Hi Everyone! I know it's been a LONG time since I've posted. I was too busy between work and school to make weekly updates and had to take a break to shift focus. But I'm hoping that as things calm down I'll be able to post more frequently. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter and reviews are always appreciated!
Chapter Eight
"And, why exactly should I release Cai to your care? What do you need him for?"
The Nameless One was staring at Saliman shrewdly, his eyes narrowed and a twisted smile playing on his lips. He stabbed out at Saliman's consciousness, exploring his memories, and watched Saliman clutch his hands tightly at the intrusion to his privacy. He saw the faint faces of men and women in a cell, he saw blood and bone and rotting flesh.
"Not in good shape, are they? I suppose you require a healer of exceptional skill, and you no longer have the necessary abilities." The Nameless One smirked. "Unless I allow you."
This seemed to grate on Saliman whose eyebrows twitched together perceptibly. He took a brief second to temper his voice. "It is my hope that you will allow me."
Hem, hunched in his usual seat beside the Nameless One's throne, perked up. He had seen Saliman for weeks now, watched while his best friend had been tormented just beyond reach, and now, the opportunity to serve at his side had arisen. Hem tensed, his eyes flitting between the Nameless One and Saliman.
"If I give you back your Gift, then you do not need Cai."
"I will need him regardless." Saliman hesitated, unbending his pride. "I am not strong enough to heal them all, I'll need help."
The Nameless One raised his eyebrows in surprise, sitting up straight and looking about the room as if someone would repeat. "What's this? You are admitting you are incapable of such simple things as healing? You admit you are too weak?"
"Simple?" The indignation in Saliman's voice was clearly amusing to the Nameless One who smiled. Saliman managed to get his temper under control. "They have suffered serious injury and need help."
"Indeed they have, but if they had been more forthcoming this wouldn't have happened. They could have spared themselves great pain if they had simply accepted my rule." The Nameless One's gaze slid sideways to Hem, who was staring at Saliman with bright eyes. "You want to help Saliman, don't you Cai? I know how sorely you miss him."
Hem lifted his chin proudly. "You had me heal the Bards who sustained injuries from their interrogation with you. I thought it was my job, why stop now?"
"Because you abhor what I did to those Bards and were disgusted by the process of healing. This would be enjoyable to you." The Nameless One's eyes moved from Hem to Saliman, considering the older Bard. "How desperate is your need for these Bards?"
"I need a Circle," Saliman said simply.
"Naturally. And you swear to me that you cannot heal them on your own?" This seemed like more of an opportunity to tease Saliman since the Nameless One knew the extent of Saliman's strength.
"I cannot heal them on my own, no." Saliman's eyes flashed angrily, though, and Hem felt shock at the depth of his emotion.
"Well." The Nameless One tapped a rhythm on the arm rest of his chair carelessly. "You have been a true and loyal servant so far. I see no reason not to trust you. Cai will go with you and help in their healing."
Saliman bowed his head. "Hem, I think it's best you come now. There is work to do." Hem stood and made to follow Saliman, but the chain that wrapped about his neck didn't loosen. He stumbled to a halt and Saliman scowled. "Will you not release him?"
The Nameless One stared at him, the tension in the air rising until it felt physical and Saliman felt a hand pressing down on his neck and shoulders. "You have not thanked me." Saliman felt his knees buckle and he fell forward.
"Thank you, master," Saliman said in a thick voice. "Thank you for allowing Hem to help me heal my First Circle."
"You are most welcome, Saliman," said the Nameless One in a low voice. "Do not forget it, though. Remember that when you needed my help, I gave it to you. I am a good master."
"You are, and I won't." Saliman kept his face down because he couldn't bear the sight of the Nameless One's glowing face.
"Go, Cai," said the Nameless One, not moving his gaze from Saliman's face. He waved his hand vaguely and the chains that held him to the throne evaporated and Hem was free to follow Saliman. He shivered at the sensation: it had been months since he had been free to leave the Nameless One's presence, let alone go with Saliman.
Hem almost ran forward in his haste to escape the Nameless One and came near to colliding with Saliman who was struggling to his feet. Saliman gripped his arm and helped himself up stiffly. The Nameless One offered a gracious smile as the two Bards glanced back once more before leaving the room.
"Enjoy yourselves," he said with an ironic wave.
In the hall, Saliman let out a pent-up breath and turned to face Hem. A look came over his face that almost broke Hem's heart. He drew the young man into a sturdy embrace and held him firmly. Hem noticed that he seemed diminished, not just that he had lost weight-because he had-but that he was frail. Hem thought that if he hugged him too tightly, the other Bard might break.
"I've missed you, Saliman," Hem said against his shoulder.
Saliman was surprised by how tall Hem was. He had known the boy was quickly approaching manhood and had suspected he would be taller than him, but Saliman was still shocked by how much Hem had grown. Saliman wondered if maybe it was a misconception, seeing Hem day after day chained and hunched over, made him think the boy had simply stopped growing.
"And I, you," Saliman said with a watery smile. "The thought of you kept in the constant company of the Nameless One sickens me."
