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

by J. D. L. Rosell

  The task lay halfway complete. Tal felt himself drawn back to the compulsion. But Kaleras was a link in the chain. He bound Tal to the World in a more complicated knot than even the Binding Ring boasted. And so many ends of it remained loose, floating unsettled between the gulf of the years and experiences that separated them. Ends that would never be secured.

  As the shards fell the final feet toward him, Kaleras' eyes flickered away from their target. For a moment, they alighted on Tal. Their gazes met.

  Then the pieces of the shattered golem buried him.

  Something welled up in Tal. A scream. He felt the awful noise in his chest more than heard it, his ears still lost to all but sorcery and the task. It seemed it must break him. But far from shattering, the chain of names grew stronger than before. With his father's death, Tal's resolve firmed. His grief did not make him weak, but strong.

  Tal closed off the World, gathered his wavering strength, and struck again.

  The knot of the Binding Ring reverberated with the blow. He felt a thousand spider cracks spread throughout the threads. He struck again, and again. The cracks multiplied. The enchantment was reaching a critical point; he could sense it in every pore of his being.

  Cut! Cut! Cut!

  Tal wound the chain of names tight in his mind, holding the fragments of himself together as he battered at the knot like a frenzied beast at the bars of its cage. Threads unspooled — first one, then more, the effect multiplying and spreading faster and faster.

  Then, in a moment, it was done.

  The knot broke and fell away. The Binding Ring's enchantment lay shattered.

  Tal surged back into awareness and stood.

  With the red sea's pain dripping away from his bones, every sense was sharpened. He perceived the room's destruction in a moment. Wind shields whirled around him. People — his friends — stood gathered nearby. But his attention narrowed to the one outside of the barriers, who stood dark amid the others.

  Tal pushed through his companions, strode to the Extinguished, and took hold of her with molten hands.

  "Cut," he spoke into both planes of existence as he severed one of the lines of sorcery that sustained her immortal body. "Cut—" and he tore away another like pulling a worm from the soil, its body ripping in half. "Cut, cut, cut."

  Until finally, only one thin thread remained.

  Hashele, her robes disintegrated beneath his fiery touch, looked into his face with wide eyes. She saw her end there, and even with as little of mortality as remained in her, Tal saw her fear.

  "Cut," he said again, and drew his sorcery along it, gentle as an assassin's knife slitting his target's throat.

  But it held.

  Tal frowned. Instead of detaching, the stream suddenly multiplied in strength. Another stared out of Hashele's blue eyes.

  "So, Skaldurak. You come for us at last."

  The voice that came from the Extinguished did not belong to her. It crackled with ancient antipathy, rumbled with the World's odium. It was a voice not of any mortal mind, but one that had seen the World's turnings for generations beyond count.

  Tal smiled wide into the face of his enemy. "Yuldor."

  Hashele's body twitched, then a second voice spoke with her mouth. This one was wheedling and mocking where the first's held nothing but power.

  "Some have called us that," it said. "Others know us by older names, truer names."

  Tal's smile faltered. "Whatever you are called, it will not save your servant now, nor you before long."

  The Extinguished shuddered again. A part of her stony skin broke off and fell to dust on the ground.

  "You strive so hard," a third voice spoke, this one soft and feminine. "Let us give you rest. Is that not what you yearn for? We have seen how you stare into Peace, again and again. We would give it to you, if you would but accept it."

  Tal tried to keep track of the words as each new voice spoke. A trick. A low trick to put me off balance. But, deception or not, it was working. He could not help feeling there was far more happening here than he understood.

  But he knew the first step he must take.

  "I will find you soon enough," Tal said, calm again. He stared into Hashele's eyes and willed himself to see the animating being behind them. "And we shall see who is given peace."

  Hashele's head snapped back, impossibly far. Her limbs spasmed, contorting so the bones, or whatever skeleton lay inside her, had to snap. Tal winced at the sight. Even in his enemy, it seemed too excruciating a contortion to bear.

