Chapter Twenty-One
Cadvan slumped in his bindings, watching the sun rise on the third day over what was left of Lirigon, and his heart constricted. He watched the smoke drift up forming clouds of ash in the sky, saw the gaping hole in the gate where fire still poured out onto the field before the city like a dragon's mouth, watched buildings topple as their foundation withered away. The white stone walls were blackened and charred, the red clay roof tiles dribbled like rain off damaged homes, the streets were clogged with bodies.
I can never go home, Cadvan thought bleakly. Suddenly, he didn't remember when he had last been home, what he'd done, who he'd seen. He just knew it had been too long since he'd walked the streets of Lirigon, and now he never would again. Even if, by some miracle of the Light, the Nameless One is defeated, I can never go home.
In the distance, there was a rumble as a huge structure that might have been the library collapsed. Cadvan sighed-the most he could do bound as he was-and wished he was anywhere else besides that hill just then. Likud, though, was beside himself. His face was open, his eyes glowing, and he burst into manic laughter as a plum of dust rose up around the collapsing building. He leaned forward, as if to absorb the destruction like a flower might sunlight, and shuddered with pleasure. Cadvan watched him darkly from beneath his hair and Likud spun about, gleaming at him.
"I told you, Cadvan, that I would destroy Lirigon. I told you, didn't I?" He darted forward and pushed him up against the tree.
Cadvan, who hadn't broken Likud's word of command was still staring at the city. "How much longer do I have to look?"
Likud's eyes danced. "I told you, Cadvan, didn't I?"
Cadvan tipped his head. "Yes, you said that."
"You'll know again next time," Likud whispered against Cadvan's cheek, "you'll know that when I make an oath, I keep it."
"I'll know again," Cadvan agreed in a dead voice, hoping Likud would release him from his miserable vigil.
Likud studied Cadvan carefully; his voice sounded resigned, but the Hull doubted Cadvan had surrendered. "Good," he finally said, circling behind the tree and slicing the ropes that bound him there. "Let us go and see the full extent of the army's work. I'm sure you're as keen as me to see what became of your School.
Cadvan turned gratefully away from the scene before him rubbing his aching wrists and followed Likud back to their camp and Darsor. They rode swiftly down the path the army had taken, and Cadvan was horrified to see the corpses of the Black Army's own men. They were trampled and twisted, and Cadvan supposed they had fallen in the charge and been stomped to death under the weight of their comrades. It served as a bitter reminder that the Dark was merciless to any and all. They crossed the makeshift moat, which, without the magic of the Bards to summon up its power, had been reduced to a gently flowing stream that circled the city. At the gates, an unbearable odor of death hit Cadvan and Darsor, and they spotted the first bodies.
The people of Lirigon and the soldiers of the Black Army were scattered together, barely indistinguishable under the mud, and their blood formed bright red pools on the cobblestones of the streets. Cadvan paused, unable to look away from the sight of his people strewn about like so much trash, and felt an overwhelming despair come over him. He saw upturned faces set in the final grimace of death, eyes opened wide and fearful, teeth bared in a snarl. The soldiers of the Black Army were no better to look at: in their dark helms, Cadvan could just glimpse their lifeless eyes staring at some unknown assailant.
Likud gave little mind to the bodies at the gate, keen to reach the School and snapped at Cadvan to hurry. Darsor gave a sudden cry as dogs began to emerge from the shadows, sniffing at the dead bodies. Cadvan ordered the dogs to leave the dead alone, but the beasts didn't understand him and snapped and barked at Darsor, who bucked backward and galloped to join the Hull.
"They don't understand the Speech, little Bard, these dogs are of Den Raven," Likud said with relish as the first of the salivating hounds took a bite out of a man. "Hurry, there's more to see."
They left the gate and began the journey through the city. It was a terrible sight, and Cadvan thought that if he could cover his eyes and ride blind, he would have. It seemed that once the gate had fallen, the Black Army had made quick work of Lirigon. The roads had been torn up under the feet of the army so that cobblestone lay all about, buildings had been burned and only the charred frames remained, all the beautiful architecture had been broken by petty, malicious soldiers. Homes had been broken into and the people dragged out into the streets to be slaughtered. In some places, corpses littered the roads in such high density that Darsor had to be coaxed to pass through, not wanting death on his hooves. There was a callous indifference to the slaughter, it didn't seem to matter whether the victims were young or old, man or woman, they had all died on the edge of a blade.
Cadvan felt like he was walking through his own personal Hell and he began to wonder if this was some punishment for all his crimes in the past. Each street was a unique nightmare: here children had been murdered cowering in their school rooms, there a family was being eaten by wild beasts, and there, soldiers of the Black Army were searching the bodies, scavenging what they pleased and killing any men or women who still drew breath. Cadvan reached for Arnost and for a moment, he forgot his oath to the Nameless One and his fear for Maerad, and he prepared to send Darsor charging forward to defend a shrieking woman who was being violated by soldiers. But her screams recalled that vision of Berludh, and the anger went out of him and he slouched in his saddle.
When they reached the Street of Makers, Cadvan cried out in horror. It had been obliterated. The pottery, the art, the fabrics, the metal works had been strewn in the street and crushed under the war machines of the Black Army. The buildings didn't look like they'd been burned so much as eroded and Cadvan suspected the dog soldiers had been through. Fires flickered here and there, snapping up canvas tenting, and still, bodies peaked out from the rubble, bruised and broken like their shops.
"Don't be so dramatic," Likud hissed, reveling in the sight. "It was shit pottery to begin with, always that horrid red clay. Complete lack of variety."
On they went, and Cadvan wanted Darsor to slow his pace, because they were rapidly approaching the School and he feared what he would see. The gates to the School had been completely blown off their hinges and Cadvan saw into the first courtyard. Bards were huddled there, clutching at each other while dog soldiers snarled at them and snouts teased them with weapons. They were terrified at the approach of Likud and Cadvan, but he saw the same confusion and fear on their face as he had seen on the Bards of Ettinor and the unspoken question lingered over them: how did it come to this?
