A King's Bargain

by J. D. L. Rosell

  But all the same, he removed his glove and reached forward to take the elf's hand. Aelyn's skin was cold and clammy as a fish, and Tal worked quickly, gripping the Binding Ring between his fingers. The band of metal burned cold beneath his fingertips. With one swift movement, he pulled it from the mage's slender finger.

  Aelyn shuddered as if doused in chilled water. Then his eyelids fluttered open, the bronze swirling fiercely in his eyes. Tal's spine prickled.

  "I've been waiting a long time for this," he said, soft and silky, then shouted, "Thalkunaras bauchdid!"

  Even as his body stiffened and his mind went numb with shock, helpless amusement washed over him. As it began, so it ends. Even before Aelyn pried the Binding Ring from his rigid grasp, Tal knew what would happen, and it felt like the fulfillment of a small prophecy as Aelyn slipped the crystal ring over Tal's finger.

  "This I bind you to," the mage said, lips curling, eyes gleaming. "That you will wear this ring until both you and I go to Gladelyl, then return to Hunt's Hollow. That you will never impede or undermine the plans of my monarch, Queen Geminia the Third of Gladelyl. That you will always obey Queen Geminia's commands, no matter what you may witness in Elendol."

  The Binding Ring glowed bright, and Tal already had his eyes closed and his teeth set, braced for the cold wave that shuddered through him even as his blood burned in response.

  As the ring dimmed and both the cold and heat retreated, Tal opened his eyes to slits and stared between his lashes at the smirking mage. "I'm not given to prejudice, but I'm starting to hate elves."

  Aelyn smiled the first real smile Tal could ever remember from him. "One man cannot stand for a Bloodline, though I do not think I make such a poor exemplar."

  "My name — my Heartname. How did you learn it?"

  The smile widened. "There is much I know that you do not, Magebutcher. But if I cannot provide illumination, I can promise this: the sooner we go to the Queen and do her bidding, the sooner you will be free."

  "Queen Geminia." Tal snorted a bitter laugh. "Then she is Yuldor's creature as well."

  The grin twisted into a snarl, and the mage leaned across the table. "Never! Do not speak such filthy lies about Her Eminence!"

  Tal shrugged. "As you say. But you see how it looks suspicious."

  "You are a snake, a viper. You cannot be trusted."

  "Strange — the same could be said of you."

  As the elf glared across the grimy table at him, Tal stood, his legs feeling weak. But the hesitation, the questioning of which course was correct, was gone. No room for doubts when you're pushed off a cliff, a millstone hanging from your neck.

  "But you did speak one truth," Tal continued. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can return, and I can take my turn again in binding you."

  The offense had drained from Aelyn, leaving only his sour smile. "So long as we go, you're permitted any dreams you wish, however unlikely."

  Tal lifted his head back and stared at the narrow shafts of pale light streaming through the holes in the roof. Farewell so soon, my hermit's cottage. The road calls me once more. The road, and all the twists and turns that it throws under my feet.

  He stood abruptly and made for the door. "What are we waiting for? There's walking to be done!"

  "We can't wait here all day. We have to go in. Or don't you want to?"

  Garin stared at the distant homestead, swinging his feet between the planks of the fence on which he and Wren sat. "Yes," he muttered. "And no."

  "No?"

  What could he say? That a demon lives inside me? That I'm not sure if I could look my mother in the eye after what I've done? That I'm not sure if I'll hug them or accidentally harm them?

  And what Tal had told him of his father's death — would his mother know what he said she would? But though he'd always wondered about his father, he found himself reluctant to learn the truth. He went to the Fringes and was killed by the Nightkin. That's what we were told, and that's the only reasonable thing that could have happened. What could be suspicious about that?

  "I ran away and only left a note explaining why. They haven't heard from me in months." He shrugged. "I'm afraid of seeing the pain I put them through because I was a coward."

  To his surprise, Wren snorted. "If that's your reason, you're still a coward. Any suffering your family is going through will be over once they see you, cotton-head."

  She kicked off the fence and began walking toward the farmstead. "Come on!" she called over her shoulder. "Unless you want your family to know how much of a nanny goat you are!"

  Garin grimaced, then slid from the fence and jogged after her.

  The distance between him and the door to the farmstead seemed to last forever, barely coming closer, his dread waxing with every small step. His head felt light enough that even a tiny squall could have knocked him over, his gut so tight and twisted he thought he'd be sick all over the threshold.