Hem grinned back grimly. "It sickens me to be there." Then, before Saliman could push him for more, Hem stepped back and placed his hands on his hips. "You told Sharma there was healing work that needed to be done? I think we might use our time best seeing to your friends."
"Our friends, I'm afraid." Saliman was loathe to return to the cells in the base of the tower, but leaving those Bards there to suffer was too horrid. "Come."
Hem rarely left the throne room anymore, and the freedom to stretch and walk was a release. The first few minutes, he loped unsteadily, trying to convince his legs to remember their rhythm. Once he found his pace, though, his arms swung casually like he was on a jaunty stroll. Saliman wondered when the last time Hem had been allowed to move was. Had the boy simply been crouching on the floor for months?
They took a flight of stairs down into the depths of the tower, and Saliman hesitated to go farther once they arrived at a set of black doors. Hem, though, seemed to have gone far past his fear and disgust of the Dark. He simply shoved the door, ignoring its groans, and slipped down the hall through the cells. The darkness was oppressive, and Hem raised his hands, a light springing to life in his palm. He passed cells, glimpsing the huddled, scared forms of Bards within. Many of these men and women Hem had tended in the past month, he recognized the expressions of desperation, the begging for release. He almost stopped outside the cell where the Innail Bards were held, spotting Malgorn slouched by a weak fire, but he could visit the First Bard another time. They arrived at the cell housing the Turbansk Bards and Hem looked inquiringly at Saliman.
"It will not be easy. I've requested supplies from the Hulls, which they brought most unwillingly. I think there is a long night ahead of us here."
Hem sniffed and the overpowering odor of rotting flesh, blood, vomit and urine hit him. "More than a night, I should think."
Inside, the Bards were sleeping. Or, perhaps not sleeping, so much as unconscious. Hem thought sleep implied peace and relaxation, and he doubted these men and women were at peace. They were bloody and bruised and broken. He recognized Soron at once, and was horrified when he saw him: his legs were bent awkwardly, his fingers twisted and broken, his lips were split from blows to the mouth. When Hem drew nearer, he saw bruising on his legs, places where the bone was pushing to break through the flesh. The putrid smell of dying flesh rose off Soron.
"I'm going to need more than bandages and stints, Saliman."
Hem passed to Nimikeri. Her arms were dislocated, hanging at an odd angle to her body. Her breathing was shallow and rattled out of her. Hem knelt to get a closer look at her face and saw a thin line of blood running along her scalp, like someone had drug a blade tip over her hair line. He wondered if someone had tried to cut her hair off and been stopped mid process. He turned and faced Saliman in the faint light.
"They need medicine, they need antiseptic, they need clean, hot water and painkillers." Hem stood, shivering and looked at the feeble supplies the Hulls had provided. "They need days and nights of rest and fresh food."
"I'm not sure we can give them that," Saliman hedged. His face turned sorrowful. "Hem, these men and women deserve to live. I couldn't let them die in that dark, miserable place. We have to heal them."
Hem sighed. "Even if we fix their wounds, even you know they might not survive."
"Then they will die peacefully among their friends." Saliman looked suddenly stubborn. "We have to try."
Hem sighed regretfully but offered a stern look all the same. "We've work to do then."
Nerili became aware of a horrid, putrid odor first. It filled her senses like a repulsive perfume and made her want to gag. She inhaled sharply, trying to clear her head, but the odor made her nose sting and her throat burn. It was enough to wake her up. She opened her eyes and saw only a rough wooden wall in the dim light.
Not the School, she thought, trying to gather her thoughts. Not my room, not my bed. Suddenly, her last waking memories hit her full force. She remembered the struggle with the Hull in her rooms, trying to desperately to call Elenxi, and slipping into unconsciousness. How long have I been here?
She felt panic rising up in her throat. She had been taken from the School by the servants of the Dark, she had failed Busk and her people. Had the battle already started? Had the Hulls gone after the other members of the First Circle? Were her friends and family dead? Where was she? The terror mounted in her mind, unbearable.
She tried to sit up but she found her hands and ankles tightly bound. It took her a moment, but she managed to lever herself up in an ungainly fashion, her head brushing metal bars. She was rather shocked to find she was in a cage, and felt a flush of indignation: she wasn't an animal. She inspected the small cell and noticed that runes were carved into the bars. When she tried to read them, she saw they were written in the tongue of Den Raven, and they repulsed her.
Am I such a terrible threat to them? she wondered. She was bound in chains and kept in an inscrolled cage. I am one Bard.
Despite her captivity, her lips quirked in a bitter smile as she examined her surroundings. It was a room of plain, scrubbed wooden beams and a small window near the ceiling offered a glimpse of a pale blue sky. She realized that the window was rocking gently and she concluded she must have been on a boat.
If I am at sea, I am not so far from Thorold, she thought. Perhaps we haven't even left the harbor. She wondered-if she was indeed still near Thorold-could she get back? Could she warn them?
