Hey everyone! Lot's of different POVs in this chapter, but it should be exciting!
Chapter Twenty
Maerad rolled over when the knock on the door woke her, but she didn't open her eyes. She curled up tighter in a ball, cursing the early hours that these women kept. The knock sounded once more and Maerad pounded her fist on the bed.
It's not like Lyla will be up early, she thought petulantly. She'll have spent the night entertaining that slimy Grin of hers.
Maerad tossed the covers back and pulled herself from bed, going immediately to the bowl of water to splash her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and gave pause: even to herself she looked miserable. Her eyes were dull and flat, her lips downturned, a perpetual frown creasing her forehead. Sparing a glance for the door and throwing out her Bard hearing to make sure no one was coming, Maerad tried to mimic the charming, sly smile Lyla wore when she spoke to the Grin the previous night. She didn't think much of it.
Maybe I'm not meant to be happy. That seemed a fairly accurate statement, she thought as she slipped into the corset and drew a deep breath like Lyla had shown her before lacing the front. Maerad couldn't remember the last time she'd been truly happy…maybe her first time in Innail. But thinking of Innail just reminded her that it would soon be reduced to rubble, and she was here, unable to defend it. I'm sure Sharma is beside himself with my sadness.
When the door opened, Maerad was surprised to see Lyla, looking fresh and lovely as ever, today in a stunning gown of ivory and cream. Maerad eyed her jealously, feeling supremely inferior in her dark blue dress. Lyla, however, appraised her with an almost approving eye, but her words were cutting.
"You've made an impression on Jarl. First thing this morning he went to speak to Mama Lena about you." She noticed Maerad's less than enthusiastic response. "You're taking this with absolutely no grace. Most girls would be over the moon with the chance to entertain a rich man's son, even a third son. You should learn to be grateful."
Maerad's eyes flashed. "I'm not here for men."
Lyla rolled her eyes as she came in and picked up the letter Maerad had written. It was surprisingly well done, with flowery words and charming anecdotes about dinner guests she'd met. "This is quite nice. I didn't know you could write."
"I'm a Bard," Maerad said unhelpfully. She pulled her hair off her face like Silvia had done ages ago and admired the sharp contours of her face. "We're all poets when it comes down to it."
Lyla set the letter aside. "Excellent, because you're going to write a letter to Jarl's son and tell him how keen you are to meet him."
Maerad's face dropped and she said flatly, "I'm not here to entertain."
"You're writing a letter, not laying back and letting him have you." Lyla shook her head at Maerad's temper like she was child. When Maerad's frown remained firmly in place, Lyla spun her about so she faced the mirror. "Look at yourself you sill girl. You're a strange and beautiful thing to the men here, and most of them will be happy enough to spend time in your company. No one said we're going to let the boy have you, just that you will walk about with him. Write him letters and tell him of the north, sing him your songs, smile on him. He'll reward you richly for it."
Maerad's thoughts were on Cadvan. "I've no desire to smile on him."
"Desire has nothing to do with it," Lyla said, suddenly cold. She tweaked at the lace on the neckline of Maerad's gown. "Besides, we can't let him see you naked, how would we explain that horrid scar?"
Maerad's complaints about the Grin's son fell on deaf ears after that. Lyla simply assured her that she wouldn't actually be bedding him, just keeping him thoroughly entertained, and though she demanded to speak to Mama Lena, the madam made no attempt to talk to her. Instead, Maerad was properly introduced to the house and its inhabitants while furthering her studies under the watchful eye of Lyla.
She woke every morning and read from her poetry books, learning how to turn sentences and play with words. She wiled away hours with Lyla practicing playful conversation over a myriad of tasks that included playing dice or cards, serving tea or food, or walking in gardens. She learned how to prepare for an evening in the company of gentlemen. Lyla showed her how to set her hair in different styles, some which revealed her face and her strong cheek bones and made her look more mature, others with her hair cascading down her back like an innocent maid, and most importantly, she taught her when she should adopt each style depending on the man she was with.
After a week, some of Maerad's gowns were returned and, after a thorough inspection of them all, Lyla deemed them perfectly appropriate if not extravagant, and told her to be grateful for the gifts from her lord. Maerad smirked, thinking that Sharma wanted nothing more than to humiliate her and that seeing her dressed up, no matter how richly, in such clothing suited him just fine. Lyla put Maerad in one gown after the other, grudgingly admitting that she looked quite beautiful in all the colors, but that dark red suited her best. She demonstrated the proper way to curtsey and twirl so that the dress flared out about her hips, she showed her how to hide letters in her sleeves, how to keep a kerchief in her bodice to give to men as a sign of favor.
But still there was more. Lyla had sensed Maerad's trepidation at the thought of being with men, and though she didn't pursue it, she guessed that the younger girl had probably been treated roughly at the hands of men. This was no excuse for ignorance, but it did mean that teaching Maerad anything about love-making was going to be slow. She began cleverly, by asking whether Maerad had been doing her reading, and whether she had questions about the black book and its contents. Obviously, Maerad did, but she didn't want to ask. But Lyla was cunning.
"No questions at all? You're completely ready to be returned to your lord, a woman for bed matters?" Her eyes gleamed as they always did when she teased Maerad. "I suppose I'm not entirely surprised that you're familiar with the workings of the bedroom. Your kind are loose."
Maerad, who had been brushing her hair in the mirror in her room in the long strokes Lyla insisted she use, blushed. "Bards aren't loose. We're allowed to love."
Lyla raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And so, you think you're ready to go back to…?" Her voice wavered off. In truth, Lyla was a bit curious as to what man Maerad served. She was familiar enough with most of the Grins, and knew the lords that lived in the Dark Tower didn't partake in the pleasures of women. So, who was this man?
"He won't care how I go back to him," Maerad said with a confidence that annoyed Lyla. "It's not like that between us."
"Oh, yes it is," Lyla reprimanded her. "Your lord can say all the sweet things he wants, but he is a man like any other. There are things he'll want."
Maerad prepared a smart retort, but then reconsidered. The last night they'd been together, Cadvan had told her there were things she could do he would like. Things that would bring him pleasure. After a thorough exploration of the book, Maerad had a better idea of what some of those things might be, but she didn't think she'd have the nerve to do any of them. Lyla, who was watching Maerad's face in the mirror closely, saw all this.
