Chapter Nineteen
Cadvan was woken by a familiar voice, warm and low in his ear. He jolted upright, reaching for Arnost but remember belatedly that the sword was across the room where he'd dropped after the scuffle with Likud. He ran his hand through his hair instead, pushing it from his eyes. Saliman's handsome, worried face stared back.
"Cadvan, how are you? Have you been here these last two days?" he searched his friend's face for signs of distress but saw none. He glanced back to where the desk stood, occupied by Likud. "Was the Hull here the entire time?"
Cadvan turned to glower at the Hull, carefully feeling his tender ribs. His initial inspection after the first night hadn't revealed any broken bones, but they were still sore. "I don't know that Likud left, he may have been here the whole time." Though Cadvan had seen enough of the Hull over the last two days, he had done his best to ignore it, instead, sitting on the rug and sleeping, waking only occasionally to eat the horrid meal under Likud's watchful gaze.
Saliman saw the way he held his sides. "Are your ribs hurt?"
"Most likely," Cadvan said shortly. Though Likud was at the desk, now pouring over maps of the surrounding country, Cadvan guessed he was listening closely. "And you, my friend, how have you been?"
Saliman scowled. "Locked in a bedroom for two days straight with nothing but a terrified girl for company. This place is so rank with the Dark it makes me sick. I suppose, if I've been summoned, this means we're moving?"
"I think as much," Cadvan guessed. He turned his gaze to Likud who was determinedly not watching them, but there was a smile on his face that suggested he had heard Saliman's comments. "Are we to leave today?"
Likud looked up, pretending to be startled. "Oh, you're awake? I thought you'd sleep all day, Cadvan." When both the Bards maintained blank, hostile faces, the Hull continued. "Yes, I want to be on the road by dawn, we've wasted too much time here. Lirigon awaits."
Saliman watched Likud narrowly. "It's a long road from here to there. Lirigon may yet have time."
Cadvan appreciated the Bard's confidence, but privately he thought that the School stood no chance. "Perhaps Innail can prepare."
Likud ignored their talk and stood, shuffling his papers together. "Come, my little Bards, let us get the horses. I want to ride ahead of the rabble, I hate getting dust on my cloak."
Cadvan and Saliman both bristled at being referred to as little Bards, but Likud had come to treat it as an endearment. He staunchly said that he and his fellow Hulls were far older than any Bard and so it was only appropriate, and that Cadvan and Saliman reminded him of young boys, snapping at the heels of their seniors. As they left, Cadvan gathered up Arnost and tucked it safely against his side. It would do him little good against the Hulls, but he felt better having it all the same.
Predawn light lay on the city Eleve and the air itself seemed blue. The city was waking, the soldiers emerging from their commandeered homes, the slaves shaking off the spring cold and the Hulls snapping orders at their servants. As the Bards and Likud passed through the city streets, they passed an atrocious number of corpses which turned Cadvan's stomach and made Likud laugh.
"Soon, all the cities will be like this. There will be no more bastions of the Light. It will be a marvelous sight." Likud gestured to the body of a young woman, face down, dried blood caked in her hair from a gaping wound in her skull. "No more talk of the goodness of the Light, just a bitter reminder that there is only fear and hatred and power, and those too weak to seek it."
They had to pass the remains of the hospital where the snouts were staying, and Cadvan and Saliman gave it a wide breadth, much to the amusement of Likud. When they arrived at the stables, they found their horses had been tied up but no one had taken the reins and bit out of their mouths; it would have been a miserable two days with the metal chafing away at their tongues and teeth and the Bards were furious at the treatment. Darsor, however, threw back his head when he saw Likud.
How is he alive? he demanded of Cadvan. Maerad destroyed him!
It appears he managed to escape the Gates, Cadvan said, running his hands over Darsor's back. And he leads the Nameless One's army now.
Darsor was most unhappy about this and nosed at Cadvan's face where the whip lashes stood out. I will pay him back for that kindness.
Likud didn't understand the horse, for Hulls had long since forgotten the Speech, but he sensed the stallion's eyes on him. He moved closer to inspect Darsor and the horse bit at him. The Hull snarled, drawing back angrily while Darsor bucked and kicked. Cadvan turned away to hide his laughter.
"Control your beast, Cadvan, or I'll take him in hand," warned the Hull, pride stinging.
"Darsor is free horse and does what he chooses. He hardly listens to me," Cadvan said plaintively.
"Either tame him or you can butcher him. Perhaps you tire of your current fare, perhaps you want horse?" Cadvan chose not to answer, though Saliman looked sharply between the two, and saddled Darsor.
In the yard before the stables, the Hulls were preparing to depart. They would ride ahead of the army, arriving at their resting place for the night a few hours before the marching men. There they would regroup and make further plans for the battle to come, relax in their tents and eat if they were hungry. Since Cadvan and Saliman were riding with the Hulls, they left before the majority of the soldiers had gathered, and departed the city just as the ranks of the men began to fall in. They were not riding with the snouts, for which both Bards were unendingly grateful, but they did have the mayor's daughter in their retinue, and it was heartbreaking to see the small girl amid Hulls.
Around midday, she fell back so that she was riding alongside Saliman, whom she seemed to know. He flashed a kindly smile at her. "Cadvan, this young girl is Iris, and she's been an utter delight to me the past two days."
Iris recognized Cadvan and smiled shyly. "We've met."
"Though not properly introduced," Cadvan responded. He mustered up a smile of his own and winked. "The wine really was excellent."
"Papa took a lot of pride in his work," she said in a dignified voice. "He said when he retired, he would be a wine maker." But the mention of her father's dreams for life after mayoral work hurt Iris too much, and her face closed.
"I am sorry for your loss, Iris, it is not right and it is not fair, but I think your father would have been proud of you. You have been very brave."
She sniffled. "I don't want to be here anymore."
Cadvan and Saliman exchanged a swift look. "This will be over soon," Saliman finally said. "This campaign will end in the next few months."
"Then what?" she asked morosely, but neither Bard had an answer. If she was indeed a Bard, then the Hulls would send her wherever the other Bard children were going. If she was human, Likud already had a plan in place. Neither option seemed particularly good.
