Chapter Three
Maerad paused outside the entrance to the cell with the Lirigon Bards. They were curled up against each other, using their bodies to create a fragile human warmth. She recognized the white hair of Nelac, but he was the only one she knew. One Bard, a woman with bright red hair like Silvia, rolled over and curled up against the First Bard, Vaclal. For some reason, Maerad felt shy being in the presence of Bards who didn't know her, like they were judging her for failing them.
"I wonder that we should wake them," Maerad said softly to Hekibel.
"You said you would give Nelac the cloak, no? It's cold down here. It would be a terrible thing if he caught sick, he's older than most and it could be serious for him. Besides," she said with a brave smile, as if guessing at Maerad's feelings, "they are good people. They were very kind to me when I knew them."
Maerad ran her hand over the uneven cold stone. "You're right."
The two women passed over the threshold and the Bard keeping watch stirred, holding out her hand so the light in her palm filled the room. Calis recognized the young women standing before her, though she had had few words with them since her imprisonment, and gently shook Vaclal's shoulder. He woke instantly, jolting upright and upsetting the red-haired woman who rested near him. Last was Nelac and the male Bard that slept to his left.
Upon seeing Maerad, Nelac drew a sharp breath and moved in her direction. He was tugged back by his own chains, which wrapped around his wrists. "Maerad," he said reaching out a hand. All her reserve vanishing in a moment, Maerad darted across the room, dropping to her knees before him, and clutched his hand against her breast.
"Nelac, I'm so sorry," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop him, and I'm sorry you're here-"
"This is not the time for apologies," he said in a rough voice. When Maerad looked into his face, she saw the bright light that usually shown in his eyes, dimmed. "We are gone far beyond apologies. We must be strong now."
Maerad lifted Nelac's hand to her lips and kissed it. "We are-we have been."
Nelac held her gaze for a long moment, unfathomable pity rendering him silent. The last time he had seen Maerad, she had been fleeing Norloch with Cadvan, a brave, blazing look in her eyes as she rose to meet her destiny. But this time-this Maerad-was a sad, resigned woman. She cut an impressive image that reminded Nelac of Milana: tragically beautiful, her body bent by the Dark will that she had been unable to defeat.
"I know you have been brave," he said gently. "Braver than any other Bard, for you have faced the Nameless One."
Maerad was suddenly aware of the other Bards in the cell, the ones who saw her but didn't know her. She had betrayed their faith in her and she wished fervently she wasn't there. "You've all been brave."
Vaclal moved a little closer. "So, you are Maerad of Pellinor. The girl who would destroy the Nameless One." It sounded like an accusation until Maerad noticed Vaclal's apologetic look. "I wondered when you might make your way to visit us. I admit, I am surprised that the Nameless One allows you any freedom at all. I would have expected…well, I would have thought something else."
"I am no danger to him so long as he has the people I love," Maerad said in a tight voice, thinking of her brother. "It serves him well to keep me here, I think. A constant reminder to Cadvan to maintain his loyalty."
Selmana had moved forward in the dark to study Maerad closer, and at those words, she gasped in recognition. Cadvan's lover, Maerad of Pellinor, daughter of Milana. Descendent of Anghar, too. Selmana had been keen to see this woman since her arrival in Dagra, curious to meet the girl who shared blood with Ardina. She was, Selmana thought, at once like Milana and Ardina. When she knelt before Nelac, head bowed, she looked like her mother: thoughtful and stern and powerful. But when she'd looked up to face them, Selmana saw a wild vividness in her angular face that spoke her close kinship with Ardina. She possessed the loveliness of a mortal woman, but something about her seemed too wild for comfort.
She's perfect, thought Selmana. It's no wonder Cadvan fell in love with her. Again, an uncomfortable sensation settled in her belly: jealousy and bitterness. She had long since forgiven Cadvan for killing her cousin, and she truly believed that he deserved to be loved, but how was it fair? Cadvan had done awful things, and yet he was allowed the chance to love again? Part of her thought that, yes, he deserved the love of a woman, just not this woman.
Maerad felt the intensity of Selmana's gaze on her and turned to face her. Selmana stared a moment, trying to find words to express the confusing ball of emotions growing in her chest, but couldn't. She said blankly. "Greetings, Maerad, I'm Selmana of the First Circle."
Maerad guessed as much, but the name sounded familiar. This was the woman Hekibel had gone to stay with in Lirigon. "I cannot say it is nice to meet you. But in a different place or time, perhaps then, yes."
Selmana couldn't stop the smile that crossed her face. "You sound much like your mother."
This pulled Maerad up short. "You knew Milana?"
"I lived in Pellinor for a time. I helped her and the other Bards defeat the Bone Queen, and after I stayed on, training under Milana herself in the arts of Making." Selmana bowed her head, burdened by the memory of her death. "It was terrible to learn of her death."
Maerad's eyes widened. The Bone Queen, the Dark creature Cadvan had summoned in his youth. "You helped stop the Bone Queen in Pellinor with my mother?" In all their time together, Cadvan had never mentioned that the defeat of the Bone Queen occurred in Pellinor, or that he had fought alongside Milana. For some reason, his omittance hurt.
"And your father," said Selmana. "Milana and Dorn, and all the First Circle of Pellinor-"
"This is a story for another time," said Vaclal sharply, sensing a change in Maerad's air. "And certainly a different place." Selmana cast a hard look at the First Bard, but shrugged in agreement. "Why have you come to visit us, Maerad?"
She looked helplessly between the Bards. "I-I came to see how you all did. To ask if you needed anything, and I also brought this." She dug in the basket and removed the heavy cloak, proffering it to Nelac. Nelac accepted the cloak gratefully, wrapping himself in it tightly.
Calis, though, eyed the goods suspiciously. "How is it you have come by such things? And why are you allowed to gift them to us? It seems passing strange that the Nameless One would allow you to visit us, help us, even if it did mean hurting Cadvan."
There's the accusation, Maerad thought with a bitter smile. "The Nameless One needs you alive long enough to help him cast his spell. It serves him well to see you kept alive."
