A King's Bargain

by J. D. L. Rosell

  "Hear, hear!" one of the young men slurred, raising his glass and spilling wine down his sleeve.

  "Don't act the idiot all the time," another snapped. "You'll show everyone for the fool you are."

  Tal leveled his gaze at the foul-tempered nobleman. Their company, gathered in one corner of the castle's grand foyer, consisted of young men from the nearby noble houses, all save Tal himself and Falcon. Between the two of them, they had produced an illusion of constant inebriation during Tal's now five-week tenure at the castle and thus attracted to them admirers of the most sultry sort.

  Sir Nathiel Faldorn, the irritable son of a count upon which Tal now stared, was far from his usual preference for a drinking companion. And despite what he'd earlier said, Tal firmly believed there could be too many drinking companions if Nathiel's like counted among them. But he wasn't there to drown his sorrows or relive "days of glory" through drunk reminiscing.

  He had a bargain with a king to uphold.

  "Funny you should mention fools," Tal said with a genial smile. "Forgive me, but it's an accusation I hear leveled at many young men these days."

  Sir Nathiel rose immediately to the bait. "Who's been saying that?"

  "Oh, you know." Tal gestured vaguely with his cup. "People. But you know why, I'm sure."

  "We didn't lie!" the drunken nobleman protested, eyes wide, glass tipping toward Sir Nathiel. "We saw them, I swear!"

  Sir Nathiel shoved his companion's glass back at him, spilling wine down the man's coat and eliciting a round of protests. The count's son didn't seem to notice as he leaned toward his cursing friend. "Don't talk about them so much, and people will forget," Nathiel hissed. "Understood?"

  "But we did see them!" the man protested while dabbing at the wine stain on his coat.

  Tal watched with a measured smile. Sometimes, a shepherd had to guide his fold. "I believe you," he interjected.

  All seven of the young men looked at him.

  "You do?" the drunk one asked hopefully.

  "You don't," Sir Nathiel countered. "No one does."

  "Oh, but I do. Or don't you think I've seen far stranger things than what the rumors claim you have?"

  Even the knighted count's son had to mutter agreement at that. They all knew his legend, of course — it was the reason they'd agreed to gather here in the grand foyer, to brag that they'd spent an afternoon drinking with none other than Tal Harrenfel himself. Young men loved to bask in reflected glory, having not gained any for their own. And these men are unlikely ever to gain any, he mused.

  "But still," Tal continued aloud, "it's intriguing. How did it happen?"

  The men started babbling all at once, the drunk one loudest of all, until Sir Nathiel roared, "Shut it!" When the others had quieted, he continued more quietly, "I'll tell you how it was, Harrenfel. And I swear, by the Whispering Gods and by the sword the King knighted me with, that this is the whole, unadulterated truth."

  Tal exchanged a glance with Falcon, knowing they must be thinking the same thing. Nothing marks a lie like insistence that it's the truth.

  "Of course it is," he obliged.

  The young man eyed him for a moment longer before speaking. "It was the night of the Harvest Festival, and we were here by personal invitation of the King. Wanting some air, we took our drink to one of the inner courtyards. It was a full blue moon that night, but I didn't think anything of it at the time, not with Toman here making a fool of himself attempting cartwheels."

  The other young men laughed, and Sir Nathiel smirked, but the mirth fled as quickly as it had come.

  "The hour was late, but the women had just begun to loosen their corsets, and we weren't about to leave. It must have been about midnight when we saw them."

  Tal leaned forward, widening his eyes, playing the intent audience. "Saw what?"

  Sir Nathiel leaned forward as well. "Ghouls."

  For a moment, they both held their postures, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Tal relented, leaning back with a frown. "Ghouls," he muttered as if deeply disturbed by this answer. "You don't say?"

  Sir Nathiel seemed heartened by Tal's response and continued. "That isn't the worst of it. King Aldric was supposed to have been out there carousing with us, but he was delayed. If he'd been in the wrong place in the courtyard that night…"

  "Did anyone get hurt?" Falcon asked with an air of concern.

  "Not a one!" drunken Toman piped up happily. "It was a close call for me, to be true, but they were still clawing from the stone when we closed the door behind!"