The School seemed mostly undamaged, at least compared to the rest of the city. But Cadvan held no delusions. He knew that the School stood for now because it would serve as a rallying point for the army, but they would destroy it on their way out. The Nameless One would not allow even the memory of Lirigon to stand in opposition of him. They passed by more tight groups of Bards, and it seemed the victory of the Black Army had come by their forcing the Bards back into the School, herding them like sheep for slaughter. Here, they were trapped and at the mercy of the monsters of the Dark, waiting to see if they would be spared or killed.
Cadvan followed Likud through the School and realized they were heading for the Singing Hall. He wasn't really surprised to find that the First Circle had gone there so cast their last, hopeless defense. It was imbued with ancient powers and spells cast there were thought to be more potent. The Singing Hall had not been spared the ravages of the Dark, and Cadvan saw soldiers tearing bits and pieces that might have been of value off it. One of the great wooden doors had been pulled free of its bindings and was underfoot of a dog soldier that was clawing at it, consumed with madness. The other door hung limply in the frame and Cadvan ran his hand over the familiar markings engraved in its wood once more before it crumbled.
Inside was a strange scene. Four Bards were on their knees before a contingent of Hulls, their heads bowed but their backs stiff and straight. Finlan was collapsed in a chair, his face startlingly grey and haggard and his eyes rather dull. Saliman was standing apart from everyone, his arm wrapped protectively around a small, slim figure. It took Cadvan only a moment to recognize the comely face of Hekibel. When he looked at her, she glanced up and he saw her bright green eyes scan him suspiciously before taking hold of Saliman's hand. A white crow was tucked in her arms.
Likud clapped his hands together cheerfully. "I see the First Circle has been brought to me. Excellent. And, Saliman, look, you've found that woman of yours, how sweet." Saliman drew Hekibel tighter against him, furious at Likud's attention. "A happy ending all around, don't you think?"
The Hulls chuckled at Likud's display. "There's still work to do in the School," Ignalt said speculatively. "We won't be able to leave for a day or so while we set it all to rights, but I think this went quite well."
"Indeed. Send word at once to our master that Lirigon is fallen, and I'm sending the First Circle to him." At his words, the members of the First Circle glanced up, horrified. Cadvan started, recognizing Selmana. She must have seen him too, because she stared in his direction, her eyes wide. Likud noticed the exchange. "Ah, that's right. But you and Cadvan know each other quite well, don't you?"
The Hulls in the room swiveled about to stare at Selmana, who swallowed nervously under their gaze. The other members of the First Circle seemed to notice Cadvan for the first time. One man frowned darkly, the older woman, Calis, searched his face for signs of guilt. Selmana, however, cleared her throat. "I am not pleased to see my friend here."
"But you call him your friend?" Likud found this intriguing. "Even after he murdered your cousin? Even after he almost brought about your death? How noble of you."
"Forgiveness is the path to Light," she said with dignity. "Though what dark fortunes brought him into your care, I dare not guess."
Likud sighed, shaking his head and turned to face his fellow Hulls. "Bards, they can't even hate properly when I need them to." The assembled Hulls sighed in exasperation and Likud drew nearer to Selmana. "You say you're willing to forgive Cadvan? Would you be so kind if you learned he betrayed your cousin's memory and has taken another lover? Does that not sting at all, the knowledge that he no longer loves her?"
Selmana didn't dare look at Cadvan in fear her face might show her hurt. She shrugged. "I knew Ceredin as well as anyone, and I feel confident that she would not have wanted him to spend the rest of his life alone mourning her."
Likud glared at the Bard. "Well, you'll certainly have the opportunity to discuss such matters with him tonight."
Cadvan studied Selmana closely. It had been years since he'd traveled to Lirigon and perhaps longer since he'd seen her, but she seemed little changed. Perhaps there were more lines in her face, perhaps her eyes were a little darker, her hands slightly aged, but very little else showed the years that had passed. She caught him looking again, and though he didn't smile, his face softened.
Likud had now turned his attention on Vaclal, who was kneeling beside the man who had given Cadvan a dark look. He gestured around the hall expansively. "I suppose this must be difficult for you?"
Vaclal was an older man, even by Bard standards. His dark brown hair and beard were streaked with grey, his face was lined with age and his figure, which once must have been trim and lean, was now just thin. He sighed heavily, but when he looked up, his eyes were bright with anger and fire. "Lirigon was a beautiful city, a beautiful School, and while I mourn its passing, the memory of such a place will live on in the hearts of all who saw it. Do not think that by breaking our walls you have broken our hearts."
"Noble sentiment," Likud said dismissively. "But we don't have time for such pretty words. You must be curious as to why you were spared?"
"I can only assume you have some special torment in mind for the First Circle?" His eyes flashed dangerously despite his current predicament.
"Your Circle will serve our master nicely, yes, but I meant do you know why I have spared you? Surely, a First Bard is powerful enough that they should be put down before they can cause more damage?"
Vaclal glanced at Finlan, whose face was resting in his hands. "It doesn't seem as though being a First Bard threatens you."
Likud followed his gaze to the Ettinor Bard and bared his teeth in a snarl. "Pay no mind to him, for his purpose is almost served. When the war is over he'll be rewarded the most merciful gift our master can grant a Bard: a fast death."
Vaclal closed his eyes. He pitied Finlan, it couldn't be easy to travel with the minions of the Nameless One, knowing your death was fast approaching. The thought of the slow passage of time, accompanied by the dull ache of fear only exhausted him. "I do not know why I was spared."
"Because a First Bard has the Gift necessary to summon more servants for my master, and there is a School yet that must be destroyed."
"Innail." Vaclal saw the woman pressed against Saliman glance up, face pale. "I have no interest in serving your master, least of all in this most foul of tasks."
"You know," Likud said, learning casually against a pillar, "that's exactly what Finlan said. How predictable you Bards all are. Tell me, Vaclal, what makes you think you have a say in the matter?"
Vaclal shook his head. "Unless you force my mind, I will not summon any creature of the Abyss."
"Then you care not for the safety of your people? If you refuse me in this, I'll have them all butchered."
