A King's Bargain

by J. D. L. Rosell

  It's the Night, he told himself, over and over. It's Yuldor and his kin, trying to lure you to their side. But though his fascination repulsed him, he couldn't deny it.

  So he busied himself worrying over other things. His horse, a dun mare, was loaded with unfamiliar implements of war. A round shield, plain but sturdy. A sword of steel rather than the wooden ones he'd practiced with. Armor of chainmail and padded leather. A crossbow that he'd received with little more than cursory instructions and was still unsure how to load.

  Only three months ago, he'd started to learn to fight. And now he intended to take on one of the Extinguished and all the Nightkin at his disposal. But what choice did he have? He'd made a mistake — if stabbing a man between the ribs could be called a mistake — and had to set things right. A man always set things right. Didn't he?

  He thought of how his brothers would laugh at him, how his mother would scold, and Lenora would gently ask, Are you sure about this? All he had to do was keep riding, all the way to the East Marsh, and he'd be home in another week or two.

  His eyes burned, and not just from the constant air rushing past his face.

  But every time his courage began to falter, he had only to glance next to him to find it surging again. Wren looked nearly as eager as Tal, though her strength seemed brittle compared to his, like ice cracking under the weight of a boulder. Garin could hardly blame her. The Soulstealer had impersonated her father, had taken his face, his voice, even his memories to mold himself into the perfect doppelgänger. She'd spoken with him, hugged him, confided in him for months, and never known.

  But why she would have guilt burning in her eyes, he couldn't understand. It wasn't her fault this happened to her father. She was as much a victim, and as innocent, as he. But every time he thought to say it during their brief respites, he found his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

  Tal held up a hand, and Garin sighed in relief as he slowed his mount to a walk. The evening had bled to dusk, and now even the blue light was fading. Beneath him, his horse panted, its coat sheen with sweat.

  Wheeling his blonde gelding around, Tal faced them. "We'll draw up camp here for the night. The path to the Ruins of Erlodan lies just ahead. Tomorrow morning, we'll find it and make for our puppeteer."

  "And my father," Wren said fiercely.

  Tal nodded with a small smile. "And Falcon."

  Dismounting, Garin blinked away the dragging exhaustion and set to finding an adequate spot for camp off the road. Well-practiced as they'd become, within a quarter-hour they were hidden behind a small grassy knoll, wrapped up in their bedrolls, with full, if unsatisfied, bellies.

  As usual, Garin had made up his bed next to Wren. Though they barely spoke, he found it comforting to have her near and hoped she felt the same. He listened to the nighttime noises of crickets, the hum of life surrounding them, just loud enough to drown out the Nightsong, the discordant, rhythmless sounds always murmuring behind his thoughts. Sighing with relief, he began to drift off.

  "I doubt he's still alive."

  His eyes snapped back open, and he turned to look at Wren. In the moon-lifted darkness, he only saw the outline of her face and her shining eyes staring up into the star-dusted sky. He didn't have to ask who she meant.

  "Of course, he is." He didn't sound sure even to his ears. He tried again, his voice stronger. "You remember what Tal said. That bastard Soulstealer would have kept him alive to impersonate him. And besides, he seemed to know we'd come after him. Your father would be far better bait alive than… you know."

  Wren gave a doubtful grunt.

  Garin swallowed, then said the words he thought she needed to hear, even if he didn't know why. "It wasn't your fault, Wren. You know that, right?"

  She shifted, her gaze finding his. Even in the darkness, he detected the faint movement of the gold in her eyes. "Isn't it? I know exactly when the Extinguished took him."

  "You do?"

  "Three and a half months ago, he went to Gladelyl to research for a song he'd been writing. A song of ancient times, of the forging of the Bloodlines, and of the Worldheart."

  "The Worldheart?"

  "Never mind that." Wren looked back up at the sky. "The point is that when he returned, he didn't seem right. More prone to anger, less wont to laugh and smile. But I didn't think much of it. 'He'll get back to normal soon,' I told myself. And so I ignored it and pretended everything was fine."

  Garin sighed. "That doesn't make it your fault."