Her eyes dropped to her ankles and wrists, inspecting the bindings. She wondered vaguely if she could break them, but when she reached into herself to find the words to free herself, her mind was oddly blank. Frustration gave way to fear as the confusing fog continued to cloud her thoughts. She had thought herself stronger than a Hull, but it seemed they had overpowered her. Desperate, she began to tug on the bindings trying in vain to free herself.
"I don't expect that to work, but by all means, continue to struggle. It amuses me."
Nerili's gaze darted up. Across the room, a pale faced man with a flop of grey hair was watching her expressionlessly. There was a significant pause where the man's blank eyes assessed her dispassionately, then, very slowly, a toothy smile stretched wide across his face. It pulled his cheeks oddly tight and his eyes were reduced to glowing slits.
Nerili spit at the man. "That's what I think of your amusement you beast of the Dark."
The man's eyebrows went up but his face somehow remained impassive. "Those are bold…words from a woman. Especially a woman who is a prisoner at my mercy."
"Who are you?" Nerili asked sharply, ignoring the barb.
"Call me an acquaintance." The men slouched forward, still smiling too wide for his face.
"And how are you and I known to each other?"
"In the strangest of circumstances, I assure you." The man seemed to find this particularly entertaining and chuckled. "We have a friend in common."
Nerili searched the man's face. "I do make friends with servants of the Dark."
"Perhaps friend isn't the right word." The man paused in consideration. "A lover."
"I've certainly never loved a creature of the Dark." Nerili's chin jutted out stubbornly.
"Ah, but you have. And I tell you, little Bard, he is dear to me, too." The man stood above her and Nerili saw his eyes had changed color. They were bright red.
"Hull," Nerili hissed.
"You may call me Ignalt," the Hull demurred. "And you, you I will call Neri."
Nerili didn't let the shock of hearing the endearment from a Hull show on her face. "I reserve that name for my friends and family."
"That's who mentioned it to me." Ignalt watched her face, looking for that spark of recognition. "A name whispered like a prayer, how lucky to be loved so dearly if only for so short a time. It must pain you to know that the man who loved you was so recently in my keeping." When Nerili refused to show any anger at his taunts, Ignalt bared his teeth. "How quickly you dismiss love."
"I don't believe you," she said in a cold voice. "You lie to try and scare me."
"Oh, I lie? Then where did I hear your name?" Ignalt waited patiently while Nerili considered her words. "You know I speak the truth, and you are not even the least curious as to who betrayed your trust?"
"I do not think anyone betrayed me to you," she said at last and such was the certainty in her voice that Ignalt blinked.
"You don't wonder who did this?"
Nerili trembled, the rumors Elenxi had mentioned returning to her. "Your master has captured many Bards who know me. I couldn't begin to guess who you tortured to gather that information."
Ignalt moved farther into the room, kneeling down before the bars of Nerili's cage. He reached out and ran his finger down the bar, admiring the runes. "Ah, yes, I suppose it would be hard to hear, but you might as well have the truth from me. You see, it was poor Cadvan who I wrung the truth from."
Nerili had assumed as much, but she couldn't quite hide the pain that flashed through her eyes. "I do not think he betrayed me to you. I know him well enough to know if he gave you that name it was under duress."
"Oh, I don't think duress really covers it." He leaned in until his face was almost pushed against the bars. His bright red eyes moved over her face excitedly. "You would be embarrassed to see him in the state I left him. Crying, begging me to-"
"Stop." Nerili lunged across the cage, pulled short by her chains. "I don't believe you."
Ignalt hadn't moved back, but he tensed: even behind the bars and in chains, the Hull could feel a shadow of Nerili's power. "You don't have to. You will see soon enough the fate of the great Bards of Annar and seven kingdoms. You will join them."
"Ah, so you were sent like some dog to bring a prize back to your master. Why am I not surprised?"
Ignalt's eyes narrowed at the jib. "You might want to be careful, little Bard. I am part of the Nameless One's inner circle. When he's done with you, you will come to me."
It was no hollow threat, but Nerili wouldn't let the Hull cow her. "If I go before the Nameless One, being sent to you will mean nothing."
"I suppose I never thought of it that way before," said Ignalt reasonably, nodding his head thoughtfully. "I guess I'll have to make the most of our time together now, but where do we begin?"
Nerili swallowed loudly. There were stories whispered to child Bards about the horrors of Hull's creativity, the depths of their depravity, the nightmares of the Silence. She'd listened with the a morbid curiosity as a small girl, but had never seen the actual result of such nightmares. Even as First Bard, though she had read the histories and accounts of the Silence, she had never experienced the wrath of the Dark.
Ignalt sensed this and his smile widened. She might have a will made steel, but any smithy would tell you that steel was an ugly, common metal. It was a hodgepodge of iron, calcium and carbon, it was weak when put under pressure.
"Come now, you must have words for me? You, who are the First Bard of Busk, the leader of the island, must have something to say?"
"You don't deserve words."
"So, you think you are above me?" Ignalt's eyes glimmered. "You think I am unworthy of conversation? So be it, we will have no words. But I think you will soon wish you had deigned to speak with me." Ignalt hand, which had been tapping a staccato on the charmed bars suddenly clenched into a fist and Nerili felt a tightness in her throat. She drew a gasping breath but now sound escaped her. Ignalt watched her struggle for a while, her breath coming in short, sudden gasps.
