A King's Bargain

by J. D. L. Rosell

  Then an idea sprang to mind that sent shivers running through his body.

  Don't think, he told himself fiercely. Just act.

  Head spinning, feeling almost as it wasn't him doing it, he leaned over the railing and waved his arms. "Oi!" he yelled into the courtyard below. "Up here, uglies!"

  Two of the five ghouls stopped their sprint toward Tal and snapped their heads around, their black eyes finding him. The next thing he knew, they were barreling toward the columns.

  He backed away, hand aching from clutching his knife so hard. They can't climb up here. They can't reach me.

  A pale hand reached over the bannister.

  Quicker than thought, he lashed at the fingers with his knife. A screech sounded from beyond the railing, but instead of falling away, the ghoul caught the railing with its other hand and hauled itself halfway up. Garin stared the ghoul in its black eyes, saw the red tongue behind the sharp rows of teeth, the skin peeling off from its sickly frame — and whatever mad courage that had filled him abruptly fled.

  He turned and ran.

  Bursting through the door to the balcony, he tore blindly down the hall. Through the sound of his gasping breath, he heard them behind him — their eager screeching, their claws scratching along the stone. He had no plan, no plan but to escape and hide and hope they'd give up.

  And what? a part of him taunted. Let them find some other prey?

  But he couldn't make himself stop running, couldn't make himself turn around and face them. He was no man — he was a boy, and it took seeing his cowardice to know it.

  And what if they find King Aldric? What if they find Wren? How could you possibly live with yourself then?

  Garin skidded to a halt and spun, meat knife clutched tight in his trembling hand. The ghouls were shadows as they passed through the scant moonlight admitted by intermittent windows. Still screaming, they barreled at him — two, three, four, he couldn't tell, for the darkness hid even their pale bodies.

  But he didn't run.

  "For the King!" he found himself yelling, foolish even to his ears. But even more foolish was how his heart sang: For Wren!

  "Die!" he shouted as if mere words could make it happen. "Die, all of you!"

  To his amazement, the ghouls suddenly stumbled to a halt, toppling into each other and skidding across the stone floor. Garin backed away, wondering if he should have sprung at their fortunate accident, knowing it was too late to take advantage now. Any moment now, they'd rise and charge at him again. At any moment, he'd stare into the Greatdark itself and slip into its cold grip.

  The monsters let out mews like injured barn cats. Then they burst.

  "Gah!" Garin stumbled back, landing hard on his backside, but he barely registered the pain. Before him, the corridor was strewn with the ghouls' innards, gore and blood and bile. His head felt as light as if it might float off his neck. Thin sounds, almost like a mournful song, echoed in his ears.

  Garin shivered violently and clutched his arms around himself. Die, he thought he'd said. But when he remembered the sounds that had torn from his throat, he couldn't place them as words. Not in any tongue he knew.

  Around him, the castle was awakening. Cries of alarm, guards' armor rattling as they ran down corridors. Toward the disturbance, no doubt. Toward him.

  Don't get caught, Tal had told him. And since disobeying him hadn't gone well for Garin so far that night, he figured he'd better start now.

  He rose shakily to his feet and stumbled away.

  Tal had read the runes wrong.

  He'd realized it some time before, when the seventh round of ghouls fell and an eighth emerged. Now, as the fourteenth wave rose from the fountain, Tal could barely lift his sword. A smile plastered itself on his face, his usual mad reaction when the battle grew most hopeless. A devil lived in him, he had no doubt of that.

  But even devils grew tired.

  "Come on!" he tried to roar at them, but it came out as little more than a hoarse wheeze. "Come and get cut down like the rest of your disgusting kin!" Not his sharpest insult, truth be told, but words were wasted on the likes of these monsters, anyway; most of Yuldor's Brood were stupid, and ghouls most of all.

  And now he was going to be torn apart by those moronic monsters.

  He'd tried fleeing after the ninth wave, only to find both sets of doors to the courtyard locked — the doing of the Extinguished, he didn't doubt. Guards had pounded on the door after the twelfth wave, but they hadn't broken their way through. And why would they? For all they knew, the ghouls were fighting among themselves. And most men were wiser than to fight them willingly.