"But, why let you do it? Forgive me, girl, but should you not be imprisoned like the rest of us? Should you not be chained and caged as only befitting the enemy of the Nameless One?"
"Not all chains are made of iron," Maerad said ironically. She was suddenly conscious of the ribbons knotted tightly in her hair, the find dress that restricted her breath, the bedroom she shared with Cadvan that was meant to be a mockery of her person. "My cage is just a bit more spacious than yours."
Calis frowned but Nelac sensed there was more to this than Maerad cared to say. "I do not think we should be suspicious of any help offered to us by a Bard of Light."
Vaclal caught Calis's eye before nodding in agreement with Nelac. "Then what is the word from above? Has the Nameless One captured the west? Does he prepare for battle with Thorold?"
Maerad shook her head. "Il Arunedh has fallen, and I suspect he will send his soldiers west to aid Enkir's war. Thorold must be last."
Vaclal's face darkened and Maerad noticed how tightly his hands were clutched. It was the first time she remembered that this Bard, like Malgorn and Cadvan and Saliman, had his mind broken by the Nameless One. She marveled at his endurance, for she was sure the Nameless One had been as cruel and careless with him as with all the others. As if sensing her attention focused on him, Vaclal glanced up and smiled ironically at the young woman.
"Would that I could fall into despair and cower in the dark, but there are innocent lives at stake and I cannot abide my own self-pity." But, quite suddenly, he flinched as if he had been struck upside the head. "The Nameless One enjoys the suffering of others."
Maerad wished fiercely now that she had brought more food for these Bards, and cursed her own selfishness and desire to see only Silvia. There are others who will need your help now, not just those you love.
"What can I bring you to ease this pain?" Maerad asked finally, an impending sense of helplessness gripping her.
"Maerad," said Nelac softly, shaking his head. "There is little you can do now to hold back this tide. Remember that it will please the Nameless One well to see you miserable, and if you take it upon yourself to make this right, you will be defeated."
Maerad narrowed her eyes. "I can't sit aside and watch as this happens."
"You can't make everything right," Nelac pressed. "Remember that, at least. If you let this Darkness weigh you down it could destroy you."
Maerad turned away from Nelac's intuitive gaze, his words echoing closely to Silvia's. Perhaps he knew how she felt, how all around her she saw people suffering, people dying, and blamed herself. She shied away from the gazes of Bards who she had been meant to save, craving only the company of those who loved her unconditionally because they, at least, forgave her all her failures. But she found she couldn't turn away from the suffering. She saw it stretched before her in the dead lands of Dagra, and she saw it at night, when she sat with Cadvan, she saw it when she visited the Bards in the tower…she saw it everywhere and she couldn't turn away though it was tearing her apart.
It could destroy me, she thought, looking down at her hands. Yes, this darkness is almost unbearable. She closed her eyes a moment and Ardina's words came back to her: You must make your own light.
When she opened her eyes again, she felt power prickling under her skin. It was faint, it was weak still, but it was there. Like a flame, it needed to be stoked, it needed life breathed into it. She smiled crookedly at Nelac and saw surprise flit through his eyes as if he had seen something there that unnerved him.
"It will take more than Sharma's darkness to end me," she said in a firm voice, taking his hands and squeezing them tightly. "The Light is not gone from us yet."
Owen watched Nerili nervously. No amount of counsel meetings made her less intimidating, and now, poised on the edge of destruction, she had turned fearsome. She reminded him of the ocean: at times, calm and safe, gently rocking his boat in a smooth motion; other times, fearsome with waves ready to consume him. Now, though, she was like the sea before a storm, a placid surface under which stirred madness.
"We'll need to move quickly when the time comes," said Nerili thoughtfully. "We can't send our people away yet, or the Dark will know. Besides, they've nowhere to go with the west shore in turmoil. There will come a time, though, when the west is conquered and the Dark sails for us, that is when we must strike."
"That's a small window, my lady," Owen said uncertainly.
"The smallest," she agreed. "Almost as soon as we have word that the Black Army is sailing for Thorold, the people must depart it, heading north."
Owen considered the probability of coordinating such an escape. "Evacuating all the towns and the School will be difficult."
Nerili breathed heavily, debated telling him the truth, then flashed him a brave smile. "We will move swiftly, and so, when the armies of the Dark arrive, they will find the Schools and cities empty. They will have wasted weeks upon a voyage, and all for nothing. In the interim, we will arrive on the continent and seek out our fallen brothers and sisters. We will rally the Bards and launch a new campaign on the Nameless One."
Owen trembled at the venom in Nerili's voice. She was a woman of implacable will and had anyone else suggested they challenge the Nameless One himself, Owen would have thought them mad, but not Nerili. He nodded his head thoughtfully.
"They won't expect it, that's for sure. By the time they get wind of us, we'll be long gone." He thought of the island, though. Thorold had been his home all his life, to abandon it seemed sacrilege.
Nerili guessed the tenor of his thoughts. "Have no fear, Owen, our people will return to Thorold one day. We were born here, the island is in our bones."
"You're right, my lady," Owen said bravely. "It breaks my heart to leave her, but one day, my children and my grandchildren might live on her shores again."
"The future we all struggle for," agreed Nerili, and bowed him form her chamber.
Nerili moved slowly through her room, around her desk, and took her seat heavily. The truth, of course, was that no one's children would ever live on the shores of Thorold again. Bad news traveled faster than the wind, and the birds were already back from the mainland with word from Gahal: Maerad of Pellinor was a prisoner in the Dark Tower. The Nameless One had reclaimed the Song.
She sat back in her chair, thinking of the stories she'd heard as a young girl: terrible stories of Bards taken back to Dagra, tormented, abandoned, dying in Darkness. She thought of herself, First Bard of Busk and one of the only Schools to refuse him through even the Great Silence. He would come for them now and there could be no escape. She had told Owen they would all go, but the truth was that the common people would leave Busk, and every willing Bard would remain behind to defend the passage though the mountain. They would stay and fight the Black Army, and they would be slaughtered-if they were fortunate.