"You need to relax, Neri. You're so tense, so nervous. Just learn to relax."
Nerili was scratching at her throat while she struggled to breathe. It was like Ignalt had reached into her chest and grabbed her lungs and was holding them tightly. They barely expanded, barely filled with air, she needed short, rapid breaths just to stay awake.
"We will revisit the issue of your speaking to me in due course," said Ignalt, sitting back and watching Nerili's chest rise and fall erratically. "First, you will sit here in the dark and learn to be properly patient." Nerili tried to curse the Hull but no words came out. Ignalt merely shook his head. "Perhaps gasping for each pitiful breath will teach you how to be appreciative of what you have. Perhaps you will learn gratitude for a merciful master?"
Nerili fell back against the bars of her cage, still drawing sharp, little breaths. Ignalt blinked. He wanted more, oh, yes, he wanted more. He wanted to break her bones, flay her alive, watch her squirm beneath him, but even that wouldn't answer the emptiness inside him. Her pain was one thing, but her fear, her loss, her anguish was another thing entirely.
Less tangible but far more satisfying, Ignalt thought.
The Hull stood and felt Nerili's eyes upon it. "You might be interested to learn, my lady First Bard, that tomorrow we will begin war on your stupid, little School. I expect, given our most recent victories, that it will only be a week at most before the School is destroyed and your people slaughtered."
Nerili slammed against the bars of the cage in her anger, but fell back again, rasping.
"Don't fear!" Ignalt said, waving his hands in a pacifying manner. A loose smile tore across his face. "Don't panic. I won't let you miss any of the fireworks."
For the first time in months, Cadvan woke before Maerad. He felt the narrow beam of light strike his face from the gap in the curtains Maerad left to rouse herself. For a moment, he was baffled. Not because he was at all angry to have been woken early, only because Maerad insisted on sleeping in his spot for the sole purpose of rising first. He frowned wondering how they had ended up in each other's places. Quite suddenly, though, the memories came back.
Cadvan saw flashes of Maerad naked to the waist, heard her gasping when he touched her and her crying out when he was inside her. He recalled, too, the vision she made when she sat astride his hips and rode him in the pale moonlight. He shivered at the recollections, wild with is desire for her. He closed his eyes and pictured her perfectly: pale, curvy body rocking gently on his hips, her breasts rising and falling with her panting breaths, her face cast in an expression of pure ecstasy. And when she looked down at him…when her wide eyes met his gaze and he saw nothing but a wild and fierce joy in her face…It was like she had cast a spell on him.
Daughter of Ardina, indeed. How did Ardhor survive her? Cadvan smiled faintly, glancing at Maerad, curled up where she had fallen in the crook of his arm. She was small in sleep, and supremely peaceful. Nothing of her wildness remained, he thought her as tame as a fawn. A simple Bard woman yet again.
Cadvan saw no reason to wake her, and instead slipped out from under the covers. He found his robe and wrapped himself tight against the chill of Dagra, pre-dawn. For a moment, he stood in the sitting room, wondering what to do with himself. It was the first time in months he felt truly at-ease, the first time he was content. Energy pulsed through him, though, and Cadvan found himself going about Maerad's usual morning activities: he stoked the fire till is crackled, he filled a bath and had a spartan wash, he waited until the small serving girl arrived and charmed a large breakfast from her. He found his way to the table with a sheet of paper and quill. His fingers itched, words were bursting in his head.
How long since I wrote? How many months since I was enticed by the beauty of words? He didn't look to the window where Dagra loomed in its horror and misery. He stared instead at the entrance to the bedroom where he knew Maerad yet slept. A perfect flower, bright in the dark. Should he compose her a poem? It had been years since he'd written anything for a woman, let alone something so…sensual. He tried to find words to describe her but found himself embarrassingly blank. Perhaps he should try something easier: a poem to described how much he cherished her beauty and her love and her selflessness in giving them to him. Breakfast arrived but Cadvan merely helped himself to coffee while his hand traced words on paper. It had been a long time since he had written anything at all and there were many mistakes and frustrated grumbling.
And Maerad found him that way: bent over a bit of parchment, muttering to his coffee. She stood in the doorway and admired him in the rising sunlight: serious face, tousled hair, long fingers flitting about. She grinned without realizing it and a warm tingling raced through her. She stretched luxuriously at thought of him the night before.
Cadvan finally felt her gaze upon him and looked up. Any words of greeting he had died on his tongue when he saw her in the silky white nightgown. "And good morning, or perhaps afternoon? I've been up a while but distracted by-" he gestured vaguely to the paper where she saw the scribbles. "I've been distracted."
"You should have woken me. I would have seen to the morning things."
"I wouldn't have dreamed of waking you." Cadvan rose up in a strangely formal greeting as Maerad approached him. She smirked playfully at him. "I'd never seen you looking so peaceful. It seemed a crime against nature to rouse you."
