Garin's gaze shot over to him, studying him as if he'd said something significant. Tal was beginning to wonder if he'd missed more than one thing happening in the boy's life.
"And how have your lessons with Sister Pond been going?" he pressed.
The youth flinched, eyes flickering over to Wren. Too late, Tal realized his error. Of course he wouldn't tell her. He hastily amended, "Has she set you right on Solemnity's Path yet?"
Relief was written all over Garin's face. "She's still trying."
The girl's eyes, however, narrowed further.
"Well, there's time yet." He pressed Garin's shoulder again. "I'll look forward to the performance tomorrow night. And what were you playing again?" he asked Wren.
"An upstart nobleman," she replied shortly.
Tal grinned. "How fitting."
Wren sniffed, then, apparently hearing her cue, she turned and walked on stage.
Tal stepped closer to Garin. "I'm sorry, lad. I didn't know you hadn't told her."
The youth gave him a small smile. "It's alright. I probably should have by now."
"I'm impressed you could keep it a secret from the likes of her."
They shared a grin.
"But in all seriousness," Tal continued, "how are your lessons in letters going? Has the nun declared you literate?"
Garin shrugged. "I can write my name and sound out most words, and I'm reading whole passages out loud. Sister Pond is plotting to make me a priest before the year's up."
Tal smiled. For a wonder, his eyes began to grow warm and misty. "We'll see about that. But I'm proud of you, Garin. You've taken to your lessons, grown and learned more than I thought possible in such a short time."
The youth didn't meet his eyes. "It's all thanks to you," he muttered. His gaze darted up. "But what about the real reason we're here? Your, you know, hunt."
Tal sighed. "It could be going better. I've eliminated most of the likely suspects with no further leads. Tomorrow, however, I intend to find out more."
"Tomorrow? How?"
"A plan to draw our quarry out of hiding. Bait so tempting not even a Soulstealer could resist."
Garin leaned in close. "What?"
His wolf's grin stretched his lips. "A king, unprotected, vulnerable to influence or assassination."
The youth's eyes went wide. "How will you manage that?"
"Not through permission, I'll warrant you that." Tal winked. "Just leave the details to me."
But Garin looked far from settled. "Tal, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you before."
That gave him pause. "You have my attention."
"I think Warlock Kaleras is the Extinguished."
For a moment, it was all Tal could do to stare at him. Then he cracked a grin, thinking it must be a joke. "Kaleras? Why him?"
The youth looked far from amused. "I'm serious. The other day, after you visited him—"
"You saw that?" With every word, Tal liked this less and less.
"Wren was — That is, we were—" His face flushed, and he waved a hand impatiently. "Doesn't matter. After you left, we were passing by, and Kaleras came out of his tower. He recognized me as your companion and told me to pass you a warning — to not trust anyone around you, no matter how much you think you should."
Tal studied Garin. There was something more he wasn't saying, and not just about Wren. But what else he held back, he could only guess.
"That sounds like the old warlock," he said with a reassuring smile. "But Garin, believe me when I say I have good reason to trust he's untouched by the East."
The youth's brow furrowed. "What reason?"
Tal looked aside, debating how much he should say. But he'd brought the boy this far into the web of intrigue; he had a right to know and put his suspicions to rest.
"He has an artifact, a magical ring that protects him from others' sorcery."
"The Ring of Thalkuun?"
Tal winced. He'd almost forgotten Falcon had told Garin the story behind the ring and the title he'd gained that day. "Yes. He's worn it for many years. So unless he's been Yuldor's for two decades, the Night hasn't claimed him."
"But didn't he steal it from you in the first place?"
Tal looked away from Garin's accusing stare. "Yes. But if you remember the tale, I hardly deserved to keep it, did I?"
"But you killed all the other warlocks in the Circle," Garin pressed, merciless. "Even if he's not one of the Extinguished himself, wouldn't he want revenge? A warlock never forgets a grudge — that's what all the stories say."
"This isn't a story, though, is it?" Tal found his voice had risen and lowered it again with effort. "This is no legend; this is my life. Things don't work like they do in the stories."