"Men are simple creatures you know," she said to no one in particular. "They want two things from women: a wife and a lover. Of course, those two things are often quite at odds with each other, and thus women are generally one or the other. Wives are familiar and warm, they comfort him when he hurt, they love him when he's sick, they are loyal when no one else is, they bear his children. Lovers are exciting, demanding, sometimes a bit frightening." She paused, looking out the window. "A great woman can be both."
Maerad thought of the intimate companionship that had grown between them since they began their travels together. The days spent riding together, laughing and learning; fleeing the Dark and the implicit trust they shared because of it, the comfort they both derived from each other. Yes, she understood the desire for a familiar and trusting partner, but she had no memories save the that last night as to what a lover was.
"He and I are very close," she said slowly.
"Well, not so close as you are still a maid," Lyla said, laughing rather derisively.
Maerad set the brush down with a sharp snap on the table. She hated when Lyla was like this, so cruel and calculating. "So, you think I am not his lover?"
"I think you are keen to learn how." Lyla waited for Maerad to deny her, but the other girl said nothing, so she continued. "Tell me honestly, what does it feel like to be with him."
It was Maerad's turn to laugh condescendingly. Whatever emotions raged through her when she was with Cadvan, they were tinged with the Dark presence of Sharma. The knowledge that at any minute, the man she loved could be taken from her and tortured never left Maerad's mind. "We've had a rather nontraditional courtship."
"That doesn't mean you don't feel desire," Lyla said shrewdly. "Tell me what stands between you two."
Maerad wanted to refuse, but this sounded more like an order, and Lyla had already threatened to go to the madam if Maerad flouted her authority. Briefly, Maerad related their few encounters, struggling to find the words to describe the sensations and feelings. Lyla listened carefully, a professional curiosity on her face. When Maerad finished, she smiled fleetingly.
"Do you know what would have happened had you continued on your merry way with your hands?"
Maerad shrugged. "He just said I might not understand his response."
"Most likely," Lyla said dryly. "I'll tell you what I think. I think this man or yours loves you deeply-lucky you. I think he's willing to forestall his own pleasure to accommodate you. But I think he wants you very much, so much so that he fears losing control over himself. I think he would have then." For some reason, this made Lyla laugh. "But that is the nature of men. You tell me you wanted more. Do you know what more is?"
"Love making?" Maerad guessed.
"Well, yes," Lyla said pragmatically, "but no. I'm going to venture a guess that this man might know his way around a woman, which is good for you. We're complicated creatures, not as easy to please as grabbing up our skirts. But he's not going to do those things unless you tell him."
"That's a good thing," Maerad said slowly.
"You should make him want to do it." She smiled slyly, her eyes twinkling devilishly in her beautiful face. "Love making was described to me as a battle once, where both parities compete for dominance, but, if done properly, both win. You should make him so keen for you, he can't help but touch you."
Maerad blinked. This didn't sound like what Cadvan had described. "But if all I had to do was ask-"
"A wife asks!" Lyla snapped. "An old and familiar woman asks. A lover drives a man mad until he has no choice but to take back what is his. It is exciting for a man to feel their power, so you take it away. Scare them, give them reason to chase you down and take it back."
Maerad wasn't sure that she understood anymore. Being with Cadvan had been exciting, for her. "He enjoyed it."
"Oh, aye, and let me guess. Afterward, he stroked your hair and kissed your cheeks and held you gently in his arms as you both drifted off to sleep?" When Maerad said nothing, Lyla continued. "He'll grow bored of it, bored of you. Give him something to chase."
"Fine," Maerad said angrily, a bit stung by the accurate description of their night. "And what would you do?"
Lyla pressed her lips together into a smile. "I thought you'd never ask."
It was more formal than Maerad expected. Having read the book, Maerad possessed the knowledge of different positions, but she lacked the vocabulary to describe what she wanted. That was the first thing Lyla taught her: how to put words to her feelings, how to say things that men wanted to hear, how to smile and sigh and move in a way that conveyed pleasure. She lectured Maerad on anatomy, explaining where each sex was particularly sensitive and then, referencing the many diagrams in the book, explained how different positions could be used to excite different parts of both bodies.
She even discussed the complicated idea of power during intercourse. It was her experience that it changed hands during sex, sometimes lying with the man, other times, firmly in the woman's control. She explained there were different types of men, and that some men liked to constantly feel in control, but she doubted that Maerad's lover was that. In her professional opinion, he seemed like a man who might enjoy a powerful woman, but, conversely, would not allow himself to be dominated by her. It was a delicate balance, but she insisted that if Maerad was aware of it, she could use it to her advantage. She could make him want almost anything if she leveraged his desire with her understanding of his body. Maerad found this topic intriguing because it called back her last encounter with Cadvan. Had had seemed perfectly in control at the time, but had mentioned that wasn't always the case. It made her feel…powerful.
She mentioned this in passing to Lyla, who agreed. "Yes, of course, that's the whole point. Most men don't want a woman who just lies back and waits on him, they want a woman with passion and fire. A woman who is unafraid of herself. You're a little witch, aren't you? They say you have power, don't you ever use it?"
Maerad thought of her power. The power to destroy the Landrost, the power to make the Song, the power to turn into a wolf and speak to Elementals. She'd always shied away from that power, even been told by Bard after Bard that her power was so immense, so dangerous that she must always exercise caution. The times she'd let herself feel her Gift, her blood singing and her mind completely open to the full force of her power, she'd inadvertently destroyed something. She'd been told to be afraid.
"Sometimes, you have to be careful with power."
Lyla gave her a satirical look. "Who taught you to fear yourself?"
That night, as Maerad lay in bed, massaging her ribs that were sore from the corset, she considered these words at length. Why did they teach me to be afraid?
Cadvan, Saliman and Finlan were summoned to join the highest-ranking Hulls the next night. They had no delusions as to what this conference was for: they were are the shores of the Lir River. From their vantage point upon a low rise, the Bards could see the city of Lirigon spread before them, and, in a rather painful contrast, see the massive, roiling dark army behind them. Word had already been distributed among the ranks: tomorrow they would march on the city.
The three Bards were taken to the tent and found a small collection of Hulls, Ignalt among them and Likud seated at a table. There was a map of northern Annar spread out before them, arrows like rivulets running about the cities of Lirigon and Innail. The Hulls spoke in the language of Den Raven carelessly. They knew the course of the war, they knew their superior forces, coupled with the might of their master returned to power, would win out. When the Bards arrived, they seemed almost on the verge of a celebration.
