But watching her then, he couldn't stand it any longer. He pushed away from the post and steadied himself. He had to know what was wrong; she had to tell him.
Using the soft footfalls the troupers had taught him so as not to make the floorboards creak, he made his way around the other players to halt next to Wren. She glanced at him, but immediately averted her eyes as they narrowed to slits, the gold stirring angrily within the green.
Garin stood for a few moments, trying to find the right words, then abandoned the fruitless effort. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I just want to know what it was."
"You can't remember."
He winced beneath the weight of her scorn. "Honestly. I can't remember anything from yesterday. So if I did or said something to offend you, I'm really, truly sorry."
Wren stared at him in silence for several long moments. As the frown lines began to ease away, Garin dared to hope his desperate plea had somehow worked.
"You really don't remember, do you?" She sounded more curious than angry now.
He eased closer. "I remember the night before that, though — how could I ever forget it?"
He'd hoped it would elicit a smile from her, but her brow only creased further. "Then how could you not recall your promise?"
"What promise?"
Wren sighed, eyes casting downward. "After our morning practice, I stopped you in the hallway, and we agreed to meet again. But last night, you never came."
His heart wrenched in his chest as he realized the opportunity he'd missed, the chance that might never come again. "Wren, honestly, I don't remember any of that. The whole day is a blur—"
But she was turning away. "I think I understand. You got cold feet. Maybe it was my father. Maybe it was Tal. Maybe you stole a kiss and had enough. So you didn't come." She laughed, short and bitter. "I guess that's that."
"No, it's not—"
"I have to go." She brushed past him, not meeting his gaze. He wanted so badly to reach out and stop her, but he let her drift past. All around, he felt the eyes of the other troupers on him, all too knowing for his liking.
A hand closed tightly over his arm, and he jerked around to see Falcon Sunstring standing at his shoulder, wearing a pronounced scowl.
A pit formed in Garin's gut. Had he heard? Was he here to make sure Garin didn't hurt his daughter's feelings again?
"Garin," Falcon said, voice hoarse as if he'd recently been yelling. "We have to leave. Now."
"Leave?" This didn't seem about Wren, then. Garin glanced toward the curtains where she'd disappeared. "But I'm supposed to go on soon."
"They'll have to make do without you. There's no time — Tal's in trouble."
"In trouble? Now?" Garin tried to imagine what trouble Tal could be in, and how Falcon expected him to help.
"Yes, boy!" the minstrel practically snarled. His grip tightened on his arm. "We have to go. Now."
With his other hand, Falcon pressed something into his hand, and he looked down to see he now held a knife. Fear lanced through him like sharp ice in his veins. He glanced back toward the stage. Strangely, despite how much he'd been dreading it, he found part of him was disappointed he'd miss his debut on the stage.
But Tal was in danger. And if he could do anything to help, he had to go.
He gripped the knife tightly and nodded. "Lead the way."
The bard wore a small smile as he led him toward the door.
Tal stared into the dying flames of the fire. Elsewhere in the castle, the Sendeshi delegation watched Falcon and Garin perform their play. He wished he could see the youth in his role, small as it was. He'd said he would. But just as it had been since he'd brought him to the castle, Garin came second to upholding his bargain with the King.
"Nearly there."
Tal bolted up from his seat and moved to stand by Kaleras' shoulder. The warlock looked out of place in the cramped room, but his air of gravitas had faded as he grew ever more absorbed in the work before him, bending further over the black-gemmed necklace and muttering to himself. Now his eyes glanced up at Tal, the deep brown bright with avidity.
"Nearly there?" Tal asked as he studied the pendant. He saw his face reflected in the gem, fragmented across its dark facets. "Then you'll know where the Extinguished hides?"
Kaleras stared at the pendant again, his hands poised above it. "Yes. I would make any preparations you deem necessary now."
Tal straightened. Velori hung at his hip, but the rest of his gear was back in his room. He glanced at the bed in the corner of the room and saw Aelyn's eyes slitted, watching him.