A stubborn set had appeared to Garin's mouth. "That doesn't answer my question."
The answer the youth sought was there, right there, for Tal to tell. Words so simple to say, yet impossible for his tongue to string together.
"That night in the courtyard," he said instead. "He saved me. He stopped the summoning when it would have just continued until I'd been overwhelmed."
But Garin's eyes were as hard as steel and narrow as a knife's edge. "But how did he know to come? Maybe he was behind the summoning, but saved you to gain your trust."
Tal raised his hands. "Believe what you will. But know this: friend or not, Kaleras doesn't take well to being crossed. I'd stay away from him if I were you."
Garin stared at him a moment longer, then shrugged and looked aside. "So you're coming tomorrow night? To the performance?"
He felt his shoulders relax. "Of course. I wouldn't miss the stage debut of my favorite page!"
The youth raised an eyebrow, but his face was coloring. "Whatever you say, old man."
Tal grinned, and the lad reluctantly smiled back.
Garin peered either way outside his door. Exhaustion dragged at him, but he couldn't have slept if he tried. The memory of the kiss pressed hard on his mind. Her scent filled his nose; her gold-laced eyes were all he saw. Even fear of the dark hallways, of the warlock's insinuations, couldn't extinguish the yen coursing through his veins.
Again wearing stockings without shoes, he ghosted down the hall, pausing at each creak of a rusty hinge or distant murmur behind a closed door. After standing up to the ghouls, he couldn't call himself a coward, but that didn't stop him from startling at every fleeting shadow. Only he heard distant sounds that didn't make sense in a castle corridor. The clang of a hammer on metal. The hiss of a cat. The roar of a waterfall. And threading through it all was a melancholic note, sustained and droning, whispering in the back of his mind. It formed a quiet cacophony, familiar in some way, and wholly unwelcome.
Not now — any time but now. Garin tried to drown out the vague song, if such noises could be called a song, with memories of Wren once again. And though the song grew louder with every step toward the Smallstage, his eagerness eclipsed it. Soon, her hand would hold his, her lips brush against his, her body warm against his.
He was at the doorway, turning inside, searching for her in the corner where they'd lain on top of the drapings. But as he searched, a sound came from the backrooms that made him freeze.
Her father, was his first thought. He's waiting. His feet shuffled back down the hall he'd come from. Though Falcon Sunstring hardly seemed the type of father to harm a young man for kissing his daughter, Garin had no desire to confirm it.
But no matter what his head said, he found himself turning back toward the room and entering through the doorway, drifting on silent feet through the chaotic room toward the entrance to the backrooms, where the strange sounds came echoing from.
Other than hiding a tun of Jakadi wine, the backrooms were used for creating stage props, mending or sewing costumes, applying paints, and crafting other mechanisms of deceit and disguise. This late at night, even the most dedicated trouper would have usually abandoned it for the sleeping quarters further down the hall. One, however,
seemed to be burning precious oil to prepare for the upcoming performance. But what they could be doing to make such strange noises — the moans, the almost painful gasps — he could only guess. His cheeks burned hot.
But a dangerous curiosity had hold of him now. Reaching the doorway, Garin found the door slightly cracked. No surprise there — the door had no latch and swung open if something wasn't propped against it. Whispering a silent prayer, he pressed on the door and found it soundlessly opening to his touch. Emboldened, he pushed it open further and cautiously poked his head in.
A single candle illuminated the crowded room, set at the opposite end. Its small flame made the shadow of the figure bent before it dance across the ceiling and the numerous articles that leaned against the walls and were scattered about the floor. Thirty feet away, Garin couldn't distinguish any identifiable features.
Suspicion joined his curiosity now. The man — or so he guessed from the deepness of the grunts — sounded deranged as he labored over the desk. The troupers of the Dancing Feathers were eccentric, but this went beyond what Garin knew them capable of.
Then a thought came upon him like a blaze of light, and his breath caught in his throat. The Extinguished. Why a Night-touched warlock would be here, in the depths of the Smallstage backrooms, he couldn't begin to guess. But he knew that if he truly meant to help Tal and find the Extinguished, he had to move closer and see who this was.
