A King's Bargain

by J. D. L. Rosell

  Tal tried to shout his denials, tried to fight back, but all movement was beyond him.

  The Soulstealer knelt, a hand resting on Tal's arm, his face coming low enough for Tal to see it out of the corner of his eye. Little remained of the mortal he'd once been, the skin pale and flaking, no hair anywhere on it, and the eyes burning orange with the mesmerizing movement of flames.

  As he spoke, his voice came out hoarse and high-pitched, as if he'd just inhaled smoke. "Now, we go to Yuldor, and see what else the World's Savior has planned for you."

  Tal closed his eyes. Behind him, the sounds of his companions' struggles continued. I can do this, he thought desperately. I can find a way out.

  But even to himself, his lies were growing thin.

  Kill him!

  "No!"

  Garin shouted the denial, or tried to, but he couldn't tell if he'd spoken or not. It was all he could do to throw himself to the ground and refuse to rise, even as the Nightsong rose in a flood and threatened to drown him, and the cold voice of the Singer hissed commands in his head and pulled at his limbs.

  You must kill him!

  "I won't!"

  He had to help. All around him, draugars were hurling themselves at Aelyn and Wren, who stood over him and Falcon in protection. So far, all of the draugars had fallen to the ground and returned to their endless rest, but the Nightkin kept coming; soon, they would be overwhelmed.

  Kill him! the Singer thundered, its voice pounding like a hundred drums through his head. He threatens us — he threatens the Song. You must kill him!

  "Never!"

  But despite how he struggled, he found himself rising shakily to his feet. Aelyn had his back to him. So easy to slip his belt knife out and stab forward—

  Garin forced himself back down to his knees. "You can't make me!"

  You must protect us! You must protect the Song!

  With each command, Garin felt his control slipping further away. He had to do something, and fast. But what?

  Kill the mage!

  Then it came to him. He didn't pause to consider if it was mad or brilliant or stupid but seized hold of the idea. "Fine!" he gasped. "I'll kill the mage!"

  As if in disbelief, Garin felt the Singer ease its control on him, allowing him to stumble to his feet. He put his good hand to his belt and worked free the knife, holding it as tightly as he could in his weak grasp.

  This is right, the Singer whispered. This is the way it must be.

  But instead of stumbling toward Aelyn, Garin wrenched his body around toward the tomb.

  Even as the sight before him turned his stomach, he forced his leaden feet forward. Tal sprawled on the ground, a man in black robes standing over him. As Garin watched, the man walked toward the legendary warrior and knelt. The Extinguished. Though he retained the figure of a man, he barely resembled one with his skin more ash than flesh.

  You will take his place, Listener? The Singer seemed curious.

  "Yes." Garin agreed blindly, barely knowing what he was saying. But as long as he agreed with the Nightvoice, perhaps it would not stop him.

  He stumbled closer as the Extinguished laid a hand on Tal's arm. A man moved within the stone coffin beside them, moaning and clutching his arm to his chest. Falcon, some part of him recognized — though how that could be when he'd left Falcon behind him with Aelyn and Wren, he didn't know. He forced his eyes away.

  You will bring balance to power?

  "Yes."

  You will return the Song to the Mother?

  "Yes!"

  A roar, like the tumult of a thunderstorm, filled his mind. So the young overcomes the old, and death resurrects life.

  Garin was barely listening. The Extinguished didn't seem to notice him, didn't look up as Tal suddenly writhed under his gray-handed grip. He clutched the knife as tightly as he could in his trembling grasp, moved to stand over the gray man, and raised the knife.

  Finally, the Soulstealer looked up, and Garin froze. His eyes burned brighter than Wren's, Falcon's, or even Aelyn's ever had, bright enough to burn at a glance. Those terrible eyes flickered to the knife Garin held aloft, and he smiled with his flat, fleshless lips.

  "Do you think," the Extinguished asked in a high, thin voice, "that common steel can harm me, Singer's pet?"