"You already were," Vaclal said slowly. "Even now your beasts circle them, preparing to pounce."
"Not quite. You see, our master wishes them to live so that they might serve him in Dagra. However, he is not above seeing them destroyed for the sake of victory. If you serve me, I will see all the little Lirigon Bards sent safely south where they can live the remainder of their days under his watchful eyes."
"You give them the choice between death and slavery?"
"No, I give you that choice, Vaclal, for you are the First Bard and they are your people." Likud's eyes danced with pleasure and he began to slink forward. "It's rather abstract, isn't it? The weight of your authority? You Bards pride yourself on your wisdom and compassion, and as a First Bard, your heart and mind are held in highest esteem. But you so often put it back on the people: you let them decide if they will fight or flee, you let them decide how to die. Now, you will demonstrate your wisdom, Vaclal, and show the Bards how true your heart is! Decide for every man, woman and child in all of Lirigon what their fate will be!" Likud leaned down into Vaclal's face, almost spitting in his manic raving. "Feel the weight of your decision. Feel the weight of your power and realize you are not fit to carry it."
Vaclal had recoiled but there was nowhere to hide from Likud's bright red gaze. "This decision is nothing to do with my power."
"Have them all killed, or have them all slaves, what is your just and righteous desire?"
Cadvan and Saliman both pitied Vaclal. They understood the cruelty behind such an ultimatum because, in this case, there was nothing just or righteous about either choice, and in making it, Vaclal served the Dark.
It almost seems easier to surrender to the will of the Dark, Cadvan said to Saliman while Vaclal cast around desperately for a way out. No matter which decision he makes, history will hold him accountable for endless suffering.
I think that is the Nameless One's desire. Saliman looked down on Hekibel, who was almost dead on her feet with exhaustion and fear, and he rubbed her back. He'd been given the same choice and he knew how it had gone. To prove that the wisest servants of the Light are as Dark as he is.
Cadvan watched as Vaclal's face fell and he told Likud in a resigned voice that he'd rather his people lived. Likud had chuckled and told him it would be done to his desire, but only if Vaclal agreed to serve the Nameless One. In this, Vaclal hesitated, but it seemed that once you'd made one deal with the Dark, others followed.
I pity him and all Bards who will know more of the Dark than anyone has a right to by the end of this, Cadvan said sadly.
That night, the First Circle, Finlan, Saliman, Hekibel and Cadvan were left to their own devices in the Singing Hall. Naturally, they were guarded by dog soldiers and snouts who would occasionally come in to check that the Bards were still there and not plotting. Iris had been charged with bringing them food, and they all made a great show of being kind and grateful and polite to set her at ease. She studied the woman with Saliman closely, at first horrified that he had gotten her by some dishonest means, but with more interest as it became clear Hekibel enjoyed Saliman's company. After a meager dinner, they sat in silence with each other around a small fire Selmana made from debris, but after an hour, the sounds of screaming and crying from outside drove them to speak.
"So, it seems we are destined for Innail," Calis said absently, staring into the fire. "A shame, for I have a great love of that city and no desire to see it razed."
"I think you will not need to worry. The First Circle of Ettinor is even now being sent to Dagra, I suspect you will go the same way," Finlan said. He hadn't recovered so much as pulled himself out of his stupor and was curled up on the floor.
Calis stretched. "Then I pity you all the more. But tell me, how is it you came to be in the service of the Nameless One?"
Finlan shrugged. "I had a choice to make, like all of you."
Calis seemed to find this a suitable answer, but the other male Bard on the First Circle was staring at Saliman and Cadvan from under his hair. "And tell me, how did you two come to be in his service? For surely, you are not First Bards?"
"Coglint," warned Selmana.
Saliman flashed an ironic smile. "Quite the contrary, I am First Bard of Turbansk. The Nameless One says so, so it must be true."
Coglint didn't respond to Saliman but turned his unhelpful gaze on Cadvan. "And you, Cadvan? Will you once more claim some mistake of youth, or will you admit to your allegiance to the Dark?"
"Coglint, stop." This time, it was Vaclal who spoke in a low, dangerous voice. His recent encounter with Likud hadn't put him in a mood to hear about good Bards trafficking with the Dark.
Coglint tore his gaze away from Cadvan to stare at Vaclal. "It's a neat coincidence is all."
"I suppose I will have to live the rest of my life with the suspicion of Bards?" asked Cadvan in a hard voice. Having witnessed the destruction of Lirigon had put him in a foul mood, and he had little interest in entertaining ignorant Bards. "Thank the Light my life will be lived out in darkness then so I will not have to see you!"
Selmana saw the despair in every line of Cadvan's body. "I know too well how much you hated Likud. That you travel with him is by no choice of yours, be sure we know that."
Coglint suddenly felt very childish for his outburst, but old memories died slow, and he had been in Lirigon when Cadvan had been expelled. But with Vaclal, Selmana and Calis glaring at him, and Cadvan looking so bleak, he felt obtuse. "I meant only to ask how you came to be here, not to accuse you of treachery," he said stiffly.
Cadvan smirked at Coglint, but his anger was already fading. "I had a choice to make." Finlan laughed hollowly.
"And that choice put you in the service of the Nameless One?" Vaclal asked softly.
"Unfortunately, yes." Cadvan paused a moment, then held out his upturned wrist with the Sick Moon. The First Circle gasped at the ugly mark, none the least because it looked painful. "Someone I cared for very much was in danger, and this was the only solution."
Selmana recalled Likud's words and wanted to ask Cadvan who it was he cared for so much that he had scarified his freedom. But she waited. She doubted he would say much before so many people anyway. Instead she said, "Have you seen him then? Have you actually gone before the Nameless One?"
"We both had that unique pleasure," Saliman said darkly. Hekibel stared up at him in shock. "I imagine we are part of a very few who went before the Black Throne and lived to tell the tale."
"He is returned?" Selmana asked with trepidation.