"Ah! But here they are, our guests of honor," Likud announced, standing and tipping his head ironically in the direction of the three. The red eyes in the room rested on them hungrily. "Come, come, don't stand in the door like beggars, have a seat, relax. Would you like a little wine?"
The Hulls made room and the Bards could see that two small woods stools have been left empty by the makeshift fire. The three passed by the Hulls, the hair on the nape of their necks standing on end. Every sense they had was telling them to flee, like a rabbit passing beneath the eyes of a wolf. Finlan collapsed onto his stool gratefully but Saliman and Cadvan eyed the second with dislike.
"I'm afraid we're a little short of supplies," Likud said with a narrow smile. "But, Cadvan, you can take your usual place, yes?"
Cadvan dropped to the ground before the fire without a word and the Hulls guffawed. Likud watched a moment longer, and though he didn't laugh, there was still a razor sharp smile etched on his face. When the Bards stared back with bland indifference, Likud sat back down, hands spread over the map.
"I do not think I need to tell any of you how important it is to me that this city be destroyed." Likud looked down at the map, tracing a circle around Lirigon with a gloved finger. "This city and its Bards outmaneuvered me once, but not again. When the end comes this time, it will be swift and merciless. This is not Ettinor, this is not Norloch, this is not even Turbansk. We will set this city and its people to the sword."
"The slaves?" asked a Hull curiously. "Our master will need more slaves."
"More slaves he will have, but not a city full. We cannot spare the men to escort them all back to Dagra when we must still march on Innail. The Bards, we will need. There is work for the likes of them in the Dark Tower. The humans…well, there is only so much a human is good for. Half the common folk can live."
The Bards had expected this sort of cruelty, but it still struck all three of them as unnecessarily harsh. Only half the city could live. Cadvan looked away into the fire and Saliman bowed his head.
"The city will challenge us," Likud continued thoughtfully. "This will be no Ettinor, where the people surrendered the School for their own sakes. The city folk here have a love of the School and their pathetic Bards, and so they will not offer us a trade. Our first priority will be to breach the walls. I want this done in a day."
The Hulls murmured their agreement, but Saliman's shock must have shown on his face because Likud smirked at him. "Yes, little Bard?"
"The walls of the city will not be so easy to break as you seem to think."
"You think not? You think of the Bards of Lirigon have some force stronger than the army that battered your city to pieces?" Likud glared at Saliman. "The walls of Turbansk were far greater than Lirigon, and its soldiers better trained. This city will crumble under the might of our army."
"The battering rams are ready, the archers prepared," said one of the Hulls. "We can break the gates by nightfall tomorrow."
Likud gestured to the Hull for Saliman's sake. "You see? Once the gate is broken, send in the infantry. We'll be met with fierce resistance, it's best to tire them out with the foot soldiers. Once you sense their strength flagging, you can send in the dog soldiers."
The Hull who must have overseen the dog soldiers nodded. "They will get us to the School gates."
"I'm counting on it." Likud tapped the map now, reflecting on the last time he'd seen the School of Lirigon. "The Bards will be in the city, but I suspect the full might of their power will be in the School. We shall show them ours. Ignalt, I don't want the snouts wasted on the city, send them directly to the School."
Finlan glanced at Cadvan and Saliman who both cringed at those words.
Ignalt was exhalant at the prospect. "I look forward to seeing their faces."
"Between the dog soldiers and the snouts, I doubt we'll need any assistance, but there is still the First Circle to deal with. I want them brought to me alive and unscathed."
"That could be difficult," one Hulls pointed out slowly. "They will certainly put up the greatest fight."
"Send those two," Likud said dismissively, waving a hand at the Bards. "They can coax the Bards out for us."
Cadvan started. "You won't get any help sending me there. The First Circle may not trust me."
"Obviously," Likud said dryly. "Which is why you're not going. Finlan and Saliman will be sent to help collect the First Circle, you'll be sitting this one out."
Mildly surprised, Cadvan said, "Then why have me here in the first place?"
"Because I want you to watch," Likud snapped, and Cadvan's frown deepened.
"They will already have word that Ettinor fell. It will be rather suspicious, think you not, to find me in their School?" Finlan asked. In truth, he had no desire to take part in the destruction of Lirigon and even less to have the blood of the First Circle on his hands.
Likud sensed his trepidation. "You are a coward through and through, Finlan. You serve the Dark Lord's pleasure now, and it is his will that you aid in this battle. Or perhaps you have forgotten our agreement?"
Finlan turned his face away, but said, "I have not."
"Good, then you go where I send you, and tomorrow night, I will send both you and Saliman into the city with our snouts to find the First Circle." Likud glanced around at the Hulls. "You know that our master demands them unhurt. We will need the First Circle in their full faculties once in Dagra."
The three Bards looked up curiously at this, but as the Hulls didn't go into any more detail as to why the Nameless One needed the First Circles of all the Schools, they could only guess.
Likud leaned back in his seat. "I want Lirigon under our control in three days' time. It will take us a week to get back to Innail, and that School will have more time to prepare. Every day wasted here is going to be two longer there."
"Once the gate falls, the city is ours," Ignalt intoned softly. "No force Bardic or otherwise can hold us back once we're inside the city."
"It had better not." Likud had returned his gaze to the map and was now driving the tip of his fingers into the point marked Lirigon. When he looked back up, his face was a mask of fury and disgust. "I want the city to burn."
The smooth stone floor of the throne room was surprisingly cool even in the heat of the day, so Hem slept when he pleased. Since Sharma had dragged him from Maerad's room, he had seen few other people and succumbed to his isolation mostly by avoiding the waking hours. At first, he had panicked and fought and cursed Sharma, who applauded his antics. He took Hem to the throne room and chained him to his throne so the boy would have to watch while the Nameless One did his work.
What his work was, Hem didn't fully understand. Often, Sharma would sit before a pool where Hem saw flashes of far off places and people. He would speak so softly Hem couldn't hear him, but his mouth moved, forming terrible words that distorted his face. He glimpsed cities with white towers and high walls he thought were Schools, he saw forests burning, rivers turned red with blood. There were people too. Once or twice, he thought he saw Saliman or Cadvan, but he couldn't be sure. A handsome, tried looking fair-haired man standing beside a red-haired woman. The strained face Nelac and the angry face of Enkir. Very frequently, there was a striking woman with olive colored skin, slate grey eyes and long dark hair tied back with scarf. Whenever she appeared in Sharma's pool, Hem craned his neck to see her. Perhaps it was simply that she was beautiful and Hem, as a boy on the verge of manhood found beautiful women confusing yet beguiling, or maybe it was how drawn and sad she seemed and the healer in Hem demanded he do something, but he was conspicuously interested.
