As the King's gaze turned on him, he was sure he'd noticed. But all the King of Avendor said was, "What's the boy doing here?"
"Never mind him," Tal said. "He's with us."
"Never mind?" The King's eyes looked ready to bulge from his head. "You dare to tell me what to mind?"
"Yes. I do."
The King stared a moment longer, and Garin was sure he was going to order them all executed. Then a shriek erupted from him.
"I'd forgotten how bold you were, Tal Harrenfel! Very well, he stays. But it's his silence or your head, Harrenfel."
Tal glanced at Garin. "He stays."
With his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, Garin wasn't about to object.
"As you will. Now, to our true business. The threat of war is not relevant for your task. Why I have called you here, Tal Harrenfel, is for the traitor in our midst."
Aelyn's expression spasmed. Tal's eyes flickered to him, then back to the King. "Why do you believe that?"
"Too much has gone wrong!" King Aldric was suddenly enraged, spittle flying from his lips. "Supply lines bungled! War rations spoiled! Rumors and scandals sprout in my city like boils on Duke Vandon's cock!"
Garin hid his astonishment at the King's turn of phrase, more suitable for a tavern than a throne room. Though couldn't anything be considered kingly when done by a king?
"Perhaps these were simply mistakes," Tal replied. "Perhaps there is no traitor. Maybe you have simply surrounded yourself with a council of fools."
"I daily suspect this myself. But there is one piece of evidence that I cannot attribute to their incompetence." He gestured impatiently at Aelyn. "Tell them."
The mage's ears twitched as if uncomfortable at being exposed. "A handmirror was discovered among the King's possessions that no servant could recall placing there. When I took it for inspection and looked within its glass, I divined on the other side a face of fire and smoke suddenly dissipating. Further spells revealed what I suspected." Aelyn glanced at the King. "The handmirror was cursed."
King Aldric leaned forward, eyes bright and moist. "Someone was spying on me, Harrenfel. In my bedroom. Every time I performed my kingly duties for my wife and sated my manly needs with a whore, they were watching. And if the elf is right, that damned mirror was capable of plenty more besides. Now tell me — does that sound like incompetence to you?"
Tal's smile was gone. "No. It doesn't."
The King leaned back again, wearing Tal's stolen smile. "Then you know why you're here. I've always been a great admirer of your work, Harrenfel — the greatest, I imagine. But it's the achievements that few know of that have been your finest, have they not, Magebutcher?"
A wince crossed Tal's face, and Garin's mind began to race. Magebutcher? He'd never heard that name in any of the stories. From Aelyn's sour expression and Tal's paleness, the tale promised to be far from heroic. But how could this kindly, joking neighbor of his, who was renowned as a hero throughout the Westreach, do anything less than honorable?
"Yes," Tal said slowly. "I know what you want. But you have yet to hear what I require in return."
King Aldric' eyebrows, thin as they were, reached toward the thin golden circlet on his head, while his lip quivered like a child about to have a tantrum. "Are we merchants sitting down to squawk? I'm a king, Harrenfel! I. Don't. Fucking. Barter!"
Garin's heart hammered, and he thought he might collapse. Standing before a king had almost been enough to make him faint; standing before a furious king promised to finish the job.
But Tal didn't back down. "You made that clear when you called me back here, Aldric. We made a deal when I left this room nine years ago, a deal I've never violated. I was to have a quiet life on the frontier of your kingdom in exchange for what I gave you." His gaze shifted to Aelyn. "Then he showed up on my doorstep, and I knew that was as much a dream as it had always seemed."
Garin's head spun. What deal had he made? And why would a man like Tal give up anything to spend years in Hunt's Hollow, much less something valuable enough to interest a king?
Though he'd seemed in a right fury just a moment before, and his face was still flushed red, King Aldric smiled without even a tremble. "Nine years is a much longer promise than most a king makes."
Tal laughed, the sound hollow. "Those might be the truest words you've ever spoken."
The King still wore a smile as he reached over and grasped a goblet from a small table next to him and lifted it to his lips. A trickle of red dribbled down his chin as he drained the goblet and set it down with a rattle, wiping carelessly at the spill with the back of his hand.