  Then, all of a sudden, he was in front of it, and Wren knocked on the door. It opened, and his mother stood in the doorway, mouth and eyes wide — then she pulled him toward her and hugged him so tightly he could barely breathe, her face pressed into his chest, sobbing, murmuring his name over and over, saying, "You're home, you're safe, you're home."

  She pulled him inside, and Garin reeled behind her, feeling like he had that day Wren and he had drunk wine in the backroom of the Smallstage, the World too bright and happening too fast and his chest so tight with happiness that this couldn't be real. But at his mother's call, the rest of his family poured into the room, all laughing and yelling and running to embrace him. He was crushed beneath the press of his brothers, his mother and sister having retreated to the side to laugh and cry. And in that moment, he'd never felt so loved.

  When they separated, and Garin had rubbed at his eyes, pretending he was scrubbing away road dust, he introduced Wren. She was grinning with the rest of them, the gold in her eyes bright, and his brothers all gave him sly smiles and knowing looks while his mother pulled her into nearly as tight a hug as she'd given Garin.

  But as the happiness of the greetings subsided, a weight settled back in Garin's gut. Making his way over to his mother, he stepped close to her and spoke under the loud carousing of his brothers, who had produced a small barrel of Crazy Ean's marsh whiskey from somewhere and were taking copious swigs from it.

  "Mother," he said, "I know I have a lot to explain. But I have to ask a question first." He hesitated, then pressed on. "I learned something about Father, about how he died. That he wasn't just conscripted to fight at the Fringes, but had a mission."

  His mother's smile stiffened, then slid away. "Who told you that?"

  His chest tightened so that he felt he could barely breathe. "So it's true? He had a specific goal?"

  His mother's gaze flickered to the rest of the family, but Wren was now indulging in the whiskey with his brothers, throwing back a glass to their roaring approval. Only his sister watched them from the opposite corner wearing a slight frown.

  "Yes," she whispered, barely audible amidst the ruckus. "He did."

  She went quiet for so long a moment so that Garin thought she wouldn't continue. But before he could prompt her, she spoke again. "It was a command straight from the King — he couldn't refuse. Your father was to put together a band of a dozen veteran soldiers and go to the northern coast, not wearing Avendoran colors, but traveling as civilians."

  "The northern coast. Outside of Avendor?"

  She nodded. "To Sendesh. It was the end of the Red Summer, when the Yraldi marauders were coming down from their frozen isles in droves, so they made it their excuse to be seeking work as sell-swords in the fight. But that wasn't what they were sent for."

  "Then what?"

  His mother stared at the floor. "To hunt down a man your father knew from a long time ago. A man who had gathered another name since the time he lived here in Hunt's Hollow. A man your father had no business ever seeing again, much less trying to capture."

  Garin w
orked his tongue around his mouth. "Who?" he croaked.

  "The Red Reaver." She finally met his eyes. "Tal Harrenfel."

  Tal watched Garin and Wren approach the wagons as they left from the other end of town, passing under a second archway like the one they'd entered under. While the stride of the bard's daughter was unsteady, the young man was certain in his course, his eyes downcast, his arms stiff at his sides.

  He knows, Tal sighed to himself. He knows. He'd set him on the path. Yet until that moment, he'd dared to hope it wouldn't come to this. Tal, old boy, you're as much a fool as when you first left your mother's door.

  When they'd nearly reached the wagons, Garin turned to Wren and said something, and she nodded and broke away, weaving her way toward the rest of the carriages, though not without a curious glance back in Tal's direction.

  Tal slid onto the end of the wagon as Garin stood before him. For a moment, he watched him in silence, until Garin raised his eyes to meet his gaze.

  "I know I have to travel with the troupe," the youth said. "I need the help of the elves. But you… I don't want to talk to you. I don't want you to come near me. If you do…" He looked away, his jaw working, not seeming able to find the words.

  "Will you kill me?" Tal asked softly.

  The youth whipped his head back up to stare at him. Tal was the first to look away. He'd seen the faces of far too many enemies not to recognize hate.

  "Stay away from me." The words came out choked and broken, but there was iron behind them. "For your own good."

  "Don't you want to hear what I have to say?"

  "No!" Garin nearly snarled the word but calmed almost as soon as he had. Something else flashed through his eyes. Uncertainty? Fear?

