As Tal neared the tomb, he couldn't help but look down. Over a month of captivity had not treated his friend well. His raven-black hair had thinned over his scalp and balded in patches. His skin was waxy pale, and parts of it had rotted away like the thinning of a well-used blanket. His clothes, once finely tailored, hung soiled and limp around his emaciated form.
His jaw tightened, and he had to look away, fearing he would do something rash.
"His soul. You must give him back his soul."
The Extinguished smiled. "Ah, but that was not part of our deal."
"It must be, or we no longer have one."
The fell mage gestured to the beast sprawled behind him. "I believe I have insurance against that possibility."
Tal glanced back at Aelyn. The mage's mouth was set in a hard line, and his face could have been made of stone for all he betrayed his thoughts.
"Very well," he said as he faced forward again. "You'll give me the bracelet when I give you the book."
The Soulstealer smiled. "It's a bargain."
At Tal's nod, his companions reached into the tomb and began to lift the bard from it. With the tome in one hand and Velori in the other, he could do nothing but watch as even Garin pitched in to drag Falcon free, wincing as his friend's slack skin bunched beneath their hands and scraped away against the stone.
Finally, his old friend was free of the tomb, and Aelyn reached into a pouch and began muttering some words. A moment later, a blue glow gathered around Falcon's body, and the minstrel began to float.
"Take your broken bard." The Extinguished sounded as if his patience were quickly fraying. "We have a deal to make good on."
Tal glanced at each of his companions, and only Garin met his gaze. The youth stared desperately at him as he leaned on Wren, his eyes begging for answers Tal couldn't give.
He looked away. Survival is the best I can give you now, my young friend.
As his companions began walking away, he turned his gaze back to the Extinguished but watched the dragon from the corner of his eye as the beast swiveled its head after them, its pupils narrow. He knew little of dragons, but when it had breathed fire before, its pupils had dilated. Still, the reptilian stink and remains of the sulfuric cloud filling his nose were enough to keep his heart pounding.
Steady. Choose your moment. You'll only get one.
The Soulstealer raised his hand. "The book, Skaldurak. Now."
He held the air in his lungs for a moment, then let it out. Then he held up the tome before him and advanced.
"A Fable of Song and Blood," he said as he closed the final feet between them. "Do you know what it means?"
The Extinguished only held up a hand, ready to accept it.
"It means there are others who can possess the Worldheart. Others who, like Yuldor, may reign like gods. And that means your Peacebringer is nothing more than a charlatan, nothing more than a man with a stone."
The fell sorcerer laughed. "A man with a stone? Even with the knowledge you've gained, you know nothing, Tal Harrenfel."
The worn book held before him, he stood before his enemy. The Extinguished wore a smile as he reached up to grasp it.
The Soulstealer's fingers passed through the book, and underneath his glove, the Ring of Thalkuun burned.
Tal thrust his blade into the Extinguished even as he knew it was no use. Falcon's mocking smile remained on his face as the body toppled, turning ghostly white as it fell, then dissipating into shimmering light.
"Illusion!" Tal yelled, but his cry was swallowed by the dragon's sudden bellow. His breath caught with the sound of it, his ears splitting, but he dropped the tome and whipped out a dagger to send it spinning at the beast. Even as blue flames built in the back of the dragon's open maw, the dagger flew into its mouth and thudded into the flesh. The dragon cut off with a roar, obscuring any other sounds, but even the blue-bright flames couldn't hide the shimmer of white light where the dagger had soared through.
"The dragon is an illusion, too!" he called back to his companions.
But a glance showed his friends were in no position to listen. The draugars had reappeared around the edges of the courtyard and were charging them, at least two dozen strong. But his companions scarcely seemed to notice. Garin, despite his wound and blood-loss, was screaming and lashing out toward Aelyn like a madman, while Wren clung desperately onto him, sword abandoned to the rubble. The mage stared at the youth, a hand digging into a pouch at his waist, distaste curling his lips, ignoring the draugars sprinting toward them. Falcon's prone body hovered nearby.
The sight of the youth hit him like a punch to the gut. He has him. Yuldor's bloody prick, the Night has him. But he couldn't worry about that now. First, they had to survive.
"Look!" Tal yelled and started toward them. "Draugars!" He doubted these were illusions; they'd been real before, and odds were they were real now. But before he'd taken two steps, something seized his wrist.
His shoulder felt nearly yanked out of its socket as he was pulled to a halt. Twisting around, Tal held up his sword, ready to strike, but hesitated when he saw the arm holding him came from the tomb.
From seemingly nowhere, a second Falcon rose, a horrible grin stretching his gaunt face. Several of his teeth had fallen out, and something black oozed from his gums. His eyes were dark and hollowed, the gold in them dulled to a sickly yellow.
"Hello, old friend," he rasped. "You didn't think I would trust you, did you?"
Velori was still held poised, ready to stab into the man holding him, but he held back. This Falcon wasn't an illusion; that he could touch him was proof of that. But was he the Extinguished under another guise? Or Falcon himself, possessed by the Soulstealer, while the other Aelyn levitated was an illusion?
Behind him, cries of pain and fury and clashing metal sounded, telling of his companions struggling to hold off the draugars.
As he wavered in indecision, Falcon pulled him closer, demonstrating incredible strength for a man nearly dead, and his other hand flashed forward. Acting on instinct, Tal struck.
Something fell to the ground, and Falcon howled and recoiled. Tal froze, staring at the pale lump on the ground. It had dropped among the debris, fingers curled around the dagger like a dead spider, dark blood sluggishly leaking from it.
"My hand!" Falcon gasped faintly, dulled eyes wide as he stared at the stump on his arm, all menace gone from his voice. "My hand!"
Tal could only watch him in horror. You can't help him. Being near him only risks him becoming possessed once more. But he found he couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch his friend stare at the place where Tal had severed his hand.
His left arm was suddenly wrenched behind his back, and Tal stumbled forward a step. But even off-balance, he managed to twist and stab his blade backward, and his steel found flesh with a jolt. But even as he fell to the ground, the person behind him impaled on Velori, something sharp slid against his hand, first cold, then burning hot as if he'd thrust it into a blazing hearth.
A roar of fury and pain tore from his throat as his hand came free from his assailant's grip, and Tal gained his feet, sword-hand still clinging to Velori's hilt, his other hand throbbing as he pressed it against his chest. The man he'd stabbed stumbled backward, the front of his dark robes wet and clinging where the blade exited, but still wearing a smile as he held up his blood-smeared hand, something clutched in it.