A King's Bargain

by J. D. L. Rosell

  For the first time, fear, true fear, showed through the King's haughty eyes. A moment later, he masked it with a snarl. "You must find him now, Harrenfel! My life is in danger until we do!"

  Tal shook his head. "No, Aldric. I don't believe it is."

  As the King's eyes threatened to bulge from his head, Tal smiled without humor. "It was made to seem like assassination with the initial placement of the glyphs. But as I said before, it was a clumsy attempt. The Extinguished have many other ways they could kill you if they so desired."

  "How reassuring. Then what of last night?"

  "Last night makes it seem as if I was targeted for assassination. But I have reason to believe that wasn't the case either."

  "And what reason would that be?" King Aldric Rexall leaned forward, seeming like a dog straining at a leash.

  Tal shrugged. "My reputation, for one thing. Once, even fifteen waves of ghouls would have posed only a moderate threat. But more pertinent is that here in the castle, I had many sources by which to gain aid." He gestured at Aelyn with a smile. "Like our Gladelysh emissary here."

  The elven mage's lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace.

  King Aldric considered him for a moment, then turned back to Tal, calmer than before. "Then what is this cursed devil's goal, Harrenfel?"

  Tal shrugged. "I'll ask him when I see him. Or her. But for now, I would appreciate you pointing me to where the Warlock of Canturith currently resides."

  The King's jaw muscles worked for a moment as if he were imagining chewing through Tal's neck. Then he reached over and grabbed his chalice of wine, nearly upsetting it in the process. "East tower," he snapped, then drank greedily at the glass.

  Tal watched him, his smile growing easier. For how early it was in the morning, the King of Avendor was indulging quite flagrantly in drink. Is it fear? Or guilt? He hadn't lied to the King; the Extinguished wasn't out to kill Aldric. But Tal could think of only one reason why Yuldor wouldn't take the opportunity to depose Avendor's ruler while he had the chance.

  As little as he liked that inevitable answer.

  When Aldric set down the goblet, he snapped, "Why are you still here?"

  With a brief nod of his head, Tal took his leave.

  "Where are we going?" Garin asked as he followed Wren down the halls.

  "You've asked that how many times and I haven't answered?" Wren gave him a small smile, but it didn't touch her eyes. Jonn is missing — how could she be happy?

  But despite that, and despite the other thoughts weighing on his mind, he was glad to be there with her. It was their first morning free of classes in the five weeks he'd been in the Coral Castle, and he could think of no better way to spend it.

  And with no better company.

  Some of the servants and guards gave friendly greetings, all of them knowing Wren, while they eyed Garin with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. No doubt most of them knew he'd come with Tal. And with the reputation he'd gathered for himself, it was no wonder people stared. He was a legend turned drunkard, from what anyone could tell, and a madman on top of that as news of last night's expedition spread. The only problem was that it drew attention to Garin, too. And attention was the last thing he wanted.

  As much as he tried not to think about it, his thoughts went back to the ghouls exploding, and the strange, discordant sounds in his head. Had he imagined the whole thing? Was he going as crazy as Tal was said to be?

  "You're quiet."

  Garin shrugged. "Not really the kind of time to be talkative, I guess."

  Wren gave a somber nod.

  They passed the busiest parts of the castle and ventured into parts he hadn't yet seen. The stone corridors echoed with their footsteps. The suits of armor periodically posted like ghostly sentinels became dustier and lacked the exquisite polish of the main halls. The tapestries hanging from the walls that depicted battles and myths from Reach history became faded and moth-bitten around the edges. But still, Wren led them on.

  At length, she pointed to a doorway. "Know where that leads?"

  He tried picturing where they were from outside the castle. "A tower?"

  She nodded. "Usually, a magister of the Warlocks' Circle occupies it, to be on hand to advise and assist the King. But right now, it's Kaleras who's taken up residence."

  "Kaleras? The Warlock of Canturith?"

  "Is there any other? But we don't want to go in there — he'd probably blow us up before we'd crossed the threshold. This way."

