"And so Tal went to the edge of Reach lands, all the way to the Fringes of the East, snuck his way into the Hoarseer Lair, and stole the ring from the Hoarseer Queen. How he did that is another story, and how he earned the name Ringthief. Let it suffice to say that he managed it — but not without great cost.
"For someone lay in wait. The Hoarseer Queen was not allied with the rest of the Bloodlines of the Westreach, but with the East, and a Soulstealer stood as her councilor. Though Tal managed to worm his way into her throne room, he could not escape the influence of Yuldor's servant. Long he struggled, but in the end, he succumbed to the subjugation of the Extinguished."
Garin stared, wide-eyed, wondering if any of this could be true. "How?" he blurted. "How could he have fallen under the influence of the Extinguished and still be alive?"
Falcon turned a sharp smile on him. "Hear the rest of my tale, and you will know."
Wren arched an eyebrow at him, and Garin muttered, "Sorry." But he couldn't silence the anxiety swirling through him, nor the vague sense of doubt.
"As I was saying," the bard continued, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the company, "Tal became a slave to the Extinguished. But the servants of the Night's Puppeteer are clever and cruel, and so he gave him the Ring of Thalkuun to bear back to the Circle, and commanded him to put it on. And though he wore it, and it protected him from all further workings of magic, it couldn't negate the fell sorcery already placed upon him.
"So Tal returned to the Circle, and the Elder Magister, astonished at Tal's accomplishment, gathered the Circle to witness the presentation of the ring. But once they had gathered, Tal drew his sword and slew every warlock there, to the last of them, including the Elder Magister who had believed in him and trusted him."
Garin felt his throat close up. "Magebutcher," he whispered.
Falcon nodded slowly. "So he earned his name. Not all of the Circle had shown for the gathering, however. Kaleras, delayed by an errand of his own, returned to find his peers slaughtered, and Tal, with his sword still bloody, sitting at the Elder Magister's table, a terrible smile on his lips, the Ring of Thalkuun glinting darkly on his finger. Kaleras immediately understood what had happened and knew better than to pit his power against the artifact. Instead, he sealed the doors to the gathering chamber shut and collapsed it, seeking to bury Tal within.
"By what miracle Tal survived, not even he could tell. From what he's told me, his memories of his time under the Soulstealer's influence are hazy. All he knew was that suddenly, everything came into sharp clarity, and he stood outside the chamber, clothes stiff with dried blood and dust, and the Extinguished stood before him. 'How did he take the ring?' the fell warlock demanded of him. 'How did Magister Kaleras survive where the others did not?'
"But Tal could not tell him. He had no memories of the encounter, but when he looked down, the Ring of Thalkuun was no longer on his finger.
"In his rage, the Extinguished sought to make him suffer. And so he told him of all that Tal had done — how he had slaughtered the Circle, down to the old Elder Magister. And though the bodies were buried within the chamber, Tal knew it to be true from the blood upon him. He sank to his knees. 'Kill me,' he begged. 'I can't live with this guilt.'
"But Yuldor's servants are cruel to their cores, and all the more when you have drawn their ire. And so, though death would be punishment, the Extinguished deemed it far worse to let him live, a broken man to be hunted by those who remained of the Circle until the end of his days."
Falcon fell silent. No one stirred.
Garin drew in a ragged breath. "Is that it?"
The bard shrugged. "Hardly. Afterward, he came to us, the Dancing Feathers, his mind feeble and his morals lost. But after another encounter with Kaleras the Impervious, as the warlock became known afterward, he fled as far north as he could in the Westreach. Then came the years when he was a mercenary for the dwarves, fighting the horrors that spawn from the Deep and earning the dwarven name Khuldanaam'defarnaam, which means 'He Who Does Not Fear Death, For He Is Death's Hand.' And the years after, when he fought the northern marauders with such reckless bravery and brutality that he earned the name Red Reaver. Years when his name spread, to be sure, but years when he barely knew the face he saw in the mirror."
Garin remembered Tal in the courtyard, chopping ghouls apart, a savage grin on his lips. That's part of him, he realized. The warrior. The butcher. He wondered if he truly knew his wanton mentor.
But he hadn't just known him as Tal; he'd also known Bran the Chicken Farmer. Bran, always breaking out a smile no matter how hard the labor, ever making him laugh with obscene jokes. Bran, who slipped him sweets and sent home freshly roasted chickens for his family's table.
The kindness and the killer — they're both part of him. The realization didn't make the man as strange as he'd thought it would. Knowing what demons lay behind that haunted look of Tal's finally made Garin feel as if he was truly beginning to know his mentor.
As he rose, he found Falcon was watching him closely, the fingers of one hand tapping the wrist of the other.
"Thank you," Garin said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "For the story."
The Court Bard smiled, but it wasn't soft with his usual humor, but somehow sharp and brittle. "One of the truest I've ever told. And the most illustrative of my old friend, to be sure."
Uncertain what to say to that, Garin turned away. But before he'd taken two steps, Wren had seized his arm and was pulling him out of the door. Only when they were in the hallway did she speak.
"You should have told me!"
"Told you?" Garin asked, perplexed. "Told you what?"
"The King — if Tal is still here in the castle, and he's tracking a traitor for the King, it can only be one enemy." Her eyes were wide, the gold frantically spinning in them, as her voice dropped to a whisper. "He's hunting one of the Extinguished. Here, in the castle."
Garin stared at her, his mouth dry. He'd known there was a traitor. But as he thought over her words, he saw how obvious it should have been now. The visit to the Ruins of Erlodan, the knowing glances between Tal and Aelyn, the King's concern — it could only have pointed toward the worst of Yuldor's servants.
"They can enthrall people to their service," Wren continued, eyes dancing back and forth to make sure no one else was nearby. "They can take on other faces. That means they could be anyone in the castle. And Jonn! Garin, don't you see? The Extinguished must have taken him!"
His head was spinning. "You're right," he said faintly. "You're absolutely right."
But even with the revelation, why did he feel, most sharply of all, guilt?
The Fox Among the Fold
His breath hissed through his teeth as he ran yet another lap around the training yard.
"That's twenty!" one of the guards called down from the wall above. "Isn't that your usual?"
"Twenty-five today!" Tal yelled back as loud as he could. His muscles and lungs screamed for release as he forced himself into a sprint again, holding his sword steady at his hip. It was an awkward run, but a necessary exercise. Running without it, after all, wouldn't prepare him for when he needed to do it in a fight.