Sharma caught him looking once and smiled over his shoulder, taunting. "Want a closer look, boy? Want to see the world from the pool?" When Hem made no move to join him, Sharma's smile widened. "Or, do you want to see that woman? Come, boy." He snapped his fingers and Hem felt the collar at his throat jerk him upright. He stumbled forward, unable to catch his feet and landed heavily at the pool's edge.
"You see, Song Boy, from my pool here I may watch the entire world turn. I know how my war in the north progresses and can bend my will on the armies of the Light. I can even see how your beloved Saliman fares if I chose and reach out my hand and touch him with my will." Sharma waved a hand and the water was disturbed by a breath of wind. Hem saw Saliman seated before a fire in a low tent, his face grim and his eyes dark. "I can watch Nelac of Lirigon being marched southward by my Hulls, and I can touch his soul, making is shrivel and weaken." Again, the water was disturbed, the smallest waves rippling its surface before Nelac's face swam into view. He was astride a horse, his hands bound and his head bowed. He seemed a small toy-doll version of himself. "I could watch your sister in the whorehouse if I wanted. But I don't want."
Hem opened his mouth to demand to be shown Maerad, but Sharma held up one finger and Hem's throat tightened. "But the woman, yes. Nerili of Busk." The water rippled and she returned. She was seated at a desk, looking over a letter and sipping a glass of wine. After a moment, she closed her eyes and rested her face in her hands. Sharma watched gleefully. "She is the First Bard of Busk, the last School my army will have to conquer, and so I turn my will against her. I curse her with nightmares that haunt her waking moments. I reach out my hands and feel the very contours of her form. Her will is already breaking. By the time my forces arrive, it will be too late."
Hem knew only as much of Nerili as Maerad had told him: she was a powerful, kind Bard, a truthteller like Cadvan, wise as Bards far older than she. Maerad had not mentioned that she was beautiful. Hem set aside that thought for later, uncomfortable with it when Sharma was right beside him. He chanced a glanced up and saw a strange expression on Sharma's face though. The Nameless One was staring at Nerili hungrily, his dark eyes sparkled in the shadows of his face, his mouth was open just a little so he might draw sharp breaths, he watched her every movement like a hawk might a field mouse.
Gradually, the expression slipped away, but Sharma still watched her, now his face tilted slightly, considering. "I see everything in my pool. From here, I can send forth my will and make it reality. The Song lives in me, and so its power is mine to command. I will make the world to my desire."
Hem recoiled from the pool and the visions in it. "You haven't won yet," he said mulishly.
Sharma's face whipped around snakelike, his eyes flashing like glass. "Foolish boy. This world is mine, it just doesn't know it yet." He knelt so he and Hem were on level with each other and Hem inched back form the manic expression in Sharma's eyes. "Tell me, what would you want? The girl? Poor little Zelika who died before you could tell her how you felt?"
Hem's shock must have shown on his face, because Sharma laughed cheerlessly. "You have no right to speak of her. Not when her death is on your hands."
"Just mine? Perhaps, had you done a better job caring for her, she'd still be alive. Like how Saliman protected you from my wrath. But no, you were too busy worrying about your sister and the Light." His words were like ice and Hem shuddered, unwilling to admit he was right. "And where did that get you, boy? You and your sister are mine, and the Light will soon be extinguished. You tried and failed. Does that hurt?"
When Hem didn't respond, Sharma snarled and he felt a growing pressure in his mind suddenly burst behind his eyes. Hem cried out, clutching his head. "Stop! Stop it!"
"I'll take that as a yes," Sharma said succulently, straightening back up. "Now, go make yourself useful and set my dinner. I've a hunger like no other…"
And so, Hem would sit and watch while the Nameless One worked, serving as assistant to his cryptic spells. He served as a cup bearer also, and Sharma frequently demanded wine, which surprised Hem since he thought that Sharma was long past hunger or thirst or any worldly comfort for that matter. He piled his plate with food and would serve him his meals, and Sharma would tease him and throw half eaten bits of meat at him. At first, Hem refused to eat those, but after three days of no food, Hem realized that was his only meal, and he'd have to accept it. He couldn't play an instrument well, but Sharma would make him sing in the quiet hours of night, keeping him entertained when the world fell silent. He even forced Hem to tell him stories of his time in Turbansk, which Hem hated the most because it felt like a betrayal to his friends and loved ones there.
Hem learned to sleep when Sharma was viewing the world, for Sharma rarely needed his help then, but it was always brief periods, a few hours here and there, and Hem's existence became one of dull fear. Sometimes, people were brought before the Nameless One, prisoners from Turbansk, and Sharma would sentence them to horrible torments in his dungeons. There was always a moment of startled recognition when the Turbanskian saw the young Bard chained up like a dog on the leash, watching them from the shadows. Their eyes would meet and in that brief instant, they would feel each other's fear and agony like it were their own, and they would both be left to wonder who had the worse punishment. During this time, Hem never spoke, never showed the least compassion to these people, because he knew Sharma was watching and hoping that one of the men or women might be a friend. Hem was eternally grateful that none were.
There were also strange periods when Sharma fell totally silent and poured over books and notes. Hem wondered what spell he was trying to cast now, for he was certain this was what Sharma was trying to do. But he couldn't image what awful enchantment the Nameless One might now be trying to perform that he had completed his greatest one to date and captured the Treesong. Once, when Hem tried to glimpse the paper that Sharma was writing on, the dark lord struck him with such force that Hem slid across the room and hit a wall. When he woke, he found the room empty and dark.
"Come with me, little Bard, I've just the place to observe." Likud stood before Cadvan, Saliman and Finlan, his eyes on Cadvan. "There's a nice little place just up the hill where we can watch the siege."
Cadvan grimaced. "I'd rather just stay here." Considering that he was currently tied to a post dug into the ground, surrounded by horses, that spoke volumes to his dislike.
Likud smiled tightly. "It wasn't a suggestion. Come quickly, I want to see the show from the beginning."
