Hi everyone! Sorry this came out so late but with school starting again I got a little busy. Also, next chapter will be the last for part one, and I'm really looking forward to hearing what you think. Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Come now, Bard, if you don't eat how will you heal?"

Malgorn leaned away from Likud, who was trying to force a chunk of dripping meat into his mouth. He could smell overpowering spices and blood and his eyes watered. Likud grabbed his hair and tugged him forward and shoved the meat against his lips.

"Open your mouth, Malgorn. I swear to you, if you don't, I'll knock the teeth out of your mouth." Malgorn squirmed suddenly and Likud, surprised by the movement, dropped the meat. Likud hissed. "You stupid, Bard!"

"Stop it!" Silvia ordered, straining against the soldier who was holding her wrists. "Stop this now!"

Likud cast a dismissive glance at Silvia. "Your wife has a mouth on her. How do you suffer that temper?" The Hull lunged forward, grabbing the collar of Malgorn's shirt and dragging him back along the ground. Likud stooped to pick the meat lying in the dirt and dusted it off with a flick of his wrist. He slammed Malgorn against a tree, sending spikes of pain down his back where the stitches strained to hold his injuries closed. Likud held the meat up once more. "Open your mouth and chew. Just one bite, that won't hurt. Then you can go back to bread."

Malgorn eyed the meat speculatively. He'd spoken a little to Cadvan and Saliman over the last two weeks, and they'd warned him not to accept any of the meat the Hulls offered. He looked mildly disgusted by the offer. "Give it to someone who deserves it. Clearly, a Bard has no right to something as nutritious as that."

"Don't play coy, Malgorn." Likud flicked his gaze over the Bard's white face. "You are exactly the person that deserves this."

"I can't."

"You will." Likud squeezed his cheeks, trying to force him mouth to open. "You will because you'll get nothing more till you eat it. And neither will your wife."

Malgorn kept his gaze fixed on Likud, but his thoughts turned immediately back to Silvia. He could hear her, grunting and gasping, trying to break the hold of the soldier. Until then, she had fared well enough on their journey, though he supposed that was Cadvan's doing. Silvia rode with him each day, tucked safely before him on Darsor, out of sight of the Hulls and soldiers who harassed the other Bards. When it was cold, Cadvan draped his cloak over her, when it was night, he kept his eyes on her, when she slept, it was always under his protection. Malgorn, who sometimes rode abreast of the Hulls, had seen the conditions to which the other Bards were treated, and was grateful for her timely escape. They were made to walk, many of them barefoot, through inclement conditions. It was spring, and though the snow had mostly melted, icy water ran from the mountains, flooding the plains. At night, the temperatures dropped and people huddled around sparse fires, shivering even as their breath curled on the night air before them. When it rained, they slogged through mud, drenched to their skin. Soldiers from the Black Army harassed them, threatening them with whips and chains if they didn't go faster. A thin string of bodies was left behind, and Malgorn, who was their First Bard and leader, burned with shame. He had been so distracted by his own injuries, by his desperate desire to see Silvia safely to Dagra, that he hadn't given the Bards of Innail his attention.

You've already failed the people of Innail, he thought miserably. Why fail Silvia too?

Malgorn held out his hand, palm up, and accepted the piece of meat from the Hull. Under Likud's watchful gaze, he chewed the tough hunk of meat, aware he was probably eating one of his own people. He tried to swallowed as quickly as possible, barely tasting the meat, and stuck out his tongue when he was finished for the Hull's inspection.

"Not so bad, was it?" Likud asked, eyes glittering with malice. "I find it rather flavorful, to be honest."

Malgorn wanted to spit. "You're disgusting."

"You just ate part of person, so perhaps you ought to think before you bandy names around like that. Perhaps a little more will ease that mood of yours?"

Malgorn's face showed his horror and Likud chuckled. "As I thought."

"May I go now?" Malgorn asked in a cold, even voice. Arguing or struggling with the Hulls didn't get very far, as he had learned on a few painful occasions, so it was best to simply ask and wait.

Likud bowed ironically. "Oh, by all means, First Bard. Take a bit of rest, go easy on yourself. I know how difficult the ride is for you."

Malgorn ignored the barb and turned away. As soon as Likud had made his bow, the soldier restraining Silvia released her and she flew across the small space to Malgorn. She wrapped her arm about his waist and helped him limp over to join the small circle of Bards around a fire. She could feel him shivering against her, the muscles in his back spasming.

"Be mindful of your back, my love," she said in a low voice. "Those stitches hold, but only just. I don't like the idea of trying to close your wounds on the road."

Malgorn tried to smile. "I'm as mindful as I can be, Silvia. I certainly do not relish the idea of tearing open my stitches, but that Hull is appalling."

"Let him have his fun, you've more important things to worry about."

"Like you?" he asked, trying to be playful.

Silvia was going to tell him off then but saw the look in his eyes and her face softened. "Like me."

"Silvia, Malgorn, we'd wondered where Likud had dragged you off to." Saliman was up and offering his arm to help support Malgorn back to their fire.

Since the fall of Innail and the start of their journey home, Likud had seemingly lost interest in the Bards. They were no longer required to be tied up at night, they were not forced into stables to sleep, their weapons were not taken from them. It was almost like Likud thought, having seen their city destroyed, their power was broken. Occasionally, Likud might appear to taunt Cadvan, demanding his song about the fall of Lirigon, or remind Finlan he would die soon, or, as he had just done, play with Malgorn, but aside from that, Likud left them to their own devices.

"Be careful with his back," she warned, eyes following Malgorn's every move. "Likud practically tore the stitches out just now. I should check them, sit him down, sit him down."

