Death of a Darklord

THIRTY-THREE

The Iron Goat Tavern was crowded. The new bard was bringing in a lot of business.

Kelric was a man of medium height but broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He had learned to play the guitar, harp, and harpsichord with larger hands than he had now, but these fingers were long and slender, made subtle by thievery, not practice. He had used that suppleness, reteaching the fingers to play music rather than lift money from unsuspecting backsides. Kelric Cutpurse had become Kelric Sweetvoice in a matter of months.

He missed his reputation as Calum Songmaster, but at twenty years old, he had years to rebuild his lost fame. Kelric had a higher, cleaner sound to his voice, which Calum quite liked. It was merely a matter of choosing new songs that suited his new voice, a new beginning in every sense of the word.

Harkon Lukas had brought the young Kelric to Calum's bedside. He had placed the amulet on the young man's neck. A few words, and the change had been complete. Calum couldn't even remember a sensation. One moment, he was lying in bed, racked with pain, the next he was standing staring down at an old shriveled man.

It had been so long since he had looked in a mirror that he was shocked. His skin was parchmentlike, wrinkled, hanging in folds from his bones. The skin of his skull had slid downward like half-melted wax. Only his eyes were familiar. Only the eyes were left of what he remembered. Calum Songmaster had died a long time ago. He just hadn't known it.

Those eyes blinked up at him, mouth wide with a silent scream. Kelric had volunteered for this-he truly had-but he hadn't understood. No one could explain the pain. He screamed, wordlessly. The tongue flopped in the toothless mouth, lips so thin there was nothing but the wordless hole.

"I can't, I can't," he screamed. "Take me out, oh, gods, take me out."

"What do you think, Calum? Should we trade bodies back?" Harkon touched the strong, new shoulders, kneaded the new muscles with long fingers.

Calum stared down at the dying body. He looked at the panicked, pain-filled eyes. His eyes. But not anymore, not if he simply said no.

Harkon's lips gave a slow, spreading smile, like those of a well-fed serpent. He stalked to the bed, his gliding walk almost dancelike. He was enjoying himself.

"I will take away this pain, Kelric. I will free you of this terrible burden." He knelt on the bed. "Come Calum, move round so there is eye contact. That is very important."

Calum started to say no, but something in Harkon's face stopped him. He shifted so he could see his old body with a stranger looking out of it.

Only then did he realize it was not just age and illness that made his old face look strange to him. The facial expression was alien, too. It was Kelric's personality staring out.

Harkon knelt, touching the aged face gently. He smiled sweetly, as if tucking the old man into bed for the coming night. Calum half expected Harkon to ask that the man close his eyes, but he did not, instead slowly drawing his belt knife, making a great show of it.

The eyes widened. "No, you promised. …"

Calum wondered what Kelric had been promised. What could Harkon have offered for this?

"No, please!" The old man looked at Calum, at his own body standing there. He raised an age-spotted hand out, beseeching, "Help me!"

Harkon lay alongside the aged man. He rubbed the flat of the knife blade along the bedclothes, over the thin chest. "You have failed to grasp something, dear Kelric. He wants to keep your body. He had no intention of ever giving it back."

The pale eyes widened, and the knowledge of the betrayal was plain on his face. His mouth opened, and Calum tensed for the accusations, the recriminations. But the knife slipped upward, touching the soft flesh of the neck. The mouth froze open, eyes wide.

"Get on with it," Calum said with the young voice, his voice.

"And how would we explain slitting his throat?" Harkon jerked a pillow from under the man's head. The man gave a startled sound, and Lukas pressed the pillow over that face. He sheathed the knife with one hand, then bore down with both palms on the pillow. Thin, bony fingers beat at the case, plucked at Harkon's sleeves.

Lukas pressed the pillow down a long time after those frantic hands fell still. He stared into Calum's new eyes, a small smile playing along his lips.

Calum's nightmares had been haunted by that smile.

But then word had come that Harkon Lukas had died in a fire in Cortton. He had died heroically, trying to save the village.

Kelric Sweetvoice gave a bow and left the small stage at the Iron Goat Tavern. The bartender, who was also the owner, slapped his back. "I've never had such crowds. I wish you would you sign a contract with me."

