Kaleras the Impervious, the Warlock of Canturith, stood in the middle of the courtyard.
"Kaleras," Falcon greeted him. His voice suddenly sounded harsh, like he was playing a goblin in a play. "It's a foul night to be out."
"Let the boy down."
The bard's laugh was short and biting. "And why would I do that?"
The old warlock's face could have been made from wood for all he reacted, rivulets of water running through the furrows in his skin. "I'll only ask once more. Let him down."
Garin's head felt as if it were spinning. Through the sound of the falling rain, he thought he heard distant sounds incongruous with their situation: whispering voices, their words unclear; the roar of distant river rapids; the howl of a wolf. The Night is near, he somehow knew. One of these men is the Extinguished. And he was certain he knew which one.
Falcon still wore a sneer, but his eyes had gathered a considering look. "Very well, Kaleras. I'll let you have the boy."
Anger suddenly broke through Garin's fear and indecision. "I'm not a sack of potatoes to barter over! And I'm not going with you, warlock. I won't be fooled like Tal, wherever you sent him."
"Tal?" It was hard to tell in the darkness and rain, but Garin thought he saw a flicker of surprise cross the warlock's face. "He's in the castle, boy, not where that man you call Falcon was taking you."
Falcon twisted around to look at Garin, the gold in his eyes swirling rapidly. "Go to him, Garin," he whispered softly. "Obey your Singer. Show me what our Master plans for you."
His earlier anger drained away as he stared into the bard's eyes. Suddenly, they seemed more gold than green, and almost liquid in how the color whirled around his pupils. He found he couldn't look away.
"Our Master?" he muttered. The words needled him, but he couldn't sort out why. The distant sounds were increasing in volume and intensity, and it was growing harder to think.
Obey, Listener.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Garin swung his leg over and hopped off the horse, landing nimbly on the stones below. The gelding shifted, bumping into him and sending him stumbling forward a step.
Go to him.
"Go ahead, Garin," Falcon encouraged him from atop the horse.
Under the aged warlock's hard gaze, Garin approached him. His body moved as if another willed it like he was no more than a marionette. Why am I doing this? he asked himself, and didn't have an answer. But he couldn't stop. He wanted to do as the voice had told him. He wanted to obey.
Stopping six paces from the warlock, Garin stared at him, but Kaleras was looking up at Falcon. "Now," he said. "As for you—"
Protect us. Kill him.
The knife was in Garin's hand, and he was moving forward, but the warlock was swifter, stepping back and raising a hand toward him. Strange, resonant words erupted from his mouth, and Garin felt something hold him tight in place.
But a moment later, he was freed and rushing forward. The cacophony was loud in his ears. Kaleras' eyes widened, flickering down to Garin's hand, and Garin stabbed forward—
A grunt as a jolt ran up Garin's arm. The man before him bent over double. Harsh laughter filled Garin's ears, and he felt the ground slipping from beneath him as he fell far away.
Tal hurried down the hall, knowing what a sight he must make and not caring. His travel-stained leathers on, Velori knocking at his hip, his bow strung and slipped across his chest, a quiver at his other hip, a plethora of knives tucked away — he looked ready for war. Guards, who wandered the halls with increased frequency due to the Sendeshi delegation's visit — and perhaps the soulshade's visit the night before — eyed him warily, but none accosted him, the King's orders to leave him be still standing. That didn't, however, stop a pair from following him, though they kept their distance. Even a king's command can only go so far, he mused.
He ignored them and, reaching Aelyn's door, pushed inside. The desk was empty, as was the seat before it. Heart knocking against his ribs, Tal strode further in and found Aelyn sitting up in his bed.
"He couldn't wait for me, could he? Where did he go?"
Aelyn's eyes glinted from the darkness. "The warlock figured it out. He knows."
Cold fingers crept down Tal's spine. "Who is it?"
"Did you never guess? In all the hours you spent together, all the confessions you made to each other, you never once suspected him, did you? Blinded by friendship." Aelyn said the last word with a twist of his lips as if he were sullied by its utterance.
"Damn you, elf! Speak plainly for once!"
"It's your beloved bard, Magebutcher. Falcon Sunstring."
Tal froze, but his mind kept moving, parsing over the accusation. All he had told him, all he had seen and said… Falcon? Could it be Falcon?
"The old warlock has gone after him. Seems that our Soulstealer realized he'd been discovered and was making a run for it." Aelyn looked to be relishing his role as the bearer of bad news, his smile tugging wider.
"Out the front?"
The mage nodded. "Like the man he was impersonating, our puppetmaster seems to have a flair for the dramatic."
Ignoring him, Tal turned and bolted from the room, nearly bowling over the guards who had been lingering outside. "Come on!" he bellowed. "To the front courtyard!"
As he ran, he heard their armor clinking behind him. But he well knew it wouldn't be enough.
Garin stared down at his hand. Dark, it had turned, the liquid slowly dripping down his arm and soaking his sleeve. His hand had been pale the moment before. Now, it was black as a fathomless void, black as the Night's Pyres were said to burn.
I'm going mad.
But he knew this wasn't a delusion. Blood, Kaleras' blood, poured down his arm, down his knife. He jerked away, wet knife still clutched in hand, and stared as the aged man crumpled before him. It went in so quick and easy. Like he was no more than a pig to slaughter. Like he's an ordinary man.
Falcon barked a cruel laugh. "Well done, boy! Our Master thanks you. The Warlock of Canturith has long been a thorn in his side."
Kaleras raised his head, teeth bared in a grimace, his face thin and skeletal. "And I will continue to be."
The bard — who was no bard, Garin now saw all too clearly — shook his head. "I think not. That ring may protect you from my direct magic, but you can see I found a way around it. You won't harm the boy — that much became clear when you only tried binding and blocking him, spells against which I shielded. A simple command from my Master again and…" Falcon shrugged and smiled. "The thorn is pulled."
The warlock only raised his hand in response, strange words again on his tongue.
Protect us. Stop him.
The words sang in Garin's head, and he found himself stepping forward again, knife raised. No! he cried out in his mind. Don't! But he could no more stop himself than he'd been able to the first time. He was a prisoner in his head, watching as his body again advanced on the prone warlock.
"Garin, don't!"
Movement in the corner of his eye, materializing into a familiar figure. Tal! he tried to call back to him, but all speech was lost to him.