Sorcery, thin as air, layered over him like a second skin, protecting and preserving.
Tal slowly sat up, marveling at the sensation of moving his body, and rose from the flames. As he left the fire, he was able to open his eyes again. Someone collapsed away from the basin. He stared down at him, but could scarcely recognize the youth for a long moment. He should not be here. But then, Tal himself should not be where he was. He had tried to lose himself, to commit the ultimate suicide. Yet he'd survived.
And Garin, it seemed, had come to the East.
He came after me.
The thought too unreal to understand, Tal swept his gaze across the rest of the chamber, reorienting to his surroundings. The Nightelf temple. Three stood in it with him and Garin. The high pellar cowered against a wall. Two more figures were near each other, one kneeling, the other standing.
It was Pim who stood, recognizable even through the layers of magic he wrapped around himself. Who kneeled before him, moaning and writhing weakly in pain, Tal could not tell for a moment. Then her form twisted around to reveal her face, and a chill touched him through the heat of the flames.
Tal stepped free of the basin to move before Pim. With a thought and a twist of words in his mind, he extended his sorcery toward the Extinguished and severed the magic from him. Pim gasped, staggering to the side, and stared at Tal. All expressions were lost on that crystal-pitted face, yet Tal still sensed his shock.
"They're mine, Soulstealer," Tal said, advancing on the fell sorcerer.
"They're mine, Soulstealer."
Something — sounds? words? — needled Garin's mind. He moaned, then shifted. A mistake; pain cascaded up and down his body, punishing him for even that slight movement.
Jenduit. Awaken. I am here.
The sharp prodding of sounds turned into something else, an embrace like a cat curling around him, only it encompassed the whole of himself. The comfort had a certain warmth to it, like sleeping near a burning stove.
Burning.
Fear shot through him, jerking him upright, or nearly so. Garin gasped and grunted as he labored to sit up. His hands, arms, and shoulders smoldered with remembered pain. Tentatively, he pried open his eyes to look at them, knowing he must see blackened flesh hanging from ashen bone.
Instead, his hands were whole.
Garin could do nothing more than stare dumbly at them for a long moment, turning them over and again. They were hairless, pinkened, and slightly waxen. But they were whole. He experimented with opening and closing them. It hurt like all of Yuldor's black hells, but he managed it.
They will heal. Ilvuan, whose thoughts he now recognized, seemed almost wistful, if the dragon was capable of such emotion. But you must attend to your female now.
My female?
Garin raised his gaze from his hands to stare across the room. His eyes were first drawn to the two men standing. One of them had his back turned to him and was entirely nude. Tal. He had barely noticed it before he'd done as Ilvuan bade, but he had been clothed by nothing but flames when he lay in the fire pit. But what was more astonishing than his appearance was that he stood at all.
We saved him?
Nearly, the Singer answered, cryptic as usual. But you are not safe yet.
His eyes traveled beyond Tal to the man before him — or what seemed a man at first. It had a man's shape and clothes, but its face was all wrong, formed of stone and quartz. It was the eyes, black as the Night itself yet still familiar, that told Garin who it must be.
Pim. He's one of the Extinguished?
Yes.
All the mystery surrounding the elf tried to resolve in his confused mind, but it was too much to take in. He looked around as if something he saw might clarify what he was living through.
Then he saw Wren.
She was sprawled on the ground, lying on her side and so still he feared she was dead.
Then she shifted, and he could breathe once more.
He crawled toward her. When he reached her, he hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder. She jerked around, staring at him with wide eyes. A cringing fear filled them that he'd never seen in her before. Even as she seemed to recognize him, she only went limp again, breathing shallowly and squeezing her eyes shut.
Garin had thought all the feeling had been burned out of him. But seeing Wren like this, anger proved him wrong. Raising his head, he looked toward Tal and the Extinguished.
He knew who had done this.
"Kill him." The growl came from the back of his throat. "Kill the devils-burned bastard, Tal."
"Kill the devils-burned bastard, Tal."
Some part of Tal was surprised to hear Garin's voice. The greater part agreed with his sentiment.