  "Unfortunately with you on the inside," Sir Nathiel muttered, to the laughter of those nearest him.

  "You didn't see anything else unusual about the courtyard?" Tal pressed.

  Sir Nathiel's smirk slipped into a frown. "What else would you notice when fell creatures from the East are rising from the pavers?"

  "A sage point." Falcon nodded seriously.

  The count's son turned his frown on the minstrel, eyes narrowing.

  "I don't suppose you'd like to repeat your rendezvous tonight?" Tal inquired.

  "Tonight?"

  "Of course! Or didn't you realize it was another full blue moon?"

  The young knight was on his feet in an instant. "Is this an insult, sir?" he snapped. "For if it is, I—"

  Tal waved his cup lazily. "No insult, my dear Sir Nathiel. Merely a jest."

  Sir Nathiel didn't sit again. "Then let me assure you that our harrowing experience was no mere jest. Though they would have posed us little trouble were we ready for battle, we had been deprived of our weapons. As such, we might have died to those foul creatures." He gestured sharply at the other young men. "Come. Let's leave these two old fools to their posturing."

  Reluctantly, the other young noblemen followed their leader, Tipsy Toman lurching dangerously behind the rest.

  Falcon raised an eyebrow. "We were the ones posturing?"

  "To be fair, we were." Tal glanced over at him. "Just not like a cockerel in a farmyard."

  "A sight that you're no doubt very familiar with."

  "Stuff a rooster in it."

  The bard smiled. "I assume you'll be going tonight even without our brave Sir Nathiel by your side?"

  Tal sighed. "I'm afraid I must. Someone has placed glyphs there in the courtyard, and they'll keep coming every time the Sorrowful Lady is full unless they're dispelled. And unfortunately, they can only be seen — and destroyed — while they're active."

  Falcon cocked his head. "A glorious stand against the Nightkin. Seems a deed worthy of a new song."

  Tal held his friend's gaze. "If it is, you won't be there to sing it."

  The bard hesitated before he ventured, "I have been in danger before."

  "Before, yes. But you're old and slow now, and you have a daughter to save yourself for. Wren would never let me live it down if I got you killed."

  Falcon seemed to waver a moment longer, then he smiled. "Very well, my friend. But only because I want to spare you from even the thought of Wren's vengeance."

  Tal relaxed. He'd thought dissuading his friend would be more difficult; after all, Falcon had always insisted that, as his minstrel, he should be present for his accomplishments. Now that he had that chance, he'd thought the bard would never take no for an answer.

  Perhaps he's getting old and cautious, he mused. Perhaps I should do the same. Devils know my joints would thank me.

  He rose. "Even if you're not coming, you might help me with a few preparations. Some of which may verge on sacrilege."

  The gold in Falcon's green eyes began to turn. "Do tell."

  Garin jerked awake at the touch on his shoulder.

  "It's just me," the shadowed figure said over him. "Tal. Or Bran, if you prefer."

  His heart hammered like a carpenter's apprentice at a nail, but Garin forced himself to sit up slowly. "What's happening?"

  "I want you to come with me and keep watch while I do something. Can you do that?"

  Night had long since
fallen, and Garin was warm beneath the blankets. But he knew he'd made his decision as soon as Tal had asked. "Just give me a moment to dress."

  A few minutes later, Garin crept after Tal, seeing the hallways in a new way. They navigated by a tiny ball of "werelight" Tal had called into being, like the light Aelyn had used in the Ruins of Erlodan. The werelight caught on Tal's cloak, and threads of silver woven in intricate patterns gleamed across it. Like the cloak of the Seekers of Serenity, he realized. He wondered if his on-again, off-again mentor would stoop so low as to steal from a priest, and realized it was no question at all.

  Several times, Tal extinguished the light and motioned for them to press against the stone while the orange glow of a guard's torch passed. Garin found himself grinning. Between the thrill of the game and the fear of getting caught, he was nearly giddy with excitement.

  By some miracle, they navigated what seemed halfway across the castle without being seen. Tal stopped at a door and opened it to a chill wind. Garin clutched his cloak tighter around him and followed Tal outside onto a balcony.

