And the people from his past. That strange minstrel Falcon, so familiar with his touches and carefree with his smiles, who had written the songs of Tal Harrenfel, if Garin had understood the implications right. The Warlock of Canturith, who was supposed to be a long-time adversary, the one who stole the Ring of Thalkuun from Tal, then later drove him north into hiding. But that, too, seemed uncertain now.
And then there was the matter of their task, finding a traitor working on behalf of some unnamed enemy. Aelyn had ventured across the whole of Avendor to fetch Tal so that he could hunt this traitor. What made him so necessary for sniffing them out? Was it because he was a legend? Did it have to do with whatever enemy was behind the treachery?
Garin rubbed at his head. So many questions and so few answers. And the man who could answer them all was as forthcoming as a locked chest. The more he saw, the smaller Hunt's Hollow and even the East Marsh seemed.
But as much as the questions needled him, and despite it still being light outside, Garin found his worries drifting away. Questions could wait, he decided drowsily, until after he'd gotten his best night's sleep.
Passage II
The first variety of Fount, those whom possess the Blood, is cloaked in mystery, for the origins of their sorcery are still unknown.
Some have posited it is nothing more than the reemergence of a distant and forgotten ancestor of one of the Heart Races. Others suppose these individuals harbor secret religions to obscure deities. But I prefer the explanation of the Blood for several reasons.
Founts of the Blood can, for seemingly no reason, perform magic just as capably as any of the Heart Races. But while this might imply little more than an unknown ancestor, those of the Blood differentiate themselves as well through great and terrible accomplishments.
Aqada the Conqueror, for one, long boasted of being as capable of magic as any Obelisk sorcerer, and indeed proved it through defying our brethren's attempts to stop her — yet she was only a human, and showed no signs of any of the Heart Races. And another, Sage Hester, who invented many of the healing decoctions we still use three hundred years later — despite being a half-breed of the Dun Races, did he not claim never to have adopted a patron spirit, but worked magic of his own will?
- A Fable of Song and Blood, by Hellexa Yoreseer of the Blue Moon Obelisk, translated by Tal Harrenfel
Treachery’s Due
Tal ghosted down the dark hallway, a small, heatless light balanced on his fingertips.
The castle was silent, most of its residents long ago asleep. The hour had been slow in arriving. But I'm accomplished in nothing more than wasting time, he mused.
He'd passed the daylight hours by eating, bathing, and sleeping, making sure to spend his idle hours in the public eye in complete and utter frivolity. He'd ordered clothes to be made from the King's tailors for both himself and Garin, then hounded the servants for Jakadi wine, making a grand scene in the great hall, where several knots of nobility lingered, of having the servants send a full tun to his room. By this point, everyone would be asking who this tasteless boar of a guest of the King's was, wholly convinced that, whoever he was, he was a provincial pig unworthy of a monarch's attention, and despising him all the more for it.
Now, creeping down the sleepy hallway, shoes left behind in favor of noiseless stockings, Tal played the unseen side of the coin he'd tossed: the conspirator in the night.
Reaching the door, he set his hand to the wood and gently pressed on it. The door swung silently open on well-oiled hinges, and Tal stepped inside, closing the door behind him with the greatest care.
"You're late," an irritable voice greeted him.
Tal extinguished the werelight as he walked into the flickering orange glow of the fireplace before him. "You would have said that even if I'd been early."
Aelyn smiled from the chair in which he sat by the fire, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it.
"To business," the mage said, gesturing at the chair opposite him.
Tal examined the seat and, finding it untainted, sat.
The mage had raised one eyebrow. "Do you think me a child to play a low prank on you?"
"Perhaps not a low prank. But certainly a high one after the one I played on you."
The elf's molten eyes swirled faster. "Your buffoonery never ends. And to think the King of Avendor would entrust this task to you."
"He couldn't just rely on you. You're not even his subject — you simply arrived at a convenient time, after all of this started, so he could be sure it wasn't you behind it all." He gave him a lazy smile. "To take this on alone, you'd need a folktale and a bard singing your praises."