Cadvan bowed his head. "He is far more than returned to his former self, he is stronger. He has managed to…complete the spell he wove ages ago. Not only is he immortal, he is terrible and powerful. I think it is his will that stretches across the land, sneaking into the hearts of Bards and people alike."
This statement was met with silence. Finlan was thinking of Ettinor, of the School that had so betrayed its own people they had surrendered the Bards without question. "You said, though, that there were two Bards who he needed. Perhaps they can stop him?"
The First Circle whipped about to face Cadvan and he silently cursed Finlan. "Maerad and Hem of Pellinor…but even they cannot foresee his end. They both think something is amiss with his spell, but they don't know what."
Vaclal nodded, though he barely understood. "I take it that is how you and Saliman came to be in Dagra? You were traveling with these Pellinor Bards?"
"We were their teachers," Saliman said gently.
Selmana shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Maerad of Pellinor. Though she'd never met the girl, she had been in Pellinor when Milana had given birth, and she remembered the unsettling dreams she'd had the month that followed. Dreams of strange music and snow and the beautiful, star girl who had saved her from the Bone Queen years ago. She felt a strange urge to find the girl. Milana had been kind to her when she stayed on in Pellinor, going so far as to personally teach her the art of Making. She owed Milana.
"And they are still in Dagra?" Selmana asked.
"Yes, but they are safe," Saliman said firmly. "We've seen to it."
"Safe in Dagra?" laughed Coglint in a harsh voice. "This is truly the stuff of stories."
"We'll be there soon enough," Selmana said thoughtfully. "We'll see for ourselves."
The talk seemed to sour the conversation, and soon, the Bard slipped into their own thoughts. Saliman had unashamedly wrapped Hekibel in his cloak and was holding her while she slept. It was the first time in months he felt calm, and the relief showed on his face. Vaclal and Finlan were deep in a whispered conversation, discussing what role they might serve in Innail. Coglint and Calis had drifted into uneasy sleep, or had simply closed their eyes, hoping sleep would come. Selmana moved to sit beside Cadvan.
"I meant what I said, you know," she said softly. "Ceredin wouldn't want you to live alone."
Cadvan didn't look at her but breathed out heavily. "I think I knew that for a long time, but I didn't know how to live it."
Selmana leaned back and watched the fire crackle. "Am I correct in guessing your great sacrifice was in the name of Maerad, and she is the woman who Likud meant when he said you have forsaken my cousin?"
"Just so." Cadvan saw no reason in denying it, least of all to Selmana. She deserved the truth after what he had done to her and her family.
"Daughter of Milana of Pellinor," mused Selmana. For some reason, she found this almost amusing. "I suppose if you had to go love another woman, I wouldn't be happy with you if it weren't someone of such quality. You know, I had strange dreams when that girl was born. Anghar, the star girl, returned to me. She never spoke, but she appeared to me one night, drenched in moonlight and singing. It had been a long time since I'd seen her."
Cadvan stirred, turning about to face her. "Anghar? The Moonchild?" he chuckled to himself. "That is no surprise, I think. Anghar has many names and once she was called Ardina by the Bards of Afinil."
"I know," said Selmana. Though she didn't admit it, after the defeat of the Bone Queen, Selmana had spent much of her free time reading about the Elidhu who had saved her. Anghar, Moonchild, Ardina, these were all names she knew.
"Did you know then that Milana is her descendants?"
This pulled Selmana up short. She gawked. "Milana of Pellinor is related to Ardina?"
"Elemental blood in the House of Karn. Both Maerad and her brother have extraordinary Gifts, capabilities far beyond any common Bard, far beyond even great Bards." Cadvan remembered again the night he'd spent with Maerad before leaving. She'd looked just like Ardina when she sat in the pool of moonlight. "They share a bit of their Elemental wildness."
A small, selfish part of Selmana wanted to meet Maerad immediately. As she had grown and came to understand her own heart, Selmana had been forced to admit that she had briefly fallen in love with Anghar, but as years passed she dismissed the hope of every seeing Anghar again. Though she dreamed of Anghar, though she believed that no woman she had seen since could compare in beauty, she had put aside that fantasy. Loving Elementals wasn't safe, even for Bards. But this…this was a woman of flesh and blood, a woman with Anghar's blood. Would she be like Anghar herself? She looked sideways at Cadvan out of the corner of her eye and wondered what he had done to deserve the chance to love such a woman.
"I didn't know. Milana never made mention of such a secret."
"I doubt she would have. You and I both know Elemental blood isn't a gift among Bards, and if you could see what Maerad and her brother could do, I think you'd know why." Cadvan sank into some memories and Selmana waited for him to speak. "I have seen Maerad do things I thought impossible, do things no Bard has a right to. There is a wildness to her that scares me at times."
Selmana watched a spark leap from the fire and land on the floor where is fizzled. "You must be careful with her then."
Cadvan grimaced, scratching at the whiplashes on his face. "I've learned that too."
"Cadvan of Lirigon, forever bound up in the fates of the Elidhu," she chuckled softly, thinking of Ceredin's Gift for foresight, a sign of Elemental heritage. Her eyes moved to Saliman, asleep now, arms wrapped tightly around Hekibel. She supposed that regardless of how grateful he was to find Hekibel alive, he must have been in terror of their fate. "I fear there is much Knowing we Bards have ignored, and all to our ruin."
Now, Cadvan couldn't shake the image of Maerad from his mind, and he answered distantly, "I'm tired of regretting. I've done enough of it in my life."
Selmana caught his hand quickly and he looked at her. "We must have hope, else we betray the Light and everything we love. Remember that."
Nelac shifted uncomfortably on his mare and urged her onward. They had been travelling steadily for over a week and the poor horse was exhausted. Nelac had asked the Hulls to pause for more than a night at the Amon River, but they had chuckled and threatened to butcher the horse if it couldn't keep up with their pace. After that, the mare had fallen sullen and silent, and Nelac spoke soft, kind words to her, to keep her from giving into fear of the Hulls. Now, they were wending their way through the Suderain, and Nelac reckoned they would reach the ruins of Turbansk in a few days' time. He was nervous of this and had no desire to see the bleak remains of such a beautiful city. The Hulls escorting him were particularly joyous at the chance to ride through Turbansk, and thought they might stop there a night to share news with the occupying army.