  Garin didn't stop to doubt. The heat of a forge and the force of a stormy gale surged through him. As the Nightsong crescendoed in his head, the distant roar of a terrible beast, he screamed and struck down with all that he had left in him.

  His vision blurred, and the knife jarred loose of his grip. Garin stumbled to the ground, blinking, trying to see through his blurred vision at the two figures before him.

  The Extinguished stumbled — Tal fell on him, silver flashing forward — then an unearthly scream tore through his mind.

  Garin watched, breath rasping in his throat, not having enough energy even to rise. One of the figures rose, a silvery blade darkened in his hand. As he came closer and knelt before him, he recognized him.

  "You did it," Tal whispered. Though his face was wrinkled with pain, he wore a smile. "You killed the Extinguished, Garin."

  Garin closed his eyes, and the ground fell away, the symphony of sounds swelling up and claiming him.

  Passage V

  While the previous passages detail tantalizing theories, they contain nothing by which I endanger myself. It is the words that follow that threaten our understanding of our Savior and would be branded as heretical by Imperial law, to be sentenced with death.

  Forgive the blots of ink — I write quickly as if I might outpace my fear. But I have committed myself to this; I have outlined the reasons for my concerns; I cannot back away from my duty now.

  Thus I will come outright and declare my unsavory belief: that the Heart searches for another to possess it.

  How this could be, I do not know. Lord Yuldor has long been the Master of the Worldheart and has forged the glorious Empire that has thrived for centuries. He has performed renowned wonders and manifold mercies for the peoples of the World, regardless of race or birth or worth.

  But I can see no other conclusion. Why else would the World's Blood manifest in the bodies of Founts? Why else would its Song reach for others, and its Singers call them to destructive acts? It is the only explanation for this chaos, which increases with each passing year in frequency and severity.

  I do not wish to believe it, yet I cannot deny that I do. If I sin, I know I will be punished and accept it. But if I must die for my words, then let me write them in full. If a new master of the Heart is necessary, they will come from one of the Founts, either of Song or Blood.

  Though I fear I am right, I hope I am wrong — May He Forever Reign.

  - A Fable of Song and Blood, by Hellexa Yoreseer of the Blue Moon Obelisk, translated by Tal Harrenfel

  A Bargain Fulfilled

  Tal cradled the unconscious youth in one arm as he looked over the courtyard. Like the worst of my night terrors, he thought.

  Corpses littered the broken stones. With the death of the Extinguished, the draugars had fallen, their sorcerous bindings unraveling, their bodies emptying into rotting vessels once more. The illusory dragon had disappeared in a shimmering of white light, leaving behind nothing but memories of its heart-stopping roar and searing flames that could not burn. The Extinguished himself had become little more than ashes, the wind slowly scattering them, and the gray, iron bracelet that he'd worn was broken, its links scattered about the ground.

  Yet the nightmare was slowly fading. The fog had thinned, and pale fingers of daylight clawed through the clouds overhead, illuminating the ruins and lifting the deep shadows. The unholy influence that had lingered over the Ruins of Erlodan seemed to be dissipating.

  But not without its cost.

  Aelyn and Wren stumbled over to them. "My father!" the young woman said, her voice rising. "He disappeared! Is he—?"

  Then she saw Falcon moaning in the tomb next to them and dashed over. "Father! Silence,
Solemnity, and Serenity, but you're alive! He's bleeding, badly. Someone, help me stem his wound!"

  With an arched eyebrow at Tal, Aelyn moved over to help. Tal gently settled Garin onto the ground and rose. The youth almost looked peaceful, his brow smoothed. Rest, he thought. Rest while you can. I fear it won't last long.

  Together, the three of them cleaned and bound Falcon's wound. The bard could do little but moan, for though alive and conscious, he seemed lost in the pain of his awakening. Tal knew it wasn't just from his missing hand. The sorcery the Extinguished had cast over him had largely preserved his body, but his old friend had suffered from his months-long internment in the tomb. He could only hope it had passed as a long, dark dream.