"I'll tell you what, Harrenfel. I'll hear you out. You get one chance to ask for whatever you wish. And if it's reasonable, you have my word, I'll give it to you — once you've done my job."
Tal stared, motionless, at the King. Then he nodded. "It's as much as I could ask for. But as your task has at stake not just a kingdom, but the whole of civilization, I'll make my wish three in part."
The King's eyes narrowed, though his smile never slipped. "Careful," he said in a low, singsong voice. "You wouldn't want to overdraw on my generosity."
"Can't overdraw on a thing that doesn't exist."
While the King's mouth worked, Tal skipped ahead. "The first thing: I'll have words with my old friend Falcon. Considering you broke your end of our deal, I believe it's only fair that I break mine."
The smile finally fell from King Aldric's lips. "Fine," he growled, or as near as he could with his high-pitched voice. "And the other two requests?"
"Second — upon completing your task, I'll be free, truly free, to go wherever I please, and never be called upon again for one of your jobs."
The King snorted. "Done. You're getting too old for my jobs as it is. Like as not you'll be pushing up flowers next time it's necessary. And the last?"
Tal gestured at Garin, and as the King turned his gaze on him, he felt as if his heart would stop. "Lastly, that you'll provide for this boy in whatever manner I see fit, be that an apprenticeship, knighting, or duchy."
King Aldric narrowed his eyes at Garin. "Him? Who's this boy to you — your bastard?"
"No," Tal said quickly, a touch of his cool air lost. "Never mind that. Those are my terms. Tell me, Aldric — are they reasonable?"
The King looked a moment longer at him. Only when his gaze pulled from him did Garin dare breathe again.
"Deal," King Aldric said, not sounding pleased for it. "So long as you don't try and give the boy my crown."
"I wouldn't dream of cursing him with it."
Tal inclined his head in what looked like, even to Garin's untrained eye, an insincere bow. But he rushed to follow his lead all the same. Rising, he saw the King's amused eyes on him.
"A king's bargain!" King Aldric shouted, banging his fist on the arm of his throne and shrieking a laugh. "Words I never thought I'd string together! Now, find my traitor, Harrenfel, and do it quickly. Else, legend or no, I'll have your head — and the boy's — mounted on my wall."
"I'd expect nothing less of a king," Tal said, and he turned on his heels, Garin following uncertainly after him.
The Magebutcher and the Minstrel
As the chanting of the monks faded behind them, and the gazes of the councilors in the foyer were lost from sight, he glanced furtively at Garin.
The youth seemed remarkably calm for all the revelations he'd been privy to. He seemed more interested in their surroundings as a servant led them down the coral-colored halls toward, he hoped, their rooms.
Garin's eyes went everywhere but at the man walking next to him.
The man, he mused. Who was he to him now? Bran the Chicken Farmer, Bran his neighbor and friend?
Or Ringthief. Red Reaver. Magebutcher.
He sighed. He knew who he was, even if he'd told himself otherwise for five years. He was Tal Harrenfel and had been ever since he'd first left Hunt's Hollow all those decades ago, more a boy than Garin was now, and hungry for blood and glory.
"Well then," Tal started, then cleared his throat. Little made him feel awkward, and the unfamiliarity of the feeling made it all the more uncomfortable. "You've met your first king, eh?"
Garin glanced over at him, eyes crinkled. "That's the first thing you have to say?"
"Should I have said something else?"
"How about starting with you being Tal Harrenfel, a living legend, and never bothering to tell me?"
A living legend. He winced. "We could start there, I suppose."
"Yeah, I'll bet we could." The youth's eyes were fully on him now, and it was Tal who found himself unable to meet his gaze.
"What's there to tell? My name is as the King said." He looked at Garin, almost meeting his eyes. "But I'll say one thing in my defense. Not all the stories are true about me. The originator of them took certain artistic liberties with the truth."
The youth snorted a laugh. "You think I wouldn't know that? In my experience, most stories are more fantasy than fact."
Tal repressed a smile. The lad learns quickly.