Maerad rolled her eyes but took her seat and served herself coffee. She glanced at the parchment, and though she still had a poor grasp of the written word, she could tell Cadvan was working on a poem. "What's this?" She took up the parchment, but struggled to make much sense of it.
"Ah." Cadvan gently dislodge her grip and folded the paper. "I am composing, madam. You may see it when the piece is done."
"Composing what?" she laughed.
Cadvan's smile had the quiet confidence of an artist with knowledge of his own skill. Maerad felt a thrill when she saw it, a part of her that longed for the magic of music and words was answered in him. "A poem, a song perhaps. I haven't decided. It is a long time in the making. I think I will need more time to consider my muse."
Maerad raised an eyebrow. "Your muse?"
"A strange creature, to say the least. Very fae." Cadvan's eyes danced. "I'm not really sure what to make of her yet."
"Hm." Maerad chewed a piece of toast thoughtfully. "You need to spend more time with her, I think. How else will you find the words?"
Cadvan nodded seriously. "I think you are right. Further study is necessary." Sitting across from her, Cadvan took a moment to watch her while she sipped her coffee. She tried to maintain an aloof look but failed and burst into a fit of giggles.
"Staring too long might be bad for your eyesight."
"Thank the Light I know a good healer." But Cadvan looked away, down to his own breakfast, and picked over his eggs.
Maerad wasn't sure what to do. She was still thinking of the night before, of the emotions and sensations that had rushed through her. She felt strange, staring down at her lap. She was fundamentally different, but in only good ways. And she felt like Cadvan was being entirely blasé about it, he hadn't mentioned their lovemaking, he hadn't mentioned the feelings. She wondered how he couldn't realize it was so important to her.
"How are you feeling, Maerad?" Maerad started and found that Cadvan's dark blue gaze was fixed on her, searching her with the intensity of a Truthteller. His eyes moved from her face down her neck, glancing off her arms and hands and waist.
"I'm fine."
His smile was warm. "Maerad, please, be open with me. Be honest. How are you?"
Maerad considered the question. "I feel like…I'm meeting a version of myself I didn't know existed. Or maybe I just didn't know myself before." Maerad frowned, grappling with her feelings, her insecurities, her embarrassment. "Does that make sense?"
"Of course." Cadvan had an idea of what Maerad meant, though he couldn't say the same for himself. He tried to recall his first time, how he had felt afterward, but realized in a moment that it didn't matter. What Maerad felt was real for her. "Are you happy with it? This feeling of your new self?"
"I think happy barely covers it." Maerad smiled recklessly. "I feel like there is a flower blooming in me. What a strange thing to feel, in the fastness of Sharma's tower in Dagra."
"I thought that, too," Cadvan admitted. "I often wonder how I can feel anything but despair, and yet, you look at me with such light and love that I can feel nothing else."
You must make your own light. Ardina's words echoed in Maerad's mind, and she wondered if this is what the Elidhu had meant. "Sharma will be disappointed to learn of our happiness." She toyed with her fork, smiling a little. "He'll probably be sick with jealously."
"Do you think he gets jealous?"
Maerad pictured Sharma when she had last seen him downing his wine. "You know, I've begun to think there's something not quite right with him."
Cadvan blinked. "You're just now realizing this?"
"You know what I mean." Maerad bit her lip. "Think about it. Before, when he needed the Song, he couldn't die, but he couldn't live. He was a void of life. Now, he is like…like the opposite. He has too much life. Does that make sense?"
"Not really, no."
"Just think of him. Before, he could not eat or drink or crave things or feel anything but pain. Now, he's voracious. He eats countless meals, he drinks enough wine to kill a man and he always looks-" Maerad cut off, thinking of how his eyes lingered on her. Before, she had seen the look of a cat hungrily eyeing a mouse. Now, he still eyed her hungrily, but she was certain it was a different hunger altogether. "He looks at things with desire, with lust. He is a glutton. He has too much life."
Cadvan's face darkened. "I had not thought of it like that. I thought he simply enjoyed tormenting people but…" Cadvan remembered the Nameless One licking the blood off his lips. He had thought it had merely been an act to disgust him, but maybe it was more. Was wine no longer good enough for the Nameless One? Did he crave blood?
"Ardina told me that in time, Sharma would realize the enormity of what he did. I think this is what she meant. He took a power into him that he should not have and I think it's destroying him."
"Could he die?"
"How can he? He is immortal now." Maerad shook her head uselessly. "It's all so confusing because it all sounds the same. Is being deathless the same as being immortal? Is a void of life the same as having too much life? He cannot die, but is he alive?" She looked up to Cadvan as if he might have the answers. "He must live, but how can life exist without death?"
"You said it couldn't destroy him," Cadvan said slowly.
"I think there are other ways to destroy yourself than dying."
Her words hung in the air like a haunting cry and Cadvan turned his gaze inward, thinking unwillingly of himself and his bondage. The Nameless One had said that he would live forever, a captive audience to the Nameless One's reign. Would he too become a void of life?
"These riddles go too deep for me," Cadvan admitted helplessly.