With little choice, Cadvan followed Likud toward the hill, leaving Saliman and Finlan to look on worriedly. It was still the dark part of the morning when the stars were beginning to fade but the sky was inky blue. In the distance, Cadvan saw the fires of Lirigon burning brightly in stubborn opposition to the Black Army. As painful as it was to look on the city he knew would soon lay in ashes, Cadvan's heart beat proudly: Lirigon would not be cowed by the Dark. They crested the hill and Cadvan had to concede it was an excellent place to see the city, there was even a tree to offer shade.
Likud was staring out over the city, his face rather reflective. "It's been a long time since I've seen this city, Cadvan. I almost miss it. It will be glorious to watch it fall." Likud turned to face Cadvan and his eyes gleamed. "It is so right that you and I will watch this together. When you stopped me all those years ago, I think I knew you and I would be drawn to its destruction again. There is no one I would have liked to watch this with more."
Cadvan was standing away from the edge, and from his point of view, Likud was silhouetted against the bright city and the edge of his cloak looked like it was on fire. "I hate you," he said vehemently. "I hate you more than I hate the Nameless One."
Likud threw his head back laughing. "You don't hate me yet, Cadvan, but you will. We've just only barely scratched the surface. Once we're back in Dagra, once I get my hands on you and that Pellinor brat, you'll learn to hate me in earnest. Now, come over here."
Likud led Cadvan to the tree on the hill and pushed him against it, then looped a length of cord around his wrist, tied it as tightly as he could, and strung it around the tree to his other wrist. Though he knew it was pointless, Cadvan gave a brief tug to see if the knots loosened, but they didn't. Likud nodded out to the city.
"I'll stand right next to you and we'll watch while the city falls together. And no turning away, Cadvan! You will keep your eyes on that city until the battle is done and I take you down there to see what's left." Likud fixed Cadvan with a serious look. "If I find you looking away at any point during the battle, I'll let our master know and sweet little Maerad can bear his wrath."
Cadvan lifted his chin defiantly. "I won't let you hurt her."
"Then open those eyes of yours and watch."
The battle began slowly enough, just like the tide coming in. The sun's light had just begun to stretch over the horizon when the slaves set to felling trees to make bridges. It made an awful sound, sending the birds skittering through the trees and over the city. Like an alarm sounding for the citizens of Lirigon, as soon as the birds had disappeared over the city, the people emerged. Men and women dressed in armor were seen marching along the battlements. In the distance, Cadvan could see the chilly glint of spears and arrows and he felt that confusing mix of pride and fear. He knew they could not win, but he was pleased to see them fight.
Before the sun had even risen properly, the trees were down and the makeshift bridges were trembling under the weight of the infantry. They streamed across to the opposite shore and fell into ranks just out of reach of the archers. With the sun finally up properly, the war machines began moving across the river and the city walls trembled in their presence. The dog soldiers were prowling the opposite side of the river, sniffing at the air and the flesh and blood on the other side. In the mess of the trees, the snouts were waiting, their eyes trained on the white walls of Lirigon.
The gates opened and a line after line of soldier marched out. Like Likud had predicted, Lirigon didn't have nearly as large an army as Turbansk, and their first contingent of men was dwarfed by the Black Army. They lowered their spears as the infantry pressed forward and prepared to charge, but, just before the infantry could reach the line of men, arrows rained down from the gates. Cadvan drew a sharp breath as the wave of infantry men collapsed under the deluge and then retreated toward the river. At the gates, the defenders of Lirigon were unmoved, their spears still lowered.
The masters of the Black Army were at the soldiers' heels, whipping them back into formation and urging them toward the city walls once more. They gained momentum coming on at a run, and Cadvan was sure that they would overwhelm the small array of soldiers at the gates, but this time, instead of arrows, the ground itself seemed to explode. Dust and dirt flew into the air and a strong breeze from the north showered the Black Army in the detritus. But the impressive display hadn't just been scare tactic as the small canyon now running around the wall of the city began filling with water from the Lir River.
On the hilltop, Cadvan gave a hollow whoop. The Bards had broken the ground all the way to the river, creating a makeshift moat about the city. The infantry of the Black Army stared aghast at the newest barrier to their conquest. Likud, standing before Cadvan, cursed.
"Well played, little Bards," he murmured, eyeing the moat and considering the best way to cross. He noticed the slight smile on Cadvan's face and lunged at him like a snake, grabbing a hank of his hair and snaping his head back and forth. "Don't rejoice, Cadvan. Our army will cross the little river, and once we do, those gates will fall. The Bards have only bought their people some time."
Cadvan knew Likud was right, but he felt like cheering with the defenders of Lirigon all the same: This battle would not be so easily won.
The Hulls began driving their soldiers with greater intensity. With the moat before them, the slaves were now cutting more trees and having to transport them across the Lir River and to the moat. However, as soon as a tree was laid down on the moat, flaming arrows launched from the city, rapidly burning the logs. The Hulls eventually had to erect barriers around their logs to prevent them burning, but the Bards of Lirigon had prepared for this. As soon as a log was laid across the moat, the placid water would turn ravenous, frothing like white rapids and dragging log after log away. While the moat ate the Black Army's materials, the soldiers that had come from the gates swelled until a few hundred people marched back and forth. The Bards among them were casting charms, creating more powerful shields, spelling their armor.
It was noon before the slaves of the Black Army were finally made to swim to the opposite shore of the moat to secure logs on the other side. At first, the Bards of Lirigon hesitated to call up the wrath of the water, but when the first log was properly secured so that the rushing water couldn't dislodge it, their minds turned. As slave after slave entered the water, the river rose up and sent them swirling down stream, those that made it to the other side were shot down with arrows. The Hulls were once again forced to cast spells, this time protecting their slaves from attack. In the early afternoon, the first logs were secured in place so that a small, unsteady bridge crossed the moat, and the battle began again.
The Black Army was able to cross the moat, but the bottleneck of one bridge proved costly. As men appeared on the other shore, the defenders at the gate and the archers on the wall could pick them off one by one. Of course, the Black Army had men to spare, and while soldier after soldier died crossing the first bridge, slaves were frantically making the second, the third, even the fourth bridge. Bodies began piling up on the shore and they were kicked into the water until the moat seemed to be made of nothing but corpses.
By late afternoon, the slaves of the Black Army had constructed additional bridges and the infantry could cross. They were still tasked with avoiding the arrows, but their shields, coupled with the spells of the Hulls, served to protect them. They massed on the opposite shore, preparing to once more charge the gates, and the soldiers at the wall readied their weapons.