That night, the Hulls directed Nelac to sit among them at their fire. He hated the prospect but didn't see anyway of denying them. He didn't know their names, but recognized that one was the leader by the heavy iron ring it wore with the Sick Moon. This Hull gestured to the seat beside it with a narrow smile.
"Come, Nelac of Lirigon. You must be so lonely with only a horse as company." The Hull's white teeth were drenched red by the firelight.
Nelac took the seat, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. "I much prefer the horse."
"That's not very nice," said the Hull, glancing at its fellows who chuckled softly. "I thought you were one of the most eloquent Bards in all of Annar and the seven kingdoms. I expected you to be a bit more polite."
"I detest you and your kind," Nelac said clearly, eyeing the Hulls darkly. "Your very presence here in an affront to all things good and pure."
The Hull leaned close so that Nelac had to stare into its red eyes. "What pretty little words. They won't get you very far, though. You see, our master has a way with words too, names, to be more specific."
Nelac looked away into the dark landscape around them. "I am not afraid of Sharma or his names."
"Yet." The other Hulls had stopped speaking at the mention of the Nameless One's use name. "He will make you fear him. You will cower before his might and beg for forgiveness. All you little Bards are the same in the end: beggars."
Nelac was overcome with the memory of Cadvan crouched on the floor holding Maerad while the Nameless One bore down on them. He shuddered. "You may be surprised by the resilience of the Light. We refused your master once, we will do it again."
The Hull was finding Nelac's resolute determination annoying. "My master will break you."
"Perhaps, but I will still die a servant of the Light." Brave words, Nelac added to himself.
"You'll live as a servant of the Dark, idiot Bard," hissed the Hull, resisting the urge to strike the old man. The Nameless One had been firm when he said to bring Nelac to him unharmed, but still, the desire to hurt him was difficult to grapple with. It would have been so easy to break his frail bones.
"And I'm sure that frustrates you," Nelac said dryly, sensing the Hull's quivering anger.
"Not at all." The Hull stood and threw another log on the fire. "I will enjoy watching you and yours tremble under our master's might. I will laugh over your pathetic, pleading corpse. It will be suitably entertaining."
Nelac bowed his head, unwilling to continue the conversation, but when he rose to return to his mare and the softer patch of ground he'd found to sleep on, the Hulls stopped him. He was to remain with them, listening to their talk of the Dark Army, and their savage whispers of their Master. Nelac slouched low before the fire, waiting for the night to end.
After that night, the Hulls kept Nelac close by them. He was to ride between them, not behind, and so was privy to the conversation. He learned, much to his horror, that Maerad and Hem were in the Dark Tower, and were captives of the Nameless One. The Hulls speculated as to what particular torments might be visited on the children and when their master would allow them the opportunity to see their vengeance, for Maerad had wronged them when she blasted the Hulls at the Broken Teeth. They discussed the battles in the North and their regret they were not there to watch the Schools fall. They wondered when the armies of the Dark would turn on Busk, the last School to fall. Nelac was tired with hearing tales of torment by the time they reached the remains of Turbansk.
It was a miserable sight. He had visited the School often and asked Saliman on many occasions about his favorite places and memories. Seeing the broken remains was like a sharp pain in his breast. It was fairly deserted of the Black Army, but there were still Hulls there, ordering the departure of the slaves. Nelac noticed that the majority of the captives were Bards, and that the Hulls had been correct in their predictions that the Nameless One craved them as slaves.
A few of the Bards were surprised to see an old man travelling with Hulls, and a small number recognized him. To find Nelac of Lirigon a captive of the Dark seemed to drive out whatever small hope was left in them. The Bards bowed their heads to the sight and not a few wept. The Hulls led Nelac on to a series of large tents where the captains of the Black Army were relaxing and planning their next move. Upon their arrival, on the Hulls stood and bowed mockingly to Nelac.
"My, my. Are we so lucky as to be in the presence of the great Nelac of Lirigon?" the Hull asked to the clear enjoyment of its fellows. "Here I thought I would never cross paths with a servant of the Light such as you. I tread darker paths."
"A shame we must see each other at all," Nelac agreed stiffly. "I could go my entire life without bandying words with one such as you. You make me sick."
The Hull grinned. "Not nearly as sick as you're going to be. You see, we will leave Turbansk soon, to meet a contingent of our soldiers returning from the North. They bring the spoils of war."
Nelac noticed the Hull beside him perk up. "So the news is good?"
"A decisive victory." The Hull's gleaming eyes were resting on Nelac's face. "Three days was all it took to destroy Lirigon. The city is in ruins, the people are our slaves. We will help escort them back to Dagra."
The blood drained from Nelac's face. He had thought that it would be months before the Nameless One sent his army north. He thought there would be time for his people to prepare for battle.
I thought there was time…
Nelac's horror shown on his face, and the Hulls laughed and snapped their fingers like it was a good jest. "You will not be alone with us long," assured the Hull. "The First Circle of Lirigon and Ettinor will keep you company. You can watch while your people are herded like sheep for the slaughter."
Nelac's hands clenched, but he could think of nothing to say. Lirigon had been destroyed by the Dark. There was no retort, there was no curse. His home was gone. Now, even if he somehow survived the Darkness of Dagra, he had nothing to return to, and that thought left him far more desolate than anything else.
Two more days they spent in Lirigon, watching from the Singing Hall as the soldiers set to work ordering the Bards about. Like a stream running its course over rocks, men were separated from women, children from adults. Great lists were composed of names, ages and Gifts. Bards milled about in large groups, dull fear slumping their shoulders and setting their faces in frowns. Slowly, they began the process of emptying the city, sending groups out of the gates with contingents of soldiers. They left with nothing but the clothes on their back and the shoes on their feet: where they were going, there was no need of possessions.