  Before he could say more, the youth turned and staggered away, swaying nearly as much as Wren had. Tal watched him until he disappeared into the rest of the caravan. So ends my time as a tutor, he mused. Nearly as fruitful as my other endeavors.

  "The curse of youth — so much passion, so pointlessly vented."

  Despite the heaviness weighing in his chest, a small smile took Tal's lips as he glanced over. Falcon moved like an old man, even leaning on a cane, but seeing him walk on his own at all put some heart back in him.

  Tal patted the wagon bed. "Get up here, you failed philosopher, if you can manage it."

  "I'll be cavorting and doing cartwheels before you can recite The Catechism of Silence, just you wait."

  "That prayer is at least two hundred pages long."

  The Court Bard groaned as he levered himself onto the wagon next to Tal. "So I've been told. Never bothered with piety myself."

  "And you've never spoken a truer word. Though, to be fair, you lie for a living."

  They sat in companionable silence for a time.

  "So," Falcon said. "Onward to Gladelyl. To the fair Queen Geminia's realm. To the other of my lineage's Bloodlines."

  "So it would seem."

  "What do you think we'll find there?"

  Tal leaned back on his arms, staring up at the dark clouds gathering overhead, promising the season's first, real snow and a long, wintery trek through the marshlands.

  "The same things as anywhere else. Soldiers drinking and fighting, priests preaching and fear-mongering, nobles jockeying for position and power. Strife, heartbreak, and the slow extinguishing of hope."

  "You make it sound so cheery."

  "Perhaps it's the weather." Or the boy whose father you long ago buried.

  Falcon cocked his head. "Why go if that's all you're expecting?"

  Something small and white drifted down from the sky. Tal removed his glove and held out a hand, and the snowflake melted even as he caught it, but his eyes clung to the ring gleaming on his finger. From Falcon's sharp inhale, he knew he'd seen it.

  His smile twisted wider. "Because my Queen commands it."

  "So the legend of Tal Harrenfel continues. I suppose I'll need to compose more songs." Falcon stared out into the gathering winter storm, his remaining hand rubbing at the stump where the other had been.

  Tal's chest tightened, and he looked away. "And I'll need to survive to hear them."

  They sat in silence as snow began to fall thicker, blanketing the day and blocking out the sun, beautiful and peaceful and ominous all at once. Like a new start, he thought. The past obscured just enough to pull your cart from the mud and roll onward.

  Tal slid down from the wagon. "I suppose it's up to me to get this sorry fellowship underway. Wish me luck."

  "You've never needed luck before."

  Tal turned away. "Silence knows I'll need it this time."

  The tale continues in book ii of Legend of Tal:

  A QUEEN'S COMMAND.

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  Thanks for Reading!

  Thank you for reading A King's Bargain! I hope you enjoyed it.

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  - Josiah

  J.D.L. Rosell

  Books by J.D.L. Rosell

  (Tap here to sign up here for future releases)

  Legend of Tal

  1. A King's Bargain

  2. A Queen's Command

  The Famine Cycle

  Secret Seller (Prequel)

  1. City of Whispers

  The Phantom Heist (Novella)

  2. Realm of Ashes

  The Everlands

  1. Absalom's Fate

  2. Absalom's Trials

  3. Absalom's Heretic

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thanks to:

  Kaitlyn, my fiancée and first reader, by whose withering critiques this book was forged into something worth reading;

  René Aigner, for his fantastic cover illustration — check out more of his work on ArtStation by tapping here;

  And you, dear reader, for spending your valuable time sojourning with Tal, Garin, and their companions — thank you for coming along.

  About the Author

  J.D.L. Rosell is the author of the dark epic fantasy series The Famine Cycle, the fast-paced LitRPG/Gamelit series The Everlands, and the sword-and-sorcery series Legend of Tal. He also writes serialized books, including the Nordic epic fantasy The Frozen Throne.

  Previously, J.D.L. Rosell earned an MA in creative writing and has written as a ghostwriter. Always drawn to the outdoors, he gets out into nature whenever he can and indulges in his hobbies of hiking and photography. But most of the time, he can be found curled up with a good book at home with his fiancée and two cats, Zelda and Abenthy.

  Follow along with his occasional author updates and serializations at www.jdlrosell.com or contact him at authorjdlrosell@gmail.com.