  After the bard's arm had been wrapped and purified of corruption, Tal leaned against the tomb next to Aelyn. The mage's hat had been lost during the fight, and some of his hairs had worked free of their braid to stick to his sweaty face. Catching Tal's eye, he nodded at the pile of ashes. "He burned your book."

  Tal nodded. Even as the Extinguished had turned to ashes around Velori, flames had erupted from his hand to consume the tome. A Fable of Song and Blood, the book he had hunted down in the heart of the East's mountains, that Yuldor had so wished to possess that the Prince of Devils had lured Tal from hiding and manipulated him into handing it over, was no more.

  "I suppose it's best. At the very least, the Enemy does not possess it." Aelyn glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "Though I would have preferred to have read it before it burned."

  Tal gave him a weary smile. "Never fear, my insatiable friend. Knowledge is never lost so long as one person remembers."

  Aelyn watched him with eyes narrowed. "Why are you smiling?"

  "Oh, no particular reason. Perhaps I'm just happy to be alive."

  The elf snorted. "As if that were any reason. But I have mysteries enough to contemplate here — like that name the Extinguished gave you. Skaldurak — do you know what it means?"

  Tal brushed back a loose strand of hair. "I may have translated Hellexa's tome, but my grip on the Darktongue is tenuous at best. 'Stone in the' … something."

  "For an oaf, surprisingly close — it means 'Stone in the Wheel.'" Aelyn studied him. "But why, I wonder, did he call you that?"

  "Because I have a propensity to ruin Yuldor's wagons?" Tal shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

  Aelyn harrumphed and pushed upright, swaying in place. "A riddle for another time, for we must now depart. The Nameless is dead, and his minions gone, but the Ruins of Erlodan are no place to linger."

  Tal looked over their party. Garin still lay unconscious in the rubble, while Wren leaned over the tomb, holding her father's face in both hands. Falcon's eyes seemed to be focusing finally, and almost a smile touched his lips as he met his daughter's gaze.

  "We're hardly fit to travel," he noted.

  "And yet, we must." Aelyn's lip curled. "Come, Tal Harrenfel. Don't tell me your name ends here."

  Tal sighed. "No, I suppose not. But you'll have to be less stingy with your sorcery if we're going to make it back down."

  As the mage scowled, Tal heard a faint call of his name. Turning, he saw Falcon staring his way, and he hurried to him.

  "He wants to tell you something," Wren said, beckoning him closer.

  Tal leaned over the tomb, trying not to breathe in the putrid stench that rose from it. Preserved the bard might have been, but months in a tomb had still made him stink like the dead.

  He gripped Falcon's remaining hand. "We came for you, old friend," he murmured. "You're safe now."

  Falcon's words came out as soft as a breath, and Tal had to lean close to hear them.

  "You cut off my hand, you bastard."

  Tal winced as guilt lanced through him. "Yes, I did. And I'm so sorry, Falcon. But if it's any consolation, I lost a finger."

  "A bard's hand is priceless beyond measure, ingrate. I'll make you pay for it a thousand times over."

  Tal ignored Wren's disgusted look and said in a hushed voice, "Don't say it. More songs?"

  Falcon's lips pulled apart as he tried to smile. "My playing days may be over, but I can still compose. The Legend of Tal lives again."

  Tal squeezed his friend's hand even as resignation settled in. Priceless beyond measure, indeed. He'd never been more than a man; no one knew that now more than those gathered around him.

  But they were alive. And if allowing a legend of lies to be woven around him was the cost, he'd pay it again a thousand times over.

  Sixteen long days later, Tal stood before the King and fibbed for all he was worth.

  "Then I stabbed him in the chest." Tal shrugged. "And that was that."

  King Aldric narrowed his eyes. "That was that? You claim to kill one of the Extinguished, as much as they can be killed, then pretend it is of no consequence? It's as if you are reciting one of my bard's songs!"