With the city emptying, the Black Army set to work looting and pilfering. Cadvan saw soldiers carrying piles of finery about, bragging how they would trade it for riches in the south, crowing about the spoils of war. He saw many of the Bard animals slaughtered to feed the soldiers. He also observed an almost relentless and malicious desire to destroy. There seemed no reason for it, but the soldiers were tearing buildings down, crushing even the stones that had made up walls into dust. Dog soldiers went about spitting acid on the structures and burning them, statues were toppled then crumpled underfoot of war machines. It was like the Black Army was trying to erase even the history of Lirigon.
It was especially difficult for the First Circle to watch, and Vaclal drew into a deep silence that no one seemed able to break. Coglint and Calis watched with tears in their eyes, even Selmana covered her mouth to stop the gasps of horror that would have otherwise escaped her. They were not visited by the Hulls in this time, for which they were all grateful, and only Iris came to feed them.
At the end of two days, though, Likud visited them briefly to let the First Circle know it was leaving in the morning, and that they should make themselves ready. Vaclal, he had said with a twisted smile, would remain behind to assist in the battle at Innail. With this news, Saliman had weakly tried to convince Hekibel to go with Selmana, but the woman refused outright, saying that she had only just been reunited and she wouldn't leave him again for anything less than the Nameless One himself, and even then, it depended on how she was feeling that day. Selmana found this a little funny, and her laughter echoed around the chamber, surprisingly loud.
That night, Cadvan took Selmana aside. "I don't know what you'll encounter in Dagra, but if you see Maerad-"
"I'll tell her you think of her every night and every morning, and that you are well and unharmed, and that you'll be back soon," she said with sparkling eyes. "You and Saliman better keep an eye on that woman in return. This is no place for a Bard let alone a young woman, and I promised Silvia I'd protect her."
Cadvan cast a glance over to the pair. Hekibel was diligently combing her hair with her hands while Saliman stood by, look as fiercely protective as a lion. "I don't think my help will be needed."
"All the better," Selmana agreed.
The parting of the First Circle the following day was emotional. It was evident from their words and glances that they shared a deep love for each other, and Vaclal seemed especially loathe to go. He went as far as to ask the Hulls who came for the Circle to consider keeping them together, for surely if creatures of the Abyss were to be summoned, the more powerful Bards present the better. The Hulls laughed at his pleading but ignored his request. Calis grasped his hand firmly in hers.
"We will travel with our people, Vaclal. We will see them taken safely to Dagra, and guard them from the worst of the Dark. We will do our best to keep them fed and clothed once we're in the city."
Vaclal smiled grimly. "I will return to you."
The rest of the First Circle farewelled Vaclal, Finlan, Cadvan and Saliman and Hekibel and left somberly. Vaclal watched them go before returning to the Bards. "It hurts my heart to see them leave, but I think Calis is right, someone must go with the School to see them safely on their journey."
"You have a wise Circle," said Saliman, watching their retreating backs. "They will do good by you."
After the First Circle left, though, spirits reached a new low among the remaining Bards and they passed their final night in quiet desperation. Finlan still didn't seemed recovered from whatever the Hulls had made him do and lay down, watching the fire flicker. Vaclal sat silently by the windows of the Singing Hall looking out over his ruined city. Cadvan and Saliman, though, were by now used to poor company, and seemed little changed. Saliman took the opportunity to introduce Cadvan to Hekibel and he found her surprisingly witty and humorous given her current predicament. Personally, Hekibel found Cadvan a little forlorn,
clever and terribly handsome.
"So, you were the one we were looking for?" she asked shrewdly. When Cadvan's blue eyes flicked over her, she felt herself blush, but twisted her face into a wry smile. "Had us running over half of Annar."
Cadvan smiled despite himself. "I wasn't me that was leading you astray. Maerad was off at full gallop, I barely managed to grab the reins and hold on."
Hekibel recognized Hem's sister's name. "She led you on quite a chase then?"
It was a loaded statement and Cadvan thought that had he been younger and fair bit happier, he would have enjoyed some witty word play with Hekibel. As it was, all he could think of was Maerad at the top of the stairs in the Black Tower, staring down at him with her miserable eyes and pronounced frown. "I'm afraid so, but I managed to cling on."
"You know, my father bred horses. He said there was a trick to riding the wild ones," said Hekibel with the smallest sparkle in her eye, "When you ride them it's not about how hard you pull reins, it's about how tight you squeeze with your thighs."
Cadvan raised his eyebrows in surprise while Saliman snorted into his hand. "I'll have to bear that in mind next time. Tell me, has your father any advice for the care of wolves?"
"Wolves?" she asked, startled, but Cadvan merely chuckled.
When they rose the next morning, it was to find Likud staring down on them with bright red eyes and a toothy grin. "Prepare your mounts, we leave within the hour."
Finally allowed to leave the Singing Hall, the Bards cautiously left the building to what remained of the main courtyard. Bards of Lirigon had gone and the place was dead in their wake. The eerily empty city had descended into a silence so deep that the sound of their breathing filled the space loudly. In the lower circles they could see the smoke still curling up to the sky and the glow of fires tearing through the city. Vaclal's face was grey and he didn't speak as they readied their horses and clopped into the courtyard where the Hulls were waiting.
"I see you're not letting your little woman out of your sight," Likud said, watching Saliman arrange the reins around Hekibel who was seated before him. He glanced up sharply and smiled narrowly.
"I've been loyal as always," was all he said.
Likud's eyes roved to Cadvan. The Bard was checking the girth of the saddle and fiddling with the straps and ignoring the destruction before him. "Cadvan. Come, ride with me."
Cadvan grimaced, mounted Darsor, and directed him alongside Likud. "I think I'll be poor company this afternoon."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Likud said smartly.
The ride through Lirigon was miserable, the wanton destruction almost crushing. The buildings were crumbling as their foundations gave way to fire, brick and mortar piling in the streets. Shattered glass flecked the streets like tear drops and crunched underfoot of the horses. Possessions were scattered in the roads, sad reminders of lives that had been. The worst thing, though, were the bodies laying limply in pools of blood, being picked apart by the dog soldiers. Cadvan averted his gaze, but the stench of rotting flesh filled his senses and left him reeling on Darsor.