"Don't think too far in the future, you never know what might happen between now and then," Saliman advised, and though the girl looked a little less despondent, she was silent.
They reached a stopping sight before the sun sank and began making camp. This was no town, there were no buildings, just a dismal sight along the edge of the Malinau Forest. The slaves who had travelled with the Hulls began making camp while Cadvan and Saliman loitered about, setting their horses to rights and wondering where they were sleeping.
"Who is Likud?" Saliman asked at length. "You seemed rather shocked to see it and it seemed oddly pleased to have you here."
Cadvan turned away. "Likud was the Hull who taught me Dark arts when I was in School. The one who showed me how to summon the Bone Queen. I despise him, but I fear my hatred of him is nothing compared to his hatred of me." Cadvan shuddered when he recalled the conversation they'd had, Likud's plans for him. "He considers me a traitor and has been hunting me since the Bone Queen's defeat in Pellinor almost fifty years ago."
Saliman glanced toward the camp sight. "You seemed surprised to see him."
"I thought Maerad destroyed him at the Broken Teeth. It seems he escaped."
"He was one of the Hulls that waylaid you at the Broken Teeth?" Saliman glanced sharply at Cadvan's face. "He was one who whipped you?"
Cadvan shrugged. "Of all the servants of the Dark, Likud is my least favorite. He has haunted my footsteps since before I even came to be a minor Bard, and it seems he chases me now. The Nameless One must be thoroughly enjoying his surprise."
"Indeed," Saliman said gravely then straightened as the topic of their conversation came their way, Iris trailing a safe distance behind Likud.
"These two aren't to be left to their own devices, girl," Likud was saying. He gave her an unnecessary shove and she stumbled forward. Saliman's face was dark. "When we make camp, you're to see them settled and fed. Look, they could have run off into the night and we would have been none the wiser. Is that what you want?"
"N-no," she stuttered.
"I should hope not, because I would hold you accountable." Likud glanced at the Bards spitefully. "If they get away, I'll feed you to the dogs. Do you want that?"
"Please don't," she whispered. "I won't let them escape."
"See that you don't." He handed her rope, which she stared at it nonplussed and then stood back to watch her with crossed arms.
Iris held the rope up, looking as if she'd never seen anything so strange. Likud's eyes narrowed, but Saliman sprang up, hands out to take the rope. "It's alright, Iris, just tie our hands." Iris watched in complete shock as Cadvan turned, hands pressed together behind his back so Saliman could tie them. Cadvan didn't make a move to escape, didn't protest the aching in his wrist, just stood by impassively. Saliman then turned to face her and drew his own wrists together. "It doesn't hurt."
Iris carefully tied Saliman's wrists taking special care not to bind him too tightly least it be painful and finished with an elaborate knot. Likud nodded to a spike in the ground that she bound them both to and then waited while he inspected her work. "You, girl, are a miracle worker. You've convinced the Bards to tie themselves up! It's a power unlike any I've seen. Make sure they're fed and watered and wake them before the sun rises tomorrow."
Iris waited until Likud was well out of earshot before turned back to the Bards. "I'm sorry," she said at once, looking anxiously at the two Bards. "It wasn't that I wanted to help him but he said-"
"Fear not, child," Saliman said gently. "Likud is being needlessly cruel. Cadvan and I are bound on this journey by far stronger ties than rope. We cannot run even if we wanted."
"Then why-"
"To frighten you," Saliman said simply. "But do not be on our account. Whatever the Hull has done to us, it is not your fault."
Iris nodded dully. This type of psychological torment, this cruel teasing, was far beyond her ken. She knew only that Saliman and Cadvan seen unperturbed by her treatment of them. "I'll bring you food and water then."
She returned shortly holding a jug of water and a plate. Cadvan cringed at the sight of the meat and Saliman noticed. What is it?
I dare not say aloud. Cadvan eyed the meat while the girl poured water into cups. Likud has been feeding me that for two days. He says it is human flesh harvested from the fallen.
Saliman's face paled and his eyes went wide. He lies.
I think not.
"Water first, please," Saliman croaked, his eyes still resting on the plate, debating whether to refuse the meat. Iris tipped the cup to his lips and watched while he swallowed gulp after gulp. When she reached for the plate, Saliman shook his head, saying quickly, "Cadvan needs water. See to him first."
When she had finished with the water, Iris cut the meat into small portions and speared a bit on a fork. Saliman was still grappling with his own disgust and shook his head, but Cadvan nodded her over. Iris knelt beside him, feeling strangely like a mother feeding a child, and he finished so quickly that she thought he might be sick.
Eat it fast, try not to taste it, Cadvan advised.
Saliman blanched but opened his mouth in consent when the girl offered him some. Cadvan could see the same utter disgust for the meat on his face. He wondered if Saliman could taste the difference, or if he too could only sense the overpowering herbs. When he'd finished, Saliman coughed, trying to keep the food in his stomach.
"A bit more water, please?" he asked hoarsely.
Iris offered them both water then used a spare rag to wipe both their faces. She moved around them anxiously, checking the knots on their wrists, tending to their horses, digging around to find blankets. They suspected that having someone to care for, to have a simple task that didn't require her to be around the Hulls, offered a sense of relief to poor girl. She seemed almost happy by the time she'd finished. She stood, waiting nervously for them to speak.
"I think we'll both sleep now," Saliman said, still tasting the meat. He gagged a moment. "Where does the night take you?"
"I don't know," Iris said softly. "Likud says I wait on him, but he's in his tent…"
She can't sleep there, Saliman said simply. She can't spend the night with a Hull. The Light only knows what he'll do to her.
Cadvan nodded to the saddle bags. "Why don't you sleep here in case Saliman or I need you in the night? There's bound to be a cloak or blanket in those bags."
The tension in the girl's shoulders vanished and she almost smiled. "Lord Likud probably won't need me," she said reasonably. "He never calls in the night," she added as she picked through Cadvan and Saliman's things until she found a cloak. She looked between Saliman and Cadvan debating where to sleep, but the Bards moved aside and made enough space for her between them.