Pim did not flinch before Garin's fury, just as he had not cringed before Tal's. The Extinguished, unveiled as his sorcery was negated, still had all the self-possession of a man in control of his fate.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
Tal now knew what being a Fount truly meant. He brimmed with sorcery, threatened to overflow with it at any moment. He felt as if he could draw from the streams all around him and suck them dry and still be able to draw more. The pain of Heyl's scars — or his self-inflicted wounds, if Izoalta had spoken truly — had completely disappeared. Nothing held him back any longer.
But still, he hesitated.
Pim stared him in the eyes with his own black ones. Never had he looked so malevolent than in that moment, with his illusory beauty shattered and his true nature unveiled. Yet something of the man remained; in his posture, perhaps, or the slight bow in his shoulders. Enough of a man that Tal did not yet destroy him.
"You are right to be angry, Tal." Pim lowered his gaze like a demure subject before his monarch. "I plotted to keep your companions from you. I feared they would hold you from your purpose. Bonds have ever weakened men's resolve. Had you traveled with them, would you have trusted your life to me? Would you have risked everything in Izoalta's ritual and cured your canker? And now that you have found them, will you have the strength to do what you must — to face a god himself?"
Tal gave weight to each word of his reply. "Bonds do not weaken me. They are the only reason I survived. Our ties keep us whole, keep us human. But I would not expect a servant of Yuldor to understand that."
"Once, I did." The Extinguished sounded wistful. "Soltor was the reason I followed Yuldor, you know. Once, we laughed and sang and dreamed of all we would become. Once, long ago. Now, he is even less a man than I am. Nothing remains of the one I loved."
Tal opened his mouth, but surprise at this revelation put him at a loss for words. Before he could speak, Garin shouted from behind him.
"What are you waiting for?!"
"A moment, lad."
Tal didn't take his eyes off of Pim. The Thorn had once stabbed him through with Heartstone. He would not give Pim that same opportunity.
"What are you waiting for?" Pim's voice had fallen. "You have the capacity to destroy me, perhaps completely. When Thartol rejoined us, his memories were fraught with that final anxiety, that you would catch his essence and kill it. You are even less hobbled now than you were then. You could destroy Yuldor's Chosen, one by one, until there is only our Lord and Savior left to face."
Tal smiled. He had not expected to, but his smiles had always found a way to emerge.
"I could." He marveled at that truth for a moment before pressing on. "And I am sure you deserve it a hundred times over. But I won't."
The conclusion had come of its own volition, but once voiced, Tal found it resonated within him.
Pim seemed surprised, as much as nearly immobile stone could be. "Why? What have I done to deserve mercy?"
"You saved me — thrice, no less. But even that would not be enough to escape justice. No, Pim — it is because I think you have retained some scrap of sentiment throughout the centuries. And even though you've had a thousand chances to act on it, I think you deserve one more."
"Sentim
ent?" Pim laughed, the sound harshened by his lack of illusion. "It is a charming notion, to be sure. But it is not morality that drives me, Skaldurak, but necessity. This World will rend itself apart without intervention. And you, I believe, are the one who must intercede."
"Call it what you will. That you choose life over death is enough for me."
"Tal," Garin entreated him. "He hurt Wren. He's one of them — a Soulstealer, like the one who took Falcon. Like the one who turned you into the Magebutcher. Like the one who set you down the path that led to my father's death."
Even a World's worth of sorcery could not protect Tal from the youth's words. They cut like knives, each point driving them in further, each inflaming his desire for vengeance. He longed to turn to the lad, to explain — but even now, he could only trust Pim so far. Rare was the man who valued his cause over his life, and immortals doubtlessly treasured theirs all the more.
"I'm sorry, Garin," he said over his shoulder. "I'll explain as best I can, later." He looked back to Pim. "Go. Before I change my mind."
But the Extinguished did not move. "I have guided you this far, Tal. Allow me to stay with you the rest of the way."
"No. Our paths part here."
"But there is more you must know." Pim was nearly pleading. "More I must tell you."