"But that doesn't answer my questions," Garin continued. "What I mean is, how could you hide that from all of us in Hunt's Hollow? I came around your farm for five years! And you never let slip even a hint that you were a hero."
"Hero? I'm no hero." He said it more sharply than he intended, but found himself hard-pressed to regret it. "I've done some good things, true enough, but usually for the wrong reasons, and I've done plenty bad besides. But those deeds didn't make it into the songs."
Garin leaned closer, eyes bright. "I won't judge you for anything. I just want to know the truth."
A smile twisted his lips. The truth. Did he even know it himself?
"I'll tell you everything," he promised. "In time."
The youth couldn't hide his disappointment as he looked away.
"I could tell you a story or two about Tal Harrenfel that would put hair on your chest, lad!"
At the end of the hall, a man suddenly stepped into view and leaned against the wall. Garin startled, but Tal's chest leaped like a child at the sight of a new toy. He strode forward, a grin tugging his mouth wide, and spread his arms.
"Falcon Sunstring! I should kill you for all you've done to my good name!"
"Murder is a strange form of thanks." The minstrel grinned as well and stepped into the embrace, hugging him tightly back. "Good to see you, my friend," he murmured in his ear.
"You too."
Stepping away, Falcon looked at Garin. "And who is this strapping young fellow?"
Tal almost set a hand on the lad's shoulder, as he had done before as Bran, but held himself back. "This is Garin. Garin, meet Falcon, my very old friend."
Garin stuck out a hand, though his expression was far from certain. Falcon, however, took the hand and pulled the youth into a hug, laughing at his expression. "I don't know about being very old, but a friend of Tal's is a friend of mine!"
As Garin extricated himself from the bard, Tal looked Falcon up and down. Life in the King's court seemed to have treated him well. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a yellow feather that billowed a full foot over his head. His charcoal-dark hair stretched down his neck, and still had the shine of a prized mare despite his advancing years. His doublet was finely tailored, even if a burgeoning belly pressed at the seams, and was black lined with silver and yellow. A dark metal bracelet peeked out from beneath one sleeve, seeming in blunt contrast to the rest of the finery. His stockings were a bumblebee motley as well. But most alive were his eyes, green swirling with amber, one of the tells of his partial elven blood.
"What do you see, my roguish friend?" Falcon watched his observations with a wry twist to his lips, and as Tal's gaze had wandered over the bracelet, he'd tugged his sleeve down almost self-consciously.
"You look as if you're well," Tal observed. "Or well-fed, at least."
He tittered a laugh. "Your tongue is still sharp! I'm glad that much hasn't changed." He leaned confidentially toward Garin. "He's easily flattered — I would use it to your advantage, were I you!"
The youth smiled uncertainly.
"Garin is well-used to pulling my strings," Tal said. "He's been my neighbor for the past five years."
Falcon's thin eyebrows shot up. "Has he indeed? In that small, provincial town where you'd shut yourself away?"
"Hunt's Hollow is its name, and it's the finest town in all the East Marsh." The smile had disappeared from Garin's expression as he stared at Falcon.
The minstrel held up both hands with a laugh. "I meant no offense, young master! I only speak out of hurt abandonment. You see, Tal and I were brothers-in-arms once."
It was Garin's turn to raise his eyebrows. "You were soldiers together?"
"In a manner of speaking, quite!"
Tal rolled his eyes. "By which he means no. You've only just met him, but I imagine you can't see Falcon fighting with anything but words."
The bard gasped and clutched his heart as if struck. "You wound me, sir!"
"If words wound you, I can only imagine how you'd fare in a war camp."
As quickly as he'd donned it, Falcon lost the affect. "Miserably, I'm sure."
Garin looked between them, brow knitting together now. "What did you mean then? How do you two know each other?"
Falcon raised an eyebrow at Tal. "Will you tell him, or shall I?"
Tal sighed. "If you must."
The bard leaned toward Garin and said in a carrying whisper, "Once, Tal here was a player in my very own troupe!"
Garin's eyes widened as he looked at him, and Tal winced. But the youth just exclaimed, "I'd forgotten that part of the legend! The Dancing Feathers was your troupe?"