But that will not be my fate, Nerili thought, her heart sinking. For the rumors Elenxi heard were true, too. The First Bards go to Dagra, to go before the throne of the Nameless One himself. She stared at her hands, wondering. How long will I last? Will I do right by my people and by the trust they placed in me when they named me First Bard?
She shuddered, a cold, curious part of her wondering if she was stronger or weaker than Cadvan. He had gone, and he had fallen. If she was stronger-willed then he, she would last longer, no? But was she stronger-willed than Cadvan? The nightmare of the Nameless One holding her down and breathing on her face hit her like a slap and she flinched. It had only been a nightmare and that had been enough to undo her.
She lifted her face and stared blankly around the room. Am I that weak?
It was a while before Nerili managed to shake the dark memories and turn to the paperwork before. There were notes on the quantity and quality of food stores, how many men, women and children it could feed and for how long. There were lists of households with names of each family, any valuable skills the family members might bring to the community, and valuable items they might have. There were notes from the School on the medical supplies they would send with the people, animals that could be spared to help move. She ran her finger down a list of Bards who were healers; they would spend the next few months offering medical training to the common folk. She traced a line on a map that ran through the mountains of Thorold, the path the people would take to the north side of the island to meet the ships. Nerili and her First Circle had decided the route, and it had been chosen specifically for its complexity. When the soldiers of the Black Army finally got the past the School and began searching for the people of Thorold, they would have a hard time of it.
They will get away, she told herself firmly, staring at the line drawn on the map.
She bit her lip, though, looking back down at the dot on the map that indicated the School. There was one last conversation to have with the First Circle, and it was going to be the hardest. Bard children were enrolled at the School, Bards had babies too young to know if they had the Speech. The Dark would hunt down Bard children if they were sent away with the common people, but they certainly couldn't keep the children here to be taken as slaves? Nerili helped herself to a small glass of wine, preparing for a bitter council meeting.
When she entered the council chamber, Nerili was unsurprised to see how unhappy the Bards looked. Kebeka in particular was frowning around the table, her fingers drumming a low, steady beat on her glass of water. The Bards of the First Circle rose when Nerili entered, though, and bowed their heads.
"My friends," Nerili said solemnly, tipping her head before sitting down.
Kebeka didn't wait. "It's a dark day, Nerili, when we must decide whether young children must die."
Elenxi glowered and opened his mouth to speak, but Nerili held up a hand to stay him. "There are many dark days before us, Kebeka, this none the least." She glanced from face to face. "But we have no choice, so what do we do?"
"There is no way we can send them away? What if we don't send them with the common folk, but with a few parents for a different place in Annar?" Arnamil said thoughtfully.
"We would have to send the families," Elenxi said sharply. "At the very least one parent would have to leave. We'd halve our forces."
"Perhaps, but can we abide children being slaughtered?" Kebeka looked swiftly at Nerili. "We know we will lose this battle and engage in combat only to buy our people time. Why not the children?"
"Wherever they go, they will be hunted by the Dark," Nerili mused. "During his last uprising, Bards escaped the Nameless One and those Bards proved to be his undoing. The Nameless One will hunt down our people aggressively, even the children."
"Then we sacrifice the children to his wrath?"
Elenxi saw the strain on Nerili's face. "Perhaps we can make an exchange?"
Kebeka pressed her lips together. "What sort of exchange have you in mind?"
"As powerful as the Dark has become, I'm sure no Hull is interested in fighting if they can avoid it. They know what we are capable of regardless of whether or not their master has returned to power."
"You suggest we surrender in exchange for the lives of the children?" Kebeka looked skeptical. "The Black Army isn't going to sail all the way out here and not raze the School."
"No, I'm not suggesting we just wave a white flag as soon as the ships come into view. Quite the opposite, really. We need to make the Black Army want our surrender. We must fight so fiercely that the Black Army cannot afford to continue the battle, make it too expensive to justify a fight. That way, when we offer our surrender, we can make demands."
Nerili felt a smile teasing her lips. "Clever."
"We will ask for mercy for the innocent," said Kebeka.
"Why should the Black Army give it?" asked Arnamil darkly. "And if they show us mercy, what form would it take?"
This drew silence from the council, and Nerili's face darkened. "Begging for mercy from the Dark doesn't sit well with me, but there is little recourse. Or do we surrender our children to the mercy of the Black Army?"
"We'll have to keep them in the School," said Kebeka at last. "Someone will have to guard them."
Nerili paused, torn between two options: as the First Bard, she should be with her people where the fighting would be fiercest, but as the First Bard, the single most powerful Bard in the entire School and the greatest threat to the Black Army, she should also be with the children in School, defending them when the Hulls arrived. A part of her despised of the idea of staying back in the School, watching her people fight while she was relegated to watch children. She glanced at Elenxi, who seemed to guess the direction of her thoughts.
"We will need you to treat with the commanders of the Black Army, if you are taken too early, it could prove disastrous" Elenxi said slowly.
"True, I will be able to demand the trade if I am with them," said Nerili unhappily, "but then I cannot fight the Black Army, and you will need me there."
"We do not fight to win," reasoned Kebeka. She finished her water in one swallow.
"No, but we need to fight long enough to convince the Black Army that we are a threat," Nerili said, "and I can help do that. Who, more than me, has the right to fight the Black Army? I am the First Bard of this School, it is mine to defend."
"If we lose you too early, it'll be ruinous," Kebeka said in a hard voice. "The First Circle can fight, and you can coordinate with us from the School."
Nerili pressed her hands flat against the table. "Who is more prepared to fight the Hulls?" she murmured, "Who is stronger?"
"We do not doubt your strength," said Kebeka in a gentle voice. "It is because of your strength that you must be here. You can defend the School when they arrive."
Or, perhaps you cannot, a voice whispered in Nerili's ear. Perhaps you wish to be down in the fray so no one will see you fail. If the fate of the School rests on you, they will be there to watch your break under the will of the Dark.
"I won't be able to hold back the might of the Dark alone. It will be best if the rest of you can meet me in the School for our last stand."