"Then you should have made better use of our time."
The Extinguished turned his head aside, crystals scraping together in creaking protest with the movement. For a long moment, they stood in silence. Sorcery crackled inside Tal, begging for release. He clenched his fists and held it in.
Then Pim looked back up. "At least do this. Go to Kavaugh, the seat of the capitol east of here. There, you must meet with the Emperor of Dawn, His Magnificence Zyrl Netherstar. He will tell you of the plans we have made, and the risks we have taken. He will aid you in winning the war."
Tal considered it only briefly. "I very much doubt I'll do that."
"It is essential. You must…" Pim sighed, a breathy noise like a gust blowing through a cave. "But you do not trust me; I understand. Then I can only hope you will achieve our shared aim your way."
The Extinguished turned and gripped the door. Tal noticed his hand was just as encrusted with stone and crystal as his face.
"Farewell, Tal Harrenfel," Pim murmured, then shut the door between them.
Reckoning
Garin stared up at Tal as his old mentor turned around.
He barely noticed the man's nakedness now. Instead, he stared into Tal's eyes, those plain brown eyes that had so often danced with levity. He wished he could feel the joy of their reunion, or the accomplishment of saving him after traveling all this long way and enduring all they had.
Instead, he felt only fury.
Tal spoke before he could. "I know you have things to say to me. But I think I'll listen better if I'm clothed."
Garin, wordless with outrage, could only look away. He could barely think why he'd wanted to save the man at all. He stared down at Wren. The Extinguished had tortured her; that much was clear without her having to vocalize it. He could not see any visible wounds, but he knew her, and she barely rested even when exhausted or sick. Whatever he had done had struck her to her core.
"I have clothes here."
Another voice spoke from the opposite side of the room, startling him into looking around. The elderly Nightelf, whom Garin had forgotten amid everything else, had risen and stared at Tal.
The man nodded and gave her a wry grin. "I'm glad one of us is prepared."
The aged woman, with a wary look at Garin — or perhaps Wren, who had held the Nightelf at rapier-point — came around the basin, a bundle in her hands. She handed it to Tal, then skirted away. Garin averted his eyes.
"Probably best," Tal commented, a smile in his voice.
Garin stewed as Tal dressed. Though the old Nightelf woman lingered nearby, he dismissed the Song, its aria aggravating in his present mood. His tormented flesh protested with every movement, yet he brushed a hand over Wren's hair in an attempt to comfort her. She startled at his touch, then finally seemed to come to.
"Is he… is he gone?"
Her fear stirred his anger again, but he tried to keep his voice calm. "Yes, he's gone. He won't hurt you anymore."
Wren only stared blankly at him for a long moment. Then her eyes darted over to where Tal dressed before they darted away again. "Is that—?"
"I'll explain later," Garin cut her off.
She laughed, her body shuddering. "I suppose I get what Ashelia sees in him."
Despite his foul mood, Garin let out an exasperated groan.
"Sorry about that, Wren." Tal approached them, fully clothed, though in the strange attire of the Nightelves. He kneeled next to her, though not without a wary look at Garin first. "Glad to see you're awake."
She sat up further. "Is anyone going to explain what in Yuldor's bloody name is going on here? Who is that Pim? How could he paw around my mind? And who in the hells is that Nightelf?"
At Wren's indication, both Tal and Garin looked at the old woman. She had edged toward the basin, where the flames had died down to ashes. Despite Tal's easiness around the Nightelf, suspicion made Garin keep a careful watch on her now.
"Ah, her." Tal seemed suddenly awkward. "That's Izoalta. She's, ah… the high pellar of the Nightelves."
"High pellar." Wren's eyes narrowed, her old manner swiftly returning. "High pellar to Yuldor?"
Tal winced. "Unfortunately."
"Tal," Garin said in a low voice, "I'm starting to worry you're not all back. You let our enemy walk free. You're seeking help from a Nightelf. And what happened in Vathda..." His frustration, pent up over the weeks of travel, began to surge all at once. "I don't understand. I don't understand any of it."
