calm.

  He tried to guess what it was. One hand constantly rested on Velori; was it the reassurance of Tal's sword? Or perhaps it was that Ilvuan had reemerged briefly, reminding him they were not entirely alone, even if the Singer had been less than helpful. Though Garin had implored him to seek out their companions, Ilvuan had said he could not.

  The mortal Tal has the Heart's blood in his veins, he reminded Garin. It is this that allows me to seek him wherever he strays. It is not the same for your companions.

  But you can go wherever you please, can't you? Garin argued. Can't you fly, or whatever spirit dragons do?

  The Singer had dealt him a rebuke that felt like the swipe of a claw. But though Garin winced at the slight pain, he did not cringe away.

  Ilvuan's admiration, slight as it was, was intoxicating in his mind. You are not the hatchling you were when I found you, Listener. You have grown. Take heart in that.

  Then he'd slipped free of Garin's mind.

  Despite the lack of assistance, he did feel reassured, though if it was by Ilvuan's words or some inherent dragon glamour, he could not tell.

  It did nothing to change their situation. The snow had thinned to patches beneath their feet, and a forest as large as the Gladelysh jungle loomed around them. It was as if the woods mirrored the enormity of their problems.

  Wren asked the inevitable question. "What now?"

  Garin looked around again as if the forest might provide an answer. What indeed? Neither of them had expected or planned for this. Being separated from the party had never been discussed in the company, for they had taken every measure against it. But here he and Wren had gone running off without a second thought. Like the stupid youths we are, he thought bitterly.

  Yet Wren seemed to be waiting for an answer, and it was rare that she looked to him for anything. He scrambled to supply one.

  "We obviously didn't return the way we'd come, and the valley seemed to only go one way on the map — toward the Fornkael forest. So we should have traveled farther east."

  Wren nodded, her eyes brightening somewhat. "Which means, if the others continue forward, they'll find us."

  "Exactly." Despite his earlier malaise, Garin found himself standing straighter. "All we have to do is wait."

  A strange smile curled onto Wren's lips. "What should we do while we wait, I wonder?"

  Just as his heart began to pound, the impish young woman laughed and, with a sudden movement, settled herself against the base of one of the enormous trees. "A nap sounds lovely, doesn't it?"

  "Not as lovely as other activities," he grumbled, but he wore a grin. Though a short-lived thrill had traveled through him at her insinuation, intimacy was impractical when a sorcerer had been out in that valley, confounding and turning them around. They had to remain vigilant.

  He settled down next to her. "You rest. I'll take the first watch."

  Wren scooted close to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. "If you insist."

  As he kept a lookout, Garin enjoyed her warmth pressed against him. Her body grew
heavy and her breathing slow as she settled into slumber. He stared back toward the mist and imagined how their reconciliation might manifest when they had a moment to themselves. The thoughts stirred a warmth in his belly, and he often smiled to himself at his guilty reveries.

  At one point, he rested his head back against the tree to ease his neck. He felt no lapse in his vigilance, nor did he remember closing his eyes. Yet around him, the scene changed.

  He was soaring.

  Garin gazed down in wonder. The World had become small, grand proportions made insignificant. Mountains were reduced to hillocks rising from the landscape. Lakes became puddles. Trees melded into a patchwork blanket of green and brown.

  An updraft brushed against his belly, and he was carried up, impossibly high. The embankment of cloud rushed toward him, and Garin winced, braced for impact. But none came. It was as if he entered a thick mist, the cloud no more tangible than wet air. After a long, chilled moment, he emerged through the other side.

  He flew over a sea of clouds.

  Below, the clouds had blocked the sunlight and cast a gray pall over the lands; above, the day was cheery and blue. The sun blazed over the rolling, white sea, too bright almost for Garin to look at. Yet the sight made him want to smile all the same.

  This is my dominion. A familiar voice rumbled in his head, stronger than he'd ever heard it before. Or it was.

  Ilvuan. Am I—

  In my memories, he confirmed. This is how an ava'dual dreams.

  Garin stared around him. Wind whipped in his face, and though he knew it must be cold — for air grew colder the higher one ascended — it was merely a pleasant coolness against his face. It was as Ilvuan remembered the feeling, he guessed. And though he supposed he might have felt leery about wearing a dragon's skin, he found himself reveling in the experience and yearning for more.

  I can see why you think so little of mortals, he teased, when you have the wind under your wings.

  Yes. If I only still had it.

  The Singer did not seem prone to wistfulness, but Garin now felt it permeating through his words. Slowly, their meaning settled in.

  Can you… no longer fly?

  More than that, little Listener. I do not possess a body with which to fly.

  That was enough to dull even the enjoyment of the flight. So you truly are a spirit.

  You would call me such.

  And a devil?

  Bitter amusement bubbled up from Ilvuan's presence. We have appeared the enemy of mortals at times throughout the World's lifespan. But with all we have done to protect the lesser kinds, no longer can you consider us so.

  Are all dragons… gone, then? He had almost said dead, but decided to avoid thinking the word. This was a wound that still needled the Singer.

  Some are truly departed. Others, such as I, linger on in various forms. Few remain truly awake. And even I…

  Ilvuan's thoughts drifted off incoherently. Garin wondered what torment lay within that chasm, though he was starting to see the shape of it.

  Why, Ilvuan? What happened?

  Suddenly, without his expressing the intent, Garin was diving down through the clouds. As he broke free, mist clinging to him for a moment, the World below appeared again. But something about it seemed wrong. Through the whirl of motion and the wind in his eyes, he tried to make sense of what he saw.

  The lands burned. Smoke choked the air. Armies warred on a battlefield below. Beasts swarmed the sky. Dragons. Flashes of light and distortions in the air spoke of sorcery.