Falcon looked pleased. "Indeed, it was and still is! We were the finest in Felinan when we first started. So fine, in fact, that our own King Aldric had to poach us for his entertainment."
The memory cut as it rose from the depths of his past. "A fateful day, when he saw us first perform," Tal said quietly.
The bard's smile slipped. "Yes. I suppose it was."
Confusion had claimed Garin's expression again. "What do you mean?"
"Don't you remember the songs, young master? How Tal Harrenfel had to hide in plain sight before the Warlock of Canturith as he watched the performance as one of the old King's guests, then afterward flee to the north to escape his mortal enemy's wrath?"
"Kaleras is not my mortal enemy," Tal corrected.
"Of course not," Falcon said soothingly. "But my version of events had to claim as much. Every hero needs a nemesis, after all."
And who could be more of an ironic nemesis than that old warlock? Tal thought.
"And better still," Falcon continued, "for the warlock is here visiting, and the last thing you need is to reignite old quarrels."
For a moment, Tal found he couldn't speak. "He's here?" he choked out.
His friend smiled sympathetically, while Garin looked back and forth between them, brow furrowed.
"Been here for a week now," the bard said. "Nobody knows why exactly. But then again, nobody has dared ask."
Tal closed his eyes, trying and failing to stifle the swirl of emotions that had risen in him. When he'd forced them back under his skin, he opened his eyes and forced a smile. "Another old friend to greet, then. But before I forget, Falcon — you mentioned my legend. I should tell you Aldric has given me leave to make a few red-lined marks to your songs."
Falcon's smile turned to a pout. "Revise my songs? But your deal with the King!"
"We've made a new one." Tal clapped a hand on the bard's shoulder. "Think of it this way — you'll get to share many nights by the fire with an old friend."
"An old friend who wishes to destroy my life's work," Falcon grumbled. But the amber in his eyes stirred a little faster, betraying his true feelings.
Squeezing his shoulder, Tal released him and looked to Garin. "But that will have to save for later. We've had a long road, and should settle into our rooms. Kings wait for no man, and Al
dric is nothing if not a king."
"Never were there truer words." Falcon folded his arms around Tal once more, then cavorted back with a grin. "I'll pry into your affairs when I've forced a glass or two of Jakadi wine down your throat, my Winter Stoat!"
Then as swiftly as he'd come, the minstrel disappeared around the corner.
Garin looked after the man, looking as perplexed as if the heavens had opened overhead and poured down rain. "Winter Stoat?" he muttered, then said louder, "You're truly friends with that strange man?"
Tal nodded with a smile. "Falcon is the truest friend I've had. He helped me through my blackest years and has stood by me ever since." No matter what he learned about me and my past.
His gaze slid sidelong to the youth, who only seemed more confused, and wondered if he could dare expect the same from him.
Garin laid back in the bed, sighed long and deep, and marveled that anything so soft and comfortable could exist, much less be his to sleep on.
Goose feathers, Tal had said it was stuffed with. Garin wondered how many gooses one would have to pluck to get enough feathers to fill a bed like this. One hundred? Two? It was a ridiculous thought for an absurd luxury.
He wagered he could get used to it.
His room — or rooms, rather — were every bit as extravagant as the bed. A closet was dedicated to his bodily needs, with servants to take out the chamberpot at intervals throughout the day. There was a room for "entertaining guests," as Tal had put it, and a room for sleeping. The bath had been in a common area, but he hadn't minded as he settled into steaming hot water, fragrant with rose and spices he'd never before smelled.
But now, his body clean and relaxed, his mind began to turn over the many mysteries surrounding him. Foremost among them was the man who had brought him here, the man who had pretended to be nothing more than a chicken farmer for five years, who was a hero of Avendor with enough clout to defy a king. Not Bran any longer, but Tal Harrenfel — Red Reaver of the Northern Coast, Ringthief of the Goblin Queen, Devil Killer of horned Heyl—
The Magebutcher.
The more he thought about it, the less he understood. What was the truth behind the names? Who was Tal Harrenfel? And why had he negotiated with King Aldric on Garin's behalf?
A King's Bargain Page 9