  The hallway she led him down now was as dusty as any he'd seen and seemed to lead nowhere. But when they reached a wide window, Wren pressed her hands around the edges, found a latch, and swung it noiselessly open.

  "Someone keeps the hinges oiled," he observed.

  "My father showed me this spot. Look — you have to see the view!"

  Garin watched apprehensively as she opened the window wider to a gust of wind and stepped out. Peering out after her, he saw a narrow ledge, no more than two feet wide, just outside the window. His stomach did flips watching Wren slide nimbly out onto it.

  She looked back and saw him hesitating inside. "Don't be a cat in a stable! Come on!"

  He set his jaw. If I can face three ghouls, I can step out of a window. Besides, he knew he'd never live it down if he didn't follow her now.

  "Just don't look down while you're moving!" Wren shouted over the wind. "And lean toward the wall!"

  Knowing there was nothing for it, Garin held his breath and stepped out. A squall billowed around him, unsettling his balance. For one thrilling moment, he thought it would sweep him from his feet and send him tumbling far, far below. Then he leaned toward the castle and felt the pressure of cold stone beneath his hands and exhaled shakily.

  Wren's hand closed over his arm. "Don't worry — I have you."

  As she held onto him like a mother her small child, he felt it should have bruised his pride, but he found it hard to mind.

  A dozen feet past the window, the ledge widened just enough to be comfortable. Wren settled down, feet dangling over the edge, and Garin sat cautiously next to her. He breathed another sigh of relief and was glad when Wren didn't take her hand away from his arm.

  She pointed with her free hand. "Now look!" she said with a wild grin. "Didn't I say you had to see it?"

  Garin looked out. Halenhol stretched out in all directions below them, a checkered landscape of red, tan, and orange roofs. Tens of thousands of people — hundreds of thousands, even — lived there below him, all of them with their cares and concerns, with only this city held in common. Miles away, the city walls rose white and gleaming in the sunlight, and beyond that, the gold and green fields of farms were on colorful display. A shining river ran through them, stretching to the distant forested hills where the Ruins of Erlodan hid. The hills receded into a blue haze, then seemed to fall off the World altogether. Above them, puffy white clouds, like giant tufts of wool from the largest sheep ever bred, dotted the berry-blue sky.

  "Night take me," he breathed.

  She leaned closer to him and spoke in his ear over the incessant gale. "Father would take me here sometimes when the winds had died down. He'd play the lute and sing songs of far-off places. Often, he sang of your secret father. Always was proud of composing his legend."

  Garin gave a low laugh. "Tal's not my father."

  Despite the scene stretching before him, his mood grew somber as he thought of his actual father. When he'd last seen him, he'd been four, and Father had knelt before him, told him to be good for his mother, then ruffled his hair and left for war. He'd been sure he'd return, sure as only young children could be.

  But he hadn't.

  "What were you thinking of?" Wren asked.

  "My real father. How he looked the last time I saw him." He glanced sidelong at her, conscious of her warmth pressed against his side. "Do you ever wonder about your mother?"

  He felt her shrug against his shoulder. "Sometimes. I've asked Father about her twice, but he neve
r had much to say beyond what I've already told you. They didn't know each other well. It was just…" She shrugged again. "An accident."

  "Accidents don't have to be bad."

  "Oh?" She arched an eyebrow at him. "And was I a good or bad accident?"

  Her hand that wasn't holding his arm was resting on the leg closest to him. As he reached to take it in his, he felt braver than he had when he'd stood against the ghouls.

  "We'll see," he said with a slow grin.

  Tal stopped before the door to the east tower. Long had he loathed stepping foot within towers, and long had he avoided it. Too many dark memories within rooks had led him to skirt around them when he could. But now, he knew it couldn't be helped.

  Taking a breath to master himself, he knocked.

  The silence stretched for several long moments. He was just about to knock again when a man's voice, aged but strong, called out, "Come in!"

  He tentatively set his hand to the handle, half expecting it to catch on fire, and pushed the door open.