  Just as he resolved to pit his strength against the Soulstealer's master, a fourth voice, gasping and thin, emerged from Hashele's slack mouth.

  "Peace," it gasped. "Bring me peace. You must, you must, please…"

  Before Tal could respond or react, the Extinguished snapped upright again.

  "This one is mine," the first, commanding voice spoke again. Tal felt the line of sorcery binding Hashele to the World swell, then evaporate into nothing.

  The Extinguished fell to ashes in his hands.

  Truth in a Name

  Garin stared at the man in the center of the chamber.

  Tal stood like a man entranced, hands still raised to where he'd gripped the Soulstealer's shoulders. Several long moments had passed since the resonant voice had spoken from the Extinguished and Hashele had fallen into ashes, yet he did not move. What passed through his former mentor's mind, Garin couldn't begin to say.

  But he felt the changes about Tal.

  The Song howled where it moved around him. Power pulsated from him in a deep, thrumming beat. He had never heard anything like the form of Song that the World sang now. It was like the irresistible swell of the ocean tide, or the sun and moons' inexorable journeys through day and night. It was the beating of the wings of ancient beasts that no longer graced the sky.

  It was elemental in its raw power. It was inhuman. It was a touch of the divine.

  Yet if any gods were present, they were not evinced by their surroundings. The broken ceramics of the golems mounded along the walls, and dust was scattered over every surface. Carpets were stained; draperies, ragged and torn. The sorcerous werelight lamps that illuminated the chamber seemed subdued with the passage of their master.

  Next to the doorway, where Kaleras had held the Extinguished to the last, there lay only rubble.

  Garin blinked. No tears. Not yet. Pim may have released them from the dungeons, but their safety was far from secured. They were in their ancient adversary's palace, surrounded by hundreds of guards and other unknown defenses. They had to escape, and quickly.

  But before he could rally himself and give voice to the thought, someone threw their arms around him and knocked their mouth against his.

  He yelped in pained surprise, but though he tried to pull away, Wren clung to him. "Quit whining," she muttered as she squeezed him tightly. "You complain too much."

  Garin was surprised to find he wore a smile. He folded his arms around her then and, ignoring his scattered pain, leaned down and kissed her far more gently than she had him. The Song turned in his head, settling into a comfortable aria.

  After a long moment, he pulled away, but only a finger's width. He felt breathless as he spoke. "All I could think about the entire time was how I couldn't let you die."

  Wren's eyes spun and shone with golden light. "Idiot. You ought to know by now I can take care of myself."

  He let out a soft laugh. But his mirth was short-lived.

  As Hashele's ashes trickled from his hands, Tal barely had time to turn before he felt a touch brush across his chest.

  Ashelia. He had to remind himself of her name, tracing a finger over the chain of people who had kept him there in the World.

  "Ashelia," he spoke aloud, as if naming her might anchor her in his mind.

  "You survived," she whispered. Tears streaked through the dust caked over her cheeks. "I cannot believe you survived."

  A smile tugged at his lips. By some echo of a memory, he sensed he was su
pposed to smile like that. "Takes more than a god, a ring, and a few golems to kill me."

  Ashelia smiled in return, yet she turned from him toward the door.

  "Rolan," she reassured him at his frown as she jogged — or limped, rather — to the chamber's exit.

  Rolan. Another link in the chain. Her son. Tal watched her disappear through the entranceway. His chest already ached with her absence.

  He turned to the others gathered, and as they returned his gaze, he touched the chain to remember each of them. Garin. Wren. Helnor. Aelyn. He smiled again as he remembered who they were to him. My friends.

  But the smile turned down as he continued tracing the names.

  Rolan? Falcon? Kaleras?

  Kaleras.

  Slowly, he turned to the fallen crockery near the doorway. The clay shards occasionally shifted as they settled in a heap that rose higher than Tal's head. He approached it slowly, every footstep weighing heavier with the returning memories of all Kaleras had been to him.

  Adversary. Ally. Betrayer.

  Father.