Malgorn met Saliman's eye and flashed him an ironic smile. Silvia could be standing amid the ruins of everything she held near and dear, but that wouldn't stop her from ordering her husband to be careful. "Do go a little easy," he said softly.

The other had jumped up when Silvia and Malgorn approached and Indik indicated a spot on the ground where he spread his cloak. "Put him here." Malgorn had barely settled into his seat when Silvia came at him, tugging up his shirt to check injuries.

"Likud had something to say, huh?" Indik asked gruffly, watching Silvia's clever hands.

"No, just something to give." Malgorn gasped when Silvia's fingers brushed a tender stitch and she hummed in sympathy. "Offered me dinner."

Cadvan and Saliman both shared a revolted look. "I hope you managed to avoid that," said Cadvan dryly.

"I couldn't avoid one spoonful, but I think he lost interest after that." Malgorn glanced at Cadvan ironically. "Apparently, you really are his favorite."

"Envy me why don't you?" Cadvan returned. Cadvan had noted that, since their journey had begun and Silvia had come under his watch, both Malgorn and Indik had seemed to forgive him. Though they didn't speak often, and humor were running dry at the moment, they shared some talk each day, even a few jokes.

Malgorn grinned. "I don't think my imagination stretches that far."

Cadvan sat back, using his saddle to support him. "Did he mention to tell you how far we are from Den Raven? We've been riding weeks it seems, but I don't think we've crossed the Niken River."

"So keen to get back to Dagra?" Malgorn asked.

Cadvan looked up quickly and smiled sheepishly. "I've been gone too long. There are certainly things I need to see to."

"I'm sure she is safe," Silvia said after a moment. She studied Cadvan's face closely, her eyes soft and sad. "You would know if something had happened to Maerad."

"Would I?" The words came out angrier than he intended, and Cadvan looked down at his hands intently. He was thinking of the bitter, apathy he'd been feeling since the fall of Lirigon. He worried he was becoming too jaded.

His outburst settled over the crowd and stretched into silence. It was a time before Saliman said, "Don't fool yourself, Cadvan. You were her mentor, her friend, perhaps more, you would know if something happened to her."

Saliman's reassurances did little to ease Cadvan and he drew his knees up against his chest. "Perhaps all my Knowing is destined to be turned upside down."

"Not something like this," Silvia said firmly, and turned her eyes on Malgorn, who was seated beside her, looking exhausted. "The Ways of the Heart are mysterious, but I think you ought to have learned to trust them by now."

Cadvan glanced between the two and felt longing stirring in his heart. He had been away from Maerad for far too long now and resented every moment of it. His shoulders drooped in defeat and he smiled helplessly at Silvia. "Forgive my foul mood, this journey has cost me dearly but it's no reason to be harsh with you."

Hekibel, who had watched the exchange from the opposite of the fire, mulled over Cadvan's sudden changing moods. Since joining the Bards, she had observed many such instances and wondered at their ability to shift smoothly from joy to sorrow to anger to forgiveness. It sometimes felt like she was caught up in a stream of emotions that was too complex to understand, and when she finally thought she understood a Bard, they simply turned again. Even Saliman had displayed the unnerving ability to move from gentle to stern, and it left her feeling uncertain. She wished Hem was with them because he, at least, was a solid presence.

That night, when Saliman offered to take the first watch, Hekibel forced herself to stay up and joined him in the frail light of their dying fire. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" Saliman asked, turning to her in greeting. "Tomorrow will be another long day of travel and you want your wits about you." The words were a reprimand, but the tone of his voice was playful.

"By that logic, you should sleep too." She watched Saliman's face closely. He smiled briefly before looking down at his hands, scowling at the grime under his nails.

"When this journey is over, I am going to sleep like the dead," he told her presently. "Days and nights of sleep, hours and hours of sleep."

"And I suppose I'll have to kiss you awake, like in the stories?"

He laughed suddenly, a warm, content sound that surprised Hekibel. She thought the Bards were beyond true laughter anymore. "That would make a fine story, wouldn't it? Certainly worth a few songs."

"If there are songs anymore," she said softly, and regretted it when Saliman's face fell. "I will be happy to see Hem again. I wonder that he has grown into a strong, capable young man."

"He has faced the Nameless One himself," Saliman mused. "No one can say he is not strong and capable, but I too wonder how he has been these months. Twice now, he has healed me, and at no small cost to himself. I worry that he will be in poor condition when I return."

Hekibel shifted uncomfortably, picturing the young man she had known. "I miss him."

Saliman watched Hekibel closely. He had been so consumed with his own worry over the battle of Innail, his part in capturing Silvia, and Malgorn's condition that he had given her little thought. He noticed now that she was startingly pale and held her arms protectively against herself. Saliman reached out and pulled her against him.

"There is more to your fear than you say, but you must trust me to see you safely through this."

"But what is it? For you and all the rest of the Bards, it's like you know something I don't! Do you see something I don't? How can this evil that we march toward not utterly engulf you? I feel like the world is falling down around me and I've nothing to do but wait for it, but you, you're already standing among the ruins rather contently."

Saliman stared at Hekibel, mouth agape. "My dear, you should have been born a Bard, or a poet at the very least," he finally said, a note of humor in his voice.

"Don't patronize me," she said sternly.

"I don't mean to," Saliman said kindly. "I mean only that your eloquence caught me unawares. I already stand among the ruins, do I?"

"And you do so with very little trouble it seems."

Saliman considered this a moment. "It's not without trouble," he said ruefully. "But there's nothing for it. I couldn't mourn Turbansk or Lirigon or Innail, I could not change my captivity, and I can't escape my service to the Nameless One. What was there left to do?"