"Of course, we'll come," Elenxi said swiftly, so swiftly Nerili knew he was lying. "We'll stand by you until the very end."
Saliman tied his braids back off his face and inspected a rather ugly bruise on his cheek: remnant of his last encounter with the Nameless One. As council with the Nameless One went, it had been fairly sedate, and he counted himself fortunate he'd escaped with nothing but his bruised face and pride. He glanced up in the mirror and caught his own gaze: even he could see the spark had left his eyes. He sighed heavily.
"Handsome as ever." Hekibel appeared behind him, smiling halfheartedly. She had spent enough time among the Bards to recognize their sudden turn of temper, and she saw the shadows cross Saliman's face, heralding melancholy.
A tight smile settled on Saliman's face, but his muscles were still sore from the Nameless One forcing him to smile and he dropped it. "Well thank the Light you still think so. I can't imagine I'll be doing much courting among the Nameless One's courtiers."
"I should think not!" Hekibel said sharply, and slipped her hand into his, pulling him away from the mirror. In the sitting room, Hekibel reclined on one of the chairs, watching Saliman pile wood on the fire to drive off the cold. "What did he want with you?"
"The same as always," Saliman said evasively. He didn't want to indulge in the specifics of his last meeting with the Nameless One because it hurt his ego, and, more importantly, it would terrify Hekibel.
"You Bards think you're so cleaver with your words, don't you?" Hekibel asked with narrowed eyes. "How cunningly you lead us simple folk with nothing but your smiles and words. But I'm a bit faster than a country maid. What happened?"
Saliman shot her an amused look. "It seems I am cursed to always underestimate you. My mistake, mistress Hekibel." He took the seat beside her with his back to the fire and his face was cast in shadow. Hekibel found it rather scary. "The Nameless One has captured friends of mine, and he has set me to the task of interrogating them. I am disgusted by the notion, but I think I will be gentler than the Hulls."
"You don't have to torture-"
"No." Saliman's eyes gleamed in the poor light. "I will not hurt another person, not if I have any say in the matter, but I will still have to betray them to the Dark."
Hekibel thought this wasn't quite so bad as he was making it out, but chose not to point it out to him since it had clearly upset him. "When?"
"Tomorrow morning." Saliman slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair suddenly. "Is this how the Dark does its work? Turning friend against friend, forcing us to betray those beliefs we hold most dear?"
"Must you go?" Hekibel reached out and wrapped her hand around Saliman's fist. Under her palm, Saliman's hand relaxed. "Has he forced you?"
"No, but if I don't, I am sure something terrible will happen to them." Saliman frowned up at her. "There are horrid stories of the men and women who were taken to Dagra and interrogated during the Great Silence, and now, they ring clearly in my mind. I will not allow that to happen to someone I love."
"Then perhaps you do not betray them," Hekibel said kindly, and she lifted his hand to her lips, kissing each knuckle in turn. He watched, his face softening as she pressed her lips to the soft, warm skin on the wrist.
"You are a blessing, Hekibel."
She lifted her head, eyes bright. "You say such pretty things, Saliman."
Saliman pulled her gently out of her seat and drew her face to his and kissed her deeply. She carefully arranged herself on his lap, not breaking the kiss, and Saliman's hands ran though her hair, over her neck, and down to her waist. She pressed against him as Saliman deepened the kiss and he felt the curves of her body flush against his chest. He drew back a moment and then placed a line of kisses down her neck to her shoulder. Hekibel arched back, exposing more of her throat and hummed with pleasure.
"I think I'll go made for wanting you," Saliman whispered harshly against her throat.
"Well, we can't have that," she murmured in a low voice. She sat up straighter, her hands wrapped around the nape of his neck. She tilted her head slightly in the direction of their room.
Saliman's smile glimmered in the dark. "Temptress," he said as she slid off his lap and stood, offering him an imperious hand.
They stumbled back into the room, Saliman's hands on Hekibel's hips, and she chuckled low in her throat as they fell back onto the bed. Saliman levered his weight onto is hands while Hekibel tugged at his tunic. They rolled on the bed and Saliman held himself up so he didn't crush her when he landed on top again. He led a luxurious line of kisses down her throat, nipping her collar bone.
"If I'm a temptress, you're a rouge," she said throatily, "seducing young women away from their homes in the middle of the night."
Saliman chuckled and stood suddenly, going for the torch that flickered in the wall. The room fell into darkness and he said, "If memory serves, you're the one who came chasing after me."
"An unfair argument," Hekibel murmured when Saliman rejoined her and began pulling at the laces on her gown. "I thought you were going to die."
"If I am rewarded like that for a brush with death, I shall have to do it more often." And Hekibel could say no more because Saliman's lips captured hers in a kiss, and they didn't break for a long time.
When the morning came next, Saliman was the first up. He and Hekibel didn't keep a household like Cadvan and Maerad, and besides, he would have balked at the thought of ordering her to wait on him. Of course, the Nameless One's revelation from the previous day had explained quite a bit: Maerad's behavior, her change in demeanor, her dress. Saliman smarted on her behalf, it was an insult of the highest nature to call a daughter of the House of Karn a whore and reduce her to a servant. He wanted to mention it to Cadvan, to curse the Nameless One and his vindictiveness, but he knew that Cadvan wouldn't speak of it.
Not for you, he thought, looking fondly at Hekibel. She was wrapped in a thin sheet, and the sun light filtering through the windows was bright enough that he could see the contours of her body through it. She was, Saliman thought, the loveliest woman he had ever known, and it took all of his discipline to leave her and the bed and prepare for the day.
Of course, this day would go hard on him. Interrogating his friends in the name of the Dark left a foul taste in his mouth and he tried to wash it away by drinking steaming cups of bitter coffee. He wondered what the best approach might be. To come at them frankly and tell them the truth: if they didn't give him the information they would be tortured? To be gentle and plead with them to surrender? To tell them he feared for them and their loved ones if they refused? Could he demonstrate that service to the Nameless One wasn't as terrible as it seemed?
Saliman choked on his coffee at this last thought. No, that would be a lie even I couldn't stomach.