  The King lazily waved a hand at Falcon, who stood just behind Tal's shoulder. A truly kingly gesture, Tal thought, the corner of his mouth twitching. The Court Bard had been entombed for months, his soul ripped from his body, one of his hands severed, and only remained standing by his daughter's support. Yet the King scarcely seemed to notice his return. Perhaps he was more satisfied with the Soulstealer than a minstrel who can no longer play.

  "I would not say of no consequence." Tal displayed his most conceited smile as he raised his bandaged hand. "I lost a finger, and Falcon a hand. To make no mention that I've fulfilled my part of a king's bargain."

  The King of Avendor looked as if his wine had turned to vinegar in his mouth. "So you have. And so must I fulfill mine. After all, a king always keeps his promises."

  It's the first I've heard of it. Aloud, he said, "You are quite gracious, Aldric."

  "I'm sure." The King took another drink from his goblet, then gestured with it toward Tal's other shoulder. "You wished the boy to have a duchy, didn't you? Which duke or duchess shall I rob of their rightful inheritance?"

  Tal glanced back at Garin. The boy looked nearly as pale as he had that fateful day a week and a half before. The wound on his arm had begun to heal under a physician's ministrations, but he'd scarcely seen him laugh or smile during their journey home. Only with Wren did he come close to his normal self, and even then, he fell short.

  Tal nodded at the youth, and Garin nodded back. What we agreed upon, then.

  Tal turned back to the King. "No noble peer will mourn the loss of their ill-begotten estate today. By your leave, I would have Garin sent to Elendol for training, with your purse paying for the travel and boarding of him and his entourage."

  "Training? In Gladelyl?" Aldric's eyes had grown small and hard in his large, soft face. "What sort of training?"

  His lips twitched. "Dancing lessons."

  The King snorted. "Keep your secrets for now, if you must; I will find out before long. But even with your lowly opinion of me, I will maintain my part of our deal. You will have what you wish. Only say — how much of the country do you intend to be part of this 'entourage?'"

  Tal grinned outright. "Only myself and the players of the Dancing Feathers."

  "No sooner do I recover my minstrel than you whisk him away. Though I suppose he's only half a bard now." Aldric waved his dismissal impatiently, not even noticing Falcon's wince at the casual insult. "Very well, you may go. Just get your thieving fingers out of my pockets before I have the rest of them cut off."

  Tal never let the smile leave his lips. "And yours out of mine, my King."

  Come, Listener.

  The whisper cut through all other sounds. The wind against the high east tower. The now-familiar buzz of discordant noise in his ears. Wren murmuring something beside him.

  Come.

  He'd tried ignoring it. He'd tried responding. Nothing made a whit of difference. Still, the Nightsong droned on, and still, the Singer told him to Come, come, come...

  Fingers snapped before his face. "Wake up!"

  Garin startled and looked over to
see Wren frowning at him, fingers still pressed together. "I'm awake."

  Wren lowered her hand, but the frown stayed. "Doesn't seem that way anymore. Not since… you know."

  Garin looked out over the city, hazy in the morning light, a light mist quickly dissipating. Maybe I am asleep, he thought. Maybe this is all a dream, a lingering nightmare. Not the first stages of madness.

  Come, the Nightvoice whispered again.

  "Not sleeping well," he muttered.

  Wren turned her frown out toward Halenhol, but he knew she still meant it for him. "Facing the Extinguished was terrible, Garin. But I was there, too. I had to go through all the same things."

  But you have your father back. And you're not slowly turning insane.

  "Are you sleeping well then?"

  She snorted. "With dead men and dragons staring out of the shadows?"

  The wind gusted through the silence that fell between them. Almost, it drowned out the refrain that came again in Garin's mind.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and ground his palms into his sockets. There was only one thing he hadn't tried yet. But he wasn't sure he dared to.

  "Why did Tal take all the credit?"

  Garin looked over at her, his vision blurry for a moment. "He deserved it, didn't he?"

  A wrinkle appeared between her brow. Another time, he might have marveled over that crease; now, he barely had the energy to notice. "Deserve doesn't matter. You did it."