Counterfactuals lulled him into a contemplative silence. That night of his final performance with the Dancing Feathers, when he had fled at the sight of Kaleras — what if he had stayed instead? Would Kaleras have recognized him? Would he have found the father he never had? Maybe instead of becoming the Red Reaver and Death's Hand, he would have been a trouper, making a pleasant living as a fool by Falcon's side.
Ghosts enough would have haunted him. Even by then, Tal had done many things he was not proud of. But had he stayed, he could have avoided further regrets.
His breath came quickly. His head felt faint. He couldn't hold it back any longer. His shanty-being was collapsing in on itself. No amount of sorcery could lend him strength now.
The gates were flung open, and the flood poured in.
Tal stumbled drunkenly, hands outstretched. His vision had gone suddenly hazy. Then the World gained an anchor: Kaleras' hands, touching upon his arm, guiding him to sit on the seat he had fashioned. Tal barely had the wherewithal to notice as he folded in on himself. His grief and regrets, always a titanic burden, had gathered a greater weight. Or perhaps it was the relief of finally facing them, and knowing them for what they were: unfortunate chances that led him down a darker path than he ever would have chosen for himself.
Tal put his face in his hands, and for once, he did not try to stop the tears from coming.
A hand pressed tightly on his shoulder. Kaleras was silent while Tal wept. The sliver of himself that remained above the drowning water guessed the warlock to be as uncomfortable as Tal in this moment.
Yet he stayed.
At length, Tal straightened and wiped at his eyes and nose. He imagined how he looked, and the pitiful image brought his smile back. Blowing a spray of phlegm into the fire, he let out a low, broken laugh, then brushed back the loose hairs from his face as he looked up at his father.
Kaleras, always proud in his bearing, sagged as if the weight of his years had finally grown too heavy even for his dignity. His lips pressed into a thin line as he met Tal's eyes.
"I'm sorry," the man murmured. "If regrets could make amends…"
Fresh tears threatened to leak from his eyes. Tal grinned wider and tried to hold them back. He had exposed enough of himself that night as it was.
He reached up and grasped Kaleras' hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly. His father shifted his fingers to hold his hand in turn.
"The past must be laid to rest," Tal whispered. "You do not need my forgiveness. But if it makes a difference, you have it."
Kaleras could not hold his gaze for long. Looking away, he nodded with jerky movement. Tal looked aside as well. After several moments, he pulled his hand away, and Kaleras removed his.
Swiftly, silence reigned between them once again.
Yet the quiet had changed. If it was not quite companionable, it was close enough. They had shared something, estranged father and absent son. A brief moment of connection.
As Tal smiled toward the fire, he found that, for now, it was enough.
Valankesh Pass
After a brief breakfast, Tal and the others set off on the last stretch toward Valankesh Pass.
Though he longed to share a stor with Ashelia once more, having missed her during the night, her son's insistence on riding with his mother took precedence. After a shared regretful smile, she went to her stor with Rolan, and Tal hauled himself up behind Falcon. The bard, having seen the look that passed between them, grinned mockingly.
"Ah, is there nothing worse than a forlorn lover's melancholy?" he noted as they started away from the trees and back onto the road through the mountains.
"Perhaps a bard's longing for his missing hand," Tal retorted.
Falcon turned and gave him such a sorrowful look he immediately regretted the words — at least until the minstrel burst into laughter.
"Your guilty conscience is too easy to pluck, my friend. Put it from your mind — I've entirely forgotten you cut it off."
Tal winced and decided silence was safer to risking more of Falcon's barbed comments.
"Best to keep quiet," a third voice said. "We are not cloaked with a ward of silence any longer."
Tal turned in his seat to see Kaleras had come abreast of them. The aged warlock could not quite hold himself erect that day. Tal wondered if it was their conversation the night before, his watch that night, or the journey as a whole that wore on him. He hoped he had strength enough for the trials to come, and judged he must. How many more harrowing experiences had the Warlock of Canturith survived, after all?
Stubborn old man, he thought with a fond smile.