  The five ghouls that emerged from the fountain charged with just as much abandon as the first wave. Tal set his feet, leaden limbs trying to ready themselves. The Seeker's cloak was shredded to pieces despite the silver threads, and the holy water was all gone, taking with it the ability to drive them back with mere droplets. All he had was his sword, his wits — well, perhaps his sword was all he had left.

  But still, he tried for a weary "Kald!" as they leaped at him, blade blazing as he cut through two of them. As his gloves again became singed with the flames, he wheezed "Lisk!" and the fire extinguished in a burst of frosty mist. He thrust Velori through the chest of a third, its skin stiffening with the biting-cold blade, then drove back the other two with a wild wave of his sword.

  As he stumbled back, the two ghouls saw their chance and charged again. As Tal cut down one, the other battered him with a violent strike. But as Tal twisted around the sudden ache, he cried out and stuck his sword through the ghoul's neck, working the blade through the flesh until the nearly severed head tipped its body over to the ground.

  Tal staggered back, tripped over a stray ghoul limb, and went down hard on one knee. His chin dipped for a moment, but he knew the next wave would come soon. They were slowing, to be sure, but he was slowing faster.

  Lifting his gaze again, he glimpsed something from the corner of his eye and startled. A figure leaned over the balcony above. At first, he thought it was one of the ghouls from before, the ones that had fled up the balcony to chase Garin. Then he realized ghouls didn't wear robes.

  Hope, like a baby bird feebly rising from its nest, stirred in his chest. Someone had gotten through the locked doors. Someone who might be able to help stop this madness.

  He stumbled to his feet again. "Hey," he croaked. "Down here!"

  The figure, face lost in shadow, pointed at the fountain, then spoke. But the words that issued forth were in no mortal tongue. They reverberated and pounded against the stone and Tal's ears like the thundering footsteps of a cyclops, and he found himself pressed to his knees again, hands clutched over his ears, eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at the fountain.

  As the resounding chant continued, the water in the fountain began to steam, then bubble, then evaporate. Burning mist billowed out from the fountain, flooding the courtyard and hiding the bodies of dozens of disembodied ghouls and stinging Tal's skin.

  Then the barbed words ended, and Tal found he could think and move again. Staggering to his feet, he stumbled his way over the happenstance graveyard to the shadow of the fountain barely visible through the steam. As he reached it, he found the air was already beginning to clear, and as he peered inside the basin, he could see the bottom.

  The glyphs were gone, only blackened marks left where they'd been.

  Tal looked up and saw the figure staring back down at him, features just visible beneath the hood. Then, with a nod, the man turned away and disappeared from sight.

  He kept staring up, exhaustion rooting him in place. Perhaps he should have been devising a way to escape the courtyard without being seen, or double-checked that all the glyphs had been destroyed.

  But instead, all he could wonder about was why Kaleras the Impervious, the Warlock of Canturith, had just saved him.

  The doors rattled behind him, and Tal slowly turned. The small part of himself not deadened with exhaustion registered that the Sorrowfu
l Lady was disappearing above. Sure enough, just as the lock in the doors clicked, the various body parts of the ghouls began to melt, then sink into the stone, leaving behind nothing but dark gray stains.

  The doors burst open, and guards poured out, steel bared and faces hard. Krador, the Master-at-Arms, stepped between them, a heavy, double-headed axe in both hands. As he saw Tal standing alone in the courtyard, his scowl lifted slightly, but only just.

  "Tal Harrenfel!" he barked. "You're not who I expected to find when I opened these doors!"

  What a sight I must make. Cuts bled all down his body. His stolen cloak was ripped to shreds. But though he could barely stand, Tal put on his maddest grin and spread his arms, the tip of his sword dipping down as his arm gave out trying to support its weight. "I just came out for some midnight practice, good master. My apologies if I caused a commotion."

  The guards looked uneasily among themselves, while the Master-at-Arms frowned. "Right. Just you then?"