Dizzy with fear and amazement at his daring, Garin stepped through the doorway.
As he once more slipped through the halls of the Coral Castle undetected, Tal couldn't recall a more incompetent body of guards. He'd always respected the Master-at-Arms for being a stolid, dependable sort, but he found his respect for the half-dwarf slipping with each successful late-night rendezvous.
"While the cat sleeps, the mouse feeds," he muttered to himself as he reached the door.
It wasn't his only repeat visit to Aelyn's small workshop. In his hunt for the Extinguished, he'd often dropped by to either taunt the mage for his lack of progress or, if he was luckier, bask in his success. But thus far, he'd mostly been able to make good on the former. Aelyn was usually bent over the desk in the corner, while Tal would settle in his usual chair by the fire and watch him, all the while sipping on a goblet of Jakadi red. A more cramped room had never existed, and the Gladelysh emissary seemed to be molding to it, becoming thinner and more sallow with each visit. It was incredible what failure, a severe lack of sleep, and an all-consuming need to vindicate oneself could do for a body's health.
Now here it was, the night before the Sendeshi entourage arrived, and Tal was sure that Aelyn would have still made no progress.
But as he pressed a hand to the door, he paused. Something sounded from within, a repetitive noise — moaning, he realized a moment later. He hesitated, wondering whether it would be embarrassing or amusing to interrupt whatever Aelyn was doing in there. But, as he'd once told Garin, what was life without the spark of risk?
He pressed open the door, a smile tugging at his lips — then, just as quickly, it fell away.
Aelyn sprawled on the floor, something dark and shapeless looming over him. His eyes told him it must be silhouetted, its features in shadow, but the angle of the light was wrong, the hearth situated so it should have unveiled the figure's face. No — it wasn't in shadow, but formed of shadows, a nameless monstrosity bred of hidden fury and sent in the dead of night.
Once, he'd met a similar monster, and knew that if it meant to kill, he'd be hard-pressed to stop it.
The elf groaned as the shade stabbed its limbs into him, over and over. No blood covered the floor, but Tal knew the wounds went deeper; a Nightborn creature could do far worse than destroy the body.
In an instant, he'd drawn Velori and was swinging at the shade, the glyphs on the silver blade shining a brilliant blue. Where the blade passed, the fell creature dissolved into a dark mist, but it reformed immediately after. He hadn't harmed the phantom, only provoked it, for it rose from the prone mage to loom over Tal.
He backed away, sword raised, mind turning through his available cantrips. Raising one hand, he called, "Fuln!" and light shone brilliantly from his hand. The shade flinched back, but the werelight did little more than give it pause. If anything, the shade grew even larger, the shadows cast from its black body melding with the rest.
Tal kept up the light, hoping to stay it while he thought of another plan. He could try to draw it away, but as the shade had been sent to kill Aelyn, it would likely go back to leisurely stabbing him as soon as Tal ran. None of his cantrips promised any result, either, and he lacked the equipment for more involved spells, if he could even remember the proper words after all these years.
The shade drifted forward, and a long, black arm formed from it to stab at him. Tal twisted out of the way and held up Velori — if it had avoided it once, it might do it do so again. Sure enough, as the blade intercepted the arm's path, it dissolved into mist, floating back to rejoin the monster.
But three more arms formed now, and the shade thrust forward with all of them. Tal spun the sword in his hand in an arc, trying to hit all three, but one darted through to stab into his shoulder. Cold pain, like he'd been impaled with a knife formed of ice, raced down his arm and across his chest. He gasped with it, his lungs suddenly struggling to breathe, and backed away.
The arm was stiff and numb, though it was quickly coming back to life. The shade advanced, four more arms forming and menacing him. He had to kill it now, or he'd soon be laid prone like Aelyn.
"Tal..."
Tal's gaze wandered to the floor and saw the mage staring at him, the bronze in his eyes stirring sluggishly. The word wheezed through his parted lips.