"Yes, sire," Falcon responded promptly with teasing formality. Tal only gave an apologetic shrug.
Kaleras looked between them a moment longer before letting his beast fall back again. But Tal could have sworn he saw a hint of mirth crack through the man's perpetual frown.
"Well, my friend, it appears we must converse in murmurs," the bard spoke in a trouper's whisper after the warlock had moved out of earshot. "And there is so much to catch up on! It sounds as if you've a story or two of which you must apprise your bard."
"Ah, but I cannot divulge such tasty morsels without telling our company as well, can I?"
Falcon twisted around to cast him another look of hurt. "Surely, it's the least you owe me for a hand?"
Tal grinned this time. "Won't work twice, my good jester."
"Call it an indication of the depths of my desperation. There is a long ride ahead of us yet. How else shall we pass the time?"
"I'm sure you've gathered an anecdote or two yourself in your travels. Come, do what you do best — tell me a tale."
"Tell a tale that has not yet ended?" Falcon's hair, uncharacteristically unkempt from the journey, shook with his denial. "Only if I must."
"Hopefully, it is the last of the adventures we'll have for a while."
Falcon peered around once more, the gold spinning mischievously in his eyes.
"If you believe that, Tal Harrenfel, then you're as much a fool as you've always claimed. We ride to a city at the behest of an Extinguished to meet with the Sun Emperor, all in service of challenging the god of this land. If that doesn't have the makings of a story, then I've lost both my hands."
Tal gave him an eloquent shrug. "Beware of what you wish for. I may not carry Velori any longer, but I have a sword sharp enough for the task."
Falcon laughed merrily and turned back ahead. "Ah, how I've missed your poison wit, my friend."
Tal chuckled along with him. "And I yours, Falcon. And I yours."
Garin listened to Falcon's laughter echoing from ahead and, despite his reluctance, a smile forced its way onto his face.
"They're just like they were before, aren't they?" he noted to Wren, behind whom he rode once more.
"Like silly old fools, you mean?" she retorted.
"Exactly what I meant."
She snorted a laugh.
The Nightelves' woods had long ago disappeared behind them, and a rocky valley, populated by vegetation no higher than their knees, asserted itself in its place. The road, as much as it could be called a road, was barely wide enough for two abreast. Garin wondered how any merchants could hope to cart a wagon over such terrain, much less a sleigh. He was beginning to see why open war between the Reach Realms and the Eastern Empire did not occur more frequently. The armies would be exhausted simply trying to reach each other.
Valankesh Pass must have started at some point, though snow continued to film the stony ground beneath them. From the map in their possession, it would only stretch a few miles before opening onto the other side of the mountains. Then Kavaugh, capital of the Empire, would thereafter be revealed. He wondered how soon they would see it. The map was not specific on the terrain, but it seemed the city was set on lower plains than the mountains. They might see it for days before they reached it if the weather remained fair.
As if he had taunted the sky with his optimistic hopes, the clouds thickened over
head, and snowflakes began to fall afresh. Wren gave a soft groan, and Garin grunted in agreement. They were both heartily sick of snow. He hoped Kavaugh would be clear of it. The Nightelves' forest, after all, had resisted the colder weather; perhaps it would be the same once they descended from the mountains and onto the moors.
Out of nowhere, Ilvuan burst into Garin's mind, like a hawk plummeting down to suddenly alight on a branch. He reeled, clinging to Wren despite her protests, afraid he might be unseated.
Silence, can't you be more careful, Ilvuan?
The Singer ignored Garin's complaints. Beware, Jenduit! One of the Servants is near.
The Servants? Garin's insides went as cold as the weather had turned. Do you mean the Extinguished? One is here?
Yes! You must protect—
Before the Singer could complete his thought, Ilvuan suddenly roared, and it was a sound as full of agony as rage.
Then, with a terrible rending of Garin's mind, he was gone.
"Damn it, Garin, you're holding on too tightly! What's the matter with you?"
His senses reoriented as the pain of Ilvuan's abrupt departure faded.