  The Song began rising in Garin's ears.

  A long time ago, even by our reckoning, Ilvuan rumbled, there came one known as the Night. Upon her, we placed all our hopes. Tyranny gripped the land, a tyranny born of arrogance and mortal envy. Three descended to the place where sorcery broke free of the World, and three claimed its power for their own, though they had no rights to it.

  Who were they? He had so many questions that he had trouble sorting through them all amid the cacophony of sounds and sights. They had not pulled up from their dive, and with each moment, the ground and the battle grew nearer, the individual shapes emerging from the writhing mass.

  They have had many names through the ages. But you only know them as Silence, Solemnity, and Serenity. They are your gods.

  His mind rebelled against what Ilvuan was saying. I don't understand. I don't—

  But he did not have time to form the complete thought. The ashen, blood-stained ground rose to meet him, beckoning to him with an irresistible summons. He could not pull up. They were going to hit—

  He jerked awake.

  For a moment, Garin blinked, his vision blurry. Even as it resolved, he had trouble believing he was awake. Before the dream, the forest around them had been empty but for the tall, silent specters of the trees.

  Now, watchers encircled them.

  He instinctively reached for Velori's hilt. But as he did, bows carried by those surrounding them rose and drew, the arrows aimed at his heart.

  "Release it," the woman in front spoke, her words heavily accented.

  Garin slowly let the sword drop back to his waist, then held up his hands. The Song still echoed faintly in his ears; he could not tell if it was a remembrance of the dream or actually present with him now. He doubted even quick spellwork could save them, however. Even if he was so reckless as to employ the fire-worms against them, those arrows would find his chest before their enemies fell to the flames.

  In that moment of suspense, as he wondered numbly if he was about to die, the details of their keepers finally occurred to him. They were Nightelves, clear by their eyes ranging from crimson to violet and the bluish cast of their skin. But they were dressed not as he had seen other Nightelves, but more like Crazy Ean from back in Hunt's Hollow, with animal skins and furs barely treated. Additional accoutrements of beads and bones further impressed a feral ferocity upon Garin.

  He felt Wren shifting near him before she spoke boldly, "You have our attention. Now what do you want?"

  None of the Nightelves smiled, their leader least of all. Her eyes, as deep a purple as violets in full bloom, swirled with a slow intensity.

  "Bind them," she said, seeming to speak in the Reachtongue for their benefit. "Then bring them with us."

  Garin found he'd made his decision on what to do. "Don't resist them," Garin muttered from the corner of his mouth. "If they're binding us, we're to be kept alive."

  "For how long?" Wren hissed back. But as the Nightelves approached, she did not resist.

  After their hands were tied behind their back, pulling Garin's shoulders painfully out of alignment, the Nightelf leader directed for their few belongings to be collected, then led them deeper into the forest.

  "A strange patrol," Garin thought he heard her mutter as he and Wren stumbled along behind.

  Wise Woman

  The woods ended abruptly with a felled tree, marking the boundary of the Nightelf village.

  "Naruah," Pim informed Tal, sweeping an arm before him in a grand gesture. "Capital of Aspar, fief of the Empire of the Rising Sun."

  "Doesn't look like much," Tal muttered, mindful of the Nightelf escorts leading the way. Fexe and most of her patrol had broken off from them as the village neared, claiming the need to return to their route. To his eye, part of the patrol captain seemed reluctant to let Tal out of her sight — or perhaps her hesitation was for Pim. Despite being familiar with each other, they did not seem to meet eye to eye on much.

  "Perhaps not," his companion conceded. "But the Nightelves compose their society differently than other Bloodlines. They live in communes composed of matriarchal families."

  "A single family lives here?"

  Pim waved a hand. "Of a sort. Villages intermarry, of course; long ago, they worked out that hereditary flaws are common in interbred whelps. But males adopt the name of the family they marry into, and divisions among family are strongly discouraged."

  It was not a dissimilar system to what the Gladelysh elv
es had established, Tal realized, but was merely further dispersed. He wondered at that. Long had he known that Easterners were, by and large, the same as people across the Westreach — some good, some bad, most a convoluted mixture of the two. But to see parallel structures across sister Bloodlines — that was a step further than his mind had taken things.

  Beware your blindness, for what is unseen may be your undoing. He wondered if that was a quotation from someone or if he'd invented it. He resolved to ask Falcon about it next time he saw him. If I see him again.

  As they walked around the long length of trunk, which rose three times Tal's height, the village proper came into view. The gate to Naruah was formed of two felled trunks fused together by unnatural means. Like Elendol, the Nightelf capital was shaped by its residents' sorcery, though in a very different way. The archway, draped with vines and ivy, was only the first example, as he saw when those standing guard ushered them and their escorts through. Everywhere he looked, dispersed among upright trees, were homes formed of hollowed trunks. Some were rudimentary, while others had been more intentionally fashioned and featured whimsical and intricate architecture. Spires, short by most cities' standards, emerged along the length of one abode, with windows that were covered with a slightly opaque, amber film materializing at regular intervals. A glass formed of tree sap, he marveled. He wondered what magic they utilized to make it.

  Their escort led them past hovels and manors adorned with mushrooms and moss, always moving toward the center of Naruah. The local populace stopped and stared as they passed. Tal wondered how many had seen a Reachman before. Humans did live in the East, but they had a different hue and facial features to the Westreach lines. No doubt he was a strange sight this deep into the Empire. He smiled at them, but none returned the gesture.

  Perhaps it's how I look, he mused. After days without much bathing, and still wearing his stained clothes from Vathda, he no doubt made for a ghastly sight.