But instead of his gibe rousing Aelyn further, the swirling in his eyes began to slow. "Do not make a fool of me before King Aldric again," he said in a low voice. "Or I will be sure to level the field."
Tal smiled, sharp and bright. "I wouldn't dream of it."
"I'm sure." The mage retreated into the darkness and returned with a small handmirror in hand. "This is the cursed object discovered in the King's room. Nothing more malignant than a scrying mirror, but in a king's room, that is a potent weapon indeed."
Tal extended a hand, and Aelyn handed it over. The metal frame was cold, and as he turned it over, the glass appeared scratched and clouded on either side.
"If you had this, why the excursion into the Ruins of Erlodan?"
"Because the link is broken. I could no more use it to track our Enemy than a broom."
"Assuming the usual antagonist is behind this." Tal gave the mirror one last look over, then handed it back. "Aldric's court seems to contain enough vipers besides."
Putting away the mirror, Aelyn's eyes gleamed anew as he leaned into the firelight. "Every court has its scorpions. But I have already cleared the most obvious subjects. No councilor in the King's Circle nor other close advisor is our traitor here. The greatest of the noble houses, too, appear exempt. If any of them were aligned with the Enemy, it would already be too late."
Tal kept his doubts to himself. "What of a servant? Or an unknown Jahn?"
The mage shrugged. "Perhaps. But this is not the work of a little man. There have been other disturbances of unnatural origin. Some I've felt myself. Others have been witnessed. And you have seen how the Enemy extends his power. Or was that tangle of quetzals not as far inland as you've ever seen?"
The memory of the feathered serpents scattering from around Garin cut through his mind. "'Tis true, I'll admit. But alone, it's not enough."
"It's not the only sign. At least three cases of madness have been reported among the nobility. A whole party of young noblemen swears they saw ghouls in a courtyard on a full moon night. And then there were the matters of sabotage that the King mentioned."
Tal crossed his arms and leaned back, careful to avoid pressing on his side, still sore from the quetzal attack. "It's certainly enough to make you wonder. Alright — say I'm convinced. What did you have in mind?"
"The same as any hunter." Aelyn reached inside his cloak, now a formal one rather than the traveler's cloak he'd worn on the road, and withdrew the white, silken bag that contained the Night-touched pendant. "We'll follow their scent."
Tal stared at it for a long moment, eyes narrowed. "Won't work," he said finally.
"What won't work, precisely?"
"Your plan. It has one major flaw."
"And that would be?"
Tal held out his hands helplessly. "If the Enemy is behind these events, he'll see it coming. He'll feel you probing and have fair warning. Either the traitor will escape, or the Enemy will claim you."
A sneer worked its way onto Aelyn's lips. "The latter will never happen, I assure you."
"Why? Because you have your glyph ward?"
"Because, fool, I am always vigilant and never trusting."
A snort escaped from Tal. "Check your finger and tell me that again."
The mage's lips pressed tightly together. "I underestimated you. I won't make that mistake with the P
rince of Devils or his servants."
Tal shrugged. "Either way, your plan doesn't accomplish what we want — finding the traitor rather than driving him off. And we must find him. Only by discovering his identity can we hope to stop all the mischief he's put into play."
Aelyn narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you have a better plan?"
"I believe I do." Tal leaned onto his elbows and flashed his wolf's smile. "We hunt this traitor down the old-fashioned way. Every prey leaves tracks, and we have several leads already."
The mage shook his head. "It's no better than using the pendant. If it's you doing the hunting, they'll see you coming from a mile away."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm rather adept at playing the fool when I wish."
"Perhaps because it comes naturally."
Tal laughed softly. "No doubt. Now, feel free to risk your sanity if you wish to pry at the necklace — that's your business, and I can't stop you. But tell me what you know first."
Aelyn shifted his legs, a wince showing through his rigid mask. "Very well. Where do you wish to start?"