"Warn the others," he gasped. "An Extinguished is close."
"An Extinguished? How do you know?"
"Ilvuan." Garin brought himself upright, but still had trouble catching his breath. His head throbbed. "Warn them, Wren!"
Wren, having twisted around to eye him, nodded and drew in a breath. But before she could shout, Garin saw movement above them and knew it was too late.
"Extinguished!" Wren cried as dozens of shadows fell like diving birds upon them.
Oathsworn
The valley ignited with sorcerous life as Wren's cry echoed in his ears.
"Extinguished!"
Tal moved by instinct, drawing upon and weaving streams of sorcery into gusts of air that would knock a troll flat. His mind moved slower.
Nothing was there, he thought desperately. Then they were.
Wren's shout provided the answer. Extinguished. He had never sensed Pim's illusion over himself, nor Soltor's as Falcon. Whatever charm the fell sorcerers used in their disguises, it was not one easily detected
Now it appeared they could expand it beyond themselves.
His spell whipped up a protective veil of wind above, and the arrows falling toward them scattered like crows before a hawk. The first danger averted, Tal took in the chaos erupting around him. Figures raced up the valley ahead of them — and by the movement of his companions, behind them as well. Minotaurs led the charge, with others coming after them, at least two dozen by a swift count. Above, he sensed more enemies; not only the archers, but those with sorcery in their blood. Even as he observed them, magic reared from many, and fire, ice, and subtler missiles fell upon his company.
Ravagers. They had been ambushed, more thoroughly than Tal had thought possible. And unless he acted quickly, all of those beloved to him would die.
He breathed in, and sorcery swelled within his veins until it burned.
The opposing wizards were his first targets. Like a scythe through a barley field, he cut across the streams connecting them to the World's sorcery, severing them. His wall of wind dispersed the magic falling toward them, while the shadow creatures assaulting them, summoned from hells unknown, fell back into nothing.
He turned his attention to the melee and became aware of his companions' movements. Falcon had slipped from their stor and run to Ashelia's, where he took Rolan into his arms. Helnor had charged forward to meet the minotaurs, though he could not hope to last more than moments against so many. Tal surged his sorcery forward, focusing everything but a scant trace of himself that maintained the wind wall toward the Ravagers. He called the name of stone, and a barrier of rock broke from the earth, nearly unseating Helnor as his stor bucked. Tal could no longer see or sense the minotaurs, but he continued his commands, urging the rock beyond the wall to change itself to quicksand, seeking to trap their enemies. It was all he could do at the moment, for more drastic actions might endanger his band. Distant cries told of his momentary success.
But as he plugged a hole in one place, five more sprouted. His attention gone from them, the mages above had recovered their sorcery and began to cast more spells. The shadow creatures returned, each taller than a man and reaching forward with knife-sharp fingers. Like a tidal wave, they swept under his wind barrier and toward his companions. Tal called for light and blazed it above their heads, and the werelight burned away their shadowy bodies.
But that was not the only avenue of their assault. Other mages surged suddenly against the vast wind shield and deteriorated it before Tal could bolster it again. He brought his attention back to it and began to weave together the swirling winds tighter and without seam.
Pain, sudden and visceral, brought him abruptly back to his body.
Tal reeled in the stor's saddle. Something lodged in him, pierced through the left side of his chest. An arrow. He reached his right hand up to grasp the shaft. His mind was fogged; he could not remember what to do. Snap it off. Force it through. Days as a surgeon's boy in the Avendoran army came vaguely back to him. He tried to comply, but something else nagged him. The others, protect the others. A moment's lapse might lead to his friends' deaths. Ashelia, not Ashelia. Sorcery seared through him. It moved through his veins toward the wound, already trying to heal it, but Tal redirected it to summon more winds. Wuld! Wuld! Wuld! — he murmured the cantrip as he wielded the force that it signified. The sky was strangely darkened around the edges of his vision. Blood pounded in his ears, louder than the din surrounding him. Doesn't matter. Save the others.
