Then he glimpsed the unnatural, inhuman face and knew they'd been taken for fools.
"Watch out!" he screamed, reaching back toward them. But he had no spell that could prevent what was coming.
The shadowy figure darted forward and seized Rolan with a terrible strength. Falcon, who had held the boy close to him, cried out and lashed out with a knife. But the boy was in the stranger's power now, a cruel dagger held to his throat, and the bard teetered to a halt, sagging as if sapped of all strength.
"Halt!" a woman's voice, shrill and unnaturally loud, echoed through the valley. "Cease to struggle, or the boy dies!"
Garin knew then that all was lost.
Tal swam through a red pool.
He had often swam as a boy. A lonely lad in Hunt's Hollow, such excursions had been an escape from the general tedium of his life as well as a quick way to cool down in the swampy summer heat. He had braved murky mires, seeking the bottom, though it was a foolish and dangerous exercise. Even after his mother had chastised him for ruining his few sets of clothes, it did nothing to stop him from venturing out into places unexplored, unable to sate his incessant curiosity and yearning for thrills.
But though he was skilled at swimming, and he pushed stroke after stroke toward the shimmering surface of the pool above, he could not rise to it. Always, it seemed a little farther, just a few feet more. Tal kicked and churned the water, knowing the pink light must come. But it never did.
Drowning.
His lungs did not burn for air, yet he knew somehow, some way, he was fighting a battle and losing. He drowned in the open air.
Air.
As if the word was the key to unveil the mystery, his next stroke broke the surface. Suddenly, he faltered in a very different kind of flood.
His senses were overwhelmed by the clamor of reality. Someone had tolled a bell next to his ears, and the sound did not die away, but lingered on and on. Beyond its cutting clang, he could detect the faint echoes of speech. At least one voice was pleading. But the stench filling his nostrils distracted him. He smelled blood. The pain crept in then, at first a gentle knocking in the cavities of his head, then an insistent pounding. Something wet dripped down his face. My blood. Someone had punched him hard in the chest as well, and the residual throb of it only grew with each passing moment. Each breath hissing into his lungs felt like he sucked down liquid fire.
The truth of his situation settled back in.
I was shot, then thrown. From the ache of his head, he had knocked it against the ground. He had seen men crack their skulls and break their necks from a fall off a horse in his army days. He was lucky to be alive.
Lucky. He knew better than that. The sorcery still seared his veins and congregated around the arrow in his breast and the crack in his skull. It preserved him far past when he should have expired.
Terror struck through him.
The others. He opened his eyes wide and tried to make sense of what he saw.
The scene had gained a new angle from down by the ground. The figures around him rose monstrously tall, made more terrifying by the haziness of their shapes. Against his cheek pressed cold snow and stone. Blood dripped in his eyes, and Tal raised a hand slowly to wipe it away. He levered himself upright, the World swaying about him.
"So he lives," an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice spoke. "Wake, Skaldurak! Come see what your arrogance has wrought!"
He narrowed his eyes at the speaker, a shadow among the others. Skaldurak. Only one strain of enemy called him by that name. Yet he did not recognize the voice.
But until then, he had not met the fourth and final Extinguished.
Tal opened his mouth to speak and had to fight down a gag. The sudden heave of his gut sent fresh torment cascading out from his shoulder and bounced around his head. He managed to sit upright, fighting through the nausea to look up again. The fog in his vision had cleared enough to see the Soulstealer's leer, but it was the one next to him that felt as if another arrow punched through his abdomen.
"Rolan," he whispered.
Ashelia's son stared back at him, wide-eyed and trembling, but remaining as still as he possibly could. Tal's eyes traveled down to his neck and squinted. Something glinted there, and only after a moment's study did he understand what it was. A knife.
"Yes, Skaldurak. I have the boy." The Extinguished sounded almost bored. Hers was the casual amusement of a cat that has caught its prey and makes a toy of it. "Can you yet understand me? My patience grows thin."
He swallowed hard at the bile rising in his gullet. "Yes. I'm listening."