He was just finishing his breakfast when Hekibel emerged from the bedroom, stretching. Her gold hair tumbled down her shoulders and back and she smiled blithely at the sight of Saliman. For a moment, Saliman's dark thoughts left him.
"Up and about, lady Hekibel," he said politely, gesturing to the table and breakfast still laid out. "Will I be enjoying your company as you break your fast?"
"If the fare tastes as good as it looks, then yes." Hekibel made an ironic bow and took a seat opposite Saliman.
"Eggs, muffins, fruit," Saliman said, filling a plate for her. "Unfortunately, the coffee seems to have vanished."
"All on its own?" Hekibel asked curiously.
Saliman nodded seriously. "I'm afraid so. I told it to stay but coffee is notoriously fickle."
The two dissolved into laughter and Hekibel, who was watching Saliman's face carefully, felt a pang of nostalgia take her. Or perhaps it wasn't nostalgia but longing for a future that could never be: sitting over a delicious breakfast, after a night of lovemaking, watching the man she adored laugh. In that moment, she realized this was what she wanted more than anything else, and, after a beat, realized it could never happen. A future lost. It was so painful that she almost dropped her fork and dissolved into tears.
Saliman, sensitive to Hekibel's emotions, perceived a change in her. His smiled slipped and he asked, "What is it?"
"What is what?" Hekibel replied swiftly, suddenly intensely interested in her muffin.
"You're sad," said Saliman simply.
Hekibel shot him a rueful look. "You Bards are too perceptive for my liking." When Saliman continued to watch her wordlessly, she sighed. "I was thinking that this morning is one of the happiest in my life."
"And that made you sad?"
Hekibel reached across the table and laid her hand on his. "It made me sad because this will never be our life-not really, anyway. There will always be monsters, and Hulls, and the Nameless One. I feel like we're putting on a play, just acting the part of lovers, but soon the show will end, the curtains will be drawn and then we must meet the audience."
Saliman stared at their hands. "I think of that often. There are moments-few moments, mind-but moments when I am happy. Mostly, those moments are with you. And I wonder, how can I be happy when so many terrible things happen around me? How can I smile and laugh and feel love when the world conspires to tear out my heart?" He looked up and Hekibel was shocked by how desperate he looked. "But then I remember that I still serve the Light, and the Light commands us to love. And I remind myself that it is okay to feel love, or else the Dark would truly win."
Hekibel nodded slowly. "Doesn't it hurt, though, knowing this will never truly be?"
"Never be?" Saliman asked nonplussed. "It is now. Perhaps yes, in a different world I would have loved you and married you, and taken you to Turbansk where we would have a home with all our wild children running about, but that doesn't mean this love we feel is any different."
"I would have liked to give you children," said Hekibel, smiling dreamily. "I would have liked a home full of little girls with their father's eyes and little boys with my smile."
Saliman leaned over the table, resting his chin in his hand. "Obviously, they would all have my hair. We can't send them off to School with straw on their heads, they'd be made fun of!"
"My hair is not straw!" Hekibel protested, but the dark mood was leaving her. She eyed the hundreds of braids, her fingers itching to run through them again. "I'd have my work cut out for me, braiding hair like yours."
"It's easy with a little practice," Saliman demurred.
"You'll have to let me try sometime," she returned with equal verve, and Saliman laughed heartily before standing.
"I think I will demonstrate how one braids before letting unexperienced hands near mine. But rest assured, it will be necessary in the future and you will be my first choice."
Hekibel glanced at the door then back to Saliman. "You're leaving soon?"
"There's work I must attend to though I promise I would rather stay here with you." Saliman bent and kissed her firmly on the lips. "I will join you for dinner tonight."
"I'll hold you to it," said Hekibel warmly as Saliman turned and left.
Once the door to his room was closed, Saliman paused, sequestering the memory of Hekibel sitting at their dining table firmly in his memory. He had an idea that the next few hours would be terribly unpleasant and having the image of Hekibel foremost in his mind would help. With the thought of dinner with her set firmly in his mind, he made his way down the stairs to the entrance of the dark tower. He was unsurprised to find Ignalt standing by the door, inspecting his white, sharp nails.
"I wondered if you would actually come," Ignalt smirked. "I owe Likud a few coins."
Saliman clamped his jaw shut before a sharp response escaped him. "I was told you would take me to meet the Bards in need of interrogation?"
Ignalt smiled honey slow, showing all the sharp teeth. "That's what they are to you? Just the Bards? Are these not your friends of old? The men and women who helped you escape the minions of the Dark when Turbansk fell? You repay them poorly, Saliman."
"It is not my choice how I repay them. I serve your master." Saliman was looking slightly over Ignalt's shoulder, refusing to meet its mocking gaze.
"Do you, you little traitor?" Ignalt's hand shot out and grabbed a hank of Saliman's hair. The Hull dragged him forward and Saliman stumbled under his feet. "I think you lie. I think you do this because you hope to spare the Bards torment in our dungeons. You betray our master, and I'm going to punish you for it."
The feel of Ignalt's hands on him was overwhelming. Saliman thrashed about, trying to wrest Ignalt's hands out of his hair. "Let me go you beast of the Dark."
"I don't take orders from slaves," Ignalt hissed, and, with strength far greater than Saliman thought of a Hull, slammed him against the nearest wall. Saliman's breath rasped out of him and Ignalt chuckled, and pressed Saliman against the wall to whisper in his ear, "You are weaker than you know, Saliman. Your body was broken by the White Sickness and your mind was broken by our master. You have no will, you have nothing."
Saliman paused in his struggle. Was the Hull right? He tested his strength against the Hull, pressing back with all his might; Ignalt didn't budge an inch. A cold feeling crept through Saliman at that. When he tried to access his Gift, summon White Flame to cast the Hull out, nothing happened: it was like a wall had fallen down around the part of his mind that controlled his Gift.
"Something wrong, First Bard? Finding your power wanting?" asked Ignalt, laughter in his voice.