  As his eyes adjusted to the pale moonlight, Garin saw they stood over an enclosed courtyard. The balcony ran along three sides of it. No guards patrolled the grounds, and the only sounds were from the wind spiraling down from above and the fountain trickling below. It would have been a beautiful sight in the sunlight and was hauntingly pretty in the dark.

  Tal faced him and pressed something into his hand, a smooth, wooden handle. Garin raised his hand to see he held a silver knife that looked suspiciously like the ones used at dinners to cut meat.

  "In case you're wondering, that is a meat knife," his mentor said. "But it's sharp and it's silver, so it'll have to do. Besides, I don't expect you to have to use it unless all of this goes sideways."

  Apprehension was quickly dampening the thrill that had claimed him before. "What do you mean?"

  Tal turned and pointed down at the courtyard. "At around midnight, when the Sorrowful Lady peeks into this courtyard, ghouls should appear. I'll be down there, waiting to meet them, while you'll stay up here."

  Part of him wondered if he should insist on going down with him. The smarter half of him knew better. After all, if he couldn't come close to beating Wren in a sparring match, what chance did he stand against a ghoul? The summoned creatures were far from the worst that the East sent into the Westreach, at least from the tales, but Garin doubted he'd be a match for them.

  "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

  "Watch. Particularly for where the ghouls appear." At seeing Garin's blank look, he continued, "Ghouls are summoned by Nightglyphs, so those are what I must destroy to stop them returning. Wherever the ghouls emerge from, there the glyphs are inscribed."

  An involuntary shiver ran through him. "Right. I can do that."

  Tal pressed his shoulder. "I know you can. I should mention one other thing, though: if, by some bad luck, guards happen to come out here, run for it. Best not to be caught up in this."

  Garin swallowed and nodded, not quite understanding, but knowing that the minutes were dragging them ever closer to the blue moon's arrival.

  Releasing him, Tal turned to the balcony and leaned over. Then, with a swiftness that stole Garin's breath, he vaulted over the marble railing and disappeared.

  Garin hurried to the bannister only to find Tal striding toward the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. He stared below him, disbelieving. The drop was at least twelve feet, enough to break a man's legs. How had Tal managed it unharmed?

  Then he saw the gargoyle, mounted halfway down the column, and grinned. To most, it wouldn't look like a foothold. But, even though he wasn't in his prime anymore, Tal was light on his feet. He shook his head, wondering if he'd ever be half as daring as him.

  From how his legs shook at imagining what was coming for them, he severely doubted it.

  Tal drew his sword slowly. As an honored guest of the King, he'd been allowed the privilege of keeping it, though he'd not exercised the right on a daily basis. A fop might wear a sword to impress, but Tal needed no help appearing dangerous. A full goblet in hand and a drunken swagger had better served his purposes.

  But now, as the blade flashed mirror-bright in the darkness, he whispered its name like a lover's to the moons: "Velori. You have dark work tonight if you're lucky, and I'm not."

  The runes on the sword glowed a faint blue, brighter with each moment they remained under the gaze of the Sorrowful Lady.

  Looking up, he took in the lay of the courtyard. Fountain in the center; stone benches in a square around it; doors on two sides, but likely watched by guards; the balconies rising above, twenty-five, thirty feet to either side of him. Not much room for fleeing.

  Glancing up, he saw the Sorrowful Lady just inching into the square of the night sky above. When the ghouls first appeared, if they appeared at all, they wouldn't be at their most potent. Well and good for him — he was out of practice and stiff after weeks of self-imposed leisure.

  Tal rolled his shoulders, shuffled his feet, and waited, mentally checking the items he and Falcon had secured for the event. The flask of "holy" water from the Solemn Shrine, infused with power through a full cycle under the yellow moon's light; a euphoric for humans and liquid fire for ghouls. The Seeker's silver-threaded cloak about his shoulders, woven by goblins and imbued with protective enchantments against the Night. The cursed mirror from the King's chamber. The silver knife for Garin.

  Everything was as much in place as it could be.

  "Tal Harrenfel, nervous about ghouls," he muttered to himself. "How the mighty have fallen."