"Don't tap the barrel without me," he said as he moved to the door. "I'll be back in a moment, and I wouldn't want to miss the celebration."
"We wouldn't dream of it," Aelyn's thin voice called after him.
Garin stopped short of the castle doors that led out into the central courtyard. "Where are we going?" he asked as he had sporadically throughout their walk down.
Falcon turned back with a scowl. "I told you, boy. Tal needs our help."
Boy? Garin repressed his annoyance. "Out there? Where exactly did he go?"
He glanced down at himself, still dressed in his pageboy costume. But if Tal was in trouble, it was hardly an excuse. He squeezed Falcon's knife tighter in his hand.
The Court Bard finally relented. "He took a horse and went riding out into the city. Now we must follow or risk losing him!"
As Falcon stepped out of the grand double doors, Garin followed him, shivering in the blustering wind outside. Slate-gray clouds covered the sky, killing off the last of the sun's light and making it as dark as a moon-cast midnight. A storm was stirring.
Why would he go out in this? But he knew why. Only one thing could compel Tal to meaningful action and shed his drunken dandy act.
They reached the stables, and Falcon moved from pen to pen, muttering, while he ignored the stablehand's repeated remarks to let him help. Finally, the bard stopped in front of the enclosure of a large, gray gelding. "Ready him!" he snapped at the stablehand, and the boy scrambled to obey.
Garin shifted from foot to foot, glancing back at the dimly lit courtyard. Rain began to patter on the paving stones. Even if they left now, he didn't see how they'd follow Tal. Where are you going? he wondered again.
"Garin!"
He turned back to see Falcon mounting the gray gelding, then holding a hand out to him. "Come," the minstrel said. "No time to prepare another horse. You'll ride with me."
Garin hesitated only a moment, then took Falcon's hand. The bard was surprisingly strong for his slight stature, and he easily hoisted him up into the saddle behind him.
As Falcon spurred the horse forward, Garin had no choice but to wrap his arms around the bard's waist, and they left the stables at a gallop, the stablehand scrambling to get out of the way. The droplets of rain pelted his face as they rode hard for the front gates.
"Halt!"
The horse whinnied its protest as the minstrel pulled them to a stop, then whipped his head around, a small smile on his face. Garin turned as well and felt his insides writhe and twist.
Kaleras the Impervious, the Warlock of Canturith, stood in the middle of the courtyard.
"Kaleras," Falcon greeted him. His voice suddenly sounded harsh, like he was playing a goblin in a play. "It's a foul night to be out."
"Let the boy down."
The bard's laugh was short and biting. "And why would I do that?"
The old warlock's face could have been made from wood for all he reacted, rivulets of water running through the furrows in his skin. "I'll only ask once more. Let him down."
Garin's head felt as if it were spinning. Through the sound of the falling rain, he thought he heard distant sounds incongruous with their situation: whispering voices, their words unclear; the roar of distant river rapids; the howl of a wolf. The Night is near, he somehow knew. One of these men is the Extinguished. And he was certain he knew which one.
Falcon still wore a sneer, but his eyes had
gathered a considering look. "Very well, Kaleras. I'll let you have the boy."
Anger suddenly broke through Garin's fear and indecision. "I'm not a sack of potatoes to barter over! And I'm not going with you, warlock. I won't be fooled like Tal, wherever you sent him."
"Tal?" It was hard to tell in the darkness and rain, but Garin thought he saw a flicker of surprise cross the warlock's face. "He's in the castle, boy, not where that man you call Falcon was taking you."
Falcon twisted around to look at Garin, the gold in his eyes swirling rapidly. "Go to him, Garin," he whispered softly. "Obey your Singer. Show me what our Master plans for you."
His earlier anger drained away as he stared into the bard's eyes. Suddenly, they seemed more gold than green, and almost liquid in how the color whirled around his pupils. He found he couldn't look away.
"Our Master?" he muttered. The words needled him, but he couldn't sort out why. The distant sounds were increasing in volume and intensity, and it was growing harder to think.
Obey, Listener.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Garin swung his leg over and hopped off the horse, landing nimbly on the stones below. The gelding shifted, bumping into him and sending him stumbling forward a step.