Hekibel worried her lip. "Quit?"

"Hem needed me, and so did you." He searched her face, a small, sad smile tugging on his lips. "Perhaps everything has gone to ruin but that doesn't mean I'll abandon the people I love."

"Saliman, I'm afraid of what comes next," she admitted baldly. Her voice didn't shake when she said it, she didn't tremble with fear, Hekibel had seen far too much for such things. She sounded resigned, even morbidly curious, but not afraid. "What will happen to us?"

"You've asked me this before," Saliman said uncomfortably, and though his face was averted, he felt the heat of her gaze. He shifted a little and looked back over the small campfire and the other Bards there. "I'm not going to lie to you, Hekibel, I respect you more than that. It is my understanding that the Nameless One will retain my services in Dagra. I will have to live there, I will have to serve him. The histories of men and women who were held captive in Dagra are horrid stories, and I suspect that my treatment at his hands will not be easy. I want to warn you, I want you to understand that he will hurt me and there will be nothing you can do. Nothing you should do. I fear for you if you put yourself between me and the Nameless One."

Hekibel took his hand in hers, holding it against her breast. "You can't ask me to ignore your suffering."

"Oh, no, I would never do that. I'll need someone to clean me up after," he said in a tone meant to sound light and mildly humorous. Then his frail smile dropped. "I just don't want you to come to any harm."

"I'm about to follow you into Dagra itself. We're a little past coming into harm, don't you think?" She saw that her joke didn't improve Saliman's mood, though, and drew close to him. "I won't put myself in harm's way, but I'm not going to abandon you to the Nameless One's wrath."

"You're too stubborn for your own good," Saliman mused, enjoying the warmth that radiated off her body on the chilly night. "Is there nothing I can say to make myself clear to you?"

"Not really," Hekibel said flippantly. "You're better off arguing with a wall."

"Ah, but you're nicer to look at then a wall," Saliman returned and placed a kiss on her hair. She rested her golden head on his shoulders, her eyes drooping closed as she listened the rhythm of his heartbeat. "Far better company, especially in Dagra."

"No, like how you straddle a horse. Keep your legs wide and grip with your thighs."

Maerad flushed from her face all the way down to her toes. "I know how to ride a horse," she grit out. "I don't see what that has in common with-"

"Really?" Lyla had appeared at her side, hands planted firmly on her hips and a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "Really, you have no idea how riding a horse and a man are the same?"

Maerad looked away stubbornly. "One is an animal."

"They're both animals." Lyla's gaze flicked down to Maerad's knees which peaked out from the pale, translucent night gown. "It's just that one has a saddle and pommel, and the other only has a pommel."

"Stop it," Maerad said in a low voice. She didn't think she could bear such a lecture that early in the day.

"But it's true," Lyla said airily. "And you can forget that charming northern blush of your yours. This is the stuff a proper mistress learns, how the please her lord, so stop looking so embarrassed and attend me."

It was true that in her last few weeks, Maerad's education had taken on a much more practical application of skills. She rarely entertained Crestor, though he would still come once a week to flirt and try in vain to convince Maerad speak to Mama Lena. She would often meet him for dinners and play music for him, laughing at his poor humor and artfully keeping him off her. She had learned to almost perfectly duplicate Lyla's narrow smile that served more as warning than invitation, and she relished the fallen look on Crestor's face when she flashed it at him. She realized with a start that she didn't need her Gift to protect her when her attitude served as both armor and weapon. When she mentioned this to Lyla, the other woman laughed and told her that something useful must come of her education.

Since she couldn't lay with a man, though Lyla tried to wheedle her into practicing with one of the rare male escorts who flitted about the house, Maerad found herself many hours a day seated in her bed before Lyla, wearing, in her opinion, embarrassingly little clothing, practicing such things that Lyla promised her men liked. At first, she had fumbled her way through the simplest of acts and Lyla had broken her own personal rule and forced Maerad to drink a glass of wine in the morning. Of course, when they moved on from any position that required Maerad to lie on her back, Lyla had had to serve at two glasses to keep her from collapsing into a ball of embarrassment and giggles.

"It's just that I'm not sure this is what he would like," Maerad hedged. She was currently seated on her bed, trying and failing to mimic the motion her body made when she rode a horse at a canter.

"Oh, yes it is," Lyla warned. She walked around to the end of the bed so she could face Maerad directly. It was strange how easily the girl seemed to move between terrifying witch to prim young woman. "Tell me, Maerad, what do you think a man likes?"

Maerad pushed down the memory of Gilman's Cot and of Crestor and thought of her last night months ago with Cadvan. She remembered her clumsy hands making Cadvan jump back from her. "To be touched."

Lyla seemed to guess the tenor of her thoughts. "Ah, but there is an elegance to it, yes? Your own experience demonstrated that few men just want to be grabbed at. Some desire a little…finesse."

"Oh, so shall we ride horses together?" Maerad asked acidly before she got her tongue under control.

"Idiot girl. You will bore a man to death if all you ever do is lie on your back and wait for him to have his way with you." She saw Maerad nervously toy with the hem of her nightgown and sighed. "Are you a woman or a little girl?"

Maerad smarted. "I'm a woman."

"Ok, so." Lyla smiled slyly and sat on the bed. "You're a woman, and a woman is powerful. She isn't some small child to be ordered about, she is a person with desires and wants and needs, she takes the things she wants. And maybe, if she's generous, she gives a little back."

"Isn't that selfish with the man you love?"

