"It's almost enough to make you pity him."
Bran grinned. "Almost."
Garin yelped as his foot stuck in a bog, then grunted as he pulled it out, boot hanging precariously off his foot. "Damned swamp," he muttered as he pulled it back on and staggered upright again. "How do you know all this, anyway?"
Bran's smile froze on his lips. After a moment's hesitation, he found himself able to speak. "We both loved the same woman, though in different ways."
Garin's brow was furrowed, but sensing Bran's change in mood, he asked no further questions.
They reached the base of the hill that marked their destination as the day's light began to fade.
"Aren't we going up?" Garin asked when Bran and Aelyn set down their packs.
Bran shook his head. "Up there's a foul place to be when night falls. We'll ascend in the morning."
Garin set his pack down as well, though he cast a dubious glance up the hill. "Why's that?"
Bran glanced at Aelyn to find him watching him from another one of the magically formed chairs that he'd taken to shaping each night at camp. The mage had a bad habit of staring. Not for the first time, he wondered just what the King of Avendor had in mind for him.
But soon enough, he'd have to sit with the knowledge of it. And he'd had enough poor tasks put before him to know that rushing into the next one wouldn't make it settle any easier.
Looking back to their young companion, Bran gestured to a nearby fallen tree. "Sit."
Garin's eyes darted to the mage as if sitting in his presence might offend the elf, but he obliged.
Bran mounted a foot on the end of the tree, leaning into his leg as he scrunched up his face like he were in deep thought. "Once, a long time ago, a great and powerful warlock lived in those ruins, celebrated as the foremost of the followers of Jalduaen — the Revered Spirit of Knowledge, to all human warlocks. This warlock went by the name of… Hm, let me see..."
"Was it Erlodan?" Garin asked drily.
Bran snapped his fingers. "That's the one! But in Erlodan's day, those ruins were a magnificent castle, with a plethora of halls for his many distinguished visitors and an army of servants to serve them. Erlodan occupied the highest tower, the better to look over his domain and work his wonders.
"The warlock was respected and trusted, but not widely loved. With great power comes a great many enemies, and Erlodan was proof of the saying. But wise as he was, the warlock kept his defenses tight and had lived for centuries insulated against those who sought to do him harm.
"But there was one enemy that Erlodan could not prevail against. For though Jalduaen is a fierce patron god, the warlocks of the East had a mightier deity still: the Night itself, as manifested in Yuldor, the Prince of Devils. And so it came to pass that one of the East's mages finally decided to challenge the Warlock of the East Marsh and overtake his dominion."
"You're talking about the Extinguished, aren't you?"
Bran lowered his gaze to find Garin's eyebrows raised in skepticism. "Perhaps I am."
The youth rolled his eyes. "The Extinguished are fairy tale enemies, just like Yuldor — they're used to scare children into staying in bed. They don't actually exist."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because if they did, and they were as powerful as the stories say they are, why wouldn't they rule not just the Eastern Empire, but all of the Westreach?"
Bran glanced at Aelyn, but he had his back to them as he bent over something. Working some kind of devilry, he didn't doubt.
Looking back to the youth, he suppressed a sigh. "Power isn't enough to reign supreme, Garin, and the Extinguished are far too clever to rely only on their strength. They crush their enemies when they have to, but far more often, they use their deviousness and wits to bring about the ends they desire."
The youth's brow creased. "You speak as if they exist, here and today."
A frozen moment. Then Bran forced the wolfish grin again. "A story isn't right without urgency, is it? But back to the point — and no more interruptions!
"As I was saying, one of the Extinguished took the guise of a servant and found a reason to go up that high tower, intending to ambush the old wizard. But for all the skill the Soulstealers wield in illusory magic, no sooner had the Extinguished opened the door than did Erlodan recognize him for what he was.
"The old warlock rose with all the power possessed to him, and the Extinguished threw off the servant's skin and attacked. For a full day, the two pitted their wills against each other, their sorcery crashing together like two great waves, both tiring, but neither of them faltering. Both had such a towering degree of sorcery that no single effort on the other's part could break him, but they had to be worn down as slow as a river wearing on rock.
"But the eldritch spirit behind the Extinguished had no such patience. Yuldor, the Night's Savior, forced his way into his servant and took the battle into his own hands. With complete disregard for his warlock, he channeled his god-given power against Erlodan."
Bran fell silent, looking down at the ground as if thinking. He felt Garin's gaze on him, avid and curious.
"And?" the youth demanded. "What happened then?"
Looking back at his captive audience, Bran grinned. Few things gave him as much pleasure as hooking a hapless listener on their curiosity. He pointed up the hill to the castle, hidden at the moment by trees.
"That. The castle was marred, broken, dashed to pieces. Erlodan's high tower, which could see to the far reaches of his lands, was completely obliterated. Neither contestant survived, the life of the devil's servant weighed a fair cost for Erlodan's destruction, and all of Erlodan's staff and guests were killed as well."
"Huh." Garin looked up the hill. "No wonder you don't want to go up there. Is it haunted by ghosts, or ghouls maybe?"
Bran shook his head. "No ghosts or ghouls. But the Ruins of Erlodan deserve their reputation nevertheless. Yuldor's touch still lingers there, a hint of the East's evils, waiting to seize a hapless wanderer to turn to his cause. A single turn of the day in those ruins could corrupt the best of men or women into willing servants of the Night."
Garin shuddered. "Why must we go there at all?"
Bran's smile had slipped away, and he looked at the elven mage, who had finished whatever he'd been doing and now sat, listening to the story from afar, a small, knowing smile curling his lips.
He stood. "I'm sure our guide will inform us when he wishes to. Now, where was that fire?"
Garin startled and leaped to his feet. Looking between the men, both of whom were idle, his mouth started to open. A moment later, though, he seemed to think better of what he'd been about to say and bent to strike up a flame.
Bran grinned at Aelyn, but knew the humor was lost on him as the mage stared stonily back. As he turned away and bent to gather kindling, the smile slipped off his face.
"What do you want, you knife-eared marsh monkey?" he muttered as he picked up small branches. "Why would you risk us entering that evil place?"
But he already knew. There could be only one answer when a king and his immortal enemies were involved.