"The sabotage. I want to know who all would have had access to that bungled supply line and missing war rations."
"I'll provide a list. But you'll be interviewing them for weeks."
Tal tapped the side of his nose. "Not to worry — I have a keen sense of smell when it comes to trouble. Then the ghouls — I'll need the names of those witnesses as well."
"And I suppose you'll want the same for the victims of madness?"
"Exactly." Tal reached over and patted the mage's arm. "See how well we're getting along already?"
Aelyn's fiery eyes swirled, but he didn't shift. "If you want a full list of suspects, you should add Kaleras the Impervious to the list as well."
Tal flinched before he could stop himself. "The Warlock of Canturith? He's Avendor's first line of defense against the East. Why would he be suspect?"
The mage had found his smile again. "If I can be claimed by the Enemy, then that old warlock certainly can. Your 'first line of defense' may very well be a thrall to Yuldor."
Tal had to keep his fists from clenching. "It's possible. But I heard he arrived here a week ago, and the incidents happened before that, did they not?"
Aelyn inclined his head. "They did. But accomplishing deeds from so far away would be no great feat for a magician of his renown. And there remains the question of why Kaleras abandoned the Fringes to come to Halenhol. Suspicious, is it not? It would be prudent to investigate him — just in case."
What do you know? If he could have ripped the elf's head open and discovered the answer, he would have been sorely tempted. As it was, Tal painted on another smile. "Of course it would. I'll feel him out, just in case."
The mage rose from his chair. "Wait here a moment — I'll look up those names and give you that list."
"But aren't we searching for the traitor together?" Tal called softly after the mage as he disappeared into a dark doorway.
Aelyn didn't bother responding.
After several long minutes, Tal slowly eased from his chair and tiptoed across the fireplace to the shadowed table next to Aelyn's chair. There, he saw a bag sitting, as inviting to a thief's hands as a king's feast to a starving vagrant. Glancing at the doorway again, Tal reached inside the bag and pulled out the handmirror.
Little wonder it had been noticed — it wasn't a beautiful piece of work, but crude and roughly hewn, just sufficient for its job, as if it had been made with the brutal efficiency of goblins. Little more than a hand long, it wasn't difficult to find a pocket for it to slip into. Harder was the replacement object so that Aelyn wouldn't notice it missing. Tal hunted around the room before settling on a small journal that was roughly the same size, if a bit too rectangular for an exact match. But, with any luck, the mage wouldn't touch the mirror's bag again, having considered it useless for their hunt.
When Aelyn returned with the list of names, he was again lounging in the chair, a goblet of wine in hand, every bit the bored dandy. The elf's lips curled in distaste, but he made no comment as he handed over the lists.
His poor opinion suited Tal just fine. After all, a fool could do what a wise man never could, and he intended to do a great deal.
Lessons for a Legend
As the door slammed open, Garin shot upright from his bed and stared wide-eyed at the entrance, heart sprinting like a startled doe.
"A fair morning to you, my young friend!" Tal said cheerily as he entered, a tray balanced in one hand. "Can I interest you in breakfast?"
Garin stared mutely at him a moment longer before sucking in a ragged breath. "Did you have to enter like that?"
"Of course not! But I'm an inconsiderate, ignorant, and irrelevant ignoble who doesn't care a whit for others' feelings. Or so I must act now." He winked as he sat on the edge of the bed, sliding the tray toward Garin.
Despite his annoyance, he found his stomach grumbling at the aromatic richness of the food. Bacon, thick slabs cooked to golden crispness, sat next to lard-fried potatoes and leeks, and a small mound of gleaming red berries beside. The plate looked large enough to feed a small family.
"Is all of this for me?" he asked hopefully.
Tal snorted and snatched a slice of bacon. "Not a chance. But half of it is."
Without complaint, Garin seized a fork and began to carve out the larger half.
"Now," Tal said around mouthfuls of food, "to begin your day of lessons — a lesson in perception."