She waved her hand flippantly. "We're all selfish once in a while." Maerad smiled slightly, thinking of all the lessons she had ever learned in service to the Light. Though what Lyla had said wasn't necessarily challenging the Balance, she had the idea Bards were fairer with their lovers.

Lyla was watching her closely. "You've a right to take the things you want, you know."

Maerad shivered at those words. "And this is what I want?"

"You might." Her eyes sparkled playfully. "You might find this to your liking quite a bit, but if you're so concerned with his pleasure, you'd never know. And he'll like you more for it. Men like a woman who takes the things she wants."

"Somehow, I doubt that," she replied.

"To an extent, you're right," Lyla amended. "There are some men who like to direct you, but I doubt yours is that sort. Take your own lead and see how he responds."

"And this is my own lead?" Maerad gestured vaguely at her splayed legs.

Lyla laughed. "I think you'll find it enjoyable enough if you try. Now, rock your hips like you're riding a horse."

Maerad tossed her hair aside, forming a curtain between herself and Lyla, but she could feel the other woman's stern temper like a physical thing. After a moment, she began to move again and Maerad felt that certain rush of power Lyla mentioned. She wondered vaguely if this was the sort of thing Crestor would have wanted from her, then pushed the thought aside with an eyeroll. No, Crestor wanted easy women, smiling women, but Cadvan…

"What are you thinking about, you little devil?" Lyla asked sharply, watching Maerad's hips move. It wasn't nearly as smooth as she wanted, and she grabbed Maerad hips, jerking them into rhythm. "If you do this to a man, he'll marry you. What you were doing would have broken his back."

Maerad couldn't help herself but look down and watch with morbid fascination as her hips smoothly swung back and forth. After a few minutes, her abdomen began to ache. "Is it supposed to hurt your stomach?"

Lyla's laughter was low and provocative. "Good girl. It means you're working hard."

Maerad stared down at her stomach. "I thought I was supposed to enjoy this?"

"You will. Now, don't look at yourself, try staring forward, like you're enjoying it so much you can't be bothered to focus on anything. Or, if you've the nerve, look down into the man's eyes."

Maerad smiled vaguely. It had been so long since she'd seen Cadvan's eyes. Dark blue, so dark they were almost black, but bright at times, a fountain of light. Though not recently, and certainly not when he returns to Dagra. Maerad felt the motion of her hips stutter and she lost concentration.

"Maerad, what did I just say about breaking someone's back?"

Maerad stopped move, sat back on her heels. "Can this really make someone happy?" she asked bluntly. "I mean all of this-these things we do-can it make someone happy or does it just make them feel good?"

Lyla blinked slowly, lips pursed. "Our job is to make men feel good, because when they feel good, they're happy."

"Yes, but-" Maerad struggled to find words "-If you took away all the lovemaking and the letters and the pretty words, do we actually make people happy? Or is it just like when you've had too much wine and you feel good? Superficial?"

"Why do you ask such a thing?" Lyla wondered, studying Maerad's face closely. In the months Lyla had being training Maerad, she had found that there was more emotion in the girl's eyes than her entire body.

"Because if I love someone, I should want to make them truly happy, not just content."

"Love is not something women like me know well. I pity you if you love the man who sent you here," she said in a hard voice. "And no, if you want him to love you, what I've taught you will not suffice."

"Then what will it do?"

Lyla shrugged. "Make him want you."

Maerad turned her gaze inward, curious if that was what she wanted. She recalled the feeling of Cadvan's hands on her, his lips tracing lines of fire on her body, the aching she had felt that had driven her almost insane. But she also knew that there was more to love than the passion of that night, and she wanted more. She wondered, not for the first time, what Cadvan wanted. Fleetingly, her worry that this war and the horrors he witnessed would change him returned. She didn't know that she could give Cadvan the things to make him better.

Lyla sensed her concern. "You need not fear for anything else. From what you've said, this man already likes you well enough. The things I teach you, they'll just keep him content."

Her eyes drifted down to her bony knees and she flushed at the thought of trying to replicate the position with Cadvan. "And I suppose that's the most important thing I can do now?"

"Well, if you came here, clearly it's something he desires. Now," Lyla said imperiously, trying to draw Maerad from her reverie, "I want you to look at me with desire. Convince me with only your eyes that you want me."

Though Maerad set about to staring rather provocatively at Lyla, their lesson was cut short when a young girl knocked and told them that Mama Lena wanted to speak to them. Lyla raised her eyebrows at Maerad and waved her off the bed. Maerad hurriedly slipped into a gown and ran a brush through her hair before following Lyla dutifully into down to the older woman's office. Mama Lena was seated behind her desk, eyeing a note unhappily when they entered.

"You've been summoned," she said flatly to Maerad as she entered. "An emissary from the tower will arrive early this evening to collect you. You are ordered to make yourself presentable for respected company. Apparently, you will be meeting with important people tonight."

Maerad's mouth had gone dry. Beside her, Lyla stirred. "Who are the people she is being sent to?"

"I was not told," Mama Lena said simply. "She will return to the tower and the rooms where I found her. Your lord is returned."

Maerad's heart was in her throat. Cadvan was back. Months they'd been apart and suddenly he was back. Was he in the city at that very moment? Was he sitting in those cavernous rooms before the hearth, sipping wine and trying in vain to ignore the presence of the Nameless One? Was he before Sharma right now? Too many thoughts and worries were racing through her head, she wanted to laugh and cry at once.

Her confusion was mistaken for fear by the other women, who exchanged sharp glances. "Perhaps we could tell them she is ill and not suited to company?" Lyla suggested, studying Maerad's pale features. "Put out she has come down with a fever?"

"I don't think it is wise to lie to the lords of the dark tower," Mama Lena said uncertainly.