  "My father has been his prisoner for months. Maybe he's alive, maybe not. But if he is, how could he be whole? His soul…" Her words choked off, then she spoke through it angrily, "That thing took his soul. It broke him."

  The Nightsong suddenly grew loud for a moment, and Garin spoke so that he didn't have to listen to it. "It's like Master Krador is always telling us — we have to focus on what is, not what might be."

  Wren turned back to him, her eyes finding his. "You might be right," she whispered, then gave a quiet laugh. "After all, we don't know that we'll even survive."

  His heart pounding a little harder, Garin pulled his arm free of his bedroll and reached out toward her across the cold ground. A moment later, her fingers intertwined with his.

  Despite his fear, despite what he knew tomorrow would bring, he smiled into the darkness, glad at least they would face it together.

  Just as gray light began to lift the darkness from the sky, Tal rose from his bedroll, pulled on his boots, and began collecting firewood. He'd built and lit the campfire by the time Aelyn joined him. Unlike on the way to Halenhol, the mage didn't spare any magic to form himself a chair, but sat cross-legged on the ground, back stiff and straight as if he were in council before his queen.

  "Finally came down to our level, did you?" Tal gave him a small smile from across the fire.

  Aelyn scowled. "Life is one long jape to you, isn't it?"

  "And for you, it's one long chore. But never fear, my dour companion. One way or another, our service will be over soon."

  "Yes. I imagine it will." The mage looked back into the flames, the firelight making the bronze in his eyes shine even brighter.

  First comes the brooding. Then the doubts. Then despair. Tal knew the cycle well, and knew, too, he had to cut it off early lest it spiral out of control. Fortunately, he knew the quickest way to inflate a self-absorbed cockerel like Aelyn: shameless flattery.

  "What can you tell me of what our adversary has prepared for our coming?" he asked lightly. "A Nightkin expert like you ought to know."

  Aelyn narrowed his eyes, no doubt searching for the insult in the compliment. "Every evil imaginable, I suspect. In a place as Night-touched as Erlodan's Ruins, the Nameless will have access to much more power than he did in the Coral Castle. To make no mention of no longer needing to uphold his disguise as Falcon, which must have taken a tremendous amount of his power to hold so tightly for so long."

  "But what specifically?" Tal pressed. "Surely a learned man such as you can say more?"

  "A learned man, am I?" The mage snorted. "I'm immune to flattery, Harrenfel."

  Not flattery, then, Tal decided. An elf with a rotten heart only needs someone to feel superior to. He tweaked his expression to look chastened, if still smug.

  "But as we're aligned in this endeavor," Aelyn continued with a smirk, "I'll give you the knowledge you seek."

  "I'd like nothing better."

  Aelyn leaned forward, shadows dancing over his face. "The Nameless will set himself up in the deepest catacombs, weakening us by stages until we reach him. First, he'll cover the grounds with Night-touched mist that will sicken and slow our minds. Then, once we've passed into the upper catacombs, he'll test our strength and probe for weaknesses."

  "I'm sure he'll find none of those."

  "He'll set Nightkin of every cunning upon us. Quetzals and chimeras will only be the start — ghouls, shades, perhaps even a wyvern if he planned ahead."

  Tal snorted. "At least you didn't claim a d
ragon. Even still, I think we've strayed a little. If even a runty wyrm had roosted in the ruins, fresh rumors would have flown across the Westreach."

  "Perhaps so," Aelyn conceded grudgingly. "But there will be manners of evil such as you and I have never seen."

  Tal didn't let his smile slip, even if his heart was starting to rattle like a loose wagon wheel. It didn't matter that he knew Aelyn was trying to get a rise out of him; the truth remained that they had no idea what lay in wait.

  "So, what are we going to do about it?" Tal asked lightly.

  The mage glanced to either side, then leaned closer. "I've been saving something for just such an occasion as this," he said in a low voice. "All we need do is get me close enough to the Nameless and, I assure you, he is as good as dead."

  "Or, shall we say, extinguished?"

  Aelyn grimaced and leaned back, muttering, "And this is the man I throw my lot in with."