Garin nearly choked trying to respond. "My day of lessons?"
"Of course! You didn't think your education would stop once we reached Halenhol, did you? No, don't interrupt. When playing the game of the court, you must establish a character for yourself and always maintain it. In this way, you maintain your influence over others' opinions of you. If you do not, others will begin to form ideas for themselves, and this is the very last thing you want."
Garin stared at him, chewing as placidly as a cow.
Tal sighed. "You're supposed to ask me why."
"You told me not to interrupt!"
"Your second lesson: Never obey the spirit of any law, and only oblige by its letter when it suits you."
Garin just shook his head.
"Your other lessons," Tal continued, "will begin after you've finished scarfing that food down. I should warn you, though — you may not want to stuff yourself. Getting whacked in the stomach is unpleasant enough when it's empty."
He nearly spat out the food in his mouth. "Does that mean… sword training?"
"Of course! An adventurer ought to know how to fight. But I should warn you: it won't be as simple as thrashing other young lads with a stick. Others may approach you, seeking to coax information out of you."
Garin sighed, wishing a morning of swordplay could be only about that. But here in the Coral Castle, that promised to be as unlikely a wish as a goose feather bed had seemed back in Hunt's Hollow. "Information about what?" he relented.
"About me. Possibly about you as well. But you can't flat out refuse them." Tal cocked his head. "So, we must invent a story for you."
"A story?"
"Yes. Hmm…" He put his hand to his chin as if thinking deeply, though Garin guessed he'd thought this through already. "How about this: You're my distant cousin, recently orphaned, and from a far-off town in the East Marsh. Out of the goodness of my heart, I've decided to take you on and bring you here to Halenhol to afford you every opportunity. Though you resent me and know me for a fool, you're going along with my plans as you want what I can provide." Tal beamed at him. "How's that?"
Garin swallowed his mouthful and shrugged. "Kind of weak."
"You wound me." Tal rose suddenly from the bed, almost causing the whole breakfast tray to slide off. "I'll come by after the sword lesson to take you to your next one."
"Which is?"
The man grinned. "It's a surprise."
Garin doubted that portended anything good.
Once he'd dressed in
a simple set of tunic and trousers — or as simple as the wardrobe Tal had provided allowed for — Garin followed him down the winding hallways of the castle. Now that he'd eaten and dressed, he felt eager and nervous. How would he compare to the other young men in training? He doubted any of them would have come from a place as small and far away as Hunt's Hollow. Small — it was strange to think of his hometown that way, but he'd seen it was true as soon as he'd entered the gates to Halenhol. Hunt's Hollow had been the World for most of his life. Now, it was quickly becoming one small part of it.
He set his jaw, pushing the thoughts away.
Coral Castle was sparsely populated at the early hour of the morning, only a few people bustling back and forth down the salmon-colored corridors. Back in Hunt's Hollow, their immaculate clothes would have deemed them as well-to-do at least. But having glimpsed how the nobility dressed, much less the King, and from the respectful nods and bows Tal received as they passed, Garin could tell these were simply servants. And with a startle, he realized they weren't just bowing to Tal — they were bowing to him.
A long way from Hunt's Hollow, indeed, he marveled in a daze.
But when they arrived at the courtyard, all thoughts of heightened status were quickly dashed away. At first, Garin thought six boys were standing there, all younger than himself. But as he came closer, he saw that though one of them stood at the same height as the others, he was far from a boy.
The Master-at-Arms was bald and wore a long, gray beard bound into two tails with leather cords. Two swords, one on each side, were belted to his waist, and he wore a scowl that was even more intimidating. As if to make up for his diminutive stature, he was built broadly, a stockiness that suggested strength and endurance far beyond an ordinary man.
"Is he a dwarf?" Garin whispered to Tal.
He glanced back at him with a wry smile. "Half-dwarf, actually. If he had full dwarven blood, he'd be one foot shorter and two feet wider."
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