Maerad shook her head. "It is horrible to say that we must simply wait, but I do not think we will have much choice. Perhaps the truth will become clearer in time." She sat, tapping her fork wondering about more recent developments. "Cadvan, I had a thought…"
"Just one?"
She smiled narrowly. "When you first returned and the Nameless One said he would destroy the Speech, I mean."
Cadvan grimaced as if in pain. "Not something I particularly look forward to."
"You told him he had no idea what it would do to the world, to the Song." Cadvan nodded. He had chosen not to reflect much on that day, on what it would mean in the future. "Sharma told you that you didn't understand the Song or what it wanted."
"You speak as though it is alive."
"I think it is." Maerad caught his eye and held his gaze firmly. "At least, I think it's alive in some way we don't completely understand. But, I also think he was right. He said that the Song existed before the Speech, and we know Nelsor used it to make the Speech. What if-well, what if this desire to destroy the Speech isn't just Sharma?"
Cadvan frowned. "You think the Song is alive and possessing the Nameless One?"
"Not exactly." Maerad laughed suddenly at the absurdity of the statement. "I mean, it suits Sharma to destroy the Speech. It is the one weapon Bards have against Hulls and it is the center of our culture. Even you said it is what makes Bards, Bards. I imagine he would want it destroyed if only because it brings our people joy."
"But you think it's more?" Cadvan sat back, his eyes distant as he thought. "The Nameless One took the Song into him before he launched his campaign against the Dhyllin. The histories say he was always cruel, but he did not set his mind to war until he had the Song. You think…the Song made him do that?"
Maerad massaged her temples. "I don't know. Sharma is horrible enough in his own right. But, no one can deny the strange coincidence between using the Song and suddenly making war on the Dhyllin. Even the Great Silence was that-it was a silence of the Speech." Maerad slammed her hand down on the table in frustration. "The Song is old magic, Elidhu magic, but I don't think that makes it evil. Perhaps it has an aversion to the Speech."
Cadvan looked bemused. "The Song…wants to destroy the Speech?"
"No, nothing so simple as that. If the Song is alive and it was used in some way to create the Speech, perhaps it is repulsed by it. Like how flowers close their petals to the dark or bats avoid the sun: it is simply their nature. But Sharma is cruel, and Dark and full of hatred, and perhaps in him, the Song manifests differently? It lives in him, perhaps it is a mirror to him, reflecting back his own Darkness."
"Ardina said the Song wanted life, but she did not say what shape that desire would take." Cadvan thought of the Nameless One's wide, toothy grin as he tasted his blood. He was a being a longing and desire, and those desires were Dark. "You may be right, Maerad."
"Even if I am, it doesn't help us stop him." She felt again her failure to defeat Sharma.
Cadvan sensed her despair and took her hands in his. "Not yet, but this is important. If we are to defeat him, we must understand what he has become. It seems he draws much of his power from the Song. Could the Song be taken from him?"
Maerad looked away. "I don't know how. Hem and I made it whole and he took it. Besides, what use could it be?"
"Think. In another person, would it be different? If the Song reflects the soul of the person it inhabits, could it reflect their Light? Could the power the Nameless One turns to Dark purposes be used instead for Light?"
Maerad stared at Cadvan, uncomprehending. "I don't know. They would have to break the bond between Sharma and the Song first."
Cadvan debated pushing the issue with Maerad, making her understand that perhaps she was the one who could break the bond and take the Song herself. But Maerad seemed fearful of the Song, almost repulsed by it, and besides…
Besides, she's had her share of the Dark. She deserves some happiness.
"It is something we should think about," Cadvan finally sighed. "I keep thinking that our battle is over and we can bury hope, but the Light take me! I am desperate for something."
Maerad's gaze dropped. "Hope in equal measure to despair."
Cadvan sat back in his chair. He wanted to take her back to the bedroom and love her, he wanted to spend the day demonstrating how much light there could be in the world. He wanted her to know that not all hope was lost. But there was a loud pounding on the door that silenced them both.
"Saliman?" Maerad asked curiously.
"One could hope." Cadvan stood and went to the door, and when he opened it, a frown transformed his face. "Haven't you gone on your merry way to burn Busk yet?"
"Rather keen, aren't you?" A Hull entered the room, pushing past Cadvan with an air of smug entitlement. It was easy to forget sometimes that the room, the palace, everything, belonged to Sharma and his Hulls had a right to enter when they pleased. But whenever they did, it hit Maerad anew that she was a prisoner, and even though her prison didn't have bars, she was very much a captive. She moved to stand but the Hull held up a hand. "Please, don't stand on my account, mistress Maerad, you look thoroughly exhausted."
Cadvan's glower was impressive. "What business do you have here?"
The Hull approached the table and snatched a slice of toast from Maerad's plate, taking a bite and chewing loudly. "Where did you get this food from? I thought they were keeping you on dog kibble." Maerad pulled the robe tighter around her, covering the delicate shift beneath. "If you wanted breakfast, you need only ask. I'll have the kitchen staff send something to you master…?"