"Right here is as good as any," Saliman said bracingly.
She curled up between them and was asleep in minutes.
The Black Army made steady progress northward with Likud at the head. He was a merciless driver, often threatening to kill men that fell behind. Many times, slaves would die of exhaustion and Likud would laugh, saying it was good that they did him the service of culling themselves. Though a large part of the army was slaves, there were many other fell creatures summoned from the abyss that travelled with them and wherever they went a cold, Dark aura hung over the land. The dog soldiers were terrifying to behold, loping along the ranks of soldiers, snarling in their helms and spitting acid. There were wers in bat form, flapping along lazily after the army at night. There were countless soldiers coming north under the impression that the people are Annar were monsters who would slaughter them and their families.
The Bards were disgusted with the army and, repulsed by the Dark sensation emanating from the hoard, rode in silence. This seemed to annoy Likud, who viewed Cadvan as his own special possession and liked to toy with him when he was board. At times, he would beckon Cadvan to the front of the column and have him ride at his side, forcing an absurdly cheerful conversation. Likud was fond of reliving old memories or Lirigon, and would ask Cadvan about the different places in the city: the street of Makers, the School, the grove where Cadvan had summoned the Bone Queen. Likud asked after the different Bards he had known when he had tried to invade and pretended to lament the passing of Basher whose death he was solely responsible for. He asked after Ceredin, her family and where her body was buried. When Cadvan managed to maintain his composure and keep his voice steady and emotionless, Likud would order him to pull out his lyre and play songs for him, claiming that he missed music.
Saliman faired little better on their journey. Though not Likud's favorite, the Hull seemed to think it was his responsibility to make Saliman as miserable as possible. He would constantly mention the fall of Turbansk, and proudly displayed a gold chain he had found in the Ernani's own private rooms. Hulls cared little for such mundane things as gold, though, and Likud said, much to Saliman's horror, that he might have the chain melted down and made into a set of manacles to bind the current Ernani once they caught him. When he tired of making Cadvan play, he ordered Saliman to sing songs about Turbansk and told the Bard that he must compose a ballad describing the fall of his people.
Saliman bore most of this treatment with an impassive expression, but when Likud turned his attention on Iris, who rode as close as she could to Saliman, and threatened her or beat her, he lost his temper. On one such occasion, their third day out of Eleve, Saliman had lunged at Likud, sword in hand. The Hull had been so shocked by the attack that it stumbled back with a snarled cry. Saliman paid dearly for the encounter, though, because Likud bound him with a curse and then had two other Hulls strike him repeatedly with him flat of their blades. Iris, who had been made to watch, clung to Cadvan and sobbed.
Overall, it was an unpleasant journey. They reached the Imlan River after a week and the nostalgia was like a physical blow to Cadvan. Countless times, he had followed the Imlan River into the valley and to Innail. This time of year in the early spring, Cadvan knew the trees would be throwing forth their new green buds, the first lazy bees would be shrugging off their winter mantle and buzzing drunkenly in the new grass and early wildflowers who spread their petals. It was a beautiful country to travel though and the knowledge that he had to turn away from it for the evil deeds that lay ahead sat heavy on his heart.
Something of Cadvan's feelings must have shown on his face because Likud paused, smirking. "Wishing to see your friends in Innail? Do not weep, little Bard, because you will be united with them soon."
This brought Cadvan no comfort and he looked away.
Still they rode and reached Ettinor a day later. This was the first time that Cadvan and Saliman were able to see how the Black Army handled the Annarean Bards. A messenger was sent forth to the School and the Bards were given the simple ultimatum: surrender yourselves, and the city and all its people would be spared, refuse and the people would be slaughtered. They were given twenty-four hours to decide as the Black Army slowly amassed at their gates. It must have been a truly terrible sight to behold, and there was little surprise that the next day, the First Circle of Ettinor emerged from the gates around the city. Likud left Cadvan and Saliman but went to meet the Ettinor Bards in person.
A long, tense conversation followed, during which Likud frequently gestured to the army behind him. After a time, the First Bard, Finlan, removed his sword and handed it to Likud. The Hull held the blade aloft a moment, examining the fine craftsmanship, then slowly began to build his power. The Bards before him could sense his strength growing as he invested the blade with more and more of his Darkness. Suddenly, violently, he brought the blade swinging down in an arc to the ground. The beautiful sword shattered with a sound like a huge bell being rung and the pieces scattered on the soil at the Bard's feet.
Likud lifted his terrible gaze up to Finlan. "Your power is broken, your people are mine, you must seek forgiveness from Dark throne." Finlan nodded gravely though the other members of the First Circle seemed appalled at the statement.
The exodus began. The city gates opened properly and crowds of Bards emerged. They came in small groups, families with children, couples clinging to each other, the young and old mixed together. It was as if they feared to face the Black Army alone and took comfort from the presence of their companions even though it offered no defense. The Bards came with nothing but the clothes on their back and simple packs, presumably holding their dearest possessions, and they eyed the amassed army behind Likud and his Hulls warily. As the crowds swelled, Cadvan and Saliman saw the dog soldiers creep forward at the command of Hulls, forming a ring around the captives. The Bards recoiled, pressing against one and other as they sank back into a tighter ball. Cadvan had the briefest vision of the dog soldiers suddenly falling on the Bards, slaughtering them all where they stood, but he shouldn't have feared as they merely moved among the crowd, snarling and snapping as they split the people in three distinct groups: men, women and children.
"You see before you the full might of the Nameless One, you understand the foolishness of opposing his will. You are now in service to the Dark Throne," Likud announced, his voice magnified by his own power. "You will be escorted back to Dagra by a contingent of our soldiers where you will be assigned duties there. Minor Bards will be sent to our School to be reeducated." There was a smile in his voice as Likud said, "I would highly recommend you not struggle, for the Dark Lord has no interest in disobedient servants and the consequences of your actions will be severe."
The Bards said nothing to this pronouncement, which was perhaps the most disturbing thing about the entire episode. Both Cadvan and Saliman were unnerved by the silence with which the Bards met the Dark. There was no crying, no screaming, no pleading, even the children were startlingly silent. It was almost like the reality of the situation hadn't properly set in and the Bards were wandering through some shared nightmare. They were utterly confused: how did they come to be like this?
