Yet as the presence that had seized hold of him loosened its grip for a moment, Garin seized back control, throwing himself across the stones and tossing the knife several paces away. "You can't make me!" he cried out, part defiance, part pleading. "I won't do it!"
But as he raised his head, he found Falcon still wore that infuriating smile as he sat atop his gray gelding, staring back toward the castle. "Tal Harrenfel!" he called with a mad cackle.
Garin raised his head to see Tal bolting across the courtyard, his silver sword bared, dandy clothes replaced by travel leathers. Hope warmed his chest. He was here, Tal was here, and they had the Extinguished in their grasp. Soon, everything would be over and done with.
But as Tal stopped short, panting slightly, he looked far from certain. "Where is he?" he demanded.
The Soulstealer who wore Falcon's face was the one with the smile now. "Ah! Tal Harrenfel — long have I awaited our reunion. Or do you not recognize me?"
Recognize him? Garin looked between Falcon's cruel smile and Tal's dawning realization.
"You," Tal said through clenched teeth. "The Extinguished from the Circle."
Falcon laughed softly. "The very one who made you the Magebutcher, yes."
Tal's expression spasmed, but his eyes remained as hard as before. "It doesn't matter who you are. What matters is whose face you stole. Where is he?"
"Your minstrel friend? Alas, I'm afraid he won't be able to join us. You see…" He held up his arm, and his sleeve fell back to reveal the curious, dark metal bracelet he always wore. "His soul is mine now, and his body decays without it. You'd do better to give him up for dead."
To Garin's amazement, Tal wore a small smile, full of sharp promises. "I'd be worrying more about what I'm going to do if you don't hand over that bracelet."
"I don't think that will be a problem. Even if Kaleras is protected from magic, you are not."
Tal's eyes flickered to Kaleras. Garin's stomach twisted as he saw him still bowed over the stone, his head sinking lower with each passing moment.
"Alright then," Tal said. "You want to talk. So say your piece."
"I merely wish to extend an invitation. To my lair, shall we say. I believe you're already familiar with it? The Ruins of Erlodan, it's often called."
Tal's smile turned to a grimace. "Flee then, while you still can. Because Silence knows I'll kill you once I catch up."
The Extinguished only answered with a knowing look, then turned his horse and spurred his mount through the open gate.
Passage IV
What is the Song? From whence does it come? Long have I pondered its mysteries, yet I have never uncovered satisfactory answers.
From those tales I have collected and the one Fount I spoke with — not long after which she leveled her village in an inferno that left no others alive — those who wield magic in this manner all hear what they call "the Song." It is not a song as we know it, but made up of all the sounds of the World. Swishes of grass, sneezes over pepper, rotten trees toppling in forests — no sound is excluded.
But though the Song is intriguing, it is the Voice that accompanies it that seems significant. For this "Singer" appears to be a malevolent guide in the working of magic, often supplicating the Fount at times of weakness to give over command of their body so it may provide assistance. Through the guidance of a Singer, the Fount speaks a language they do not know and for which they have no name, and produces effects both marvelous and horrifying. I suspect that, over time, the Fount gives enough of themselves to the Singer as to lead to the complete obliteration of the self.
As to where these Singers come from, and how they come to plague the Founts, I can only speculate. But my theory is that they have always been a part of our World, but known under other guises. Sometimes, they are devils; other times, they are the words a madman hears in his head. Even if Singers aid their Founts in the short term, they inevitably lead to their destruction — and can that be labeled anything but evil?
- A Fable of Song and Blood, by Hellexa Yoreseer of the Blue Moon Obelisk, translated by Tal Harrenfel
The Man Behind the Name
"They're here? About damned time. Harrenfel! Night's Pyres, you'd best have a good explanation for this!"
At the King's bellow through the doors to his personal chambers, Tal glanced at Aelyn. Though the elven mage swayed where he stood, a smirk curled his lips.
"An odd time for smiling," Tal noted.
"Not when I'm anticipating your head on a pike."
No pithy response came to mind, so he shook his head and entered, the mage keeping pace at his side. The room was opulent and overflowing with even more comfort and riches than the throne room. The audience chamber was only the first of many within the King's personal chambers, with two doors leading off to rooms on either side. Red and orange adorned every surface — crimson carpets, copper tapestries, and a fresco of an enthroned king overhead, perhaps of the first Rexall.
King Aldric Rexall the Fourth, sitting at a table positioned in the middle of the room, was also clad in the Rexall colors, his velvety robe lined with coppery gold buttons as he glared up at them. Despite the late hour, a cup of wine was clutched in his trembling hand.
"What," the King grated in his high-pitched voice, "in Silence's fucking name was that?"
Under the King's fury, Tal found his own anger building. But where Aldric's was fire, Tal's was a cold rage.
"We found your traitor," he said flatly.
"My traitor?" Aldric snorted. "You chased my bard out of the courtyard! And I thought you were friends. If any of you is a traitor, it's that bastard of yours — he stabbed the Warlock of Canturith himself! Though Kaleras must be losing his touch to let that happen."
Tal closed his eyes. Falcon. The man he'd trusted most, the man he'd taken for granted — he, of all others, had been the traitor. Not a traitor, he corrected himself, but a prisoner. All this time, the Extinguished hid behind Falcon's smile.
He felt the King's glare on him and ignored it, thinking over all he'd shared with the man he'd believed his friend. Some part of me knew, he realized with a start. Why else would I conceal what I've been working on for the last five years? He'd kept secrets all his life, but few he'd withheld from the bard. Falcon had been his confidante and healer when he was broken. Through many sleepless nights, he'd stayed up with Tal, chasing the nightmares away with amusing anecdotes of lovers' quarrels and humorous incidents on stage. And after Tal had recovered some peace of mind, he caroused with him, then began first writing the songs celebrating and exaggerating Tal's accomplishments. Falcon had given him a respite, a home among the troupers. A place where Tal was accepted for no more than who he was.
But for all the time since Tal had returned to Halenhol, he'd been a prisoner of the Extinguished. And Tal had buried his head in the dirt.
Tal opened his eyes again to meet the King's gaze. "It's not like you to pretend the fool, Aldric. You know that the Extinguished steal faces. This time, he stole Falcon's. The bouts of madness, the ghouls, the caravan sabotage, Jonn—"