Likud leaned forward, face aglow with excitement. "Lirigon had the morning, but I'll have the day." Beside him, Cadvan set his face in a grim, straight line.
The Black Army charged. Like before, the arrows came down and men were falling, but there was an abundance of soldiers to take their place. The Bards at the gate threw up their hands and a wall of White Fire rose up like a wave to crash down on the approaching soldiers. They fell back, but only for moments before their masters ordered them back. They crawled over the bodies of their dead companions, but as soon as they passed the White Fire, they met the sharp teeth of spears and swords.
From far away on the hill, it was difficult to see who was winning because the White Fire was burning through the air, and the dust hung in the sky like dew, and the arrows poured over the walls. The battle seemed to go on for ages, the line of the Black Army pressing forward only to fall back when the fighting was too intense. To distract the archers, the Black Army released wers and they attacked the archers like hawks dropping form the sky. With the archers occupied, the Black Army's forces pressed their advantage and soon the people of Lirigon were caught up against the wall.
When it seemed the soldiers might all be slaughtered by the Dark, a cry went up and the gate was flung open at the same time as another series of random explosions rocked the earth. The Black Army was thrown backward and the men and women at the gate poured into the city and the safety of the charmed gates.
Above it all, Likud hissed, eyes narrowed and Cadvan said as casually as he could, "I'd call that a draw."
Likud struck him smartly across the face. "The day will be mine yet. The gate will fall."
So began a long period of exhausting struggle. Though the soldiers had retreated into the city, they took up positions along the walls. With the added help, the people of Lirigon were able to drive back the wers and once more focus on the army. The walls of the city were far more than simple walls, though, and many charms of protection were laid into their foundation. As the Black Army set about trying to batter them down, they were thrown back; if they tried to mount ladders, they were set ablaze, nothing seemed to work. In the early evening, Likud seemed to reach a consensus with his Hulls and a group of them, accompanied by dog soldiers crossed the moat and set to breaking the gates.
Now the might of the Bards of Lirigon would be tested. As the Hulls worked to weave a charm that would blast the gates asunder, the Bards of Lirigon crafted a countercharm that would stop them in their tracks. At the same time, the Bards set to weather working, and the northern wind that had blown the dust into the eyes of the infantry now swirled and howled and a storm gathered above the city gates.
When the rain came, it was like a monsoon, and the Black Army would have been washed away if not for the power of the Hulls that tried to force the storm back. Cadvan felt a thrill watching the Hulls struggle to break the gates and hold off the storm. He knew, too, that Likud had grown furious at the stubborn resistance of the Bards, because the Hull paced back and forth, muttering low curses and snarling at the city. Cadvan didn't doubt that the weather-working would have to cease as the Bards couldn't keep it up forever, but until the sun set, the rains pounded the Black Army.
Finally, as the night rolled in, the rain ebbed. The Hulls desperately launched their attack at the gates. The air prickled with energy and Cadvan sensed a strong enchantment building. It grew inexorably, the air crackling with the spell until he thought his ears were going to burst. At first, he was confused, because only the most powerful Hulls could have the strength to bend the air around them, but Cadvan wondered if this was more than the Hulls. Could the Nameless One be aiding them from all the way in Dagra?
You're only just realizing this now? asked an amused voice in Cadvan's ear, and he jumped like he'd been burned. It had been almost three weeks since he'd felt the touch of the Nameless One, and his sudden appearance scorched Cadvan anew. I am always with my servants, even when they stray so far from me. Behold the power of the Song made flesh.
As if that was the cue, the force building up in the Hulls was released. There was a bust of dark light and then the sound of an echoing boom. Cadvan's attention shifted back to the city and he saw that the shield around the walls and gate was thrown into sharp relief and a spider web of white lines glowed in the darkness before fading. But it didn't break. Cadvan drew a deep, shaking breath, for the force of the first blow had sent quakes through his feet and made his teeth ache. Then the energy began to build up again, and Cadvan knew the Hulls along with the power of the Nameless One, were going to strike the gates a second time. He never took his eyes from the gates as the blow fell again, and this time, a terrible keening sound like a fissure running through thick ice filled the air. As the shield around the city glowed once more, the webbing at the gate flared brightly and flickered out. Still it held. Cadvan knew, though, that the third blow would break the charm. When it came, a sound like cracking thunder filled the air, getting higher and higher until it reached a pitch so intense it hurt Cadvan's ears. The webbing at the gate shattered like glass.
The silence that followed was like a deep breath. The soldiers of the Black Army were waiting to see the next line of defense from the Bards, the Hulls were waiting for the counter attack, and the Bards of Lirigon were gathering their wits as the reality of the situation settled over them. Then, all at once, a cry went out from the Black Army and the dog soldiers streamed forward, spitting acid as they launched themselves into the gaping dark hole where, only minutes before, gates had stood.
Cadvan slumped against the tree, knowing it was only a matter of time now before the city was destroyed. Beside him, Likud breathed, "And the night goes to me."
"Come fast, there isn't much time, the Black Army is already in the second circle. I expect they'll be to the School by tomorrow."
Hekibel tore her gaze away from the burning city below. In the dark, it was difficult to see the details of battle, but if the fire sputtering to life were any indication of their progress, the Black Army was making excellent time. Personally, she thought that Selmana's guess was generous and that soldiers would be pounding on the gates in hours, but then, the Bard of the School of Lirigon seemed sure. She closed the window with a snap and Irc fluttered back into her arms.
"I don't understand, I thought they would go to Innail," she said sharply. The last few months of apathy brought on by the loss of Saliman were washed away now that Hekibel actually saw the Black Army. She thought of her demands of Silvia that she be allowed to stay and fight because she didn't care if Darkness came for her. Now, seeing the beautiful city going up in smoke around, she realized how foolish she had been. She didn't belong in battle any more than Irc. "How did they get here so fast?"
Selmana shrugged helplessly. "I'm sure many of their soldiers died of exhaustion on the way, but the Black Army can spare those men. They must have known that Innail would send its people here, and they sought to crush our mounting resistance."
"But there is a resistance? There's a chance?" she demanded.