They called it the Great Silence for a reason, Saliman thought, watching a woman look on passively as a soldier ripped her pack from her and dug through the contents. He removed a warm cloak and then dumped the rest of her possessions on the ground: a gown, a lute and book. He stomped on the lute and is snapped in half. They never say what the silence was, but perhaps this a part of the silence. The uncomprehending silence of shock.
Likud watched as the Bards were split, smiling a little when he saw a young boy cling to his parent's legs, shaking the silent tears from his eyes as a dog soldier growled at him. A man who must have been the boy's father bent down to his knees and pushed the hair off his face, whispering something to him under the glowing eyes of the beast before him. The boy nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes and turned to face the dog solider. It snapped its teeth at him and the child backed away slowly, terrified. Likud supposed they would make slaves, but just barely. Bards never did well in captivity, he thought, they were like songbirds whose voices died in confinement. He supposed it was just their nature to be weak, but it irked him that he never got the proper time he wanted to play with them. He thought of Cadvan and Saliman, who must have been watching from up top a hill and grinned, there were two Bards he could toy with, though. It was just a pity that only the strongest of the Bards ever put up any fight.
Speaking of, thought Likud as the First Circle was brought toward him. A First Bard will serve me well for now.
"How now, Finlan of Ettinor?" Likud asked mischievously, gesturing the First Bard forward.
Finlan kept his face carefully blank. "We were told that the commander of the Dark Army wished to speak to us. That is you."
"It is," agreed Likud, drawing his hands together. "My master has a keen interest in First Bards, and, as such, so do I. I thought perhaps we might walk together while this messy business is handled."
"I would prefer to stay with me people during this time," Finlan said, frowning a little at the casual dismissal of his School's enslavement.
Likud smiled toothily. "Now, now, Finlan, there's nothing to be gained by watching, and besides, you wait on my command now, no? That was our agreement."
Finlan hands clamped into fists. "What of the First Circle?"
"They will be handled," Likud said absently, and waved a few of the Hulls over. "Don't fear for them. The Nameless One wishes to see them before they are sentenced. They will be kept well-enough alive on the road to Dagra."
Though Finlan wanted to say more, Likud was already walking away, so he hurried to follow. "…must be curious as to what will become of you. A First Bard holds great power and as such, will do great things in the name of our Lord." It was a mark of the Nameless One's certainty of victory that his commander was sharing his plans with him. "We march next to Lirigon, and I will have need of Bards who can summon creatures of the Abyss."
Finlan was repulsed by the idea. "I will not allow my magery to be put to such uses."
"You refuse the command of our Lord?" Likud asked sharply, spinning about to watch him. "You were given a choice, were you not? Mercy for the innocent in exchange for your service? This is your service."
"I am a Bard of the Light. My power cannot be turned to such matters." Finlan stared back stoically.
"Well, you're not wrong there. For a First Bard, your power is feeble and will hardly serve to open the door for the creatures we wish to summon. But in concert with stronger Bards than yourself…Perhaps you can do your part."
"The First Circle will not-"
"I do not speak your paltry First Circle, those small men and women whose minds have been corrupted by petty greed and avarice. You are poor stock, to be sure, and when this war is over and out master has reclaimed his kingdom, I wouldn't be surprised if you and yours were butchered. The White Flame that burns in you is small. It does not deserve to burn. And you know this, don't you Finlan?" Likud reached out and took his chin in his hand, forcing his eyes up. "I see in you the barest flicker of Fire, a mere candle. Our master needs torches." Finlan tried to break the Hulls deceptively delicate grasp and found that he couldn't. "You know in your heart that the White Fire in you has been dying. Your powers have faltered, your strength is flagging. So, this war, this is the end for you. I think you know that it will destroy you."
"If I am so weak, why not just kill me now?" Finlan asked, trying to disguise his own horror at the Hull's words. He knew the Hull did not lie.
"Because I want to break you first, and I want your people to see." They had left behind the Bards of Ettinor now and were walking up a steep hill. Finlan saw a collection of Hulls, and, a few feet apart, two other figures that milled about by their horses. They didn't exude the same Darkness as the Hulls, and Finlan realized these must be Bards as well. "Your people and your First Circle will be sent to Dagra, but you will come on with us to Lirigon, but take joy in knowing you'll be in like company. You're not even the only First Bard we have in our little retinue."
The two figures who were unable to look away from the scene below them seemed to shiver, as if sensing Likud's presence. They both turned and Finlan gasped. One of them, he knew on sight: Cadvan of Lirigon. The other, a handsome, dark skinned man with who must have hailed from the south. He eyed Cadvan angrily, for he had not forgotten the dark stories of Cadvan's youth and suspected this Bard had betrayed the Light. Likud clapped his hands, announcing their arrival.
"Hello, little Bards! I have a surprise for you," Likud led Finlan forward, smiling around broadly. "I suppose you all might know each other, but if not, allow me to make the introductions. First Bard Finlan of Ettinor, meet First Bard Saliman of the fallen city of Turbansk, and an old friend of mind, Cadvan of Lirigon." Cadvan grimaced at this title.
Finlan looked furious. "I am not surprised to find Cadvan of Lirigon here."
Likud glanced between the two of them. "Really, why is that?"
"Cadvan turned from the Light long ago. It was merely a matter of time before he betrayed us properly."
Likud laughed amiably, walking forward and slapped Cadvan on the shoulder. "Come now, that's not a very nice things to say. Would it surprise you to learn that Cadvan of Lirigon is no willing member of our party? That he is here only because the Nameless One threatened to torture the woman he loves, Maerad of Pellinor? Would it horrify you to learn that that poor young woman is even now a captive in the Dark Tower and the only thing that keeps her from torment is Cadvan's continued obedience?"
Finlan glanced at Cadvan's dark face uncertainly. "That sounds like a lie of the Dark."