  He glanced up at the balcony and smiled reassuringly at Garin, but the lad had a wild-eyed look and was pointing urgently behind him.

  Spinning, Tal saw he pointed at the fountain. He edged closer, Velori gripped in one hand, the handmirror coming to the other. He saw them now, the pale green glow of the Nightglyphs as they danced beneath the water's surface. As always occurred around magic, the blood in his veins grew hot, and sweat began to bead his brow.

  He ignored his discomfort and held up the handmirror. The glyphs reflected on the glass, burning bright and clear and as legible as if written on paper.

  "Seven rounds," he muttered as he read them. "Is that all?"

  But his cursory reading swiftly came to an end. As the glow brightened to the point of being painful on his eyes, Tal secreted away the mirror, backed up, and raised his sword.

  They burst from the fountain in a foaming spray.

  Ghouls were among the ugliest of the Nightkin. Pale-skinned and vaguely human-shaped, with rotten flesh peeling from their bodies and releasing a foul perfume into the air around them, they possessed an inhuman strength and speed and needed no more weapons than their sharp teeth and long, yellowed nails. Their eyes were like pits of charcoal, and thin, black hair hung lankly from their scalp like seaweed.

  His blood now boiling, Tal held his sword up by his shoulder, ready to swing. An axe would have served him better here — rather than relying on strategy, ghouls counted on numbers and fury to overwhelm their opponents. And with speed and strength on their side, the method often worked on the hapless adventurer.

  Five of them emerged from the fountain, leaping like puppies taken off their chains. As they hit the stone, they shook off the water and took a moment to orient themselves. Each of those coal-dark eyes found him, their pale, wax-melted faces twisting with rage, and they charged him, galloping along the ground like demonic apes.

  Tal swung and spun out of the way as the first leaped at him. A shock ran up his arms as the sword cut through the flesh and splintered the bone beneath, and the ghoul fell away in two large parts, its screech fading to a wet gurgle.

  The second and third leaped together, tangling midair, and Tal dodged the one and hacked at the legs of the other as they slid past.

  The last two approached from different angles, but with the same reckless abandon. Kicking into a forward roll, he heard them collide behind h
im; then he sprang up, twisted backward, and cut with an upward swing. One head, its mouth spitting with rage, went spinning to splat against the ground, while the other scrabbled with the body like it was still fighting with it.

  But even as those remaining from the first round of ghouls regrouped, a fresh round of five emerged. Tal gritted his teeth and backed away, the balcony's shadow falling over him.

  The seven remaining ghouls raced toward him, each seeking to be the first to tear out his throat. As they leaped forward, Tal twisted and cut and dodged, and ghoul limbs and bodies went flying around him.

  But even for mindless opponents, they were too many. As the last three charged as one, he managed to cut down two of them in a single, shoulder-numbing stroke. But the third jumped onto his back, nails scratching at the cloak for a moment before it released him with a screech. Tal smiled and wasted no time in spinning and cutting off the ghoul's head. The Seeker's cloak had done its work.

  Even as he dispatched the second round, a third emerged from the fountain. Tal raised his sword with aching arms, breath hissing in his throat.

  As the third wave rushed at him, he knew he wouldn't be allowed a reprieve any time soon.

  Garin watched, barely able to breathe, as the man he'd once believed a chicken herder cut down the pale monsters like weeds in a fallow field.

  Over forty autumns he might have, but Tal moved more lithely and gracefully than Garin could ever dream of doing. Weaving in and out of the ghouls' reach, he severed heads, limbs, and even torsos as the ghouls threw themselves at him again and again. He was every bit the legend the songs made him out to be.

  But even so, Garin wasn't sure it'd be enough.

  Twenty ghouls had spawned from the fountain so far, but just as Garin was hoping there'd be no more, another five sprang from the water. Tal finished the last of the monsters from the previous round, then uncorked a flask and held it in one hand, waiting for the oncoming charge, swaying where he stood. Even Tal Harrenfel couldn't last much longer.

  Garin clenched his teeth together so hard his jaw ached. He couldn't just watch Tal be torn apart. He had to do something. But what? All he had was a silver knife and barely over a month of combat training. He doubted he could even kill one.