"But look at her," Lyla insisted. "She can't go back like this."

Mama Lena worried her lip. She prided herself not just on the status of her young women, but the lavish care she provided them. Maerad seemed almost terrified of returning to the man. "Perhaps we could buy her a few days here, but this isn't a demand we can ignore."

Maerad shook herself, jumping to attention. "No! No, wait. You must let me go. I have to go back."

"Are you sure?" Lyla asked sharply. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Maerad looked hard at Mama Lena. "I told you I could not abandon my family and friends. I must return to them no matter the cost."

Mama Lena's brows furrowed. "I am not overly fond of sending my girls off to be abused."

Maerad smiled ironically. "I'm not overly fond of letting someone abuse me. Have a little faith in my abilities to defend myself."

Lyla shook her head angrily, saying, "It's not right. Let her stay a bit longer, just long enough to-"

"No. No, if the girl says she must return I see no reason in risking our necks for it." She sighed heavily, glancing at the desk before her. "I don't like it, but it's not in my power to refuse it. Get her ready, make sure she looks the part. If we are to send one of our girls up to the tower, I will have them looking like a proper mistress of this house."

Lyla frowned but bowed her head. "As you'll have it. Come, Maerad, we've work to do with you in that case."

The day passed like something of a dream for Maerad. Or, maybe a nightmare. The inevitability of her return to the dark tower, coupled with her desire to see her brother and Cadvan, left her in a strange state. She longed to see her friends and family again, but she was afraid of what she might find. Hem had been Sharma's captive for months, alone with no one for company but Hulls. Cadvan and Saliman must have returned from war, but in what condition she could barely guess. The war…if Innail had been defeated, Silvia and Malgorn would be brought back as well.

Her thoughts kept her quiet and docile as Lyla led her back upstairs and to the bath. She slipped the gown from Maerad and helped her into a tub full of scented water. She added oils and soap and washed Maerad's hair and face, giving her practical instruction in cleaning herself. When Maerad emerged, she sat straight-backed and silent while Lyla brushed her hair and twisted it up into a tight bun to dry. She removed a bottle of oil lavender oil and dabbed a little on the inside of her wrists, behind her ears, her throat and her chest. Lyla would occasionally try to engage her in conversation, but Maerad was far away, already up in the tower with her brother and Cadvan.

And Sharma, she thought as Lyla took her back to her room. There will be no reprieve from Sharma.

"It'll be evening by the time you arrive, so you'll need a gown with a bit of warmth. Tell me, what is your mysterious lord's favorite color? What will please him most when he sees you?"

Maerad blinked, nonplussed. That he'll see me at all. "I don't know his favorite color."

Lyla rolled her eyes. "Fine, we'll pick a color that suits you." Maerad sat on the bed, watching dispassionately while Lyla flicked through her gowns, muttering about the pattern on one, disparaging the lace on another, and wondering how they were going to fit all the gowns in one chest to send back with her. She pulled out a stylish gown in dark red, cut low so that her breasts would show, the bodice worked with gold string in the style of falling leaves. She flourished it, purring with delight.

"You've never worn something like this before, have you?" Her eyes glimmered when Maerad shook her head. "Your lord will be mightily pleased to come back after months of war and find you in this. Come, where's the stomacher?"

For a brief period, Maerad put the thoughts of Hem and Cadvan aside as Lyla got her into the dress. Corsets were Maerad's least favorite piece of clothing, and Lyla laced it so tight she struggled to breathe. She cast an unhappy glance at the other woman. "Does it have to be so tight?"

"How long has your lord been gone?" Lyla asked, inspecting Maerad's décolletage professionally. "How long since he's had a woman?"

Maerad blushed. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"It has everything to do with it. Men who come back from war want nothing more than food, ale, and a warm bed. When he first sees you, you must be the picture of desire. You must be so lovely that all thoughts of war and death are pushed from his mind and all he can think of is taking you to his bed. He must want you the way a starving man wants food."

"I'm not a piece of meat." Maerad glanced at herself in the mirror and saw the shapely curves the corset created with her body. "He'll want me regardless of how I look."

"You do him better service by looking attractive," she said flatly. "Other men should want you, everyone should want you, but he alone can have you. So, yes," she finished, giving the corset a tug so it sat lower, "it must be this tight."

After that, Maerad allowed Lyla to dress her with little complaint. She doubted if she did complain that Lyla would bother to listen anyway. Instead, she let the woman slip the red gown over her corset, lacing it carefully up the back so it clung to her figure. She pulled Maerad's hair down and nodded faintly in approval at the length. Like the first night Maerad had been there, Lyla lifted a hank of the curling ends and sniffed them delicately. This time, the faint aroma of lavender filled the air and Lyla smiled to herself. She sat Maerad in a chair and began to brush her hair rhythmically, braiding the front into a small crown.

"There's more I would have liked to teach you," Lyla began after a time. "You're a bit young to be playing this game, but you could have done well in the end, I think."

"A pity," Maerad said tonelessly.

"There's a bit more I'll tell you about tonight. A few things more you need to know." Lyla caught Maerad's eyes in the mirror. "You've been playing at being a mistress, but it's time you lived it. Tell me what you will do tonight."

Weep tears of relief and horror when my friends are brought back to face Sharma's wrath. "I will be reunited with my friends and family."

Lyla tweaked her ear. "Don't play dumb. Tonight, you will be in bed with your lord. What will you do?"

"Whatever he asks," Maerad said dryly, thinking of Cadvan's gentle hands and kind words.