  The man sat facing the opposite wall, a desk before him filled with an assortment of strange objects. Books with strange drawings. Vials filled with unidentifiable fleshy parts. Glass orbs with white, feathery substances suspended within them. A glance around showed the rest of the tower filled with similarly odd items. Tal's lips curled. If he hadn't already known who occupied the east tower, their surroundings would have been clue enough.

  "I'm disappointed," he said to break the silence. "I thought you'd set better defenses than that."

  "I did," Kaleras said without turning. "But you've forced me to dismantle them."

  Tal stepped further in. Despite the hour of the morning, the tower was dimly illuminated, for Kaleras had drawn curtains over many of the narrow windows. The spiral staircase that ran around the edge of the tower ascended into shadow.

  "What is it with magicians and towers?" Tal wondered aloud. "Do they need everyone to not only look up to them figuratively, but physically?"

  "The farther we can see, the farther our workings reach."

  Tal peered over the warlock's shoulder to see he did nothing more mystical than writing a letter, and in ordinary ink. "A lover's correspondence?" he said, spiking the words with hidden intent.

  Kaleras set the quill back in its stand and turned to face him. His hair, once a tawny red mane, had faded to a thinning silver curtain hanging past his shoulders. His face still retained some of his handsome features, but age, scars, and a magician's worries had lined and hollowed it, and his skin hung loosely about his jowls.

  "This is a strange way to begin a thank you," the warlock said finally.

  "And why should I thank you?"

  Though there was no swirl of the elven Bloodline to his eyes, the Warlock of Canturith still had a glare to match any Gladelysh sorcerer. "I never could tell how much of you is an act and how much you truly are a fool."

  "I couldn't tell you either. But if you're referring to last night, I'm not sure I have anything to thank you for yet."

  "Didn't I save your life?"

  "In a manner of speaking. So long as you weren't the one to first endanger it."

  They matched stares for a long moment. Though Tal was plenty aware that the man could kill him with a few muttered words — and had come very close to doing so in the past — he found it wasn't difficult to hold his gaze. Anger, cold and long-simmering, had carried him this far.

  "If you have an accusation against me, speak it," Kaleras said coldly.

  "I have no qualms with you, Magister — or what should I call you, since you were ejected from the Circle?"

  "My name never fails."

  "Just 'Kaleras?'" Tal shook his head mournfully. "You may just as well announce you've lost all sense of dignity. Regardless, you do seem to have fallen in reputation. Some are beginning to mutter that you're involved with… things. Dark things."

  "'Dark things?'" Kaleras laughed, barking and sharp. "Nothing half as much as you know."

  "Then the rumors are true? That you've been touched by the Night?"

  Kaleras suddenly stood before him. "Is that what you believe? That I'm one of Yuldor's Kin? That the Extinguished have turned me to their side?" His voice dropped lower. "That I am one of the Soulstealers themselves?"

  "Why not? You're foul enough for it."

  The warlock studied his eyes for a long moment. Then, his mouth twisting in disappointment, he turned away.

  "Not all that smells fair is pure, nor all that reeks is rotten." Kaleras raised his hand, the long sleeve falling back from it. In the low light, a circle of dark metal gleamed on his finger, a scrawling script glowing in soft green across it.

  Tal laughed softly. "So you haven't misplaced it yet, old man?"

  He lowered his hand again, expression spasming with annoyance. "I have worn the Ring of Thalkuun since I took it from you all those years ago."

  "Since you stole it, you mean."

  Kaleras' eyes seemed to gleam. "Perhaps we shouldn't dwell on old crimes, Magebutcher."

  It always stung, that name. But coming from him, he who had witnessed his greatest failing, Tal found himself fighting hard to stay above the panic rising in his chest.

  He cleared his throat, and when that didn't do the trick, cleared it again. "Of course not. I wouldn't want you to think your life in danger. But…" No matter how he worked his cheeks, the smile kept slipping away. "Why didn't you kill me that day?" he suddenly asked.

