"At long last!" the Extinguished wheezed. "The Ring of Thalkuun belongs to the Night!"
Tal stared at his enemy's ashy gray hand even as he knew what was clutched in it. His hand throbbed where his finger had been severed, but he barely felt the pain through the burning heat of his blood. The ring, he realized. He has the ring.
Raising Velori, Tal spun and swung it with all his strength at his enemy's neck. But the Soulstealer merely flicked his free hand, and his body seized in sudden paralysis and sent him twisting to the ground.
"You are utterly in my power now, Skaldurak." The Extinguished wore no disguise now, and his gray, bare feet moved closer, the skin as flaky as bark burned to ash. From the corner of his vision, he saw the worn cover of A Fable of Song and Blood in one of his hands, Tal's bloody finger clutched in his other. "You have done well in Yuldor's service. You have delivered to me Kaleras the Impervious, Aelyn Belnuure, and the Ring of Thalkuun. And you have brought me the heretical knowledge of the Blue Moon Obelisk. For years, I have endeavored to gain these victories for our Lord, and in just two short months, you have helped me accomplish them all. Once again, you have served the Peacebringer well."
Tal tried to shout his denials, tried to fight back, but all movement was beyond him.
The Soulstealer knelt, a hand resting on Tal's arm, his face coming low enough for Tal to see it out of the corner of his eye. Little remained of the mortal he'd once been, the skin pale and flaking, no hair anywhere on it, and the eyes burning orange with the mesmerizing movement of flames.
As he spoke, his voice came out hoarse and high-pitched, as if he'd just inhaled smoke. "Now, we go to Yuldor, and see what else the World's Savior has planned for you."
Tal closed his eyes. Behind him, the sounds of his companions' struggles continued. I can do this, he thought desperately. I can find a way out.
But even to himself, his lies were growing thin.
Kill him!
"No!"
Garin shouted the denial, or tried to, but he couldn't tell if he'd spoken or not. It was all he could do to throw himself to the ground and refuse to rise, even as the Nightsong rose in a flood and threatened to drown him, and the cold voice of the Singer hissed commands in his head and pulled at his limbs.
You must kill him!
"I won't!"
He had to help. All around him, draugars were hurling themselves at Aelyn and Wren, who stood over him and Falcon in protection. So far, all of the draugars had fallen to the ground and returned to their endless rest, but the Nightkin kept coming; soon, they would be overwhelmed.
Kill him! the Singer thundered, its voice pounding like a hundred drums through his head. He threatens us — he threatens the Song. You must kill him!
"Never!"
But despite how he struggled, he found himself rising shakily to his feet. Aelyn had his back to him. So easy to slip his belt knife out and stab forward—
Garin forced himself back down to his knees. "You can't make me!"
You must protect us! You must protect the Song!
With each command, Garin felt his control slipping further away. He had to do something, and fast. But what?
Kill the mage!
Then it came to him. He didn't pause to consider if it was mad or brilliant or stupid but seized hold of the idea. "Fine!" he gasped. "I'll kill the mage!"
As if in disbelief, Garin felt the Singer ease its control on him, allowing him to stumble to his feet. He put his good hand to his belt and worked free the knife, holding it as tightly as he could in his weak grasp.
This is right, the Singer whispered. This is the way it must be.
But instead of stumbling toward Aelyn, Garin wrenched his body around toward the tomb.
Even as the sight before him turned his stomach, he forced his leaden feet forward. Tal sprawled on the ground, a man in black robes standing over him. As Garin watched, the man walked toward the legendary warrior and knelt. The Extinguished. Though he retained the figure of a man, he barely resembled one with his skin more ash than flesh.
You will take his place, Listener? The Singer seemed curious.
"Yes." Garin agreed blindly, barely knowing what he was saying. But as long as he agreed with the Nightvoice, perhaps it would not stop him.
He stumbled closer as the Extinguished laid a hand on Tal's arm. A man moved within the stone coffin beside them, moaning and clutching his arm to his chest. Falcon, some part of him recognized — though how that could be when he'd left Falcon behind him with Aelyn and Wren, he didn't know. He forced his eyes away.
You will bring balance to power?
"Yes."
You will return the Song to the Mother?
"Yes!"
A roar, like the tumult of a thunderstorm, filled his mind. So the young overcomes the old, and death resurrects life.
Garin was barely listening. The Extinguished didn't seem to notice him, didn't look up as Tal suddenly writhed under his gray-handed grip. He clutched the knife as tightly as he could in his trembling grasp, moved to stand over the gray man, and raised the knife.
Finally, the Soulstealer looked up, and Garin froze. His eyes burned brighter than Wren's, Falcon's, or even Aelyn's ever had, bright enough to burn at a glance. Those terrible eyes flickered to the knife Garin held aloft, and he smiled with his flat, fleshless lips.
"Do you think," the Extinguished asked in a high, thin voice, "that common steel can harm me, Singer's pet?"
Garin didn't stop to doubt. The heat of a forge and the force of a stormy gale surged through him. As the Nightsong crescendoed in his head, the distant roar of a terrible beast, he screamed and struck down with all that he had left in him.
His vision blurred, and the knife jarred loose of his grip. Garin stumbled to the ground, blinking, trying to see through his blurred vision at the two figures before him.
The Extinguished stumbled — Tal fell on him, silver flashing forward — then an unearthly scream tore through his mind.
Garin watched, breath rasping in his throat, not having enough energy even to rise. One of the figures rose, a silvery blade darkened in his hand. As he came closer and knelt before him, he recognized him.
"You did it," Tal whispered. Though his face was wrinkled with pain, he wore a smile. "You killed the Extinguished, Garin."
Garin closed his eyes, and the ground fell away, the symphony of sounds swelling up and claiming him.
Passage V
While the previous passages detail tantalizing theories, they contain nothing by which I endanger myself. It is the words that follow that threaten our understanding of our Savior and would be branded as heretical by Imperial law, to be sentenced with death.
Forgive the blots of ink — I write quickly as if I might outpace my fear. But I have committed myself to this; I have outlined the reasons for my concerns; I cannot back away from my duty now.
Thus I will come outright and declare my unsavory belief: that the Heart searches for another to possess it.
How this could be, I do not know. Lord Yuldor has long been the Master of the Worldheart and has forged the glorious Empire that has thrived for centuries. He has performed renowned wonders and manifold mercies for the peoples of the World, regardless of race or birth or worth.
But I can see no other conclusion. Why else would the World's Blood manifest in the bodies of Founts? Why else would its Song reach for others, and its Singers call them to destructive acts? It is the only explanation for this chaos, which increases with each passing year in frequency and severity.