Calum smiled, but shook his head. "I like to be free to go where I please, but I thank you again for the offer."

A second pair of hands clapped him on the back. Calum turned to find Konrad Burn standing before him. He started to greet him as Calum would have, but saved himself, just in time. They were strangers now. This instant recognition was one of the reasons he had gone far away from his old home grounds. Konrad's was the first old face he'd seen.

"You remind me of an old friend, a famous bard named Calum Songmaster. Did you ever hear him sing?"

Calum nearly choked on his drink. He managed to shake his head, not trusting his voice.

"Let me buy you your next drink," Konrad said. "I'd like to request the 'Ballad of Omartrag. It was one of Calum's favorites."

He found his voice at last. "I don't know it, friend."

Konrad's smile slipped, but he regained his unusual good cheer.

Calum could not help himself, he had to ask. "You seem to be in a good mood, stranger. What's the occasion?"

"I'm engaged."

Calum fought with all the training he had ever had to keep the shock from his voice. "Whom to?"

"You wouldn't know her."

"Give me a name, and perhaps I'll write a song about her."

Konrad laughed; he actually laughed. "Elaine Claim-perhaps not a poetic name, but she's the most beautiful girl in the world."

"A fiance should always think his woman is the most lovely in the world," Calum said. He wanted to hug Konrad, to tell him how genuinely happy he was that he had found love again. And to find it with little Elaine. Calum wished he could congratulate her, too. But he couldn't. He could never risk seeing them again.

Konrad bought him the drink even though he did not know the ballad. Calum kept slipping glances at this new, laughing Konrad. The change was remarkable.

Calum wanted to say how glad he was that Harkon had died, that Konrad had survived to find happiness at last. But he sang other songs for the patrons, and after a few hours wanted nothing more than to be out of the stifling atmosphere of the tavern. He walked outside into the late spring night, leaving Konrad in the bright laughing crowd.

Calum stood in the small paved courtyard, breathing the faint growing smells of the meadows just outside of town. A sound made him turn.

It was Konrad. He came to stand beside him, gazing down past the city walls. It was so like old times that Calum did not question, did not want to break the silence and be strangers once again.

"Did you really think I died in Cortton?" The voice was Konrad's; the words were not.

Calum turned and found Konrad's face, but the smile on those lips..

"Harkon!"

The smile widened. "At your service." He made a low, sweeping bow that looked odd without one of his plumed hats.

Calum swallowed his suddenly pounding pulse. "Are you truly engaged to Elaine?"

"Sadly, no. Konrad has grown strangely distant to our young Miss Claim."

Some tightness loosened in his stomach. At least he had not brought ruin to Elaine, as well. "Did you enjoy your travels outside Kartakass?"

A scowl fell over those handsome features. "Again, no. I stood at the border of Kartakass for days, but could not cross. I soon discovered that Konrad's body was just an additional form I could take. In a day or so, Harkon Lukas will come out of hiding and take his place among the bards of Kartakass once more. I hope you are enjoying your new body better than I am."

"Well, yes, I am. Kelric is not as strong, but I have another twenty years to practice sword work. Practice makes, well-you know."

"Yes," Harkon said, "I know." He rolled back on the heels of his feet, then forward. Hands clasped behind his back, all good-natured cheer. "I am glad you are enjoying your body. You seem quite pleased with this new lease on life."

"I am."

"Good, very good."

They stood in silence for a moment, but it was no longer companionable. Calum wanted to go back inside the tavern, to be surrounded by song and laughter and life. Standing out in the dark with the creature known as Harkon Lukas was not what he wanted to be doing.

"I'm going back inside. They're expecting another song set."

Harkon turned to him with a smile. His hand came up too fast for Calum to react. The knife caught him just below the ribs, but he did not make that final upward thrust. The pain froze Calum in place, gasping.

"If I cannot have my heart's desire, neither can you." The smile was a slow spreading of lips. It was the same smile he had worn while he suffocated Kelric. The smile that had haunted Calum's nightmares until he heard Harkon was dead. Calum collapsed to his knees, and Harkon knelt with him, holding the knife in place. "Good-bye Calum Songmaster." The blade plunged upward' giving a last twist. Harkon's mocking smile chased Calum down into the darkness.