"It matters not, at least where you're concerned, Finlan. Like I said, you're power it but a flickering candle that will soon be extinguished. The Nameless One has no need for pathetic servants like you, men who care barely continence his will, men whose mind will be flayed to madness by his touch. But Bards like these two here, who have suffered his Dark fire and survived, they will live to serve him. And yes, they will hate every moment of it and beg for the sweet release of death, but they will live. You, Finlan, are nothing but a corpse. Your body just doesn't know it yet."
Finlan's face had gone white and he flinched. "Have you nothing better to do?" Cadvan demanded. "Or are you such an empty and lonely creature that you must force yourself on those who hate you?"
If Finlan was shocked by the anger in Cadvan's voice, he was horrified when the Hull turned about and struck Cadvan across the face. Saliman gave an outraged cry, but Likud held up a hand in warning and the Bard remained standing where he was. Likud switched his gaze to Cadvan. "You had best mind your manners around me, Cadvan. I may need you alive and in your right senses for this war, but when the battle is won, I'm taking you back to Dagra and there will be no escape for you then."
"How could I possibly forget, you remind me at least once a day?" Cadvan asked dryly.
Likud blinked at the tone before he hit him thrice more. "Then, why. Do you. Forget?" He punctuated each blow with his words. "Do I need to find a new way to drive my words into that thick head of yours?" When Cadvan remained stubbornly silence, Likud lifted his hand again. "Shall I tell our master you're been misbehaving?"
This time, Cadvan grimaced, though his eyes burned furiously. "No."
"No, what?"
Cadvan's jaw worked around his pride. "No, don't tell our master I've been misbehaving."
Likud suddenly turned to Finlan who took a step back. "Take a lesson. You see? This is a true Bard of Light, a Bard whose strength of will and powers are at least useful to my master. A Bard who might challenge me."
As Likud stormed off to oversee the acquisition of the Ettinor Bards, Finlan found himself alone in the company of Cadvan and Saliman. Saliman was scowling at Cadvan. "Why do you insist on antagonizing Likud? It can get you nowhere."
Cadvan shifted on his feet almost guiltily. "I don't know, but it feels like a betrayal of Light to simply let a Hull have its way. Does it sit well with you?"
Saliman shook his head. "Of course not, but I fear that Likud will lose his temper and actually tell the Nameless One you have been disloyal."
Cadvan turned away and said sadly, "No, my friend. Likud enjoys my struggle too much. He thinks it's a good bit of sport."
"Still, I would much prefer you not anger him. I'm not over fond of seeing your bruises." Saliman gave Cadvan a long, hard look but suddenly smiled mischievously. "Though I suppose there can be no doubt in anyone's mind that the servants of the Dark have no love for Cadvan of Lirigon."
Cadvan chuckled darkly. "You know me, always looking for that silver lining."
Finlan looked between the two other Bards like they'd gone mad, and it took them both a moment to remember that he was there. "Greetings, Finlan," Saliman said, holding out a hand. "Though it hurts my heart to find you like this."
"What are you two doing here?" he demanded, staring at Saliman's wrist, the Sick Moon branded there.
"Defending what we love," Saliman said simply.
Finlan looked sharply at Cadvan, eyeing the bright red marks on his face. "You believe that Hull's stories of Cadvan?"
"Believe them?" Saliman asked, an ironic gleam in his eyes. "I've lived them, Finlan. I've seen the Nameless One on his dark throne, felt the might of his will when he forced my mind, and swore myself in service to him that he might spare the people I love from a terrible fate. I've little care for your misgivings anymore, we're far beyond that now."
The brutality of his words shocked both Finlan and Cadvan, who reached out and gripped Saliman's arm tightly. "Don't be angry with him. I think, if our roles were reversed, it might be hard to forget a past so rife with Dark as mine. Besides," and here, Cadvan smirked at Finlan, "he must have seen how finely I am treated by the Hulls and know better than to think me suspect."
Finlan looked down contritely. "Forgive me, it is hard to forget the past. Especially in such times."
Though Saliman seemed loathe to forgive the Bard, he shrugged tiredly. "Well, we might as well make amends since it seems we'll be travelling with one and other. Come, let us not watch the rest of this."
The three Bards turned away from the hilltop and headed back to their horses. Finlan still seemed a little wary of Cadvan, but Saliman was speaking to him, and he had no choice but to join them both sitting on the ground.
"I suppose the army will have to escort the Bards. How many do you think they'll send? Will it tip the scales in Lirigon's favor?"
Finlan blinked, still at a loss and Cadvan stretched lazily. "Give him a moment. It is not easy to watch something like this, I would think."
Saliman raised his eyebrows, aware of what it was like. "Lirigon is next. We'll be there in a week, and Innail after. I want to know if there is any chance of these Schools escaping."
"No School will escape," Finlan said at once. "Not when the choice is between the School and the people."
Saliman and Cadvan glanced quickly at each other, and Saliman said, in rather a harsher voice than he meant, "The people of Lirigon and Innail have great love the Bards. They may not allow the School to surrender."
Finlan frowned. "The people of Ettinor city did not wish to fight."
"The School of Ettinor has not been particularly kind to them of late," Cadvan observed wryly, and though Finlan looked ready to argue, he seemed to think better of it and remained silent. "But perhaps Finlan is right regardless. Vaclal will not allow the city to be destroyed for a pointless battle. I think no matter how many men return to Dagra with the Bards of Ettinor, there will be plenty of spare."
"Besides, we will have to summon more," Finlan said, recalling Likud's words. "The commander of this army, Likud you called him, said as much to me."
Saliman cringed. He had expected as much, but the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I wonder what he has in mind. Certainly not the Bone Queen?"
"I destroyed her," Cadvan said distractedly. "She no longer exists even in the shadowplains. It won't be anything as powerful as a shika, not even the three of us could summon one and control it."
Saliman gave Cadvan a skeptical look. "A wight perhaps? Or another revenant?"
Finlan was shaking his head. "You think the three of us could summon a wight?"
Cadvan leaned back, taking the measure of Finlan with a bitter, sardonic smile. "You think not? I've not used my Gift in service of Dark since I was a young, foolish man, but I could summon the Bone Queen then and that was no mean feat. Surely, between two First Bards and myself, we might be able to call up such a creature?"