  "I don't see anyone else, do you?"

  Master Krador grunted, his eyes still scanning their surroundings. "That's good. But warn us next time you're going to screech like a score of demons."

  Tal gave a mocking salute. "Consider it done, good sir."

  The Master-at-Arms swept another look over the courtyard and pointed at the fountain. "What happened to the water?"

  Tal shrugged. "I got thirsty."

  "Damned lunatic," one of the guards muttered loudly.

  Krador looked as if he might agree. But he just gestured sharply and led the guards back inside.

  Tal watched them leave before he sank onto the lip of the fountain, Velori resting by his leg. His chin fell to his chest, and his eyes closed.

  "Are they … all dead?"

  Tal looked up to see Garin standing before him. He wondered how long he'd been sitting mindlessly on the fountain's edge.

  "I'm glad to see you alive, boy. When they chased after you…" He shook his head, realizing how close he had come to meeting down his apprentice. "But they're all gone back to the moons. They can only exist as long as they're in the light of the Sorrowful Lady. Afterward, they melt back to the Pyres from whence they came."

  "Oh." The boy's eyes flickered to the shadowed corners of the courtyard. "Then if they went inside the castle, they might… burst?"

  Tal frowned. "Not burst, no. They couldn't stay long outside of the moonlight, but even if they stayed away too long, they'd just melt away. Why do you ask?"

  Garin turned his back on him. "Nothing."

  He shook his head. A mystery for another time. Groaning, Tal rose to his feet and felt every one of his forty years. But, for a miracle, he also realized that though he had many cuts down his body, none of his wounds were deep.

  "Let's go, lad," he said, and together, they walked back inside the castle.

  Passage III

  If I believed in such a concept as fate, I might be tempted to invoke it here. For those of the Blood seem destined to rise to greatness, for good or for evil. But such a theory might be the result of a bias — for how could we hear of those who never perform any acts of significance?

  Thus, I satisfy myself with this theory: that these Founts have, through their actions or by chance of birth, a strain of the World's own Blood running through their veins. And it is this that enables their easy mastery of sorcery that the Heart Races must labor to claim.

  Yet this Blood comes at a cost. For though many Founts of Blood burn brilliantly, their lives often end tragically and disastrously. And as there is seemingly no origin to their sorcery and few limits, they have threatened, and will continue to threaten, the very fabric of our society.

  I fear what havoc these Founts may wreak upon our World.

  - A Fable of Song and Blood, by Hellexa Yoreseer of the Blue Moon Obelisk, translated by Tal Harrenfel

  The Warlock of Canturith

  "...Where could he have gone?"

  Garin stood near the entrance to the Smallstage, pretending to study the large framed sets, while from the backrooms, the senior players of the Dancing Feathers continued to speak together, their voices heavy with concern.

  Wren appeared from nowhere to stand by him, and for once, the fey mood that usually claimed her was absent. "It's Jonn. Ox's partner."

  He hesitated. "That's who's missing?"

  She nodded. "Since last night. Ox is out searching for him, but things don't sound good. Father was the last to see him, but it didn't seem like he was going anywhere in particular. He's just… vanished."

  Garin's stomach churned. Last night. He had an uncomfortable feeling he knew exactly what had happened.

  Last night, he'd led bloodthirsty ghouls through the castle halls. Who was to say one or two hadn't split off and found a lone trouper wandering the halls?

  Wren was watching him. "You know something. I can see it in your eyes."

  He wanted to look aside but knew it would only make him look more guilty. So he watched the gold spin faster in her eyes.

  "I don't," he said somewhat truthfully. He wanted to say more, to admit everything, but he'd promised Tal he wouldn't. As close as he was becoming with Wren, as much as he trusted her, a promise was a promise. And I have to keep at least one of them to my mentor. Or patron. Or whatever Tal is to me.

  She raised an eyebrow, then sniffed lightly and waved him out the door. "Come on. While the adults are distracted, we may as well have our run of the place."