"No. He didn't send you here so that you could just do what he says. He expects you will return with talents and trades you didn't have before. He wants to be entertained." When Maerad stared back blankly, Lyla smirked. "You've read all the books, practiced all the words, so, tell me what you will do."

Maerad shrugged helplessly. "What should I do?"

"He'll have ridden far and hard to get home, so he'll be tired. Prepare a bath for him, take the opportunity to wash his hair, his face, his neck. Make sure there is plenty of wine and good food, too! Soldiers don't eat well." She gave Maerad a severe look. "Keep your conversation light and pleasant, do not ask him how the battle was, do not pester him for stories of blood and war, you must be a relief to him. Play music for him, but make sure it's nothing sad. No songs of war. You want him to be comfortable."

Maerad wanted to laugh at the advice of Lyla, for the girl had little understanding of what was to come. But, she bowed her head earnestly and gestured for her to continue.

"Then, a time will come when conversation will seem dry and you'll have run out of words. Tell him that it's been a long time since you've shared his bed, tell him you missed him at night." She smiled narrowly at some memory. "Men like the thought of women missing them. I wouldn't play too many games after that, though. He's been away from you too long to wait patiently. Other nights, you can play and kiss and tease him all you like, but tonight, just disrobe and join him in bed, he'll like that more."

"And then?" Maerad couldn't help her curiosity. She recalled her last night and her bumbling hands and confusion: whether or not she and Cadvan made love that night, she planned to do it sometime and would have preferred to do it right.

"Take a little initiative, be a little forward-he'll want to know you still want him. Sit on his lap and kiss him, tangle your hands up in his hair like you can't help but hold him. But that night, that first night, let him direct you. Whatever he wants, give it to him."

Maerad bit her lip, thinking of all the days she had passed trying to learn how to be with a man. "I thought I was to decide."

"I told you it's a game of give and take, and tonight when he's fresh home from war and tired and bitter and hurting, you must put aside your own desires and comfort him. Give him the things he wants."

Maerad turned away to look outside to where the sun was setting. "They'll come for me soon."

"Indeed." Lyla followed her gaze and clasped her hands. "I think you are a fool for returning to that place, and I think I will never see you again."

Maerad switched her gaze to Lyla and studied her closely. She had always considered Lyla beautiful, and now, in the dying sun, her warm brown skin, coffee colored eyes, and thick dark hair was more lovely than ever. She wasn't a Bard, she didn't see the complexities of life Maerad saw, but she was possessed of the solemnity of a Bard. She knew a hard and painful knowledge. Maerad thought that maybe they weren't that different, both slaves in Dagra beholden to cruel lords, and maybe that was why Maerad felt suddenly sure she would see Lyla again.

"You will," Maerad said simply. Lyla turned to face her, eyebrows raised in questioning. "I am certain you and I will see each other again."

"Well, you are a witch. Perhaps you have powers I do not," Lyla said. She meant it in jest, but it sounded far more serious. She gave herself a shake. "We'll have one of the girls handle your gowns and have them sent up to you tonight. Tomorrow afternoon should be a fair enough day, wear something pleasant to celebrate the victory in the north, yes?"

"I'll do my best," Maerad said kindly. "Maybe yellow?"

"I hate that color on you."

The two women held each other's gaze a moment and then there was a knock on the door, a young girl come to let Maerad know she was being summoned. Maerad glanced back at Lyla as she moved to go, but Lyla stood where she was, her hand raised in a faint farewell. She wasn't coming to see Maerad off, they weren't friends like that, not really. So Maerad left and Lyla sat heavily on the bed, staring at the space where the strange girl had been. She didn't feel sad to see the other girl go, but it didn't make her happy either. There had been something very strange about the girl from the north, some great sadness that had preoccupied her for the last few months, but Lyla didn't have the perception of what that sadness might be.

She sat on the bed where Maerad had been, wondering if she ever would see her again. Would she want to? She shifted uncomfortably with the thought and something under the mattress crackled. Curious, Lyla lifted the mattress, feeling around with her fingers until her hand landed on a sheaf of paper. She removed them and was shocked to find a pile of carefully written letters, all addressed to person called Cadvan. As the sun sank, Lyla read through them, her face going pale and her hands trembling a little. After finishing, she folded them and tucked them up her sleeve, and sat on the bed a long time considering what she had read. It was like one of the stories her mother would tell, a story of princesses and heroes and great evil. She wondered what darkness they had just sent Maerad back to.

Madness had broken loose and Cadvan suspected that Likud was one more outburst away from finding a whip. They'd arrived in outside Dagra late in the afternoon as the sun was setting, and a fission of energy swept through the crowds of captive Bards. The journey under the pitiless eyes of the Hulls and the crude care of the soldiers had brutalized many of them of feeling, but when the walls of Dagra arched above them, the fear and anger and bitterness of their capture returned. Bards stumbled to halts, women and men made desperate attempts to find their children, boys and girls began to sob. The soldiers reacted with vicious efficiency, and though the crowds were driven forward, the air around the Bards seemed to crackle with energy. To make matters worse, before they reached the tower, the dogsoliders emerged from their ranks and began to drive the Bards away, through tall gates to a walled off section of the city. There were pikes along the wall, upon which entrails hung, flapping in the breeze. The sight was enough to turn most Bards, but the dogsoldiers herded them like sheep. When people began to break away and attempt to escape, the child soldiers were sent after them. The energy Cadvan had felt in the air exploded, flares of White Fire were seen throughout the crowds, shouting in the Speech echoed in the streets, and the Hulls were furious.

"You think the Hulls might have the wisdom to predict this," Saliman observed dryly.

