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.