"At last. As you can see, the boy is at my mercy. I will not hesitate to kill him. And I will kill him, unless you do precisely as I say."
Tal nodded and immediately regretted it. "Fine," he said instead through gritted teeth.
The Extinguished grimaced. Her features did not naturally lend themselves to expression. Like the Thorn, she did not wear an illusion to cover her true appearance, but displayed her aberrant form as if proud of it. Her skin was like salt-crusted stone, roughened by years of enduring the stormy seas. Her eyes were a haunting blue, like a light sunk in deep waters. She was not tall, but he felt the veins of sorcery threading through her from the World, lending her an unearthly strength.
"Here is what you must do to preserve his life. Go with my warriors and do not struggle. Should you resist or attempt to escape, be assured the boy will not survive. You will go to Kavaugh east of here. And you will be escorted into the Emperor's dungeons."
Tal pulled his eyes away from the pair to look for his companions. Everyone still seemed alive, if in varying conditions. He looked to Ashelia, who stood a dozen feet away from the Extinguished and her son. She met his gaze, and the storm in her eyes had never whorled so furiously. He wondered if the Extinguished knew what the boy was to him, and if it had been Pim who had told her. Likely his erstwhile companion was every bit the fell warlock Tal should have known him to be.
It did not matter how the Soulstealer knew to threaten the boy. He would not play games with Rolan's life.
He looked back to the fell sorceress. "We'll do it."
The Extinguished barked a mirthless laugh. "Of course you will. You have grown strong, Skaldurak, far stronger than I expected, even after Thartol's memories returned to us. Almost, I can understand what our Lord sees in you. But your sorcery will not avail you here. No matter how much strength you possess, you will always be insufficient."
As if for emphasis, the Soulstealer shook Rolan and held the knife closer to his neck. A whimper escaped the boy. His pants suddenly looked far wetter than could be attributed to a fall in the snow.
The Extinguished scowled. "Almost not worth the trouble. Heed my warning, Skaldurak. Remember the consequences."
The consequences. How could he forget when they stared him in the face? But through the fog of despair over his mind, a desperate idea struck him. A twisted hope planted in his chest.
"Wait. You don't have to take the boy." A bitter smile stretched his bloodied lips. "Take me instead."
The Extinguished looked surprised for a moment, then angrier than before. "You think me a light-dazzled dolt? I am not blinded by arrogance as you are, Skaldurak. I know that in a direct contest, you would overcome me. No — much as I wish to take you directly, I will not risk it. The boy comes with me."
"There's a way. A way you can ensure my obedience." Tal's gaze slid over to Ashelia. Incomprehension battled with anguished hope in her expression. Then, as she understood his plan, they widened.
No, her lips murmured.
Yes, her eyes affirmed.
"Do not test my patience." The Soulstealer touched the cruel knife to the boy's neck, provoking a dribble of blood.
Tal clenched his teeth and barely repressed his fury. "We possess a Binding Ring," he said as civilly as he could manage. "Put it on me. Command me not to resist. Then you will have nothing to fear."
"A Binding Ring." The snarl that seemed permanently etched on that
stony face gave way to an almost thoughtful expression. He could guess at her calculations. She wants me, not Rolan. She can have me and a powerful artifact as well. She'll take the offer. She must.
"Where is this ring?" the Extinguished spoke at last.
Tal nodded to Ashelia. "She has it."
The Soulstealer's eyes flitted over to Ashelia, then barked a rapid order in common Darktongue. Two medusals lingering nearby approached the Peer cautiously. When Ashelia did not strike at them, they hissed and began to pad their clawed hands over her body. Tal set his jaw, knowing none of them could do anything but endure it. Ashelia muttered something, and finally, one of them gave a cry of triumph as they held up something.
The circle of milky crystal gleamed in the pale day's light.
The Extinguished spoke again, and the Ravager with the artifact approached. With exaggerated subservience, the medusal presented the Binding Ring as she bowed. But the sorceress barely seemed to notice. As she lifted her hand from Rolan's hair to pluck the ring from her servant's claws, the Extinguished held it up. The first hint of a smile attempted to soften her features and failed.