The Bards of the First Circle, Cadvan and Saliman had been riding at the front of the column with some of the generals and watched from a distance as the Bards of Innail scattered. Each and every one of them felt the urge to join their companions and make a mad attempt to escape, but the dream was effectively dashed when Likud had ridden before them, a dark look on his face and said, "If any of you so much as moves in the direction of the gates, I'll see you all whipped within an inch of your life." His eyes had roved to Malgorn, slumped a little in the saddle, and he smiled crookedly.

"Have no fear, Likud," Saliman had said with false bravado. "I desire nothing more than a bath and a bed, both of which, though I don't like admitting it, are in that tower."

"Finally, a Bard with a bit of sense," Likus had spat before riding off to find his lieutenants.

They stood and watched the disarray, Malgorn looking particularly uncomfortable as his people struggled. Silvia tried to catch his eye, but he seemed to be purposefully looking away. "I hope they don't hurt them. It's fear that does this, not a desire to escape."

"Whatever the Hulls feel for the Bards, they have their orders, and their orders are to see the Bards safely locked away. They won't risk the wrath of the Nameless One," Saliman said as the surging crowds began to fall back behind the gates. "Do you think all the Bards are there? The ones from Turbansk and Lirigon as well?"

"It seems a large neighborhood," said Vaclal listlessly. "And there aren't thousands of us."

They sat on their horses and watched a while longer before Likud returned with a few Hulls his wake. "Come, we've an important dinner to attend."

Cadvan and Saliman exchanged looks, quite sure they knew who the dinner was with. They followed Likud and the Hulls the rest of the way up the road and through the gates that surrounded the dark tower. When the dismounted, Silvia went to check Malgorn at once, and the remainder of the First Circle gathered tightly around each other. Cadvan noticed that Likud was watching them closely. After a moment, the Hull sensed Cadvan's gaze and turned to him with an ugly, satisfied expression.

"Take the First Circle to the lower dungeon with the others. Tonight, only the First Bards will join us," Likud ordered dogsoldiers nearby.

Silvia was hysterical. She didn't want to be parted from Malgorn and began thrashing and pulling on the soldiers trying to tear her away. Malgorn realized at once that if she fought to stay she'd be hurt, and he tried to convince her in a low voice to go quietly, that she would be safe with Kelia and Indik. She dug her heels in, trying to grab his arm, and Malgorn, seeing the excited, hungry look on Likud's face, tugged himself free of her and turned to join the other First Bards before the Hull had reason to hurt her. The last they saw of Silvia was her pale face set with blazing green eyes in a mat of tangled red hair being dragged off.

"That woman hasn't the slightest sense of decorum, does she?" Likud wondered allowed before turning for the entrance to the tower. "Hurry up, you little ingrates. I'm weary of this travel."

They followed silently, crossing the entrance hall and heading for the stairs. Cadvan paused, his mind racing back to the day he left, and Maerad's promise she would meet him there upon his return. When he looked up, though, the stairs were empty. Though it wasn't necessarily reason for concern, Cadvan felt a stirring of trepidation. Where was she?

They took the stairs quickly, though Finlan and Malgorn struggled and had to be helped. Cadvan suspected that they sensed the malicious consciousness of the Nameless One, his will bent against them like a physical thing. He still remembered what it felt like when the Nameless One turned his attention on him. It had taken all his strength to throw off his anger, and even then, it had been hard.

Quite suddenly, they were before the large black doors that opened into the Nameless One's throne room. The other Bards must have sensed the importance of the moment and had fallen silent. Malgorn, leaning against Saliman, nervously twitched at the hem of his shirt. Likud glanced across at Cadvan with a gleeful look just as the doors opened.

The scene before them was greeted with silence before mayhem ensued. The figure of the Nameless One was bent over, towering over two figures. One was clearly Hem, curled in a ball and clutching his stomach, he coughed up blood and vomit and clamped his eyes shut. Kneeling over Hem protectively was an old man who, after a beat, Cadvan recognized was Nelac. Nelac's face was turned up, his eyes flashing defiantly at the Nameless One, and he seemed to be saying something. What he was saying, however, was drown out by the sound of shrieking and cursing that was coming from Maerad who was being held back by a Hull. For one moment, Cadvan took all this in before darting forward. The Nameless One whipped about like a snake when the doors opened. He watched Cadvan's path as the man tried to free Maerad from the hold of the Hull, then switched his dark eyes to Saliman, who was trying to shift Malgorn so he could get to Hem. He smiled briefly before stepping back and taking his seat.

Cadvan pulled Maerad free of the Hulls, swinging her behind him. "Don't touch her," he warned in an icy voice, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

Maerad felt her heart stutter to a halt when Cadvan turned about to face her. He looked haggard, his eyes dull, his hair unkempt, a shaggy beard darkening his cheeks and chin. His clothes were worn and stained with dirt and there were healed cuts and ugly bruises on his arms. When he caught her eyes, something in his face flinched, and he looked down as if he couldn't bear to look at her. A part of her longed to throw her arms about him and crush herself against him. They had been apart far too long.

"Cadvan," she said blankly, staring into his face.

His gaze switched up to her and he said, "Maerad, I-"

Before he could finish, Hem gave a sharp shout and Maerad spun about. Cadvan tried to grab her before she ran across the room, but she flitted out of reach and rushed to her brother's side. Cadvan followed her, acutely aware of the Nameless One's eyes on them. He could sense the amusement of the Nameless One, hear his laughter in the back of his head. Maerad skidded to a halt before her brother, almost stumbling into Nelac.

Nelac stood up, turning to Cadvan, who was trailing Maerad. "Cadvan," he said, and his voice was soft and his eyes were bright with despair.

