The night before, Ashelia had tested the strength of their sorcerous bindings. Whether it was their captivity or Tal being swept away to Silence knew where, the Peer had become close to feral in the intervening hours. Her pent-up fury was evident in every jerky movement. So when Garin woke to gasps of pain from where she slept, he was not surprised to rise and find a green glow emanating from her bracelet, the runes performing their task of suppressing any and all sorcery. Ashelia had only said through gritted teeth that the enchantment was unlikely to be broken.
Yet as hopeless as their situation appeared to be, Garin knew it could grow much worse. The Extinguished, Hashele, had given instructions to keep them alive and mostly unharmed. Though minor beatings were frequent, and even Rolan had gathered a few bruises, their captors never went so far as to endanger their safety, and none had yet attempted to violate the women.
And there was also the fact that, despite their autonomy being taken away, their destination had not shifted. Kavaugh, seen from a distance from high upon the pass, had disappeared behind the rolling hills through which they now traveled, only occasionally becoming visible again at the taller vistas. Yet each glimpse had shown it to grow closer. The capital of the Empire was near. If Pim had spoken truly — and Garin was not at all certain of that — then help awaited them in the Emperor's palace.
If only we can survive that long.
Careful not to gain the attention of the guards standing over them, Garin glanced toward where Helnor lay. The Prime's heavy breathing indicated his condition had not improved under the Ravagers' nightly entertainment. If they did not arrive at their destination soon, he was worried even the hardy elf would succumb.
Kaleras, too, suffered from the ill treatment. The journey before had been taxing for the aged warlock; now, it was nearly unbearable. Yet the man endured it with the same unwavering determination he approached every challenge. Even as he pitied the warlock, Garin wished he could share his resolve.
The rest of them remained more or less resilient. Falcon had ceased making japes after the first afternoon's reprimands, but the gold in the bard's eyes still swirled defiantly. Rolan looked constantly frightened and his ceaseless questions had quieted. Aelyn, Ashelia, and Wren constantly sought a method of escape, whispering plots among themselves as often as they could while avoiding punishment.
Garin felt swept along in the wake of the others, helpless to do anything but survive.
He had already exhausted what avenues of aid he could think of. He had called to Ilvuan for hours, pleading with the Singer to show them the way out of this. The dragon never answered. Garin wondered anxiously if it was the bracelet preventing their connection or if whatever had ripped the Singer away before the fight still endangered him. He had never thought he would care for the fate of the one he once thought a devil. But now, he could scarcely imagine life without the dragon's thorny presence.
To make no mention that he wasn't sure that, without Ilvuan, he would still be able to hear the World's Song.
Seeing Ashelia's futile attempts to win free and fearful of the consequences of his own attempts, Garin had not tried to summon his own sorcery. You're just frightened, part of him mocked. Frightened you've lost it forever.
He tried to forget his fears and fall asleep.
But rest was beyond his grasp. His eyes closed, he listened to the sounds of the Ravagers' raucous camp. Left to their own devices, the Easterners had taken to drinking until they roared off-key songs and brawled into the gray hours of dawn. They would then sleep until long past when light crept across the sky and awaken with tempers even fouler than the evening before. With the numerous fights that broke out over the previous two nights, Garin had hoped one altercation might grow nasty enough that he and the others could escape. But their unity, fractured as it was, remained intact, and the attention of the guards, diverted as it occasionally became by a swig from a passed flask, was otherwise unwavering.
Heavy footsteps came crunching through the night. Garin stiffened, listening intently as the unseen visitor approached. Is it already time to switch the guard? Yet he heard only one set of feet.
Unease threaded through him. The previous nights had taught him what this visit meant.
A voice, gruff and human, spoke in common Darktongue, just loud enough he could make it out. Garin wished he could understand it as Aelyn, Ashelia, Helnor, and Kaleras could.
And Tal as well. He spared a brief thought for the man, but pushed him from his mind. As much of a bind as his old mentor was in, Tal always found a way to slip out of his messes. Garin had to remain focused on what might happen to the rest of them.
The conversation, interspersed with harsh laughter and conspiratorial whispers, abruptly ceased, and several pairs of boots tramped over to the huddled prisoners. Garin listened anxiously as they came nearer. He eased open his eyes and, by a sorcerous light held in a Nightelf's hand, observed the Ravagers. There were three of them, two being the guards presently watching over them. The last was a human, ugly with an old wound that ran across a nose halfway hacked off. He was large, broader than even Helnor, though he lacked the elf's height. A sprout of dark hair off his chin was bound in two tails like a snake's tongue, while his head was shaved to stubble, revealing other scars across his scalp. His eyes were shadowed and dark as he looked over their bound party.
The Ravagers crouched next to his companions. Garin held his breath as he waited to see what they would do. Ashelia said something to them in their language, her words lashing out like a driver's whip. For a moment, he feared they were taking her.
But when the men straightened, they held not the Peer, but her brother. Helnor, already beaten and bruised, was about to suffer further still.
Ashelia halfway stood now, yelling her fury at them. The scarred Easterner's face did not shift as he approached her and swiped at her with a fist. Even hindered by the ropes that tied them in place, Ashelia was too quick for him, dodging the blow and baring her teeth in return.