Hekibel studied Selmana with a hard face. She was not what Hekibel had expected, having met Silvia. She'd expected another beautiful, wise woman with a thoughtful face and elegant gestures. Selmana was taller than Hekibel and lean, she kept her hair cut short, just past her ears, and wore plain tunics and pants and her hands were rough and callused from her work as a master Maker. But, just like Silvia, Selmana seemed at once more removed and yet more present than any normal person. There was a certain energy in her eyes that suggested she was very much aware of her surroundings, but she seemed to view it with logical indifference. The horror waking around her didn't seem to terrify her as it did Hekibel. No, this woman stood tall and straight, her brown eyes calm and her voice measured.
"There is chance for our people to escape and flee. The First Circle began the process as soon as word came that the Black Army had passed the Imlan river. You'll have to go with the refugees."
Hekibel fingered the folds of her gown nervously. "Go where?"
There was horrid booming then the sound of stone crumbling as the Black Army launched debris back into the city, toppling its towers. Hekibel flinched but Selmana merely frowned. "I think you must go west to Busk on the island of Thorold. They will certainly be the last School to fall by virtue of their isolation. I've prepared a letter for you to show to Nerili, the First Bard there. She will give you refuge."
"I'm shipped off to my next keeper?"
Selmana sensed the tension in the young woman's voice and joined her at the window. "Nerili is a great Bard and a good woman, and I think she will agree that you must be kept safe."
Hekibel looked askance at Selmana. "I'm not a Bard. Could I not simply flee to a normal village?"
"This Darkness is not something you can outrun." Selmana watched as part of the wall caught fire and clenched her hands tightly. The years and skill that had gone into the crafting of the city walls was, among Makers like herself, considered the crowning achievement of the city. To see them burned hurt her heart. "And I do not think it is wise that you should try. From what you and Silvia told me, you and Saliman were very close. I think the Dark will be searching for you."
"Why me?" She rubbed Irc's wing joints to calm him as a series of cries rang out from the city.
"You say Saliman and Hem were looking for Maerad because she held the key to defeating the Nameless One? I think it very likely that if the Nameless One truly keeps him prisoner in Dagra, he will want you, if only because of what stands between you and Saliman." She turned away from the window and Hekibel saw a distant look on her face as she fell into memories. "It is the nature of the Dark to use that which we love against us. It suits them very well to take beautiful things like love and friendship and turn them against themselves."
Hekibel couldn't bear the emotion in the woman's voice and bowed her head. "But will I be any safer in Busk?"
"Thoroldians have a bit more fire in them," she said with a sly smile. "I have no doubt the Black Army will come for them, but they will put up a spectacular fight."
"And this…Nerili will not mind my being there?"
"I heard she harbored Maerad and Cadvan when they fled Norloch. She's a friend and ally to our cause." Selmana gestured to the room where Hekibel's pack was waiting on the bed. "I see you packed and are ready. We may as well not wait any longer, it will only be more difficult to go."
Hekibel eyed the pack ironically. She had been in Lirigon merely five days when the Black Army appeared. She hadn't the time to unpack. "Where will I go then?"
Selmana led Hekibel with unerring speed from her home and toward the School stables. Hekibel's horse was shifting nervously in her stall, pawing at the ground with each encroaching boom. As Hekibel saddled her, Selmana took the mare's snout and spoke in a soft voice to her, explaining that they had to make great haste west to the shore where passage could be procured. The mare trembled as the city shook and tossed her head when Hekibel tightened her girth.
Selmana spoke as she led Hekibel and the mare toward the inner circle of the School. "There is a passage behind the School that will lead into the mountains. After about a mile, the path splits and can be taken east and up, or west and down. Take the westward fork. It will not be pleasant, it will be damp and cold and there will be little light, but after a day or two, it will open to the Lir River. Ride west with the mountains over your right shoulder until you reach Culain. There you can buy passage to Busk." Selmana said all this very quickly and gave her a stern look. "Repeat it."
Hekibel repeated back her instructions with certainty. "How much is passage for myself and a horse?" she asked, feeling for the few coins in her pocket.
"Don't worry about that," said Selmana, pressing a small purse into her hand. It was heavy and Hekibel suspected that might have been an entire season's worth of coin in her hand. "Don't take cheap passage, pay a proper sailor, and go under a different name." She turned to the crow, not sitting on Hekibel's shoulder. She said something sharply to the crow, and Irc chirped back in a clearly offended tone. "The crow has agreed to scout ahead for you each morning. If there is danger on the road, he'll pull you'll hair."
Hekibel flashed Irc a quick smile. "Always a help, aren't you?"
Selmana was looking out over the city, and in the distance, the sky was turning purple with sunrise. "Right. There's little time now, come, child."
Selmana led Hekibel at a run through the School. She had the briefest glimpse of men and woman arming themselves, before they vanished down an alley that ran along a rock face. They just reached the back of the Singing Hall when another older Bard came darting from the shadows, looking despairing.
"Calis, what is it?"
The Bard, Calis, looked behind her, her face dark. "The way through the mountain is watched. Winged wers have gone through the tunnel, chasing after the children and elderly we sent. I fear they have caught them…" Her voice trailed off and it took Hekibel a moment to understand that those people were probably dead.
Selmana cursed. "How did they know?" she demanded.
Calis tossed her long hair off her face. "By the Light, I don't know. Perhaps the Black Army tortured the information from a Bard, but only the First Circle ever knew."
"Nelac of Lirigon was Enkir's prisoner," Selmana hedged, unwilling to believe that the kind, old man who had taught her in the early years of Barding could have betrayed them. "Perhaps it was taken from him?"
Calis bowed her head. "I would pray to the Light that the Dark didn't tear that from his mind, but the damage is done."
Selmana glanced at Hekibel and she felt something cold settle on her shoulders. "It's done? What do you mean?"
"There is no way out of the city," Calis said blankly. "The roads are shut. The Dark has sprung their trap."
Fear bubbled up in Hekibel and she grasped tightly at the horse. She had been loathe to leave for Busk, if only because it meant traveling alone and scared for weeks to beg safety from another Bard, but now that she was faced with the impending Black Army, she would have given anything to be in the tunnel now. "But then-what do we do?"
Calis and Selmana shared a long, meaningful look before Selmana turned about and took Hekibel by the arm. "It means you will go back to my house in the First Circle and I will spell the door. Then I must go to join the First Circle and prepare to attack."
"And what will I do?" Hekibel asked in a small voice.
"You will wait until the very last minute, then I will send a Bard for you to bring you to join the First Circle. They're coming for us, not killing us, you see. When the generals of the Black Army reach the First Circle, I will make a trade for your safety."