  Tal grinned even as he realized why Aelyn had spoken softly. Garin. He believed him the pet of the Extinguished still. And not without reason. They hadn't tried cleansing him; only one healer he knew of was powerful enough to attempt it, and she was far out of reach.

  "Well, we have as good a plan as we're likely to get. There's just one thing I'm still wondering."

  As Aelyn watched him with plain suspicion, he reached back into his pack and, feeling the rough edges of cloth, drew out a covered object, then slowly unwrapped it. Amidst the wrappings lay an old book, its leather cover worn, but the sharp glyphs still legible.

  Now the mage looked interested. Rising and drawing near, he stared at the tome like a dog at a bloody bone. "A Fable of Song and Blood." Aelyn looked up with narrowed eyes. "You brought a priceless, irreplaceable book along on a mission unlikely to succeed?"

  "Never mind that. You can read the Darktongue — see this passage here." Tal opened the book carefully and pointed a finger above the yellowed page. "What does this say?"

  Aelyn narrowed his eyes, but his curiosity overwhelmed his distaste. "'Thus I will come outright and declare my unsavory belief: that the Heart searches for another to possess it.'"

  Though the elf tried to read further, Tal drew the book away and closed it. His blood seemed to turn into boiling oil as it pumped through his veins, and his hands shook as he slipped the book back into his pack. "It has to be," he murmured. "That has to be it."

  "What in all the Night's Pyres does that mean?" Aelyn demanded. He looked ready to dive after the book and take it by force, the muscles in his face twitching as he stared at Tal's pack. "What 'Heart' is it talking about? What is unsavory about that?"

  "Never mind. I only wanted to confirm my translation was sound." Tal cocked a grin, half-hearted as it was, knowing Aelyn would keep after this unless he put him off the scent. "But, as usual, my skills have been found to be prodigious."

  Aelyn snorted in disgust and rose. "We don't have time for this. If we're to be up to the derelict fortress and back before sundown, we must start moving."

  Tal rose as well and held out a hand. "I don't know if I'd call you a friend, a rival, or a curmudgeon I'd rather avoid. But I'm glad you're here fighting beside me."

  Aelyn eyed his hand disdainfully and didn't take it. "I wish I could say the same."

  Tal let his hand drop, his smile growing wider. Even at the end, some things never change.

  The Fickle Woods

  Garin shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around him. Though winter had yet to claim Avendor fully, the day was overcast and cold, and the chill inevitably seeped through his clothes as he and the rest of the small rescue party plodded through the bogs surrounding the ruins. They'd left their horses behind and proceeded on foot, knowing the mounts were unsuitable for the terrain and noisier than Tal preferred. Stinking mud spilled over the tops of his boots, numbing his feet and chafing his legs.

  But it was the Nightsong growing steadily louder in his head, and the knowledge of where they headed, that posed the worst of his misery.

  The unfamiliar scabbard at his hip caught again in the underbrush, and Garin wrenched it free, the shield swinging from where it hung across his back. He ached from the march already, their short rests and long rides already having worn him down to a ghost of himself. And we have yet to fight, he thought glumly.

  Fight. How could he expect to contribute anything in a fight? He was a novice by any standards, and not a skilled one. He'd barely had the courage to stand up to the ghouls in the Coral Castle, or the quetzals before that, and only survived by the shame he wished he could forget.

  I will protect you.

  The words rose from the incongruous sounds of the Nightsong that undercut his every thought. Garin tried not to hear them, tried not to listen, but he found himself tempted by the Nightvoice all the same.

  If it helps me survive, he thought, and saves my friends, can it be so evil?

  But as soon as he found himself thinking it, he repressed it again. This Singer, as Tal had called it, was the same as had told him to stab Kaleras, the same that commanded the Nightkin, the same that served the same Master of the Soulstealer. It was an unholy creature, a devil whispering in his ear, and all the old stories told the same of devils: never accept their deals.

  But when he scanned the forest around them and considered what might be lying within the gloom, he couldn't deny that he was tempted.