The Ravager was unperturbed, confident in the knowledge that the greater victory was his. With a cold smile, he turned away and jerked his head off toward the darkness. His two companions dragged Helnor away until his moans became inaudible.
Garin stared after him for a long moment before turning to Wren. "What can we do?"
"Nothing," she replied through gritted teeth. "Which is why they're doing it."
It was not long before they heard Helnor again. His pained grunts were followed by choruses of laughter. Garin wished he could cover his ears against the Prime's torture. But if Helnor had to endure it, the least he could do was suffer with him, in some small way.
The tall elf was brought back after what seemed an endless length. Garin could barely look at him as they dragged him back to be tied to the others. His hair was matted and dark, his face a red mask. He wheezed with each labored breath. As the Ravagers bent to bind him again, Helnor collapsed to the ground, not even possessing the strength to kneel.
Garin squeezed shut his eyes. They would leave them alone now; they had to. They'd had their fun, and the Extinguished had commanded them not to kill any of them.
A sudden scream told him otherwise.
Garin opened his eyes wide. The scarred Ravager had straightened. In his hands, Rolan hung like a rag doll.
Garin went stiff, the horror of the situation coming over him. Even his dark speculation had not gone so far as to think Rolan might be prone to the foul whims of these savage men.
The boy's mother was less complacent. As soon as Rolan was seized, Ashelia lunged at the Ravager with a shriek. But she was too encumbered, her hands bound and a rope on her ankle binding her to the rest of them. The scarred man anticipated the attack, backhanding her and snapping her head around to throw her back to the ground. The Ravagers laughed as Ashelia sprawled and fought to gain her feet, and one of the scarred man's companions kicked her again.
Wren had sat up with a snarl. The rest of their companions clamored with protests and
attempted to escape their own bonds. Garin rose with them, his head spinning. But no matter how he wracked his brain, he could think of nothing to stop them.
Still, he had to try.
"Keld!" he whispered anxiously. His bracelet, like Ashelia's before, glowed green against his wrist. With it came an intense, blinding pain. Garin clenched his eyes shut and held his hands away from him, as if he could distance himself from the nauseating agony. He hissed in breaths. Make it stop make it stop make it—
But as the pain eased, through the clamor of the din around him, he heard the familiar, impossible melody of the Song.
Little good it will do me now. Garin pried open his eyelids to see the scarred man and their other two captors — one a Nightelf, the other a sylvan — had bent to untie Rolan from the group. Wren, situated next to the boy, surged up and barreled into the sylvan's legs, her movement wrenching Garin after her. The sylvan guard spat and lashed out as he stumbled, and Wren ducked her head before the blows. On Rolan's other side, Ashelia had risen again, her face purpled with the scarred man's strike. She tried in vain to attack the Nightelf, but seeing it coming, he only stepped out of her range and shoved her back to the ground.
The scarred man had Rolan untied then, and he hauled the boy to his feet. Rolan looked around, his eyes and mouth shaped like the moons, as the man carried him away into darkness.
"Rolan!" Ashelia's scream grated in Garin's ears. "Rolan! Don't touch him, don't you fucking touch him, you kolfash bastards! I'll kill you, I'll kill every last one of you—"
Garin squeezed his eyes closed again. His heart felt as if it would burst in his chest. The Song. It was his only chance, maybe Rolan's only chance. Helnor could take their punishment, but Rolan was just a boy. This night might deal him scars that would never heal.
He strained to listen around the clamor. Like a hound heeding his call, the discordant tune came into greater clarity. He tried to draw as much of it into himself as he possibly could, to join with it. Then he tried another spell.
"Dord uvthak!"
He hoped the stone break spell might affect the bracelet, as it appeared to be made of rock. Instead, he was only rewarded with a fresh wave of suffering. He spasmed and gasped, his arms feeling like they would wrench out of their sockets.
But even as he went limp with despair, he heard something new. The faint, somber hints were not of the Song; that chorus flowed all around and through him. These seemed localized, emanating from a specific place near him. Garin shut out the noises from his companions and focused on this new thing, his eyes cracked open as if he might see it. The World had turned, the ground running parallel to his head.
And the small song came from straight ahead, where his wrists lay.
The bracer. In a leap of intuition, he knew it must be so. What it meant that this stone sang its own melody, he did not know.
But he did know he'd best find out quickly.
He brought his hands close to his head, even holding the bracer to one ear, as if its song would be louder that way. The nearness did seem to help, somehow. The bracer's song was solemn and slow and deep, a funereal march rather than a tavern ditty. It seemed to mourn objects lost and forgotten, never to be recovered.
Objects — or lives.
Did you live once?
Garin prodded the thought toward the bracer, but received no response. He felt no sense of consciousness from it like he did from Ilvuan. All the same, there was something there. A presence not fully dead, though not fully alive, either. It was like a faded memory filled this stone, captured and crystallized forevermore.
Do you wish to be trapped?