"It is no lie, then — you do possess a Binding Ring! Come here, Skaldurak. Let us see how it fits."
Tal didn't mean to look to Ashelia, but his eyes found her of their own will. Her expression was torn, fear shining from her gray eyes. Yet bleak hope had returned to them as well. He smiled at her, and hoped it did not resemble the skull's grin that it felt like.
"Now," the Extinguished repeated. "Unless you'd prefer to see a new smile on this child."
Anger smoldered in his chest, fighting back despair and pain. Tal slowly rose to his feet. Every movement twinged the arrow, and he grunted with the sharp agonies traveling into his head. The throbbing in his skull grew worse with the movement. But even still, he felt far from weak. Sorcery filled him, more with each moment, burning for release. He felt as if he might dismantle the enemy before him, limb for limb, with barely a thought's effort.
The Soulstealer's eyes narrowed, perhaps sensing the swelling of his magic. Her knife pricked Rolan's neck again, and a second trail of blood beaded down his neck. Tal clenched his jaw. Rolan. That was what mattered now. Relaxing his tensed muscles, he let a measure of the magic flow back to the stream from whence it had come.
"Better," his enemy said. "Now come. I will not ask again."
Tal walked forward. His balance tilted at first, and he stumbled a step, but the World reoriented himself as he stepped over scattered rubble and broken bodies. The arrow wound throbbed in his chest, making it painful even to breathe. The Extinguished stood twenty paces away, but it felt a much farther distance.
As he drew near, the fell sorceress barked in common Darktongue at the Ravagers, "Take him! Do not let him make any sudden movements!"
Two of the Easterners obeyed at once, a human and a minotaur who were nearest, grabbing Tal's arms and wrenching him forward. At another of the Soulstealer's commands, the minotaur raised Tal's left arm and held it out toward the sorceress. He nearly blacked out with the movement as the arrow wrenched in his flesh. Only the two holding him and the sorcery curling through his body kept him upright.
Through murky vision, Tal watched the Extinguished reach her hand forward, the crystal band poised between her fingers. Now, part of him urged. Resist. Like an inhale, he swept fresh sorcery into his body. But he held it firmly in place.
The ring slipped over his finger.
"This I bind you to," the Extinguished hissed. "That you will not cast your sorcery in any spell. That you will obey my, Hashele's, every command, as well as that of our Lord and Savior, Yuldor Soldarin. That you will not resist your captivity, nor attempt to remove the Circle of Yeshtaf by any manner."
The Binding Ring glowed. Tal felt a cold wave sweep over him, dampening even the blazing forge within, yet ratcheting up his pain. He squeezed shut his eyes and held in a scream.
Endure. It was all he could hope to do now.
As the crystal's light faded and the frigid hand lifted, Hashele eased the knife away from Rolan's throat and leaned closer to Tal. From the corner of his eye, he saw the boy's knees buckle, and he only just caught his balance. At this distance, Tal could smell the reek of the boy's soiled pants.
He's alive, he reminded himself. The rest he can survive.
"Do not take me for a fool, Skaldurak," said the Extinguished. "I am well aware that if you possess even a tenth of my Master's power you may break even this artifact's enchantment. But as you struggle to do so, I will kill you, then all your companions afterward. Save us both the trouble."
Tal gave her a ghastly smile. "I'll be as meek as a lamb. You have my word."
Hashele's stony lips tweaked in what might have been a sneer, then she drew away and pushed Rolan forward so he landed on his hands and knees.
"Bind the whelp and the others!" she called in the Eastern speech. "Take the precautions I spoke of. You two, bring this man with me — we ride ahead."
With that, the immortal sorceress strode away, her dark robes swishing about her spare frame. Tal's captors shoved him after her. Pain and darkness threatened to claim him, and he staggered, just managing to keep his feet. He caught one last glimpse of his companions before he was carried beyond the stone wall.
Well, you've done it now, you old fool, he thought to himself as he was dragged forward. How are you going to save them now?
But he had a suspicion that his friends would not be the only ones in need of saving.