His old mentor donned a wry grin. "I could say the same to you. You and Wren, here in the heart of the Empire… It's not a sight I ever expected to see."
His gaiety was infuriating. "We came for you, and you — you—" Garin couldn't find sufficient words, and before that damned smile, he lost control. "Can just one thing not be a joke to you!"
"Garin!" Wren sounded halfway pleased at his outburst.
Though it embarrassed him, it had the effect he'd hoped for. Tal's smile sagged like parchment left out in rain.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I left you in Elendol. And you still came after me. You deserve a proper explanation."
Before his capitulation, Garin found his anger faltering and shame taking up its place.
"We do," he agreed sulkily.
"But it will have to wait." Tal looked around at the Nightelf — Izoalta, he'd called her — then to the door. "I imagine our host wouldn't let her devotees tear us to pieces, but I've intruded long enough on her hospitality."
Garin doubted any amount of Nightelves might threaten Tal now. But, embroiled in his own conflicting emotions, he could find no more response than a nod.
Wren was eyeing the priestess with a hard expression. "We should take her captive. Just to be safe."
"No," Tal said at once. "Izoalta is not to be threatened or harmed."
Wren frowned, then rose with Garin's belated assistance. "Fine. But what's your deal with her?"
"Later, I said." Tal had stood with Garin and Wren, and he looked around to the high pellar. Then, to Garin's discomfort, Tal bowed to the elderly priestess.
"Thank you, Izoalta Yoreseer. You have saved my life and guided my future. I hope you can forgive yourself for your past failings. As one well-acquainted with regrets, I can attest that there is little more to do with them than to cast them aside."
The Nightelf woman seemed as taken aback as Garin was. After a moment, she nodded.
"Forgiveness comes in drips, Tal Harrenfel, not waves. But your words are still welcome." She cocked her head to one side like a bird. "Now prove my sister true. Remember: you are strong enough for what you must do."
Tal seemed struck by her words. But it was what his old mentor had said befo
re that needled Garin.
Yoreseer. The name tickled his memory. But though it seemed familiar, he couldn't place where he'd heard it.
Wren apparently could.
"Yoreseer? Like Hellexa Yoreseer, the author of that old tome you carried?"
At her words, the Nightelf woman looked sharply toward Wren and pressed her lips tightly together.
Garin looked to Tal. "This is her sister?"
"She is." Tal gave the Nightelf a shrug, as if sharing a private joke with the priestess. "But we'll get to your questions later. For now, we must leave."
Tal turned to the door. Garin, after sharing a look with Wren that spoke far more than either of them could utter, moved back to the basin to retrieve Velori, which he'd dropped in his initial haste. The priestess backed away from his approach, though she did not seem afraid, but curious instead, her head atilt. Keeping a watch on her, Garin bent and retrieved the sword, then rose. As he backed away, the Nightelf spoke, her eyes still leveled on him.
"You are not the only drovald in your company, Puppet. That one can hear the Doash'uunae, can he not?"
Garin watched her cautiously, halfway suspicious he was the subject of a spell, though they were not words in the sorcerous Darktongue that he knew of.
Tal laughed. "You have sharp eyes for an old woman. He does hear it, and its guardian as well."
His heart thumped as he inferred what had been said. Even Ilvuan, who had lapsed into the back of his mind, stirred at Garin's conclusions, then gave a considering rumble before settling back down like a dog to its nap.
"But enough." Tal stood by the door, and he motioned his head toward it. "Time to go."
Garin approached slowly, always keeping the priestess in the corner of his eye. As he neared Tal, he reluctantly held up the sword at arm's length.
"This is yours," he said quietly.
Tal stared at Velori. His hands twitched, as if to rise and take it. But they remained at his sides.
"Keep it, for now at least," he murmured. "I have all the weapons I will need."
Garin waited a moment longer, then lowered his arm. He'd been reluctant to go out into the village weaponless, and Tal was right; his sorcery was far more deadly than any blade's edge. Still, it felt uncomfortable to be holding Velori when its true master stood before him.
An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3) Page 29