"What?" Hekibel demanded, looking at Calis whose face was calm. "You can't be serious? We're just going to wait until they come?"
Selmana face was hard. "I would much prefer to die defending my city than to be a prisoner back to Dagra and the Nameless One's torments, but if I die, your life is forfeit. So yes, we will fight until there is nothing left to fight for, then we will surrender and hope for the best."
Hekibel opened her mouth, but snapped it closed as Selmana took the reins of her horse from her. She led her silently through the city and back to her house, throwing open the door and waving her hand so the torches and candles flickered to life. She pointed to the sofa in the study and Hekibel sat until Selmana returned with a plate of cold meat and cheese, bread and a bottle of wine.
"This battle will last another day at least," she said slowly, turning to leave. "Don't leave the house until one of my Bards come to get you."
Hekibel stood, feeling like she should offer to help, but Selmana was already turning and gone.
The silence that followed in her wake was all-consuming. Hekibel ate the food Selmana gave her not because she was hungry, but because it was something to do as the sun rose. She wandered to the window of the study and though she couldn't see into the first circle, the first two circles of the city were ablaze. She shuddered as an explosion rippled through the town and she saw a building in the distance collapse into flames. Irc landed on the window ledge and cried out plaintively, wishing they had not left Innail.
Hekibel drew the curtains on the window and sat back down before the empty hearth to wait. As the hours crept by, the noise of battle filled the air, coming closer and closer. Soon, she could hear shouts and screams, horns blaring, the roar of fires as they consumed the city. She nervously watched the door to the study, but at noon, when no one came for her, she cracked the door open and peered into the street. It was surprisingly empty and she guessed that the Bards had been called away to defend the School. As the sun arched across the sky and the shadows of evening reached out, Hekibel began to pass from study to door and back again, listening for the sounds of approaching Bards, or, worse, the cries of the Black Army.
I wish Saliman were here. He would know what to do, she thought, feeling very small and childish in the face of the war.
The sun was setting when the ground trembled below her and she heard something like a gusting wind. She tore to the front door and opened it enough to see debris go flying down the street, bits of the shingle torn from roofs, loose cobblestone ripped off the ground, small plants and dirt from front gardens. It all when soaring down the road in the direction of the Signing Hall where Selmana and the First Circle were working. Irc, trembling on her shoulder, screeched and fluttered back into the study.
Somethings happened, she thought, her heart beginning to beat erratically. Something happened with the Black Army.
The sun began to set again, and it seemed to Hekibel that it went faster than usual. She supposed that the smoke now billowing out of the lower rings of the city might be clouding the light. A cold wind blasted down the street and stole into Hekibel's heart, and even when she wrapped herself in a cloak, it didn't go away. She drew close to the hearth and struck a fire, but it had barely begun to burn when it flickered out. In that moment, all the candles and torches winked out, and the room was doused in darkness. In the fractured light of the half moon, Hekibel could see the smoke circling lazily toward the ceiling.
"Irc, come here!" she said quickly, and the crow darted under her cloak. "I don't think that Bard is coming for us. We'll have to try and make for the Singing Hall ourselves." She looked around and saw the bottle of mostly empty wine. She smashed it and chose the largest shard.
She'd just laid her hand on the door when a terrible cry cut the air. Then another, and another, and horns were blaring and there were snarls on the wind and high pitched screams of children. Hekibel peeked through a gap in the door and saw, perhaps a block or two away, the ominous orange glow of the Black Army. Suddenly, the streets were alive with Bard, their hands glowing with White Fire, their faces a mask of terror. Hekibel readied the shard of the glass and was about to dash out to join the crowds flocking toward the center of the school when a howl rent the air and something huge crashed into the fray.
Hekibel clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the thing: like a dog, but built all of metal, and the creature upon it, wreathed in flames. It landed with a crunch and the cobbles cracked below its feet. It turned, opened its mouth, and a jet of bright green acid exploded from its maw. The people nearest fell back, clutching their burning flesh. Hekibel slammed the door, locked it, and scrambled back to the study.
"The Light help us!" she cried, not even caring she was alone with no one to hear her. Irc was frantic, flapping his wing and snapping his beak at anything near him. Hekibel grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped him in it. "Be calm, Irc, it's okay, it's okay. No one knows we're here."
No one knows we're here.
Hekibel dropped to her knees and crawled behind Selmana's desk, tucking herself in the footwell. No one knew they were there, no one was looking for them. She thought of the city burning down and wondered if this building would be put to torch too. Outside the screams were now intermingled with war cries, children shouting, hounds howling and horses' screams. She pressed her hand to her mouth, stopping a dry sob before it escaped.
At first, she thought the hoard might pass her and she could try and slip from the house and down to the gate, but even as she considered the logistics, she heard the creak of the front door. Irc, still wrapped in the blanket soiled himself and Hekibel tightened her grip on the knife until it cut her hand and small droplets of blood pooled on the floor.
Footsteps came. She heard them pass the study and head for the bedroom, shifting objects, a door closing. The footsteps went next to the kitchen but left there soon too. Finally, they came to stop outside the study entrance. She lifted the glass shard, drawing a deep breath. They would find her soon, and she wasn't going to die like a coward. Surprise would win out this time. But then she noticed the shadow on the ground.
No. Dread reached down into her stomach, twisting her innards.
She'd lifted the blade, but the moonlight had cast a shadow of her hand and weapon on the floor before the fire. The figure had stopped moving and she knew they had seen her. The silence stretched longer and longer while she tried to decide what to do. Did she wait? They would come around the desk and slaughter her while she crouched on her knees. Did she attack? They would still kill her, but she would die fighting. She briefly remembered Saliman and Hem, sacrificing themselves so she could get away. They had fought even though it was hopeless.
And so will I.
One more deep breath and Hekibel threw herself out from under the desk. She stood, glass shard raised to stab whatever might stand in the other side, but when she turned to her opponent and the moonlight caught his face, Hekibel's hand went numb. She stared blankly, mouth ajar.
"Hekibel?" Saliman asked, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "What are you doing here?"
She dropped the glass shard just as Irc escaped his blanket. When the crow saw Saliman, it cawed in delight, swooping down to his feet. Hekibel couldn't find words, none that made the least sense anyway, and instead tore around the desk, across the room, and threw herself into his arms. She took his face in her hands, searched his eyes, and then pressed her lips against his while the fires in the streets blazed higher and Irc demanded they flee.