He spun and stared into the long shadows cast by the morning sun. But in no dim corner could he find the boy.
Despite his better judgment, he took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his voice. "Garin! Garin!"
"Quiet!" Aelyn hissed. "You'll rouse things better left undisturbed!"
Bran ignored him. "Garin, you damned fool! Where are you?"
Garin stared, slack-jawed, at the object on the pedestal.
Even in the dimly lit chamber, the necklace seemed to sparkle. Gold chain; black gems; an intricate pattern of interwoven snakes holding it together. He might have seen all the towns in the East Marsh, but he'd never seen anything — no horse, no distant mountain peak, no steaming piece of meat — that was half as beautiful as this necklace.
He began to reach for it, then hesitated. How he'd arrived in the chamber, he suddenly couldn't recall. He'd been following Bran and the mage, and then…
He blinked into the darkness. Nothing. He couldn't remember when he'd turned aside.
Yet here he was.
Glancing behind him, he saw the faint glow of distant light, and a faint breeze tickled his skin. Outside — it wasn't far away.
He found his eyes wandering again to the stone pedestal. How odd, that a pendant would be waiting here for him. How very right. After all, how could it be waiting for anyone else?
Again, he reached for it, and again, he stopped, fingers inches from the necklace.
He puffed up his cheeks and blew out the air slowly. It cost him all of his resolve not to move his hand forward to grasp the pendant. But why should he stop? It ought to be his — he'd found it. These ruins belonged to no one anymore. The necklace was his. His. He ought to take it.
His fingers stretched closer, closer.
But a bell seemed to be ringing frantically in the back of his mind like the ringer was having a fit. There was some reason not to take it — if only he could remember it. But he felt as if he were a man clawing his way through a misty field, unable to see in any direction around him. Memory, thought even, hardly seemed worth the bother.
Seeing as he couldn't remember why he ought not to, why not take it?
He closed the distance between the chain and his fingers and lifted it from the stone.
It weighed almost nothing. Garin held it before his eyes, letting it sway slowly back and forth, the pendant the only thing he had eyes for. The gems were black, but there was a molten light hidden in them. He peered closer, closer, trying to see what set it aflame.
Put it on.
Garin slipped the chain over his neck and sighed. A good thought to wear it, a very good thought. He was already feeling warm from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, a pleasant sensation amongst the cold ruins.
Hide it, Listener.
An even better thought. What if someone saw it? They'd see how beautiful it was. They'd want it for themselves. Garin tucked it inside his collar, as quickly as if someone were sneaking up on him while he took a leak.
Once it was secured under his shirt and pressed warm against his chest, he breathed another sigh. Safe at last.
"Garin! Damn you, lad, I told you to stay close!"
Garin blinked. Bran. He'd told Bran he'd stay close. But somehow, he'd lost track of him.
"In here!" he called, voice cracking, but he didn't even care. Relief flooded over him, though he hadn't known he'd been frightened. "I'm in here!"
Bran ran for the doorway from which the youth's voice had echoed. As soon as he reached it, Garin himself stepped out. Bran seized him by the shoulders, shaking him before he knew what he was doing.
"I told you to stay close!" he roared.
Garin was stiff in his hands, eyes wide, but his mouth was hard-set. "I went to take a leak. Is that not allowed?"
Bran had spouted enough foolish lines not to be put off. "I don't tell you to do much, Garin. But when I tell you to do something, I mean for you to do it. Didn't I warn you? Didn't I tell you to stay close?"
The youth's mouth was twisting into a sneer. "You think you can protect me. But you can't. You're a failed chicken farmer — what could you ever do against what lurks here?" Garin snorted disdainfully. "If anything does."
His anger drained away as suddenly as it had come, and Bran released him, staring. Never in the years that he'd known the boy had he seen him in such a foul temper.
But never had Bran allowed him to see his rage, either.
"I'm sorry, lad," he said softly. "I shouldn't have done that."
Garin just walked around him to face Aelyn. "Are you going to yell at me too, elf?"
The mage had stood silently behind them, and Bran turned guiltily back toward him. He'd expected to see smugness in his expression, but Aelyn looked thoughtful.
"Did you find anything in there, boy?" he asked.
Garin's mouth set harder. "I'm not a boy," he said, though the statement was undermined by his voice cracking. Clearing it, he continued, angrier than before, "I've had my fifteenth yearsday. I'm a man, the same as you."
Aelyn seemed not to hear him as he walked around him toward the shadowed entrance.
"Don't step in his piss," Bran offered weakly.
The mage ignored him, too, as he was lost to the shadows within.
Bran glanced back at the youth, then jerked his head. "Guess we'd best follow him."
"And I'd best obey you, hadn't I?" Garin said sarcastically.
But when Bran turned into the doorway, he heard the youth following.
Garin stared at the back of Bran's head as they reentered the chamber. The mage had a light dancing at the end of his fingertips, a pure white light that shone so brightly the whole room was illuminated. Peeling his eyes away and trying — and failing — to stifle his anger, Garin looked around and saw the place for the first time.
The chamber was larger than he'd expected. When just the glow of the black-gemmed necklace had illuminated it, he'd felt like the walls and ceiling pressed in close on him. Now he saw the roof was domed and rose three times his height, and the walls stretched to either side, the space empty up to them, only a thick layer of dust that rose to make beams of the light as they walked. Garin stared at the walls and the intricate etchings on them. Under the fey light, the shapes seemed to gather a glow, the pale green of fresh moss. They were like the runes on Aelyn's glyph ward, but sharper somehow, so sharp it seemed they could cut his eyes by staring at them too long.
The mage stood over the pedestal, glaring down at it like he was reading a book. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Garin found himself drawing closer.
Dispose of him.
Garin's breath caught in his throat, and he stumbled to a halt, frozen like a hare before a fox, not daring to move lest he act on the mad thought.
"Something was here," Aelyn muttered.
Bran had wandered over from examining the walls to peer at the pedestal. "Amazed as I am to say it, but you're right. The dust has been disturbed."
"You can see its shape," the elf continued, ignoring Bran's comment. "A medallion, it looks to me. Or a pendant."
As if by some hidden cue, both men turned to look at him.
Stop them. Kill them, if you must.