Saliman let the fight go out of him, waiting for the Hull to lose interest. After a moment, it loosened its grip on him. "Are you going to take me to the Bards, or will you be the one to explain to the Nameless One why they were not interrogated?" Saliman waited a moment, sensing Ignalt's trepidation. "He requested that I personally speak to them."
"You are fortunate that our master values your clever tongue. But be careful, I suspect it will not last long. You Bards…you wear on a person after a time." Ignalt's presence suddenly fell away and Saliman turned about to see the Hull brush itself off with smug satisfaction. "But come! Come and see what we have made for our Bards."
Saliman had an idea that whatever he was about to see would disgust him, but he followed Ignalt. They left the tower, passed through the courtyard where stable boys were anxiously waiting for their masters, and through the gates. Saliman tried not to marvel at the sensation of passing through the gates, because a part of him suspected he would never leave the tower again, and he walked under them with a blank, polite look on his face. He was rewarded with look a frustrated animosity from Ignalt. The Hull clearly viewed Saliman's disinterest as an insult.
They made their way slowly from the tower along a cobbled road and approached the imposing gates that surrounded the ghettos where the Bards were kept prisoner. Saliman balked at the corpses that someone had dangled over the edge: their eyes and tongues had been plucked from their skulls so the stared out of bloody sockets, red tears falling down their cheeks. For a moment, Saliman reconsidered entering the ghetto and wondered what would happen if he tried to backtrack. Ignalt heard his feet dragging and spun around, grabbing Saliman buy his arm and dragging him forward. They passed under the shadow of the gates and someone from within opened threw open a small door.
The stench of decay hit Saliman first, long before he saw the rotting corpses that were piled against the wall. The deathcrows that had attacked Turbansk landed on the pile, plucking at loose skin and decaying flesh. There were dogs snuffling around the pile and Saliman wondered how they could bear the scent of death, but then he saw their misshapen limbs, distorted snouts and strange colored fur, which wasn't fur but patches of raw skin exposed to the sun. As Saliman watched, one of the horrid Dark beasts tore a limp arm out of the socket of a body, shaking it back and forth until the sinew that held it ripped. Another dog, smelling blood, shoved forward and began lapping at the puddle that formed on the dirt.
"Your kind are weak things," observed Ignalt in a soft voice. "You die like reeds in the autumn, the merest breeze withering your roots."
Saliman whipped back around, surprised by the rather eloquent, if dark, description of his people. Ignalt was a Bard once, Saliman though, following the Hull through a narrow street toward a building where he surmised the Bards were kept. Perhaps they do not forget.
The building was nondescript: large, slat grey, its windowless façade facing toward the ghetto proper where Saliman suspected the captive Bards were living. It seemed strangely out of place, all grey and cool in a world of sand and dust and unforgiving heat. It was almost like a void in the space and when Saliman stepped in its shadow a shiver raced through down his spine. Ignalt was watching Saliman closely, as if guessing the track of his thoughts. "This is where we interrogate the rabble. The true enemies of our mater go to the tower." The Hull showed him the heavy wooden doors that were set with stern iron bars. "These doors burn the hands of any who touch them; we've had a few of your folk learn the hard way."
Saliman retracted his hand carefully from the door and let Ignalt maneuver it. There was a moment when he stepped over the threshold that it was difficult for him to see, the inside was so dark. The interior was lit by the eerie glow of sickly green torches and the smooth flagged stone floors reflected their flickering light. After his eyes adjusted, Saliman began to make out the carved walls inlaid with a series of heavy, metal guarded doors. He could hear shrieking coming from a long way off and steeled himself.
The Hull watched his face carefully, hoping for a glimpse of despair, but Saliman had come from the fastness of the Nameless One and it took more than their miserable place to perturb him. "Your friends are this way," the Hull said gruffly, turning from Saliman and setting off down the hall. "We've prepared them for you, and you're to be given three hours with them to extract the necessary information. After that time, we'll be doing our work."
"And what information is it that I'm to acquire?" Saliman wondered, ignoring the Hull's barb.
"These Bards know where the Ernani is hiding, and we'd like that information." Ignalt came to pause before a door and made a bowing gesture. "You know, I never put much faith in the words of Bards. Your tongues are quick and clever, but when it comes to persuasion, you fall so painfully short. I shall be interested to see how you fare with them."
Saliman nodded to the door stiffly. "You're wasting my three hours."
Ignalt smirked all over his pale face, opening the door. "May the Light make true your tongue." A spasm of fury passed through Saliman's eyes as Ignalt spoke the Bard's traditional welcoming cup chant. He shouldered past the Hull and into the chamber beyond, the lock clicking into place behind him.
The chamber Saliman had entered was something from a nightmare. A beam of light shone from the ceiling, forming a ring of light around a stone slab raised off the ground. In the hazy light, Saliman could see rust colored stains, scratch marks in the smooth surface. There were chains dangling at either end, but they didn't terminate in cuffs, just more jagged chain. The floor was made of the same smooth stone as the hall, but it was wet, like it had been washed recently, and the light from the one hole glanced like a knife edge in their surface. A smell of blood, fear and urine hung about the room and Saliman had to breathe through his mouth to stay the vomit.
A low grunt alerted Saliman to the presence of others, and, after straining his eyes into the dark corners, he saw the outlines of men and women. He took a step and quite suddenly, the torches in their brackets flared into life and the room was thrown into sharp relief. He saw at once what Ignalt had meant when he'd said we've prepared them for you: the captive Bards had been gagged, stripped down to their underclothes and strung up along the walls. They looked painfully helpless.
You're one to talk, he thought. He might have had the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet, but Saliman might as well have been chained up somewhere.
"Soron," he breathed, splashing through the stale water and ripping the gag from his mouth. He embraced him, pressing his forehead to Soron's. "This isn't how I hoped we would meet."
Soron's croaked, "So, it's true what they say? Saliman of Turbansk was taken by the Dark?"
Saliman pulled back, fearful of the mistrust and disgust he would see in Soron's face, but the other Bard just looked on him with pity. "It was a long, dark road that brought me here." He moved in quick succession, tugging the gags out of each Bard in turn.
