As usual, Garin had made up his bed next to Wren. Though they barely spoke, he found it comforting to have her near and hoped she felt the same. He listened to the nighttime noises of crickets, the hum of life surrounding them, just loud enough to drown out the Nightsong, the discordant, rhythmless sounds always murmuring behind his thoughts. Sighing with relief, he began to drift off.
"I doubt he's still alive."
His eyes snapped back open, and he turned to look at Wren. In the moon-lifted darkness, he only saw the outline of her face and her shining eyes staring up into the star-dusted sky. He didn't have to ask who she meant.
"Of course, he is." He didn't sound sure even to his ears. He tried again, his voice stronger. "You remember what Tal said. That bastard Soulstealer would have kept him alive to impersonate him. And besides, he seemed to know we'd come after him. Your father would be far better bait alive than… you know."
Wren gave a doubtful grunt.
Garin swallowed, then said the words he thought she needed to hear, even if he didn't know why. "It wasn't your fault, Wren. You know that, right?"
She shifted, her gaze finding his. Even in the darkness, he detected the faint movement of the gold in her eyes. "Isn't it? I know exactly when the Extinguished took him."
"You do?"
"Three and a half months ago, he went to Gladelyl to research for a song he'd been writing. A song of ancient times, of the forging of the Bloodlines, and of the Worldheart."
"The Worldheart?"
"Never mind that." Wren looked back up at the sky. "The point is that when he returned, he didn't seem right. More prone to anger, less wont to laugh and smile. But I didn't think much of it. 'He'll get back to normal soon,' I told myself. And so I ignored it and pretended everything was fine."
Garin sighed. "That doesn't make it your fault."
"My father has been his prisoner for months. Maybe he's alive, maybe not. But if he is, how could he be whole? His soul…" Her words choked off, then she spoke through it angrily, "That thing took his soul. It broke him."
The Nightsong suddenly grew loud for a moment, and Garin spoke so that he didn't have to listen to it. "It's like Master Krador is always telling us — we have to focus on what is, not what might be."
Wren turned back to him, her eyes finding his. "You might be right," she whispered, then gave a quiet laugh. "After all, we don't know that we'll even survive."
His heart pounding a little harder, Garin pulled his arm free of his bedroll and reached out toward her across the cold ground. A moment later, her fingers intertwined with his.
Despite his fear, despite what he knew tomorrow would bring, he smiled into the darkness, glad at least they would face it together.
Just as gray light began to lift the darkness from the sky, Tal rose from his bedroll, pulled on his boots, and began collecting firewood. He'd built and lit the campfire by the time Aelyn joined him. Unlike on the way to Halenhol, the mage didn't spare any magic to form himself a chair, but sat cross-legged on the ground, back stiff and straight as if he were in council before his queen.
"Finally came down to our level, did you?" Tal gave him a small smile from across the fire.
Aelyn scowled. "Life is one long jape to you, isn't it?"
"And for you, it's one long chore. But never fear, my dour companion. One way or another, our service will be over soon."
"Yes. I imagine it will." The mage looked back into the flames, the firelight making the bronze in his eyes shine even brighter.
First comes the brooding. Then the doubts. Then despair. Tal knew the cycle well, and knew, too, he had to cut it off early lest it spiral out of control. Fortunately, he knew the quickest way to inflate a self-absorbed cockerel like Aelyn: shameless flattery.
"What can you tell me of what our adversary has prepared for our coming?" he asked lightly. "A Nightkin expert like you ought to know."
Aelyn narrowed his eyes, no doubt searching for the insult in the compliment. "Every evil imaginable, I suspect. In a place as Night-touched as Erlodan's Ruins, the Nameless will have access to much more power than he did in the Coral Castle. To make no mention of no longer needing to uphold his disguise as Falcon, which must have taken a tremendous amount of his power to hold so tightly for so long."
"But what specifically?" Tal pressed. "Surely a learned man such as you can say more?"
"A learned man, am I?" The mage snorted. "I'm immune to flattery, Harrenfel."
Not flattery, then, Tal decided. An elf with a rotten heart only needs someone to feel superior to. He tweaked his expression to look chastened, if still smug.
"But as we're aligned in this endeavor," Aelyn continued with a smirk, "I'll give you the knowledge you seek."
"I'd like nothing better."
Aelyn leaned forward, shadows dancing over his face. "The Nameless will set himself up in the deepest catacombs, weakening us by stages until we reach him. First, he'll cover the grounds with Night-touched mist that will sicken and slow our minds. Then, once we've passed into the upper catacombs, he'll test our strength and probe for weaknesses."
"I'm sure he'll find none of those."
"He'll set Nightkin of every cunning upon us. Quetzals and chimeras will only be the start — ghouls, shades, perhaps even a wyvern if he planned ahead."
Tal snorted. "At least you didn't claim a dragon. Even still, I think we've strayed a little. If even a runty wyrm had roosted in the ruins, fresh rumors would have flown across the Westreach."
"Perhaps so," Aelyn conceded grudgingly. "But there will be manners of evil such as you and I have never seen."
Tal didn't let his smile slip, even if his heart was starting to rattle like a loose wagon wheel. It didn't matter that he knew Aelyn was trying to get a rise out of him; the truth remained that they had no idea what lay in wait.
"So, what are we going to do about it?" Tal asked lightly.
The mage glanced to either side, then leaned closer. "I've been saving something for just such an occasion as this," he said in a low voice. "All we need do is get me close enough to the Nameless and, I assure you, he is as good as dead."
"Or, shall we say, extinguished?"
Aelyn grimaced and leaned back, muttering, "And this is the man I throw my lot in with."
Tal grinned even as he realized why Aelyn had spoken softly. Garin. He believed him the pet of the Extinguished still. And not without reason. They hadn't tried cleansing him; only one healer he knew of was powerful enough to attempt it, and she was far out of reach.
"Well, we have as good a plan as we're likely to get. There's just one thing I'm still wondering."
As Aelyn watched him with plain suspicion, he reached back into his pack and, feeling the rough edges of cloth, drew out a covered object, then slowly unwrapped it. Amidst the wrappings lay an old book, its leather cover worn, but the sharp glyphs still legible.
Now the mage looked interested. Rising and drawing near, he stared at the tome like a dog at a bloody bone. "A Fable of Song and Blood." Aelyn looked up with narrowed eyes. "You brought a priceless, irreplaceable book along on a mission unlikely to succeed?"