  His companions provided little help in taking his mind off of it. Aelyn and Tal had strayed ahead, their heads bent in conference. Wren trudged beside him, but stared straight ahead, her jaw set, the gold spiraling in her eyes. As often as not, a hand rested on the pommel of her sword, as if she was eager for an enemy to appear so she could cut it down. He had thought she would look as ridiculous as he in their borrowed gear, but instead found it suited her. Shorter and slighter than him she might be, but she was far more the warrior than he'd ever manage.

  Tal turned and met his eyes, then stopped and waited while Aelyn continued ahead. As Garin and Wren reached him, he walked between them.

  "Wren," he said, his tone as light as if they were making conversation back in the safety of the Coral Castle's halls, but his voice pitched soft. "I've meant to talk to you about something."

  Garin hesitated, wondering if he should fall back, but Tal caught his eye. "Stay, Garin. This might be instructive for you as well."

  "What do you want to say?" Wren asked abruptly.

  "You have elven blood. You know what that means, don't you?"

  "Lively eyes and pointed ears?"

  Tal chuckled. "There's that. But it also means sorcery should come naturally to you. Today, we will test how much you tend to the Eldritch Bloodline."

  Wren glanced at Tal and said nothing, but he hardly seemed to notice, his eyes bright as he gazed at her.

  "Have you ever heard of the Worldtongue?"

  "My father mentioned it in some of his older stories. It's the language of the World, the tongue that birthed all the tongues of the Bloodlines at their creation. For those with sorcery in their veins, speaking the Worldtongue evokes magic. Or so he said."

  "Close enough. Did he teach you any words? Test the strength of your blood?"

  Wren shook her head.

  Tal grinned. "No time like before a fight to experiment. Speak the word after me — and you may want to stand back."

  As Garin and Wren walked a little further apart, Tal raised a hand, then spoke, his voice deep and sonorous. "Kald!"

  Flames, blue and hot, billowed up from Tal's outstretched hand, illuminating the forest for a moment.

  Tal gestured at Wren. "Your turn. But before you try it, bear this in mind: magic must draw from a source. The Worldtongue molds and multiplies the flows of energy, but it must have a starting spark to work from. Minor cantrips like for fire use the body, and you'll feel chilled casting it once. But use it too many times in a row, and you'll be cold as a corpse and likely to end up one soon after. If you have a pressing need for it, though, it's best to alternate it with the cantrip for ic
e, lisk, which will draw heat back in." At the last word, particles of ice filmed his glove, and Tal smiled as he shook them away. "Understood?"

  Wren nodded, then held out a hand for her own test. "Kald!"

  As orange flames reared up in Wren's hand, Garin's gaze caught on something other than her astonished expression. For, as the murky gloom of the forest lifted, he saw shadowy figures all around them.

  "Good," Tal said. "Now, Garin, I wanted you to—"

  "In the woods!" he interrupted, pointing. "There!"

  Tal had his sword out before Garin had finished speaking, and werelights blossomed around him like a swarm of fireflies. The silhouettes appeared again, strangely man-shaped, not the massive monsters that the flashes of shadows had made them seem. All the same, Garin found himself staring, jaw slack, breath caught in his throat, wondering what the Extinguished had thrown their way.

  "Draugars," Tal said calmly as he circled Wren and Garin like a wolf protecting its cubs.

  "Of course." Aelyn had dropped back to their knot, though he seemed unconcerned by the enemies surrounding them. "I expect they'll be recent revenants brought up from the village graveyards."

  "Unless they're ancient bones from the ruins," Tal countered, eyes never leaving the slowly tightening ring.

  Aelyn shrugged. "If we're unlucky."

  "You going to fight?" Wren hissed.

  Garin hadn't drawn his sword or shield. Cursing himself for a fool, he scrambled to do both at once and nearly lost his blade in the bog.

  "What are they?" he asked, ashamed that his voice shook.

  "Reanimated corpses," Tal replied. "Cadavers brought back from the dead with a singular hate for the living. They have the same strength and speed as a man and, fortunately, die the same as if they were alive."

  Garin doubted he could match even a slow man at that moment, much less a living carcass. "We're dead," he whispered.

  "Not as dead as they are." Tal grinned at him, and Garin found himself smiling back. A weak joke, perhaps, but somehow, it let him breathe a little easier.