  Maybe it was already because he felt guilty, or because it felt like taking advantage of Jonn's absence. But as much as he always wanted to go trekking around the castle with her, Garin found himself hesitating.

  Then she took his hand, met his gaze, and the glistening in her eyes banished all of his doubts.

  Tal shifted, trying to arrange his clothes so that they didn't pull on his bandages. He knew his scratching and twitching made it seem like a mound of ants crawled up his body, but he couldn't resist. Let them kill a horde of ghouls, he thought blackly. Then they can criticize all they please.

  Even standing before a king, it seemed, his manners rarely improved.

  King Aldric stared coldly down at him from his throne. Around the room, the Mutes were chanting again, their Quietude hiding the conversation from those outside the chamber. On the King's right stood the Master-at-Arms, while Aelyn stood on his left. All Tal had by his side was Falcon, but at the moment, grief-stricken as he was from his missing friend, he would be of little use in this interrogation.

  "So," King Aldric said at last. "You made quite the spectacle of yourself last night."

  Tal painted a sneer onto his lips, adopting his usual performance for the King of Avendor. "You remember the incident those young noblemen had with ghouls last month, don't you?"

  "Of course. I was supposed to have been in that courtyard."

  Tal just inclined his head, the smile never fading. "Considering the circumstances, the first assumption would be that those glyphs were placed there in a play on your life. But if it was an assassination attempt, it was a clumsy effort."

  "It nearly succeeded with you."

  "It did," Tal admitted. "A typical summoning of ghouls lasts five waves. From the glyphs I briefly glimpsed in the fountain, these were modified to bring forth seven. To my dismay, over double that number assaulted me."

  A smile of his own curled the King's lips. "Then you must have read the runes wrong."

  "Perhaps. But there is another possibility — that the spell was amplified." He looked at Aelyn. "Isn't that right, Emissary Aelyn?"

  The mage frowned, but he nodded curtly. "Yes. Through human sacrifice."

  Falcon shivered visibly, and all eyes turned to him. "Your Highness," he said, a quaver evident in his voice. "One from my troupe went missing last night and hasn't yet been found. Could it be…?"

  Tal placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "We don't know it was Jonn yet," he said softly.

  "But it might be," King Aldric said. "Harrenfel, find this missing trouper
, then hunt down whoever killed him." He glanced at Master Krador. "You are to help him as he requests, and to search the castle for the trouper."

  The Master-at-Arms nodded. "If he's here, my men will find him."

  The King straightened and waved a lazy hand. "Krador, Falcon, leave us now."

  The minstrel gave Tal a lingering look as he left, his face a mask of misery. And for once, he's not wearing a mask, Tal thought. But, his own performance still underway, he kept his face smooth.

  After the door closed behind them, King Aldric looked at Aelyn, then Tal. "Have you made so little progress?" he growled as much as his high, nasal voice allowed. "Murder in my castle! Human sacrifice, no less! This traitor must be found and stopped, or Halenhol will be brought low with scandal!"

  "King Aldric, I am making great progress with the cursed pendant," Aelyn said quickly. "I trust it will take no more than a few days before I am able to use the artifact to trace it back to the Extinguished."

  "I will wait three days, no more," the King warned. "And you, Harrenfel. That mess in the courtyard — what were you damned well thinking? What did I promise the boy a duchy for if you're going to bungle the task?" He snorted. "Some Defender of the Westreach you've turned out to be."

  Tal kept the smile firmly planted on his lips. For once, one of the King's barbs had found its way to his pride, and he didn't like its sting. "It wasn't for naught, Aldric. We learned several valuable pieces of information."

  "And those are?"

  "First, that the warlock is nearby — in Halenhol, perhaps even the Coral Castle."

  "And how do we know that?"

  Tal raised an eyebrow at Aelyn, but the mage just smiled coldly back. More than happy to let me flounder, as usual.

  "When a mage bolsters a glyphic spell with sacrifice, they must be nearby. There's not a set distance, precisely, but it should be well within the city. Additionally, we know a trouper went missing last night. It's reasonable to conclude the Extinguished is behind it and is consequently among us. Here, in the castle."