"Nadel." The Hull tipped its head graciously. "And, there's no need to put yourself out on my part; my dietary preferences are rather eclectic."
Maerad looked up at the Hull, chewing her toast with a twisted smile and felt a shiver run down her spine. She composed herself all the same and said blandly, "Then to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
Nadel swallowed loudly and tossed the leftover toast on the floor. "Our master requests your company for some court entertainment. It seems the usual audience is busy and you two will have to suffice."
Maerad frowned, thinking of the court of Hulls. "And why has his usual audience gone to that he must have me and Cadvan?"
"I couldn't begin to guess why." By the look on his face Maerad suspected he did know. "As for the who, it seems your brother's skills are suddenly in demand."
At the mention of her brother, Maerad felt the usual fission of fear, and Cadvan stepped up to fill the silence. "And what entertainment has he prepared for us?"
"A dramatic play."
Cadvan narrowed his eyes, but he was aware that a summons from the Nameless One couldn't be ignored. "Then we shall join him in the throne room in due course."
"He says to come now," Nadel said swiftly. "The show begins soon and he doesn't want you to miss the exposition."
Cadvan glanced at Maerad, looking small and vulnerable. "Maerad, fetch a warmer robe. It may be cold in the throne room." She opened her mouth to refuse but he caught her eye with a severe look. "Be quick."
Her eye lashes fell over a fiery glare, but she stood up stiffly and crossed to their bedroom. Nadel watched her go and shot a mischievous look at Cadvan. "So, you've finally decided to put the girl in her place, have you? Made a biddable little mistress of her?"
The stormy look on Cadvan's face would have quelled a lesser man, and it was hard to keep his tone level when Hulls constantly taunted him with Maerad's servitude. "I haven't made anything of her."
Nadel smirked. "She was such a headstrong woman when she was brought here. Now she's as well-behaved as a hunting hound. It's a compliment, Cadvan! You keep a tidy household."
Cadvan sighed, shaking his head in muted disgust. "Tell me, Nadel, when you were a man, did you have a wife?"
The Hull's eyes glimmered. "A wife who thought to have her own lead. But I was fortunate enough to live in a time when a husband could take his wife to task for her behavior."
"I pity that woman."
"You would because you don't know any better," agreed Nadel. "But, I think you'll find as time goes on, that it is far easier to keep an obedient woman then an independent one. She should be an escape from your struggles, not a war unto herself."
Cadvan made no comment. Aside from the fact that Nadel hadn't been human in centuries and most likely observed antiquated ideals regarding marriage, he knew that the Nameless One and his Hulls were aggressively enforcing a strict patriarchal society. Maerad had been right in one thing: anything that reflected Bard customs or beliefs had to be destroyed. Women couldn't be equals to men in this new world.
"You will see, Cadvan. You are young and proud and want a woman who is like you, but you are also older and wiser and how will you make her see sense?" Nadel's smile was knowing, his eyes laughing as Maerad emerged from the bedroom. "Her stubbornness will wear thin. You will see this."
Maerad wore a thick blue robe that swirled around her feet as she stalked forward. She'd obviously tried to tame her hair and had drawn it back off her face so it fell down her back in a black fall. She eyed Nadel with open dislike as she drew alongside Cadvan.
"And you do not bother to bring Cadvan a robe of his own?" Nadel demanded. "Idiot girl!"
"I didn't ask for one," said Cadvan tersely, and waved the Hull off. "Should we not be hurrying to the throne room? Doesn't the Nameless One demand our presence at once?"
Nadel shrugged. "If you want. I'm sure our master would forgive the delay if it was to teach Maerad a lesson."
"Take us," Cadvan said firmly, taking Maerad's arm.
"Of course, young master," Nadel said ironically and swept from the room.
"And what is this entertainment that Sharma has planned?" Maerad wondered. "What new nightmare has he worked for us?"
Cadvan was firmly wishing that he was back in his rooms. "He's probably torturing small animals."
Nadel snorted with laughter but said nothing as the descended to the throne room.
Maerad and Cadvan were surprised to find the throne room was well lit and there was laughter echoing off the walls. They walked the length of the room a step behind Nadel and saw that a small circle of Hulls were gathered around the Nameless One cackling like hyenas. As they drew nearer they saw that the pool before the Nameless One's throne emitted an eerie, pale light that offered no warmth at all. As they approached the crowd of Hulls parted and the Nameless One straightened in his seat. Maerad saw a merry light in his eyes.
"Finally. You should know better than to keep me waiting so long." The Nameless One took in the sight of Maerad in her dressing gown and Cadvan in his shirt sleeves and his smile took on an ironic edge. "Of course, if you were otherwise engaged, you could have sent word."
"What have you called us here for?" Cadvan said in thick voice.
"It is my right to call my servants to me when I wish. You should remember you wait on my pleasure." The Nameless One waved at a servant girl who came forward with a carafe of wine and filled two more glasses. The Nameless One gestured to them. "Please, have a glass."
"It's a bit early in the morning for me," said Maerad stiffly as the servant proffered the glass. She watched the Nameless One pointedly take a long draw on his wine.