"Even if I thought it possible, I would not so easily give myself and my Gift to the Dark." He said this with a fairly derisive tone, but Saliman laughed hollowly.
"You speak as if you will have a say in the matter."
Cadvan nodded, thinking of the time in Pellinor when he and all the Bards of the First Circle had been forced to use their Gift to summon the Bone Queen back into existence. None of them had been able to refuse Likud then. "The Dark can force you, and I don't doubt that Likud would not think twice about doing it. Of course, the Nameless One expressed interest in the First Bards, so Likud might not break your mind entirely." Cadvan fixed Finlan with a hard look. "You would serve the Light and your people better by living and trying to win them a reprieve from the Nameless One. To do that, you may have to surrender to Likud's demands."
Finlan looked disgusted at the thought but noticed that neither Saliman nor Cadvan was particularly surprised by their fate. Saliman shifted and set his sword across his lap. "Who's on the First Circle? Have any of them got any fight left in them?"
"Helgar might." Finlan stared at Saliman's blade, confused. "I don't understand. You both have blades, you are famous for your formidable Gifts. Why have you not fought back? Why have you not killed the Hull who leads the army? You have done nothing!" He said this last bit desperately.
Saliman's face darkened but Cadvan shook his head. "I don't think you quite understand the position we're in. Saliman didn't lie to you when he said the Nameless One forced our minds. We cannot refuse him, and even had he not, he still holds our friends hostage." Here, Cadvan's eyes narrowed. "And I will not be the reason they are hurt."
"Tell me, Finlan, what would you do if you had to choose between those you love and the Light?" Saliman asked. "How would you decide which to serve?"
"There is no easy answer," Finlan hedged.
"For us there was," Cadvan shrugged. "And now we cannot go back. For us, at least, the fight is over."
Finlan sensed a great despair in the other Bard, a pain that hurt him almost as much as a physical blow. "There are still others who will fight," he said, grappling with the pain. "Perhaps we have lost but others will fight."
"Indeed," agreed Cadvan, "and so, how many men will the Black Army spare to escort your Bards to Dagra."
Finlan shook his head hopelessly. "Not enough. Not nearly enough."
It's almost like being back in Gilman's Cot, Maerad thought as she sat on a padded dais, plucking at strings on her lyre and singing inane songs about love and maidens in starry glades. Though at least here, the air doesn't reek of vomit and ale.
It was true that the brothel seemed transformed during the night. What had been something like a schoolhouse had become a dark and tantalizingly mysterious building of many rooms full of whispered conversation, low laughter and desirous gazes. The young women who had gone about straight-backed talking of books and songs had become lovely floating figures whose smiles teased and whose eyes promised everything under the sun. The youngest women were, thankfully, at least Maerad's age, but she saw the young girls hurrying about, seeing gentlemen to and from the door, serving water and wine, assisting their older counterparts. Maerad sensed these young girls in all the rooms, hiding in the corners, carefully watching the couples like it was a play.
Maerad herself had spent the first hour carelessly strumming notes, slipping into herself so as to avoid the scene before her. Lyla was seated on a low couch, sipping water and carefully serving a man from a bottle of dark red wine. He was not particularly ugly, though Maerad thought he lacked the vital energy Bards seemed to possess, and it made him seem plain. He was her Grin, a wealthy plantation owner who kept his mistress, Lyla, comfortably housed in Dagra proper and made the journey once a week to spend the evening with her. They seemed to get on surprisingly well, which had at first confused Maerad. Surely, this man knew Lyla only spent time with him because he paid her upkeep, and that must have been rather sobering? But, no, it seemed Lyla was adept at keeping him entertained while seeming entirely engaged in everything he said. She reclined against the back of the couch, resting her head in the palm of her hand so her fine hair fell in a dark curtain and framed her intent face. She leaned close enough that had she chosen, she could have kissed him, and he seemed almost completely engrossed in her attentive face.
If you can make him think his pleasure is yours, then he will love you. Lyla's words floated around her head. She had been right, the man seemed utterly in love with her, and seemed more than happy to pay the price for it.
Maerad had pricked up her Bard hearing at first, intrigued, but the conversation had been abysmal: discussion of crops he was raising, the current state of the slave trade, the overwhelming presence then sudden absence of the great lords of the Dark Tower. And so, with nothing better to do, Maerad had simply engrossed herself in the music. It was a while before the Grin rose, making some excuse to use the bathroom and Lyla came over.
"You have the look of an idiot. Tell me you have been paying attention to me and the Grin?"
"Which part?" Maerad asked serenely, not missing a single note. "The thrilling conversation about corn prices? Or, perhaps, the utterly consuming discussion of the cost of dyes now that the people are at war? Or, maybe you meant-"
"Stop it," Lyla hissed. "I meant, did you pay attention to how I act? How I look at him? How I smile at his stories and laugh at his jests?" Maerad laid her hand flat across the strings and the music stopped and blinked up at her. "You haven't, have you? Gods, but you are useless."
"You asked for music," Maerad pointed out.
"Are you so thick you can't do two things at once?" Lyla sighed, giving Maerad a hard, determined look. "Fine, if you can't spare the time for the conversation, we'll bring it to you."
Maerad lifted her chin just a little. "Don't let me stop you from enjoying your evening."
"I daresay my evening will be just fine," Lyla said icily and turned just as the Grin returned to the room. Lyla caught him at the door and hooked her arm through his, directing him to the table where their drinks and small food were still out. As Maerad began to play again, the two fell into hushed conversation and Maerad strained to hear.
Lyla suddenly turned about, eyes landing on Maerad, and said in a falsely stern voice. "You can't food me, I've seen your eyes wandering all night. Perhaps we'll take a closer look, yes, and you can slake your curiosity?"
The man laughed. "My dear, there is nothing in this room I'd rather look at than you."
Lyla smirked playfully and led him over to Maerad. "She is a lovely little thing, isn't she?" Lyla said sweetly, waving at Maerad to stop playing.