He heard no reply from it, but thought he knew the answer all the same. Its song was full of senescence. Whatever lingered there could not long for this half-life. Garin felt at the edges of its requiem. Mostly, it was self-contained — but in one place, he found a ragged edge.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Garin swelled the Song inside him. Then he joined the World's music together with the dirge.
Emotions flooded through him. Sunlight seemed to touch his skin after a long period of darkness. A glimpse of something — gratitude, perhaps — whisked by, then was gone, carrying with it the solemn anthem into the ordered chaos of the Worldsong. A moment later, Garin realized the bracer had fallen silent.
The urgency of the moment cut back in.
Bolting upright, Garin opened his eyes and stared hard at the stone. "Dord uvthak," he uttered breathlessly. The Song swelled in his head, and sorcery flowed through him to the stone.
The bracer resisted, the black stone seeming to absorb the spell. A second passed. Garin knew he had failed.
Then it shattered.
He flinched as fresh pain cut through his wrist, fragments of the stone scoring his flesh. But as he pried the bracer open, he saw he had done the impossible.
He was free — or nearly so.
"Garin?" Wren croaked from next to him. He only met her eyes for a moment, then bent to see if any of the shards were large enough to be useful. Finding one, he grabbed it and, ignoring the edges that cut into his fingers, Garin began to saw at the rope tying him to the rest of his companions.
Wren gaped at him. "How did you—?"
"No time," he grunted back. His hands were growing slick with his blood, and the shard difficult to grip. He had barely made any progress. Hissing with frustration, he tossed the shard at Wren's feet, thinking she might find some use for it, then placed his hands around the rope. The fibers dug into the lacerations in his fingers, but he only clenched his teeth, set his intentions in his mind, and uttered, "Keld."
Heat blossomed under his hands, easing the pain for a moment, then surging far past comfort. Beneath his fingers, fire licked out. At once, the ropes caught flame, the ends of the loose fibers curling into black cinders, then the rest catching on. Through the small blaze, he felt the rope thinning until he clutched at nothing. Opening his hands, he saw the job complete, the hungry flames eating away at the rest of the bonds.
Wren wasted no time in seizing the still burning end of the rope and holding it to the rope on her other side. Garin shut out the questions and calls of the others as he put his hands on his other binding, which anchored him to the tree. In moments, he had burned it through and was free.
Garin stood, staggering on weary legs. He looked into the gloom surrounding him, but could see no sign of Rolan, only the glow of the nearby campfire. He whirled toward his companions.
"Where did they take him?"
Aelyn reacted first, holding up his bound hands off into the darkness. "Between the trees! There's still a light!"
Garin nodded, then hesitated. He would stand a better chance against the guards if his companions were with him. But every moment wasted was another that Rolan might be wounded.
Wren, still laboring to gain free, decided for him. "Go! We'll be right behind you!"
He nodded, then spun around and stumbled into the gloom.
He moved toward the spot Aelyn had pointed toward and soon saw the glow, faint next to the firelight. Roots and underbrush clawed at his legs and endeavored to trip him as he labored toward the werelight. His breath was loud in his ears, almost as loud as the Song still curling through his head. He tried to invent a plan. But his head was filled with the horrible scenes that might await him. His hands were still bound. His one advantage was that he'd reclaimed his sorcery.
He hoped it would be enough.
The men were just ahead. From their shouts, things were not proceeding as planned. Little as he wanted to witness what occurred, Garin tried to make out the scene. It looked like Rolan was resisting, kicking and grunting as they tried to get him under control. He even heard him cry "Kald!" followed by a flash of flames. Thought to be too young to waste a bracer upon, Rolan had proved them otherwise.
Good lad, he thought savagely.
The scarred Easterner drew back his arm and struck the boy hard in the stomach, doubling him over.
Garin was
there a moment later, a spell springing to his tongue.
"Keld thasht!"
As the Song billowed and sorcery flowed, hungry flames burst from his outstretched hands to writhe toward the Ravagers. The scarred man felt them first, though only barely; he spun out to the ground with a surprised snarl, avoiding the worst of the attack. The man behind him, the Nightelf holding the werelight, caught the brunt of it. Stumbling back, a horrid scream ripped free of the Easterner as he collapsed under the hex's fury.
As the scarred man rolled and slapped at the flames still dancing over him, the sylvan guard grabbed Rolan and pulled him close. Firelight caught on the steel in his hand, held to the boy's throat. Once again, the boy was a hostage at knifepoint.
The Ravager snarled something at Garin, and though he couldn't understand it, the meaning was clear enough: Attack, and the boy dies. His hands were outstretched toward the man, but he hesitated, unsure.
Too long — the scarred man had dampened the flames and dove roaring at Garin's legs. Garin tumbled over him with a yelp.
The World spun.
He landed with a breathtaking flop. Gasping, Garin twisted, trying to gain an edge over the man under him. The scarred man was swifter. In moments, Garin was tossed to the ground, then abruptly pinned. He pushed against his attacker with all his strength, but the man was far stronger.
Hands closed over Garin's throat, then squeezed hard. He felt as if his neck would break. His lungs burned. His flailing limbs lost their strength. The World seemed to grow distant. The Song loomed closer, inviting him into its folds.
An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3) Page 36