Hared, who tested the chains that held them, spat on the floor. "I get the feeling you've not come to rescue us?"
"I'm afraid not," Saliman murmured, while he checked a cut on Orona's cheek. "I have come because I was told you would be interrogated by Hulls, and I hoped to save you that torment."
Nimikeri looked doubtful. "And who told you this?"
Saliman's hand slipped on Orona's cheek. "Who else?"
A deep silence settled over the room and it was a time before Soron said, a tremor in his voice, "You have spoken with the Nameless One?"
"Spoken with him?" Saliman snorted. "Aye, you could say that."
"There are dark rumors in this place, Saliman. There are people who say you serve the Dark, that you were at the capture of Desor and the razing of Lirigon and Innail," Narbila said. "But you would not betray the Light so."
Saliman licked his lips nervously, recalling the frustration Cadvan had felt when the Bards of Lirigon had accused him of treachery. Then, he had advised Cadvan ignore it, now, he felt a stirring of shame. "You must believe me when I saw I would not willingly betray the Light."
"Unwillingly?" Soron asked in a low voice.
"Unwillingly," Saliman hesitated, then pulled up his sleeve and showed them his bran, "I am conscripted to the Nameless One's cause."
A sigh escaped the chained Bards and Hared said, "So, Sharma sent you down here to torture us?"
"No!" said Saliman sharply. "No. I came to help you as best I could. In three hours' time, the Hulls will come back and they will question you, and I think we all know the methods they prefer. If you speak to me, give me the information they want, I have it on the Nameless One's word you won't be tortured."
"The Nameless One's word?" Hared cried incredulously. "And when has that been trustworthy? When has he said aught but lies? We could sing you the secrets of Turbansk and he would still see fit to torture us!"
"I swear," Saliman said, looking pleadingly from face to face, "he'll keep his bargain with me. He's done so already-"
"What bargain did you make with the Dark?" Soron demanded, looking horrified. "Saliman, I counted you among the best men I knew, and now you say you have made a deal with Sharma?"
Saliman looked on helplessly, the sense of time ticking away making him anxious. But Soron will understand, he thought desperately, Soron, whose lover died in Turbansk will understand the sacrifice I have made.
Saliman turned to look at him, his face distressed. "You have to understand, there was someone I loved very much, and she wouldn't have survived the war with the Dark."
Soron's lips pressed together in a tight line, his eyes bright. "So, Sharma turns that which we love against us then? He was always clever like that."
"More than you know." Saliman glanced from face to face before turning down to stare at his feet. "He wove a cunning trap and we're bound to him now: me, Cadvan, the First Bards…none of us can escape him."
Harad was searching Saliman's face, and though he felt terrible pity for the man, he couldn't betray the Light. His look was steely when he said, "Saliman, I believe you when you say you were forced by circumstance, but it doesn't change why you're here. You come as a servant of the Dark. We cannot tell you what we know."
Saliman's head shot up. "Hared, if you don't tell me the Hulls will come-"
"Then let them," hissed Nimikeri. "We all have our battles to fight, and this shall be ours, for we will not betray Turbansk."
"They will torture you, they will break your minds." Saliman glanced at each one in turn, but they had set themselves against it. "Please, I beg of you, do not do this. You can't imagine what it's like."
A palpable shiver raced through the air, the Bards inspected Saliman with renewed interest. Orona mused, "You do not look like a Bard whose mind has been shattered."
Saliman made a vague gesture with his hands. "I have a service to provide the Nameless One, he cannot afford to drive me mad."
"I thought it was part of the process?" wondered Hared. "Forcing a Bard's mind requires breaking them?"
Saliman gave him a hollow smile. "Then perhaps I am one of the lucky few who has had his mind forced but lived to speak of it. I understand now, though, why a Bard goes mad for it. It was unbearable pain during and after, I wished for death, but it wouldn't come. I was made to live, and I was made to live with my sanity and it is torture now. I can't think of any of you like this."
His words seemed to have some effect on Soron, who swallowed and looked bleakly at Hared. "The prospect doesn't sit well with me, Hared."
"I won't fault you," Hard said slowly, "but I will not betray the Light to the Dark." He switched his gaze up to Saliman. "You were brought before the Nameless One himself, and there is no shame in your defeat, but I will be dead before I bow to a Hull."
An image of Likud striking Cadvan across the face surfaced in his mind. Certainly, Likud wouldn't be interrogating them? "The Hulls grow in power. As the Nameless One gains strength, so too do his servants."
Hared bared his teeth. "I can't, Saliman. I know you would have me surrender, but I can't."
Saliman bowed his head. "I do not wish to see you suffer. I cannot bear the thought of you being tortured. I beg you, please, just speak to me! I have seen the cruelty with which the servants of the Dark treat our people, and I know it will destroy you."
Again, uncertainty and fear mingled in the faces of some of the Bards. It was well and good to say you were unafraid of torment, but to live it was something altogether different. It was as if Saliman's words were throwing open the doors of their memory and the stories they'd heard about the Great Silence and the Bards who were taken to Den Raven resounded in their ears. But like before, it was one thing to hear the stories, and entirely different thing to live them.
"Please, tell me where the Ernani is hiding," Saliman said softly, his voice a thin plea in the deepening silence. "They will extract the information from you if you refuse, the things I've seen the Hulls do…"
"Stop, Saliman." It was Soron and though he was pale in the gloom, his eyes were blank. "Perhaps when this all over and the Hulls have taken from us what knowledge we have, they will free us to join the other slaves. Perhaps when we, like you, are slaves to the Dark we will meet again and commiserate in our misery, but for now, we cannot give you what you ask. Like as not, your serve the will of the Dark, and until our minds have been broken by the Hulls, we serve the Light."
Saliman shuddered. "I am not your enemy."
"Be sure we know that. And certainly, we will join you soon in thrall of the Nameless. Now, though, we are enemies of the Dark. Would you do anything different?"
It was a hard question to answer because Saliman knew, had roles been reversed, he too would have refused the Dark. "I do not wish to watch you suffer."