"Indeed, such a strange thing to see this far south." Maerad looked up for the first time in the Grin's face. His skin was the same dark shade at Lyla's, but his eyes were almost entirely black, and lacked any warmth. He had a short cropped beard and hair, and both were streaked with grey. When he smiled, Maerad noticed that his teeth were yellowing. Maerad also saw uncomfortably that his eyes moved over her pale face, her breasts, her corseted waist. "Wherever did you find her?"
"She had been sent to us for training-which shows remarkably good taste! I believe she was one of the captives brought back from the raids in Turbansk you told me about." Lyla said primely. She noticed the way the Grin's eyes rested on her figure and said lightly, "She's only just begun her education with us. It'll be many weeks before she'd be trusted with any of our esteemed clients."
"A pity," the Grin said regretfully. Maerad wanted to slap him for the look he gave her then: raw and hungry. "I'm sure any man with the means would be curious to sample such an exotic fruit."
"Exotic fruits can be poisonous," warned Lyla. "At the very least, they might cause stomach upset."
"Oh yes?" the Grin chuckled. "You think it best to stick to the familiar comforts?"
"Not at all," said Lyla with relish. "I think all men have eclectic appetites, but great men know that no number of rare and exotic dishes will ever replace the taste of home."
The Grin snapped his fingers. "You're a delight, Lyla." Maerad had to fight the angry flush in her cheeks. She was not some piece of food. "And more than right. A man my age should stick to what he knows best. But a young man might be a tad more adventurous. I've a son who will soon turn eighteen and I daresay his tastes will run a little wild."
Maerad's eyes darted to Lyla in warning, but the woman smiled thoughtfully. "And how soon is soon?"
"A month yet," the Grin said. "He's my youngest, but, between you and me, my favorite, and he deserves a proper gift when he comes of age. He'll be a man in his own right then."
Lyla considered Maerad. "She is young and unpracticed."
"Is that right?" the Grin's attention intensified and Maerad clutched at the lyre tightly. "She might learn a great deal from a proper gentleman."
"If your son takes after you, my lord, he is not a proper gentleman," she laughed and he winked roguishly at her. "But, I think you may be right. Little Maerad could do with a proper patron. I fear she runs wild in this house as it is now, a regular warren."
"A warren? I would have thought a songbird," he said, a predatory light in his eyes when he glanced at the lyre.
"A bird unaccustomed to its cage," Lyla amended, smiling rather nastily for Maerad's benefit. "But if your son has an interest in such things, I think you ought to speak to Mama Lena about making arrangements."
"What say you, little songbird?" asked the Grin in a booming voice.
"She should be so honored as to host your son," Lyla cut across Maerad before she could answer. "And remember, she is my protégé. I think he will be most satisfied."
The Grin smiled wolfishly, his eyes now turned to Lyla who seemed unperturbed by the look. "It is he who should be so honored then."
Lyla gave him a narrow, enticing smile and offered her arm. The Grin took it and she led him toward the couch and the wine, calling over her shoulder, "Maerad, do play again. One of your strange songs from the north."
The rest of the evening passed quickly, and Lyla led the Grin from the room into the dark garden under the pretext of looking at the stars. Maerad gathered up her instrument and hurried from the room, almost running to the bath where she could wash off the dirty feeling of the Grin's eyes. She sank into the steaming water trembling, scrubbing at her skin until it was bright red.
I am not here for sale, I am not here for any man. She belatedly remembered that she was supposed to have oiled her hair and slathered the strands in lavender again. The stroking motion of her hands in her hair served to calm her marginally. I am only here until Cadvan returns. Then I go back to the tower and Sharma.
Ah, but what if Cadvan doesn't return?
This thought drew Maerad up short and she drew her knees against her chest. If Cadvan was killed in battle, if Cadvan never came back to claim her, would Sharma leave her here? Was she to spend the rest of her life in his house, playing host to the Grin's filthy son? Or what if Cadvan came back, but came back too late? What if Mama Lena decided she could make too much money selling Maerad and went ahead? Would Cadvan want her if he learned what she'd done?
He would. I know Cadvan wouldn't care. Maerad ducked her head, thinking of just weeks ago when she had held Cadvan as Sharma ripped through his mind and told him she didn't care what he became, she would always love him. He would love me still.
But still, Cadvan's love wasn't going to stop the inevitable if the Grin made Mama Lena an offer she couldn't refuse.
Maerad wrung her hair out, finished washing and returned to her room. The books of poems were there along with paper and quill. Lyla had been serious when she'd told Maerad to write a letter. She sank into the chair before the desk, eyeing the books disdainfully, and picked up a piece of paper and quill.
Cadvan,
I've been told to write you letters. Pretty letters about love and longing. Entertaining letters that will make you want me. Thoughtful letters that demonstrate my charm and wit. I cannot write these letters, for my days are dark and lonely and I fear that once you return I will not be the woman I was before you left. And I hope you will forgive me if that is the case.
I haven't felt such a crushing sense of desperation since we were separated at north and I thought you were dead. My heart was broken and I realize now that I loved you then, loved you so much that a part of me died too. When were reunited in Pellinor, I couldn't bear the thought of our being parted again, and now it seems we must bear our punishment apart from each other. When the Hulls brought us here, I feared a lifetime of torment at the hands of the Nameless One, but I thought that through it all, you would be with me. I think now I begin to understand Sharma's Knowing: it is cruel and cunning and I'm afraid it will destroy me.
I do not think you will ever read this letter, and maybe that is good thing because I think it would hurt you to think of me like this. Come back soon, please come back, for my sake if nothing else.
The Light keep you and my love find you,
Maerad
She stared at her words, almost confused by her own outpouring of emotion. When she'd started, she'd meant only to send him word she was unharmed and safe, that Sharma had kept his word, and that she missed him. But the words had flowed from her pen and now she stared at her desperate call for help and regretted it. Cadvan didn't need to hear this, not when he had been sent to Lirigon to watch while the city was destroyed. But she couldn't bring herself to burn the letter either because it was true. Instead, she folded it neatly and hid it under her bed. Her candle was burning low so Maerad scribbled a painfully mundane letter, set it aside to show Lyla the next day, and crawled into bed feeling empty and scared.
