Garin opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He resorted to a nod.
"That's better." The bard's daughter looked back at Tal with a raised eyebrow.
Tal turned his gaze to Aelyn. "What do you intend to do?"
The mage's smirk fell away, and his mouth worked as if he'd bitten into a lemon. "You stand little chance of success."
"I know."
"The Extinguished will set traps for you. He will be prepared."
"I'd expect nothing less."
"But still, you insist on going."
Tal glanced at Wren and Garin. "Yes."
Aelyn sighed, the sound as exasperated as it was resigned. "You're a fool, Harrenfel. A fool who will get himself killed."
"Not if you're there to protect my flank. At least, we'll stand a better chance."
The bronze smoldered in his eyes as he glared at him. "You know I have no choice. She'd never forgive me if I let you ride off to your death alone."
His chest stirred unexpectedly. Decades, kingdoms, and kin-bonds separate you, he thought with bitter amusement. Yet still, just the barest mention of her can make you a boy again.
"Thank you," he murmured.
Aelyn's scowl deepened. "As I said, I don't go for you."
"That's not what I'm thanking you for."
Looking aside, Tal cleared his throat and settled the old memories back into the past. Then he looked around at their small crew. "We'll get no more aid, unfortunately. The King was sad to lose his bard, but not so sorrowful as to spare soldiers for his recovery." A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Perhaps he's too frightened of the Soulstealer."
Or perhaps he has nothing to fear from the East any longer. He kept the thought to himself, too bleak to utter aloud.
"Then it's just us." Garin didn't sound as if he relished the conclusion.
"We'll be enough," Wren said with more confidence than Tal felt. "When do we leave?"
"As soon as we can." Tal started pacing again. "We'll ride through the night and sleep while the horses rest. It's over a week's ride to the ruins, and we won't get there any faster if we kill ourselves and our mounts hurrying."
But he knew any delays meant the Extinguished would have more time to prepare for their arrival and decrease the chance of Falcon still being alive. If he even was now. He is alive, he told himself fiercely. It wasn't all wishful thinking. Tal understood only a little of the Night's sorcery, but he'd long ago learned that a person whose soul and face have been stolen had to be kept alive for the illusion to remain intact. At least until the Soulstealer returned to the Ruins of Erlodan, his friend lived.
"Tal Harrenfel."
He glanced up to see the physician standing on the stairs.
"Warlock Kaleras wishes to see you," the wizened woman said.
Tal hesitated, wondering what consequences would follow if he refused. But, knowing better, he swallowed the rebellious feeling and ascended the stairs past the physician.
The room above was bright, with several lamps and the fireplace lit. A bed dominated the room and seemed to swallow the man lying in it. But Kaleras' eyes were as intelligent and intense as ever as they watched Tal mount the last step and stand at the top of the stairs.
"Come closer," the warlock said, his voice weak, but iron in his tone.
Tal reluctantly moved to stand next to the bed. "You wanted me?"
The sheets shifted, and the old warlock's hand emerged, revealing a dull gray ring on his middle finger. Tal stared at the Ring of Thalkuun, its green script seeming to pulse in brightness. When he looked up, he found Kaleras watching him.
The warlock gave him a bitter smile. "Much good it did me in the end."
"This isn't the end for you, old man."
"Perhaps. But the blade was poisoned. I have held the worst of it at bay, and the physician has done her best, but it is a potent poison." Kaleras shrugged, even the small movement seeming to cost him. "Night's End is an aptly named venom."
"Then bring another to heal you."
"A Magister has been summoned. But even if the Circle deigns to aid one who has abandoned their order, they won't be able to heal me." He wriggled his fingers slightly, calling attention to the gray, metal band on his middle finger.
Tal's gaze fell to the ring, comprehending his meaning. The Ring of Thalkuun warded the user against all magic, no matter if it was intended to be helpful or hurtful. "Why don't you simply remove it?"
"If I remove it, I am vulnerable. Which is precisely what the Enemy has been waiting for."
Kaleras' eyes never left him as he worked his other arm free from the blankets and moved it, trembling, to his hand. Slowly, twisting as if it had rusted on, he pulled the band free of his finger, then held it up in his palm.
Tal didn't take it. "Why? Why offer this now?"
The warlock's eyes narrowed. "I told you, Harrenfel. I must remove it to be healed. And it will do me little good anyway while I lay here dying."
"You didn't have any qualms taking it from me and leaving me to die."
"I didn't know you then, boy!" Kaleras meant to roar the words, but they only came out as a furious wheeze. "I didn't know who you—" He cut off and turned his head aside, closing his hand over the ring.
As Tal stared down at the wasted features of the old warlock, long-repressed feelings pushed their way back to the surface. "You didn't know what?" he asked quietly.
"Just take it."
But Tal continued, voice low and cold, the knowledge he'd struggled long and hard to win, that he'd nursed with bitter resentment for decades, finally breaking forth.
"First, allow me to tell you a story. I was born in Hunt's Hollow nearly forty-one years ago. My mother was the daughter of a fletcher, supplying arrows for the outposts along the Fringes and for our kings' endless wars."
"We don't have time for this. You must—"
"One night," Tal spoke over him, "a warlock came through town on his way to a citadel in the East and saw my mother in the tavern. He took a fancy to her, and she to him — but her fascination, it was said, was to an unnatural degree. After a night of passion, the warlock continued on his way, leaving the woman behind with the present of a bastard—"
"Enough!"
Kaleras had turned as pale as his sheets, his chest heaving with every breath, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "I was young and drunk on my power. I thought myself untouchable — by the evils of the East, by morality, all of it. But I never lost sight of myself so much as to do… what you think I did. Talania took a fancy to me, yes, and I to her. I had charms about me to make folks look on me with a kinder eye, it's true, but warlocks are often killed if they don't take such measures. It was not to… seduce."
As the warlock spoke, Tal felt as calm and serene as a mountain lake, his life and past in sudden clarity. And for once, he saw the blame lay with someone else.
"You enthralled her," he said quietly. "Then you raped her."
"NO!"
A gust blew through the tower, the warlock unable to contain the force of his fury. For a moment, his eyes promised further retribution; then his head fell back against the pillows, exhausted.