In all of their journey of exhausting escapades, Garin had never felt so low.
His head felt so light he thought he must soon float away from the World. His arm throbbed with painful regularity, sending hammer blows up his shoulder and into the base of his skull. The makeshift bandages were already soaked through with blood.
But he ground his teeth and said nothing. No point in complaining; neither he nor his companions could do anything about it. Halt, and the draugars herding them might decide it was finally time to end their march. And always, the incessant Nightsong filled his head so that it felt fit to burst.
All he could do was clench his jaw and keep stumbling up the hill.
As they ascended, a fog thickened around them until the day, already gray to start, became as gloomy as a moonlit night, and their draugar escorts faded to dark smudges. It almost came as a relief when the trees abruptly thinned before them, and high walls loomed out of the flat gray. Garin lifted his head to stare at the mist-wreathed Ruins of Erlodan. If I had just waited outside the ruins like Tal had wanted, none of this would have happened, he thought. And I never would have stabbed Kaleras.
But as his brothers had often said, regrets weren't worth a fart at the best of times. His gaze fell back to his feet as they shuffled forward amongst the cracked foundations of the timeworn castle.
After some time, he raised his head again and scanned the area. There were innumerable shadows and alcoves in which other Nightkin could be hiding, to say nothing of the fog that pooled in the dark spaces. But if the Extinguished wanted to kill us, he would have sent in the other draugars. There was something else Yuldor's warlock wanted, something they could only give alive. But with half the blood in his body leaking from his arm, Garin doubted he'd be able to think it through.
Soon.
The word was faint, less than a whisper, but Garin shivered at it all the same.
Tal pulled him to a halt, and Garin jerked his head up. A courtyard opened before them, but the thickest mist yet filled it so that even the ruined walls surrounding them were nearly lost from sight. Only one shadow, a lone figure dwarfed amid the fog, stood before them.
As comprehension washed over him, Garin felt his legs give way beneath him. Only Tal's grip on his arm kept him upright.
"Stay strong," his would-be mentor whispered to him. "You're stronger than him."
It seemed a funny thing to say when he'd never felt so weak.
"You came." It was Falcon's voice that rang out, echoing unnaturally in the fog, but it sounded wrong. The tone had harshened, and the cruel edge that Garin had begun to glimpse toward the end of the Soulstealer's facade had grown razor sharp.
"Against all reason, all wisdom," the Extinguished continued, "still, you came. As I knew you would."
"We came," Tal called back. "And you know what we came for."
The cruel laugh rang in Garin's ears. "You've grown soft in your old age, Harrenfel. A time was when you'd have sooner cut a man's throat than trust him."
"Time changes men." Tal's voice had changed, too, dropping low and rough. "Sometimes, for the better."
"But not often." The shadow in the fog drifted closer. "Some become bitter, others weepy. And a few become fools."
"Where is he? The man whose soul you stole?"
"Your friend? The one whose daughter you allowed to wander into danger?"
Tal released Garin's arm and stepped forward, and Garin leaned dangerously before someone else caught his arm and pulled him upright.
"I've got you," Wren whispered.
Garin tried for a smile and fell far short.
Tal walked a few steps before the others. He still wore his pack, and his shirt under his leather jerkin was stiff with blood, most of it Garin's. His rune-inscribed sword hung from his hand at his side.
"Give him to us," Tal said slowly, "and you may yet survive this."
The Extinguished laughed harshly again. "I will always survive! Even if you manage to kill this body, my master preserves me for his Path. My survival is not in question." The shadow in the fog raised a hand, and the dark band of metal on his wrist was just visible through the bright mist. "Nevertheless, I will give you what you want. If you're certain you still want him."
The stones below Garin's feet began to shake, and he stumbled against Wren as he lost his balance. He glanced up to see the ground split before the Extinguished, crumbling and folding back like a blooming flower until something solid and rectangular emerged from the gap. As it stopped rising, the earth ceased to rumble, and Garin loosened his clutch on Wren. But it was she who now clung to him, eyes wide as she stared at the stone block. A coffin, Garin realized.
"Is he in there?" Tal's voice was impossibly steady and sure.
"Yes. Would you like to see him?"
Without waiting for an answer, the Extinguished raised a silhouetted hand and made a sharp gesture. The lid of the coffin groaned, stone grinding on stone, then fell with a resounding thud to the debris surrounding it.
Wren convulsed in Garin's arms, and he hung on desperately to her, worried she would dash forward. But she stayed put, eyes locked on the fog-veiled tomb, straining to see if it was her father's face, whispering, "You bastard," over and over.
Tal made no move forward. "Why give him to us?"
"Why do you think, Tal Harrenfel? According to your legend, you're the cleverest man in the Westreach."
"The man whose soul you stole told many lies about me." Tal paused, seeming to hesitate. "He's no more use to you, true enough. But I never took your Master for a generous man."
"The Peacebringer is many things you little know, Skaldurak."
Garin winced as the word cut through his mind. Skaldurak — he knew he'd never heard it before, yet somehow, it seemed familiar. A moment later, he realized how — when the Extinguished had spoken it, the Nightsong had grown louder in his mind, rising like a man greeting his brother.
Glancing over, he saw Tal wince as if he'd felt the same thing. On his other side, Aelyn's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed.
Tal's brow smoothed with visible effort. "I long ago took Yuldor's measure. Name me as he will, it does not make me his tool."
"We are all his hands, whether we will it or not." The Extinguished, just visible through the fog, smiled with Falcon's stolen lips. "We all do his purpose."
"Except you surrendered your soul to be his servant."
The Extinguished laughed. "And I count it a fair exchange still. Look! Do you still not see the extent of my master's power?"
As if it had been called, a wind suddenly gusted into the courtyard, swirling and bearing the fog away, and as it thinned, the silhouettes of the devastated walls around them solidified. Garin stared into the fading gloom, expecting draugars to be encircling the courtyard, but he saw nothing.
Then Wren gasped, and he jerked his head forward. At first, he didn't see anything different. The Extinguished stood in sharper detail, Falcon's face contorted into a sneer. The coffin, though open, was still hard to see inside at the distance, but he could tell there was a man within.
Then the shadows shifted behind the Extinguished, and fear lanced through him, cold and nauseating.
The beast ran the length of the walls, fifty feet long — no, longer, Garin realized, as its tail, ridged with sharp, dusky spines, unfurled and drifted lazily across the broken paving stones. Its wings were folded against its back, but even closed, they covered the whole of its gargantuan body. Its neck was long and sinuous as a snake, and its head was flat as a cobra's. A mane of spines bristled around it, shifting slightly with its breath. Its eyes glimmered gold in the dim light, the black pupils slits. Its legs hung off the wall, the back haunches as big around as three people and as tall, and the visible front foot ending in three sharp, yellowed claws.