Go to him.
"Go ahead, Garin," Falcon encouraged him from atop the horse.
Under the aged warlock's hard gaze, Garin approached him. His body moved as if another willed it like he was no more than a marionette. Why am I doing this? he asked himself, and didn't have an answer. But he couldn't stop. He wanted to do as the voice had told him. He wanted to obey.
Stopping six paces from the warlock, Garin stared at him, but Kaleras was looking up at Falcon. "Now," he said. "As for you—"
Protect us. Kill him.
The knife was in Garin's hand, and he was moving forward, but the warlock was swifter, stepping back and raising a hand toward him. Strange, resonant words erupted from his mouth, and Garin felt something hold him tight in place.
But a moment later, he was freed and rushing forward. The cacophony was loud in his ears. Kaleras' eyes widened, flickering down to Garin's hand, and Garin stabbed forward—
A grunt as a jolt ran up Garin's arm. The man before him bent over double. Harsh laughter filled Garin's ears, and he felt the ground slipping from beneath him as he fell far away.
Tal hurried down the hall, knowing what a sight he must make and not caring. His travel-stained leathers on, Velori knocking at his hip, his bow strung and slipped across his chest, a quiver at his other hip, a plethora of knives tucked away — he looked ready for war. Guards, who wandered the halls with increased frequency due to the Sendeshi delegation's visit — and perhaps the soulshade's visit the night before — eyed him warily, but none accosted him, the King's orders to leave him be still standing. That didn't, however, stop a pair from following him, though they kept their distance. Even a king's command can only go so far, he mused.
He ignored them and, reaching Aelyn's door, pushed inside. The desk was empty, as was the seat before it. Heart knocking against his ribs, Tal strode further in and found Aelyn sitting up in his bed.
"He couldn't wait for me, could he? Where did he go?"
Aelyn's eyes glinted from the darkness. "The warlock figured it out. He knows."
Cold fingers crept down Tal's spine. "Who is it?"
"Did you never guess? In all the hours you spent together, all the confessions you made to each other, you never once suspected him, did you? Blinded by friendship." Aelyn said the last word with a twist of his lips as if he were sullied by its utterance.
"Damn you, elf! Speak plainly for once!"
"It's your beloved bard, Magebutcher. Falcon Sunstring."
Tal froze, but his mind kept moving, parsing over the accusation. All he had told him, all he had seen and said… Falcon? Could it be Falcon?
"The old warlock has gone after him. Seems that our Soulstealer realized he'd been discovered and was making a run for it." Aelyn looked to be relishing his role as the bearer of bad news, his smile tugging wider.
"Out the front?"
The mage nodded. "Like the man he was impersonating, our puppetmaster seems to have a flair for the dramatic."
Ignoring him, Tal turned and bolted from the room, nearly bowling over the guards who had been lingering outside. "Come on!" he bellowed. "To the front courtyard!"
As he ran, he heard their armor clinking behind him. But he well knew it wouldn't be enough.
Garin stared down at his hand. Dark, it had turned, the liquid slowly dripping down his arm and soaking his sleeve. His hand had been pale the moment before. Now, it was black as a fathomless void, black as the Night's Pyres were said to burn.
I'm going mad.
But he knew this wasn't a delusion. Blood, Kaleras' blood, poured down his arm, down his knife. He jerked away, wet knife still clutched in hand, and stared as the aged man crumpled before him. It went in so quick and easy. Like he was no more than a pig to slaughter. Like he's an ordinary man.
Falcon barked a cruel laugh. "Well done, boy! Our Master thanks you. The Warlock of Canturith has long been a thorn in his side."
Kaleras raised his head, teeth bared in a grimace, his face thin and skeletal. "And I will continue to be."
The bard — who was no bard, Garin now saw all too clearly — shook his head. "I think not. That ring may protect you from my direct magic, but you can see I found a way around it. You won't harm the boy — that much became clear when you only tried binding and blocking him, spells against which I shielded. A simple command from my Master again and…" Falcon shrugged and smiled. "The thorn is pulled."