"The Dark is clever," Orona murmured. "You failed Sharma, and I suspect the knowledge of our torment is your punishment. But remember, he will seek to drive us apart, and this is just one more trick." She smiled fleetingly at him. "My love for you is not dimmed by your fate, I do not blame you for surrendering to Sharma when he gave you such a choice."
There was something liberating about the Bards agreeing that Saliman was not guilty of betrayal. It didn't matter that there would be no justice. To hear from the men and women that he counted as friends that his service to the Dark had not turned them against him was a release, a pronouncement of the Light still in him. They didn't view him as a Hull, they didn't think him a traitor.
"I do not look forward to the day when we are equals in our service to him," Saliman said after a long time. "It will bring me no joy to see you all brought to such ends."
"It'll be a long time if we've any say in it," Soron said sternly.
As the Bards would not tell Saliman where the Ernani was, and Saliman realized that pleading with them was pointless, he took a seat on the driest part of the floor and spoke to them instead. He asked how the war against the Dark went in the wider world, was Annar still holding out, was Enkir really moving toward a swift victory, where were the refugees hiding? They had little to say, for few of them had been to Annar, but the word was that the Bards were determinedly holding Enkir back, and though it seemed like a useless fight, they would continue until the very end. In turn, the Bards asked Saliman what had happened since his capture. Though they didn't ply him with questions about the Nameless One and his own suffering, they were curious about his life in Dagra. What did a Bard of the Light do in service of Sharma?
When they ran out of the questions, they spoke morosely of the prospect of a life in Dagra. As of now, it seemed that Bards were simply kept behind the gates of their prison. They were not put to use, though everyone agreed it was a matter of time before Sharma called on them. They wondered what it would be like on the other side, how they would live once the torment was over and wars settled. How did life go on when the world was falling down around them? Saliman had little to say on their front: he knew his future, there was no more wondering.
The three hours passed slowly and Saliman jumped at the sound of approaching Hulls. He rose up stiffly, stretching and looked once more around the room. The Bards met his gaze with the same determined look they had given him when he first arrived, and though the sounds of laughter and metal scraping on metal turned their blood to ice and paled their faces, when the Hulls opened the door to the cell, they stared the Hulls down stubbornly.
Ignalt was in the lead, strolling into the room with a look of causal curiosity. "So, tell me, Saliman, have you done as you promised? Have you used your clever wit to loosen their tongues?"
Saliman swallowed loudly. "No, I haven't."
Ignalt glanced at him, eyes bright. "Ah, but you said you would do this thing for our master. You have lied to him."
The Bards was watching the exchange seriously. None of them had considered the impact their refusal might have had on Saliman.
"I did not lie."
"You failed him," Ignalt corrected, coming closer. "And failure is no small thing among us. Failure needs to be punished, weakness must be driven out. He will be most displeased with you."
"I have felt the Nameless One's displeasure before, I think I will bear it again."
The smile on Ignalt's face stretched wider still, and then his hand snapped out and caught Saliman's across the face. Saliman stumbled sideways, fetching up against the table in the center of the room. "But this is more than failure, this is betrayal. And I think we all know who pays the price for your betrayal."
Saliman snapped about, his eyes frantic. "I didn't betray the Nameless One, not in thought or in action." Soron, who hissed when the Hull struck Saliman, noticed the change in his voice: fear. Who would pay the price if Saliman betrayed the Nameless One?
"Oh, but you have. You're a liar, a traitor to our cause. You didn't even try to convince these idiot Bards to tell us where the Ernani was, did you? You never had any intention of helping our master. You traitor!" Ignalt grabbed Saliman by his hair and flung him with across the room. "I will tell our master you're a faithless little whelp and he will have your woman punished!"
"Wait-" Soron said, but the Hull was ignoring him, prowling closer to Saliman.
"It's about time you were finally taught a lesson. You and your smug little friends who run around our tower, thinking yourselves untouchable because our master uses you. But you will see now that there is price to pay for your lies, you will not escape justice." Ignalt stepped on Saliman's hand, crushing the bones until Saliman gasped. "How do you prefer it? Do you want to see the poor woman tortured, or are you too cowardly to watch? Will you hide from her while we do our work?"
"I didn't betray you!" Saliman snarled. "I failed, but I didn't betray you."
"Our master will decide that, but be assured, I will tell him what I think." Ignalt leaned closer, whispering now. "But you must still be punished for your failure. I think you will stay here and watch while we work. A lesson for you, so next time you tell our master you can question prisoners, you'll know the proper method."
Saliman shook his head wordlessly. The last thing he wanted to see was his friends tortured.
"Yes, yes I think that will be best." Ignalt straightened and gestured to one of the Hulls watching. "Get some chains and tie him up against the wall. Saliman is going to be our audience today."
"No," he said, struggling against the strength of Ignalt as he dragged Saliman toward a space near the door. "No, you can't do this! I won't watch!"
"You'll see every moment of it," Ignalt laughed while its fellow Hull fit fetters around Saliman wrist. "You'll see how to work properly, how to serve our master loyally. It will be educational."
The other Hull tugged the chains and Saliman was hoisted up to his feet. He looked on, his face a strange sickly color, as the Hulls moved a table into the room. They placed strange metal objects, instruments of torture, on table. In the low light Saliman could just make out the sharp edges that glinted like teeth. His eyes snapped up to Soron who was looking ill.
Ignalt went to the table, fingers floating over tools with pleasure. "Where to begin? Saliman, have you any thoughts on what might work best? No?"
One of the Hulls approached Nimikeri and wrapped a strand of her hair about its fingers. "I think a hammer, a mallet, something crude to start, just to loosen their tongues. We can move on to the finer points later."
"You may be correct, Tanzin. We will begin with idle chat, some light conversation. There's so much time before us, so much opportunity to get to know each other." Ignalt lifted a short mallet, swinging it so the weight of head whooshed through the air. The Hull looked from face to face, taking the measure of each. "Ladies first, I think." He swung the hammer between Orona, Nimikeri and Narbila, humming idly, before stopping midair, the head pointed at Narbila. "We'll start with her."