No time to wonder at it — the shade attacked again, all four arms jabbing forward at different angles. But even with a near-useless arm, Tal was gaining the measure of his enemy. Dodging to one side, he sliced two arms to mist, then the last two as they slowed and curved around to follow him. He was closer to the shade itself now, and without slowing his movement, he chopped at it, again and again.
Like a hot rod thrust into cold water, the sword lashed the shade to steam. Every time the nub of an arm began to form, Tal hacked through it, scattering again into mist. He didn't delude himself into thinking he was harming it. But with his arm almost back to life and the shade on the defensive, he'd take what small victories he could.
Outside, he heard the sounds of feet approaching — the laggardly guards, finally, for all they could do. Sweat beading his brow, Tal gasped, "If you have any advice, you damnable marsh monkey, now's the time to give it!"
Aelyn replied, but it was impossible to hear over the sound of hissing black mist and his exertions.
"Speak louder!" Tal demanded.
Behind them, he heard guards reach the door and burst into the room. By the gasps and clatter of metal, they'd stumbled to a halt when they saw what they faced.
"One of you!" he called behind him, chopping an arm that had almost fully formed. "Drag the mage away and tell me what he has to say! Now!" he added when he didn't hear anyone move.
Finally, movement sounded behind him, and he saw a young, wide-eyed guard duck forward and begin dragging Aelyn out from under the black shadow. He couldn't tell if it was his imagination getting the better of him, but the shade seemed to be expanding so that Tal was finding it harder and harder to reach its arms.
"Anything?" he roared back.
The young man's voice shook as he called, "He says to get the book on the desk and bring it to him!"
A mad grin curled his lips. The book on the opposite side of the shade — what could go wrong? He could see it through the dark mist, a book with its pages splayed open, as if it had been hastily consulted.
His left arm coming back to life, Tal shook it out and wielded his sword with both hands. There's only one way this can end, he realized. His smile tugged even wider.
"Get ready to catch!" he called back. Then with a wide overhead sw
eep, he fell into a forward roll under the shade.
Black fog boiled around him, cold and clinging, but Tal ignored it as he reached the desk and seized the book. Roughly closing it, he swept wildly behind him with Velori, then knelt and tossed the book back the way he'd come.
Cold stabbed into his chest, and Tal gasped, falling back. He looked down and saw a black arm extending from it before he collapsed to the ground, all powers of movement lost.
Another cold, stabbing pain in one arm, then the other, then both his legs. Tal hovered inside his frozen body, barely conscious, lips moving in words he couldn't even interpret himself. He clung to his one, thin strand of hope, repeating it in his mind as the arms stabbed the cold deeper and deeper inside of him.
Darkness edged in. He couldn't cling to consciousness much longer. Rest, a voice whispered in his head. He couldn't tell if it was his own or another's. Rest. It will all be over soon.
"No!" he tried to yell in manly defiance, his lungs filled with a last, desperate effort that would overcome his weakness — but if the word came out at all, it was as the indecipherable wheeze of a bedridden, dying man. He lay there, entombed in cold, only the tomb was his own body, and the lid was sealing closed.
Garin breathed through his mouth, as Tal had taught him, so slowly and shallowly he thought he would faint. Barely able to see in the near darkness, he took each footstep with tremendous care, expecting at any moment something sharp or slippery to be underfoot and give him away.
But halfway across the room, the man still hadn't turned around, his groaning agony only growing louder as Garin neared. Though he had only the voice and the silhouette to go by, something about the man seemed familiar.
Kaleras, Garin thought over and over again. It must be Kaleras. But the Warlock of Canturith had his tower to work his devilry from. Why would he come here?
Unless he needed to be close to the one he worked the magic against.
A fresh wave of fear suddenly flooded him, and he almost lost his balance as he trembled with it. He'd seen Wren with Garin. Perhaps Kaleras meant to get at Tal indirectly by harming the daughter of his close friend. Desperate thoughts scrambled through his head. You can't just see who it is. You have to stop him!
A King's Bargain Page 19