"In the end, they went quietly, didn't they?" Likud asked softly as they wended their way through the city. "All their cries, all their weapons, all their bravery couldn't stop the final silence of death, could it?"
"They died honorably," Cadvan insisted, wondering for the first time if he would rather be dead. He didn't have a choice now, but he wondered if he had been able to make the decision, would it have been different?
Thinking you might like the sweet release of death, Cadvan? It was the Nameless One, the dark glow of his power like a cloud in Cadvan's mind. Do you wish for death now that you know what life will be?
Cadvan hardened his will against the presence. Don't flatter yourself. I have no desire to die.
Pity. It would have made your descent that much faster. The Nameless One gazed into Cadvan's mind and he felt the stab of an angry conscious. But we can always go the long way. You and I, we have an eternity together now.
Cadvan recoiled and the Nameless One left him. When he looked back up it was to find Likud staring at him hungrily. The Hull seemed to know what had just passed between Cadvan and the Nameless One, because he grinned openly.
"You'll never be free of him, you know. He'll always be with you." They continued to ride in silence, but as they approached the gates Likud tossed his head back with a wide smile. "Cadvan, I think you ought to compose a ballad for the fall of Lirigon and sing it on the road to Innail. In fact, I'll commission you to do it. In exchange for your pretty words and enticing voice, I'll grant you one favor."
Cadvan was on the verge of telling Likud to go rot in a hole, but the offer made him give pause. He had thought he would have little interest in the things Likud could give him, but as he rode out of Lirigon all he could see was the corpses of the innocent. He could have asked for one of them to be spared, he could ask for Iris to be freed, he could even ask for the snouts to be released from their duties when the war was over. Could he really give up such an opportunity?
"And how long do I have to compose your song?" Cadvan asked thoughtfully.
"How about until we arrive at Innail? The night before battle, you can serenade the generals with your tale." Likud turned back to see the burning city and watched another building crumble into dust. "A lesson for the Bards of Innail of what is to come."
"Make sure to show the inside of your wrist as you pour! If you've a note hidden in your sleeve, the man will see it and know you've a message for him. But don't look at your wrist, watch the tea. Always keep your eyes averted, you're trying to be coy." Lyla sat back with a loud sigh. "You might as well just kiss the man in public for all the secrecy you convey."
Maerad set the pot of tea down and took her seat. "What is the point of teasing him with the hint of a letter? Why all the games?"
"Because it keeps the courtship exciting. A man wants a little taste of what he's buying." Maerad didn't particularly like the use of the word buying but she had learned to put her frustration at Lyla's vernacular aside. "There is as much to the art of seduction as there is the art of love-making. You must show him your long neck and full breasts, your wide hips and narrow waist, yes. But you must also entice him with small things when he can't have you and all your charming attributes. The right smile or eye contact can do more for a man than a glimpse down your gown if done properly."
Maerad slouched in her seat petulantly but a sharp look from Lyla made her straighten her back. "Perhaps I'll never be a seductress."
"Then you're a true whore, aren't you?" Lyla said unhelpfully. "A courtesan is as much an entertainer as she is a lover. Only sluts act like you in public, with no grace at all."
But Lyla saw that Maerad's attention was wavering, and she didn't blame her. The girl had been a bundle of nerves since the morning. She'd had a letter from Jarl's son almost a week ago and he had expressed a keen interest to meet her. The young man, Crestor, had enjoyed the letter she had sent and found her simply enchanting. He had impressed upon his father his desire to meet her and the old man had consented and was bringing his son that very night. Though Lyla had explained over and over that he was coming to assess her and determine whether or not to pursue a courtship, Maerad hadn't been able to press down her fear that it would end with her being sold off like a sheep at market.
"Let's just take lunch, shall we?" Lyla asked, not unkindly, and Maerad pursed her lips.
They sat in silence a while, chewing over a bare meal of salad and cheese. Maerad made sure to take small, dainty bites of the lettuce, demonstrating what Lyla called "good breeding" and sipping her water constantly, but her shoulders were tense and Lyla placed her knife and fork aside to smile prettily at the younger girl.
"Have you given any thought as to the gown you'll be wearing tonight? I think red suits you best and you've that lovely thing with the gold trimming. I have a pretty butterfly hair piece you can borrow." Lyla looked at Maerad expectantly, waiting for the girl to thank her. "Or, perhaps green? Red is such a meaningful color, perhaps it is a little too much for a first meeting. I thought that green gown with the gold beading on the bodice complimented your figure quite nicely." When Maerad made no reply, Lyla continued doggedly. "And you'll have to wear your hair down like a maid. You might as well flaunt that while you can."
"And how long will I have to flaunt that?" Maerad said spitefully, looking up fiercely. "When will I no longer have to mind my innocence?"
"Are you really still on this?" Lyla snapped. "Does nothing I say sink into that head of yours? You are a maiden in one of the oldest most respectable brothels in all of Dagra. We do not sell our girls on the first night. A courtship is required. The boy, or more accurately, his father will pay dues to the Madam. Gifts will be sent. You will be truly bought and paid for before that boy ever gets the chance to have you."
"And what the going rate?" Maerad hissed.
"Oh, it'll be months before Mama Lena allows the boy to petition for your services. She made Jarl wait half a year to have me. We practically rebuilt the bathroom with the money that man spent. Besides, you'll have to have a proper coming out, so that all the Grins' sons may assess you. Obviously, Jarl is trying to get his son first rights, and it makes sense. Crestor is a third son, he'll not inherit when his father dies. He can't compete financially with any first-born sons that take a fancy, but if he courts you first and you like him, he thinks that'll tip the scale in his favor. His lowly son can have a mistress fit for a king."
Maerad digested this news slowly, still uncertain. In her experience, lustful men didn't wait months for the chance to have a woman. "I find it hard to believe that some young man who clearly thinks he can buy a woman will bother waiting for what Mama Lena has to say."