They left Ettinor in two days, sparing only a hundred soldiers to take the Bards back to Dagra. In that time, as Saliman had predicted, Likud had ordered the three bards to summon a wight that would march with the Ettinor Bards. Cadvan and Saliman were both shocked to find their Gift suddenly returned to them, and Cadvan suspected that the Nameless One had some control over when it appeared. If this was true, it meant that Likud had a direct connection with the Nameless One and could tell him when he needed the Bards' Gifts.
The summoning left all three Bards in a terrible state as it had been an arduous task. Indeed, Finlan was almost rendered unconscious with the force of the summoning and it was only quick intervention of Cadvan and Saliman's behalf that kept the charm in one piece. When the wight stepped through to the mortal realm, though, both Cadvan and Saliman had trembled under the might of its malignant presence. It was then that Finlan collapsed forward, gasping and Cadvan and Saliman fell to their knees. The wright stared unblinkingly at Finlan and probably would have sprung on him, killing him, had Saliman not issued a word of command to prevent the creature harming him. The wright, of course, was not pleased with Saliman's intervention and showed him his jagged, sharp teeth threateningly. It was at that moment that Likud had come forward and greeted the wight like an old friend. Though the wight did not kill him, it's eyes lingered on Saliman, as if putting his name and face to memory.
Watching the Ettinor Bards leave with a contingent of the Black Army and the wight had been a dark day for the three Bards, who saw it like a haunting vision of what was to come. None of them slept well that night and Finlan especially seemed frail and weak, and he struggled to stay upright and eat. Cadvan and Saliman suspected he had not recovered from the summoning, but it also seemed possible the hurt went deeper. Perhaps it was some power of the Dark that weighed him down. Whatever the cause, when the morning came and Iris roused them, Finlan was slouched in his saddle and barely stirred.
They rode faster now, the Hulls driving the slaves. They covered miles each day and their out-riders were constantly returning with word of the approaching city. Three days out of Lirigon, the Black Army cut off most travel to Innail, effectively trapping the people in their respective cities. Cadvan felt like the Black Army was tightening a noose around the slender throat of his city, and each day he felt the dread for the future grasp at him anew. He didn't speak much, which suited the Hulls just fine but disturbed Saliman, who feared that Cadvan had sunk into a desperate depression. He would speak to him in the night, asking after the only thing that seemed to matter to him anymore: Maerad. Cadvan's answers were bare and paltry and finally, when they were two days from the city, Saliman lost a bit of his temper.
"If you are going to sit wrapped in your silence, then cloak yourself in shadows too. I'm miserable enough as is, I don't need you moping about." Iris, who was nearby preparing their meal, and Finlan, who was tiredly laying out his blanket, both looked up narrowly at Saliman. The Turbanskian Bard didn't seem to notice. Or care. "By the Light, Cadvan, if you allow yourself to be so utterly cowed by the Dark, then the Nameless One has truly won."
Cadvan's face darkened furiously, but when he snapped about, preparing a harsh remark of his own, he saw that Saliman was plainly concerned, not angry. The words died on his lips and Cadvan shook his head ruefully. "I have travelled this road so many times in my past, but never did I think I would ride it like this. I seem to be trapped in my memories, and when I wake to the present day, I am bitter with what I see."
Saliman's face softened with the weight of Cadvan's despair. "When Turbansk fell, I fought every step of the way, and when the city was truly lost, I was one of the last to abandon it. I imagine this slow ride only serves to prolong the agony."
"But you are right. I have spent too much time mourning my own memories. There is nothing to be gained by living in the past." Cadvan stretched, accepting with some disdain the plate of food Iris offered. "The living must be looked to. I, too, wonder how Maerad and Hem do."
"I fear for them, more than I fear for us," Saliman sighed, unhappily eating the meat. "I do not like them being so far away and so utterly helpless to the Nameless One."
"They are not helpless," Cadvan said. "Whatever else they are, they are not helpless. I think, even without our oaths, the Nameless One would no kill them. I think, perhaps, he needs them now. They are tied to the Song."
Finlan had been listening carefully to this conversation. He recognized Maerad's name, but only in relation to Cadvan: when Helgar had returned after the Meet in Innail, she'd come with the story that Cadvan had taken Maerad of Pellinor not just as his student but as his lover. Now it seemed those rumors were true.
Cadvan saw Finlan watching and smiled ironically. "Questions?"
"Maerad of Pellinor is your lover?" he asked baldly. There seemed no point denying it. "It seemed a fine bit of gossip a year ago, but this goes deeper."
Cadvan flushed. He had given little thought as to what he and Maerad were, but lover seemed a term leaden with more history than their relationship. They'd never gotten the chance to be lovers. Like many things the Dark had taken, the life they could have had where he and Maerad would have explored their feelings together, was gone. He thought of Maerad's simple words: I don't know what love is, Cadvan, but I made the Song the for you. I don't want to be separated from you, I don't want to see Sharma hurt you, I don't want to think you're dead again. If that's love, then I love you
"We loved too little, too late, and the Nameless One knew that." Cadvan fixed Finlan with a dark look. "But, I won't have her honor besmirched when she had scarified everything to save my life. She was not my lover in Innail, so you can keep those thoughts to yourself."
Finlan felt the overwhelming power of Cadvan's words and realized bitterly that Likud had not lied. Cadvan was a Bard of great power, a Bard who was not destroyed by the Dark. He was a flickering flame beside it. "I meant only that the Hull mentioned her as well, and now you speak of them being the Nameless One's prisoners with little trepidation. Why?"
"Whatever spell the Nameless One used to bind himself to this world, Maerad and her brother Hem are a part of it," Saliman explained. "He needs them, I think. And so, while we have certainly taken the necessary precautions to protect them from undo harm, they will likely be spared the worst torments Dagra has to offer by virtue of their role in his magic."
Finlan was intrigued. "Could they stop him?"
"These are deep mysteries," Cadvan sighed, "and I'm afraid none of us knows. For now, let it be assumed that no, they cannot."
"That is unfortunate," Finlan said quietly, "for all our sakes."