  Tal stood over the rubble for a long moment, simply staring at it. There was so much they had never discussed, never shared. Almost, he had thought reconciliation was within their grasp. Back in Halenhol, when they finally joined forces rather than striven against each other, they had succeeded in killing the first of the Extinguished. Kaleras had trusted Tal enough to wear his treasured artifact, the Ring of Thalkuun, even if he'd accepted it back in the end.

  Yet he'd owned up to his mistakes. He had taken responsibility for what happened to Talania, Tal's mother, as a result of their dalliance. He had started to show a softer interior within the chitin he had secured around himself. He had almost, on occasion, acted paternal.

  He came after me. Even weakened by Soltor's poison, Kaleras had traveled across the Westreach to join Tal and the others in Elendol. He had read Hellexa Yoreseer's tome — of that, he was now certain. He had made all speed to arrive in time to contend with Heyl and save them. Without Kaleras' aid, Tal doubted the devil could have been contained, even as strong as his World's blood had asserted itself, for Tal had been brittle in his strength then.

  But he had not stopped pursuing him then. When Tal set off on his own into the East, Kaleras followed again. He protected his companions and passed on the knowledge that Tal had scarcely shared. And when they had finally reunited, they shared a moment by firelight, and Kaleras had named him, for the first time, as his son.

  Never again.

  Tal's knees trembled and gave way. He sank heavily onto the floor, heedless of the sharp shards layering the carpet. He reached out his hands to hover over the wreckage.

  "Father," he whispered.

  When had he addressed him so that was not in mockery? All his childhood, even when he had hated Kaleras for abandoning him, he had longed for the man whom he could call his father.

  He felt his father's absence now as keenly as if he were a boy again.

  After a long moment, Garin and Wren released each other. He took a steadying breath, then noted the movements of the others.

  Ashelia had run for the door, no doubt fetching her son. Tal had moved toward the wreckage by the door. Aelyn and Helnor drifted after him, but seemed to hesitate in approaching. All three of the men stared down at the place where Kaleras had fallen.

  As Garin watched, Tal kneeled before the rubble, his shoulders bowed. He seemed overcome by a burden he could not bear. His reaction puzzled Garin. He had always sensed something more lay between Tal and the old warlock than he'd known, but he'd never anticipated Tal might feel such grief at his passing. His own sorrow at the man's death weighed on him, but it didn't bring him to his knees. He felt Kaleras had opened up to him in a way he had not with his companions, and perhaps never had before.

  But as his confusion grew, so did the connecting lines between all the disparate threads he had learned about the two men. At last, the pieces fell into place.

  I discovered I had a son, Kaleras had said that night in the mountains.

  A son.

  Garin stared at the back of Tal's bowed head. He remembered their eyes, and only now noticed how similar they were. Unremarkably brown, slightly narrow and rounded curve at the corners. Even their smiles had similarities, though Kaleras had rarely shown his.

  The conclusion hovered plain before him.

  Kaleras was his father.

  Fresh grief welled up inside Garin, and it was not wholly for Tal. He remembered the loss of his own father, how it had hollowed out the fullness of childhood. He imagined how it must have felt to discover a father after living half a lifetime without him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, but it was not enough to keep back the tears.

  "Garin…"

  Wren folded herself around him again, speaking softly in his ear.

  "He was a good man, even if he hid it deep, deep down. A good man, and a good mentor to you. I'm grateful for all he did for us — hells, and for the Westreach, to say nothing of the entire damn World."

  Garin nodded, tears trickling down his cheeks. Even if he had been able to speak through his closed throat, he doubted he could have conveyed his epiphany. It was too raw, too personal to put to words.

  So he held Wren again, and let the twin sorrows wash through him.

  "He was a good man."

  Tal looked up through blurry vision and saw Helnor had joined him. The Prime Warder looked diminished from captivity and the wounds he'd taken, yet he still managed to stand upright as he stared somberly at where Kaleras' body lay.

  "A good man," the elf repeated. "Even if he did his damndest to hide it."