Passage IV
Life in Paradise was, without a doubt, the dreariest of imaginable existences.
A long-dead playwright once wrote, "Labor is both the calling and the balm to a woman or man." Seven hundred years I have seen, and only during my days in Yuldor's Paradise did I understand she wrote truly.
It is, admittedly, a land like no other. For a time, the sheer wonder of the place amused me. Plants and beasts that existed nowhere else, sprung solely from our Lord's mind! It was so novel a concept as to captivate even an ancient soul — but only for so long.
After I had played out my personal experiments, I no longer desired to put off my orders from my Master. Even service to him was preferable to that life. Truly, I would not wish such a cage upon my enemies, had I possessed any.
How to explain? Everything was provided for. I had barely to think of food before the jungle yielded it to me. The creatures could be companions or contestants, depending on my mood. My bed was of leaves and moss, but shaped perfectly to the contours of my aged body.
But in unending leisure, one eventually reaches a doldrums where pleasure ceases and ennui begins. It was during this time that I began to question our greater purpose. Was this what we labored for? Did Yuldor truly mean to curse the World with this affliction of malaise?
Even then, the seeds of doubt had taken root in my corrupted heart. And though I soon sought purpose in my work for him, the cracks had already formed.
As it turns out, doubts such as these can never be mended.
- The Untold Lore of Yuldor Soldarin and His Servants, by Inanis
Sorrow’s End
The days following their capture were some of Garin's most miserable yet.
When the Ravagers finally stopped on the third night, Garin collapsed next to Wren at the base of a tree and stifled a groan. She darted a look at him, then away. Understanding passed between them in that brief gesture. Drawing attention to oneself of any kind was dangerous among captors such as these.
As soft as his sound was, the guard closest to him heard it. The Easterner turned to look down at Garin with a flat stare. He was a young human with a long, drooping mustache and a shaved scalp but for a knot of hair atop his head. Garin turned his eyes down, though only just far enough that he could watch for the approaching blow.
But even as he saw the boot coming, he could not avoid it.
He doubled over as pain in his ribs joined the other aches across his body. The Ravager said something he coul
d not understand, but his meaning was clear enough. Scum. That was all Garin and the others were to him and his comrades.
Garin remained on the ground, playing dead like the prey he was, hoping the man might soon grow bored. With one last half-hearted kick to Garin's shin, the man moved away to join his companions by the warm fire glow.
"Bastard," Wren hissed when the man was out of earshot. "When we get free…"
"Let it go." Garin managed a small smile even as his bruised innards and leg protested. "Though I appreciate it."
Her scowl deepened, and the gold tendrils in her eyes twisted into knots, but she didn't argue. They both knew she and Ashelia could suffer far worse than they had so far in this company.
Casual abuse had been the Ravagers' typical treatment of their party throughout the march from Valankesh Pass. Helnor had taken the brunt of it, though the Prime could ill afford to, for a grievous wound gaped in his shoulder. Ashelia had confirmed it was infected and must be attended to soon, but with glyph-engraved bracelets about their wrists, no healing was likely to be forthcoming. Throughout their journey, Garin often occupied himself with examining their new ornamentation, as did Aelyn and Kaleras. The two rivals had been made into allies in combatting this common foe.
As much for an escape as curiosity, Garin again inspected his bracer. It was made of a black stone similar to that worn by the Extinguished who masqueraded as Falcon. As the stone bracer did not fit perfectly, it was bound with a steel chain and clasp to adjust its size. Runes were carved into the inner ring. Though he had caught only a glimpse of them before the bracelet was secured, they had seemed so tightly and finely scripted as to almost be a work of art. He suspected that as much care had been put into their function as their appearance. Wren suggested carving the runes on the inside was to maximize the effects of the enchantment through contact on the skin. Garin thought it had a second purpose: it prevented prisoners from scraping off the glyphs. Aelyn had once told him that inscriptions were dependent on the string of runes before it, and that the disruption of one could cause the whole enchantment to collapse. This charm, it seemed, was likely to remain intact.
An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3) Page 35