"You need to learn to relax, mistress Maerad. Have a glass of wine, enjoy yourself." When Maerad continued to stare at the glass but not take it, the Nameless One frowned. "Drink the wine, Maerad."
It was a command, stern and forceful, and Maerad felt the weight of Sharma's will. Since the singing, Sharma had rarely used his power to force Maerad to do anything, preferring to mock and threaten her in public instead, and the feel of it was overwhelming. She felt intense pressure behind her eyes and her arm jerked froward. She managed to clamp it back against her side, but the gesture had not gone unmissed by the Nameless One.
"Just take some if you want it. No one here will judge you." The Nameless One's eyes moved to Cadvan, sparkling with amusement. "And you, young Cadvan, have some wine. We have a long day ahead of us."
Cadvan accepted the wine and was shocked when he looked up into the face of Iris, the mayor's daughter Likud had taken possession of. She stared back in mute horror at Cadvan and he knew she was reeling from such close proximity to the Nameless One. He wanted to offer her a kind word, but he feared any tenderness on his part would only make her a target for the Nameless One. He managed a brief smile as she stepped back. "And what will be our entertainment? It seems that Nadel didn't have any information regarding that."
"Bring them chairs and put them beside me," the Nameless One said sharply to Iris, who hurried back to find seats for them. He would say no more until the cushioned chairs were arrayed before the throne and Maerad and Cadvan had taken seats. He watched them shift uncomfortably on the thick cushions, refusing to learn back. Their tension seemed to amuse him and he winked at the nearby Hulls.
"Is it too cold? Shall I have them bring you braziers for your feet?" His eyes dropped to Maerad's small white feet, which she swiftly tucked beneath her. His eyes moved to Cadvan who remained emotionless. "Or a cloak to ward off the evening chill?"
"Maerad and I are comfortable," said Cadvan. A flicker of anger in the Nameless One's eyes was all the warning Cadvan needed. "My lord. We are comfortable, my lord."
"Very good." Cadvan wasn't sure if the Nameless One's words were directed at the use of his formal title or their comfort, and sipped his wine again. "I've called you here because the finale of my campaign is about to begin. My armies prepare to lay siege to the School of Busk and I would have us watch it together."
Cadvan turned a look of fury on the Nameless One, but he didn't seem to notice. "The first blow has already been delt. Nerili of Busk has been taken from the School itself and is even now a captive. There is no hope left for the School."
Maerad closed her eyes so the Hulls wouldn't see the pain there. She mourned Nerili's imprisonment, but, contrarily, was pleased she was alive. It was a hard reality to accept, and she wanted nothing more than to be away from it.
"If victory is assured, why bother watching?" Cadvan asked simply. "Surely, you have better things to do than see a School burned."
"Cadvan." The Nameless One shook his head sadly. "You know there is more to war than just the outcome: the journey is more important than the destination. I would see what defenses Busk raises against me, I would see the passion of their doomed battle, I want to see the people who champion the Light even as the Dark overwhelms them."
"Why make us watch?" Maerad asked petulantly.
"Because you need to see there is no hope." The Nameless One spoke to Maerad, but she suspected his words were directed at Cadvan. Now that the Song was his, she was didn't matter, of note only because he was her prisoner. "I can torture you all I want, but I do not think it is pain that breaks your soul."
Cadvan managed to recover from his shock and anger. "I suppose this shouldn't surprise me."
"And you told me that my cruelty no longer fazed you? I am pleased to see that there is something in you that is still repulsed by me. I was worried after Lirigon that might have broken you."
"Was that not your intention in the first place?" Cadvan asked sharply.
"It is, but over time. We have an eternity together, Cadvan. If you fall apart now, I will be thoroughly bored," he said with relish.
"I'm not a game," Cadvan returned in a hard voice.
The Nameless One's hand shot out and caught Cadvan's wrist. The grip was firm enough to grind his bones and Cadvan bit back a sharp shout of protest. The Nameless One pulled Cadvan sideways with enough force to that he was jerked partially out of his seat and hung over the arm. He stared up at the Nameless One wordlessly.
"You are whatever I say you are." Cadvan felt the weight of his words and shuddered. "And now, I say you will sit here with me while we watch the razing of Busk. You will contribute to conversation and entertain me when the battle is dull. You will enjoy yourself." The Nameless One held Cadvan a moment longer before throwing him back.
He slouched in his chair, a glint in his eyes. "As you wish, my lord."
"Girl!" he snapped at Iris who jumped. "Make sure the food and drink are in ready supply. I don't want any of our glasses empty."
Iris nodded, too fearful to speak. Maerad caught her eye across the room and gave her a small, encouraging smile. Her face was blank, eyes filled with a dull fear. It took her a moment to spot the faint glow around the girl and realized she was a Bard child. Maerad shot a dark look at the Nameless One for forcing a young girl to serve him. The Nameless One smirked and gestured to the pool before them.
"I believe the show is about to begin. May this last stand of Light be true and fierce and enduring." The Nameless One raised his glass to Maerad and Cadvan and waited until they returned the gesture. "Because I want a good show."