Lyla closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. In the previous month with Maerad, she'd gleaned a little knowledge of the Bard girl's past. Though Maerad never said outright how she was raised, Lyla understood that she harbored a deep distrust of men and naturally believed them incapable of self-control. "You must understand, Maerad, that yes, there are many whorehouses in Dagra where a man can do as he pleases with a woman for the right coin, but you are not a whore. Here, women are groomed to be mistresses to rich men, that is why we spend so much of our time educating and culturing ourselves. Mistresses are not bought for the evening, they are long-term investments. I will serve no other man until Jarl dies, and even then, he is expected to leave me some small dowry. The same is said of you. You will be paraded around the lords and their sons until one of them makes an offer befitting your status. Until then, you do not bed a man."
"But I will never-"
"All the better for our house. You will make us money while you're here, smiling and laughing and playing with Crestor. When you go, we keep the money and stop supporting you." Lyla smirked, but Maerad recognized it now not at patronizing but as playful. "Now, what do you say about the green gown?"
"I say that green is day a gown," Maerad replied smartly. "I should wear something dark of tone, the blue gown with the silver detailing."
Lyla smiled widely. "Look at you, my little songbird. We'll make a proper mistress of you yet!"
"All to your patience and good training," said Maerad sarcastically, raising her glass in mock salute.
"Indeed. And I'll expect my payment once your returned to your lord and he rewards you with riches befitting a mistress of your stature. So, if it's blue you'll wear, I think I have a nice shawl you can-" Lyla's words were drowned out by the cries from the hall inside.
Maerad and Lyla stood up as a younger girl came rushing in, waving a paper in her hand and looking excited. She flashed a vicious look at Maerad. "Have you heard? Word has just reached the city! A great victory for our army was won in the north!" She smiled a little when Maerad paled.
Lyla snapped up the letter, ignoring the jerk of Maerad's hands that sent her glass of water tumbling off the table to the floor. It shattered and water began to seep into the tablecloth. "Get a cloth to clean, will you?" Lyla directed at the younger girl. "Go!" Again, though Lyla knew very little of Maerad's role in this war, she and everyone else in the house knew her interests lay with the people of the north, and a victory for the Den Raven meant a terrible defeat for her. Some of girls, who had grown bitter over Maerad's quick rise to popularity, would surely enjoy seeing her brought low. Lyla thought that if Maerad was going to break down into tears, the last thing she needed were the younger girls gossiping about it. The girl went, though she dawdled at the door hoping to hear what the other women would say.
Maerad stared at the letter while Lyla read it, but she saw the script was that of Den Raven and she couldn't read it. She waited impatiently for Lyla to share the news, thinking only of Cadvan and Saliman who must have been at the battle.
"Well?" she asked in a low voice, unable to bear the silence.
Lyla opened her mouth, but the young girl had already returned, and instead, she tucked the letter in her sleeve smoothly. "Come, Maerad, we've got to get you ready for the evening and the Grin's son." She the last two words pointedly, hoping to ward the young girl off. "Perhaps he can shed proper light on the battle, not some gossip from a bannerman." The younger girl blushed, clearly embarrassed that the letter writer wasn't up to Lyla's standard.
Though Maerad was on the edge of bursting, Lyla hooked her arm around Maerad's and led her from the room with idle chat about how they should style her hair to best highlight her features. They ascended the stairs unhurriedly, taking their time and showing the least interest in the gossip that was now blazing through the halls. When they reached Maerad's room, Lyla directed her to the bed, locked the door, and threw open the window so the sounds of the city filled the air.
"A decisive victory in a city called Lirygen," she said without preamble.
"Lirigon," Maerad corrected automatically.
Lyla watched her a moment, but the girl's face remained expressionless. "You've been there then?"
"Heard of it," Maerad said softy.
"Did you have family there?" Lyla asked next, quietly this time.
At this, Maerad laughed, looking out the window. "No, I have no family there."
Lyla couldn't miss the bitter tone, but she looked down at the letter again. "It says the city was captured in three days, and the witches of the north are being sent back as slaves." Maerad shrugged, she had known that would be the fate of the Bards. "And they move to another city. Innail."
Maerad cringed. "How soon will they be there?"
"It would take a week or so to march to the School, but this letter is old. They may already be there." Lyla watched Maerad worry her lip. "Have you been there?"
Maerad's lips twisted into an ugly smile. Should she tell Lyla the truth, that she was known as the Maid of Innail, and that she had saved the city from the armies of an immortal spirit? Would the girl believe her anyway? "I have spent much time in Innail. I have friends there. Did they say what happened to the First Circle in Lirigon?"
"The what?"
"The-" Maerad struggled to find the right words "-the men and women who lead the city?"
Lyla scanned the letter. "No. Though they said the leader of the witches is captive to General Likud and will travel with the army-"
"Likud!" Maerad jumped to her feet, alarm clear in her voice. "Likud leads the Black Army?"
Lyla blinked in surprise. "You know the captain of our master's forces?"
Maerad wrapped her arms around herself, turning away from Lyla to stare out the window. If Likud was leading the Black Army, then Cadvan and Saliman had been sent to him, and that Hull had a score to settle with Cadvan. Memories of their last encounter overcame her, and the viciousness with which Likud had treated him terrified her; Cadvan would have those scars forever. She shuddered, wondering what the Hull was doing to him now.
"I thought I'd killed him," Maerad said thoughtfully. "It appears he escaped our last encounter."
"Killed him?" Lyla almost shouted. She spun Maerad around to face her, searching her eyes for any deceit. "What are you playing at?"
"I'm not playing, Lyla." Maerad took a step away from the other girl, looking serious. "He attacked me and my friends while we were traveling. I don't understand, though. The blast destroyed the other Hulls, the wers, even the wight. How did he live…?" Maerad voice trailed off.
Lyla had taken a step away as Maerad fell into contemplative silence. She knew Maerad was a witch who had been captive in the Dark Tower, but she often forgot it during their lessons. But if what Maerad was saying was true, if she had tried to kill the captain of their army…Lyla studied the girl anew.
"Who are you?" she finally asked.
Maerad looked up, drawn from her reverie. She smiled thinly. "Maybe I'll tell you my story some time."