  Despite the tears leaking from his eyes, a wry smile pulled at Tal's lips. "That he did," he replied, his voice slightly choked. "A good man, all the same."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another join them. Tal turned to Aelyn. The mage's molten eyes were subdued as he, too, looked down upon the buried warlock. His robes were torn and stained, a frazzled state that Tal knew must bother the fastidious elf to no end. Yet though he scowled, there seemed a sorrowful cast to it.

  "He was a fine warlock, skilled beyond any other human I've met." Aelyn's eyes slid over to briefly alight on Tal's, making clear the barb that lay in his compliment. Tal shrugged, unable to deny it, and the mage's lips twisted as he continued. "He knew many things of magery and lore that even elven sages do not. The absence of Kaleras the Impervious will be sorely felt in the battles to come."

  Tal turned his gaze back to where the warlock lay hidden. "The Impervious," he murmured. Kaleras had not proved so in the end. But Tal thought his father had always been something both weaker and stronger than his name implied.

  The door opened to the chamber. Tal was back on his feet even before he had clawed free of his reveries. He scarcely needed his chain of names to recall the companions who entered.

  Rolan. The boy's eyes, gray like his mother's, still spun with open anxiety, but his narrow jaw was set in a determined look, and his fists were clenched by his side. A small smile came to Tal at the sight. So much more like his mother than his father.

  And after him — Falcon. The minstrel looked over at him, the gold glinting in his eyes almost impishly. But as his oldest companion smiled, all he had experienced showed through that frangible expression. A knife was bared in his remaining hand, but they both knew he would never be a fighter like his daughter. Tal gave him a tiny shrug. You are the chronicler, my friend, he thought to the minstrel who had made his name known throughout the World. I wish you had never needed to be anything else.

  Falcon's eyes darted down to the rubble before which Tal and the others stood. Understanding lit in them, and a deeper sorrow blossomed on his friend's face. Once, in the dark of the night, Tal had confessed to him his relationship with Kaleras. In all the lands, only Falcon knew the truth.

  Ashelia filtered in after them, but even as she looked at Tal, the softness of their brief reunion had fled. She moved swiftly to guide her son
next to Tal, then turned to face the door.

  As if by premonition, Tal knew who would enter after. So he wasn't surprised to see the golden-haired elf, still clad in immaculately tidy robes, step inside.

  Pim looked around slowly at the destruction. He seemed to note all that had occurred: the vanquishing of his fellow Extinguished; the shattering of the golems, which Tal still did not fully understand himself; the irreparable damage to the room's trappings. His dark, swirling eyes turned last to Tal.

  "Well," Pim said, a tight smile perched on his lips. "You certainly have been busy."

  No trace of amusement was left in Tal, not with grief heavy in his bones. His blood had cooled since Hashele's strange demise, but now he inhaled sorcery once more. As it warmed his veins, the glowing streams of sorcery that threaded through Pim from the World became visible. Tal was tempted to severe them, or at least attempt to. Would Yuldor, with all his tricks and madness, appear again? But for the moment, he stayed his hand.

  "What do you want, Pim?" Tal asked flatly.

  If the Extinguished was taken aback by the greeting, he didn't show it, but only sighed. "I suppose I need to clear the air — figuratively speaking, though it may not be a poor idea for this room as well." He sniffed, then waved a hand before continuing. "What I mean is, I apologize for all the deception and double-dealing. As I briefly explained to your companions — whom I freed and brought to you in your moment of need, I might add — I must hide my changing affiliation from Yuldor for as long as I can. If I do not, grave consequences await me, consequences even one such as I fear."

  Pim's smile was tremulous, the emotion displayed matching his earnest words. Tal wondered how much to believe it. He had seemed just as sincere when speaking to Hashele before she began using Tal as a pugilist's training dummy.

  Look to his actions, he told himself. Tal worked through all he and the Extinguished had experienced together. Was it possible that Pim had preserved him for all that time simply so he and Hashele could bring him to Yuldor? He had threatened Garin and Wren back in Naruah, claiming to fear their interference. But if he had freed them just now…