  The aged warlock studied him with his hawkish eyes. He didn't ask which day; he already knew. "I couldn't. Not by any moral failing," he added at Tal's raised eyebrow. "The ring protects its wearer from indirect magic as well — magic darts, ensorcelled boulders, the like. It has to be at least two steps removed for it to potentially work around the protective enchantments. When I collapsed the Circle chamber, the ring protected you from harm, but it incapacitated you long enough for me to pry the ring from your hand."

  "Yet you didn't leave me in the chamber to die. You dug me out."

  It was Kaleras' turn for a wry smile. "I didn't dig, Harrenfel. But yes, I uncovered you." The smile disappeared, and he looked aside. "But not to save you."

  "Why, then?"

  The warlock studied the wall. "I used you to find the Extinguished who had enthralled you. And after he had cast you aside, I pursued him. And destroyed him."

  Tal stared at him. I should have known. Perhaps I am the fool I pretend to be. "I was bait. The hook to reel in the big fish."

  "In a manner of speaking."

  Tal turned away, swallowed, and shook his head as if that could rid him of the thoughts circling his head. He knew he shouldn't open his mouth, knew he shouldn't speak of it, but his iron grip of control had rusted away over the years.

  "Do you know?" He said it to the door, not daring to turn and face the warlock. "Did you know then?"

  "Know what?"

  Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of the knowledge Tal hunted for in his words? Tal smiled bitterly to himself and felt the vault door rolling back into place over that long-hidden hurt.

  "Never mind, old man. Just don't fall prey to the Extinguished, would you?"

  Leaving explanations unspoken, he sauntered out of the door.

  Garin watched Tal stride from the warlock's tower, eyes wide.

  "What's he doing here?" Wren whispered in his ear.

  He shook his head. "Don't know."

  After his footsteps had echoed down the hall, Wren motioned him forward, and Garin crept after her. As they passed the worn door of the tower, he paused and stared at it. Why had Tal visited the Warlock of Canturith? Did he suspect him of being the traitor?

  The door swung open.

  Garin startled, wondered if he should run for it, but found himself rooted to the spot. In the doorway stood Kaleras the Impervious, staring at him, a scowl etched into his lined face.

  "You," the old warlock said. "You came here with Tal Harrenfel."

  Garin nodded, his body cold with
sweat. Even if it hadn't been common knowledge, he wouldn't have dared to lie to a warlock.

  "What are you to him? His bastard, I suppose?" His lips twisted into a mocking smile.

  Garin swallowed. "No, uh, sir. We're just friends, I suppose."

  The warlock looked as if he would spit, then his eyes seemed to widen and see Garin for the first time. Garin took a step back as the elderly man's deep brown eyes suddenly seemed to have a cast of gold to them. For a moment, he thought he heard a distant clamor, and cold shivered through him.

  Then the warlock blinked, and the coldness passed. But the relief was momentary as the mage's scowl returned, more pronounced than before. He turned away but paused before closing the door. "Pass him a message, boy. Tell him to be wary of everyone in the Coral Castle. Even those he feels he can trust."

  Garin swallowed and backed away. "Yes, sir."

  Without looking around, the Warlock of Canturith closed the door. Garin wanted to double over and gasp for breath.

  "What was that about?" Wren demanded in a whisper.

  "Don't know." He turned away. "Come on — we'd best not linger outside his door."

  But as he walked quickly away from the tower, the clammy stickiness of his palms told Garin he knew exactly what that had been about.

  The Bloody Circle

  "Stop, just stop!" Falcon waved his arms, his irritation permeating the Smallstage with every movement.

  Garin halted with the rest of the troupers and stared at the bard, wondering if his foul mood would ever stop. Though, if it had carried on for two weeks, he doubted there was an end in sight. Wisely, the players of the Dancing Feathers bent around the Court Bard's temper, leaping to obey when Falcon demanded that they clear the stage.

  Wren slipped next to Garin as he shrugged out of his page's uniform, which fit tightly and loosely in all the wrong places. "He's a bouquet of lemons, isn't he?" she noted.