The warlock only raised his hand in response, strange words again on his tongue.
Protect us. Stop him.
The words sang in Garin's head, and he found himself stepping forward again, knife raised. No! he cried out in his mind. Don't! But he could no more stop himself than he'd been able to the first time. He was a prisoner in his head, watching as his body again advanced on the prone warlock.
"Garin, don't!"
Movement in the corner of his eye, materializing into a familiar figure. Tal! he tried to call back to him, but all speech was lost to him.
Yet as the presence that had seized hold of him loosened its grip for a moment, Garin seized back control, throwing himself across the stones and tossing the knife several paces away. "You can't make me!" he cried out, part defiance, part pleading. "I won't do it!"
But as he raised his head, he found Falcon still wore that infuriating smile as he sat atop his gray gelding, staring back toward the castle. "Tal Harrenfel!" he called with a mad cackle.
Garin raised his head to see Tal bolting across the courtyard, his silver sword bared, dandy clothes replaced by travel leathers. Hope warmed his chest. He was here, Tal was here, and they had the Extinguished in their grasp. Soon, everything would be over and done with.
But as Tal stopped short, panting slightly, he looked far from certain. "Where is he?" he demanded.
The Soulstealer who wore Falcon's face was the one with the smile now. "Ah! Tal Harrenfel — long have I awaited our reunion. Or do you not recognize me?"
Recognize him? Garin looked between Falcon's cruel smile and Tal's dawning realization.
"You," Tal said through clenched teeth. "The Extinguished from the Circle."
Falcon laughed softly. "The very one who made you the Magebutcher, yes."
Tal's expression spasmed, but his eyes remained as hard as before. "It doesn't matter who you are. What matters is whose face you stole. Where is he?"
"Your minstrel friend? Alas, I'm afraid he won't be able to join us. You see…" He held up his arm, and his sleeve fell back to reveal the curious, dark metal bracelet he always wore. "His soul is mine now, and his body decays without it. You'd do better to give him up for dead."
To Garin's amazement, Tal wore a small smile, full of sharp promises. "I'd be worrying more about what I'm going to do if you don't hand over that bra
celet."
"I don't think that will be a problem. Even if Kaleras is protected from magic, you are not."
Tal's eyes flickered to Kaleras. Garin's stomach twisted as he saw him still bowed over the stone, his head sinking lower with each passing moment.
"Alright then," Tal said. "You want to talk. So say your piece."
"I merely wish to extend an invitation. To my lair, shall we say. I believe you're already familiar with it? The Ruins of Erlodan, it's often called."
Tal's smile turned to a grimace. "Flee then, while you still can. Because Silence knows I'll kill you once I catch up."
The Extinguished only answered with a knowing look, then turned his horse and spurred his mount through the open gate.
Passage IV
What is the Song? From whence does it come? Long have I pondered its mysteries, yet I have never uncovered satisfactory answers.
From those tales I have collected and the one Fount I spoke with — not long after which she leveled her village in an inferno that left no others alive — those who wield magic in this manner all hear what they call "the Song." It is not a song as we know it, but made up of all the sounds of the World. Swishes of grass, sneezes over pepper, rotten trees toppling in forests — no sound is excluded.
But though the Song is intriguing, it is the Voice that accompanies it that seems significant. For this "Singer" appears to be a malevolent guide in the working of magic, often supplicating the Fount at times of weakness to give over command of their body so it may provide assistance. Through the guidance of a Singer, the Fount speaks a language they do not know and for which they have no name, and produces effects both marvelous and horrifying. I suspect that, over time, the Fount gives enough of themselves to the Singer as to lead to the complete obliteration of the self.
As to where these Singers come from, and how they come to plague the Founts, I can only speculate. But my theory is that they have always been a part of our World, but known under other guises. Sometimes, they are devils; other times, they are the words a madman hears in his head. Even if Singers aid their Founts in the short term, they inevitably lead to their destruction — and can that be labeled anything but evil?
A King's Bargain Page 21