"Nelac, what are you doing here?" Cadvan asked, scanning his face.

"I could ask you the same, Cadvan," he said sympathetically, and then turned to see Maerad brushing the hair out of Hem's face. "I hoped the vision was wrong."

"Vision?" Cadvan wondered.

Nelac merely shook his head as the other Bards stumbled in and the Nameless One admitted a pulse of energy, his consciousness grazing their minds. Cadvan shuddered and had the urge to cover Maerad from the Nameless One's attention. He was shocked, though, when he saw her glaring up at the Nameless One with unmuted hatred. She reminded him of a wolf, crouching over her brother like he was her injured pup.

"What a pleasant reunion this must be for you all," the Nameless One announced, his dark eyes moving from face to face. Each Bard flinched when his eyes rested on them. "Family, friends, mentors, lovers, all together again. The time has come to let your hearts heal."

Malgorn quaked with rage against Saliman. "Heal our hearts?" he spat.

The Nameless One's dark eyes slid sideways, a smile quirked the edges of his lips. "In your case, Malgorn of Innail, the time has come to heal your body as well."

Likud's laughter echoed around the room. "I think that will take quite some time, my lord."

"No doubt," the Nameless One said carelessly. "But a long recovery offers the reward of a lasting lesson. He will know better next time, I think."

Silence met these words and the Nameless One turned his eyes on Cadvan. "Ah, the prodigal son returns. A little worse for wear, it seems, but whole. I imagine it was difficult for you when Lirigon was destroyed, I imagine it almost broke your heart. But you are in like company, no?" His face fixed on Saliman.

"Why have you gathered us here?" Cadvan demanded, keen to be away from the room and alone with Maerad.

The Nameless One sat back in his throne, surveying the Bards with casual interest. "I wanted to see what I would be working with." He smirked at Finlan. "I am not entirely disappointed. Some of you will make adequate servants in my new world."

None of the Bards bothered denying him. After seeing Cadvan and Saliman in service to the Dark, none of them thought they stood much of a chance of retaining their freedom. Vaclal cleared his throat, but when the Nameless One turned to face him, his voice failed him. The Nameless One smiled. "Would you care for some water? Wine? It is my desire to see you comfortable for there is such work that must be done and you, First Bard of Lirigon, must be fit to perform."

"What work?" Saliman asked, wondering what horrible plans the Nameless One had next.

"I am going to do the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the impossible." The Nameless One's eyes were glowing with a manic light that set the hairs on the back of the Bard's neck on end. Maerad, from her place on the floor, felt a shadow of Sharma's power enter her.

"You already have," she said in a hard voice.

Many of the Bards in the room had either never met Maerad, or had not heard her in a long while, and they were startled by the steadiness of a young woman in the face of such Darkness. Finlan, who had personally disparaged the girl, studied her curiously. She looked dangerous, he thought, not entirely human.

"You've made the Song whole and stolen its power. Have you not done enough?" she wondered aloud.

"Maerad, I thought Madam Lena would have taught you better. You ought to only speak when spoken to." The Nameless One's smile loosened so he looked mad and he gleamed at Cadvan, as if daring him to ask who Madam Lena was. "I will have to discuss this with her."

The threat was clear between his word: respect him or the Madam and all her girls would suffer. She clenched her brother tighter. "I was taught conversation. I thought that's what we were having."

"Cadvan, you know how I feel about her speaking to me with such impertinence," he said, affronted. "Will you allow this to continue?"

Cadvan was aware of Likud slipping to the corner of his vision, Likud, who had sworn he would get revenge on Maerad for what she had done to him. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Maerad, please."

She looked up at him incredulously, but, oddly enough, the strain in his voice invoked Lyla's words: But that night, that first night, let him direct you a little. Whatever he wants, give it to him. She grimaced but pursed her lips and turned her eyes back on Sharma.

"My, my, has the little wolf been tamed?" the Nameless One wondered. "Perhaps she is just keen to get you alone, Cadvan. I imagine she's beside herself for wanting you."

Cadvan understood from his tone that the Nameless One was making fun of him, but he had no idea what was so amusing. "You've kept us apart many months. I too am keen to see her alone."

"You might find yourself pleasantly surprised," the Nameless One said in that same mocking voice. "You might even thank me tomorrow."

"I'll thank you to release myself and Maerad from your service for the night," he rejoined smoothly.

"Clever," the Nameless One said, and Cadvan felt his shadowy thoughts flicking over his memories. "But are you not curious to what great task I have planned next?"

"After the last task you set me to, I could happily go the rest of my life without knowing."

"Don't be so selfish. I'm sure the rest of the Bards here are just dying to know why I've brought them alive and relatively unscathed to my fastness." His eyes scanned them, but not expect Saliman and Cadvan returned his gaze.

"What is it then?" Nelac asked from his place beside Cadvan. "What great task will you have us undertake?"

The Nameless One's eyes flicked away, to the window where the dark sky was glowing red from the fires in the pits below. The tense lines of his body relaxed as if suddenly coming to a conclusion, and he turned back to the Bards, hands clasped. "The time of the Bards is over. The Great Silence is about to begin."

Cadvan shivered. His words sounded like a prophecy, not a plan.

"Everything you are will be destroyed. My army has seen to the destruction of your cities, your culture, and slavery will destroy your people. But even that is not enough, even that is not silence. Your very way of life must be forgotten, your history must be lost, the very essence of Barding must be destroyed."

It seemed that every Bard in the room drew a deep breath, waiting for his blow to land. The Nameless One opened his hands in a generous gesture. "I am going to destroy the Speech, and you, my great, Gifted Bards, are going to help me."