The stor beneath him reared. Awkwardly seated and without a proper grip on the reins, Tal pitched backward off the creature.
He fell to the snow and stone below.
As soon as the whipping winds dissipated above them, Garin knew they were in trouble.
The Song howled in his ears, haunting in its beauty as he drew on it with spell after spell. "Keld thasht!" he shouted. "Jolsh heks! Dord uvthak!"
They were too many, far too many. Medusals, quick and deadly as vipers, scaled down the walls of the valley to attack with sword and spear. Wren ran forward to fight them, and Garin drew Velori. But he knew sorcery was his deadliest weapon.
Yet even with the Song swelling his abilities beyond what they should have been, it wasn't enough. He could not use his most potent spell of leaping fire for fear of injuring his companions. And where one medusal fell, two took their place. Wren was all but surrounded and bled from half a dozen wounds. Kaleras and Aelyn stood with them, but even they could only do so much. Aelyn faced the reptilian foes and wove magic Garin could scarcely comprehend. Five of the Easterners had fallen over, paralyzed or dead, by a single flash of his hands. But his spells took time as well as catalysts, and telling by the mage's desperation, he was running short on both.
Kaleras, meanwhile, faced the foes striking from above. Tal's enormous wind shield had protected them for the first moments of the battle, but the warlock had picked up the slack as Ravager sorcerers began shredding it apart. In addition to warding against curses and arrows, the aged man had taken out several of their foes through hexes of stone and lightning. The effort bowed him further with each spell.
Garin had no time to wonder where Tal's protective storm had disappeared to, for a medusal suddenly charged Wren, its spear darting toward an opening in her flank. Garin threw up a hand.
"Jolsh heks!"
His spell took effect just in time to twist the weapon aside. Wren leaped back, rapier parrying another thrust. Her legs were growing clumsy, the frenzied pace of the battle and the sheer number of enemies overwhelming. Even after their efforts, a dozen medusals remained.
Ilvuan! Garin cried in his mind, but he knew it was useless. The Singer had been absent since his abrupt warning, ripped away into the nether. He was on his own.
Save her! he railed futilely at himself.
He ran forward to stand next Wren, V
elori held before him. Wren flashed him a wild grin before twisting aside from a sudden blow. Garin feinted a move forward, then called, "Dord uvthak!" The stone erupted at the feet of the medusals, shards darting up to bury into the Easterners. They hissed with surprise and pain, yet all but one avoided falling to the ground.
"Bisk!"
Ice blossomed from Garin's hand to film the slushy ground, compromising the medusals' footing. Even as the cantrip spread, he lashed forward with his blade. The runes blazed on Velori's steel as if in anticipation of blood. He nicked one of the assailants, but it was far from a killing blow. Even as he drew back, two more medusals darted forward in attacks.
"Kald bruin!"
The spell had not been Garin's, but Wren's. He nearly fell flat on his back to escape the plume of flames that burst from her outstretched hand. The charging medusals fell to the ground, screaming, the snow hissing into steam as it met their searing skin.
"Broldid ist fend!"
This time, it was Aelyn who cast the incantation. The fallen enemies arched as spikes of stone, three feet in length, pierced their bodies and abruptly ended their writhing. The other medusals fell back at the sudden onslaught, their yellow eyes wide with fear. But despite their reticence to keep fighting, something kept them from fleeing.
The Extinguished.
Ilvuan's warning recalled to mind, Garin risked a glance behind. Kaleras protected their group from the arrows still raining down, for Tal's barrier had not reappeared. He thought he saw the man on the ground, but knew it must be someone else. After what he had seen of Tal, surely nothing could fell him. Helnor fought against a trickle of minotaurs and humans, who had to climb around a wall of stone that had not been in the valley before and rose twice as tall as even the imposing Prime Warder. Someone kept the arrows from them — Ashelia, he guessed. Behind Ashelia and under her wind shield sheltered Falcon and Rolan. Another figure stood with them, positioned as if they had just moved next to them. He thought it must be Tal, the only member of their company he had not seen.
An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3) Page 34