Sorry this took a little longer than usual to publish. Hope it was worth the wait!
Chapter Five
The aftermath of the summoning of the Shika was long and exhausting, and it fell almost entirely on Maerad and Hem to see to the Bards. They varied in the degree of their fatigue, seemingly a function of their role in the summoning. Nelac was utterly spent. After Hem had set the bones in his hands he had promptly asked for water then fallen asleep. The three Bards that had occupied the other points of the circle, Cadvan, Saliman and Vaclal, had been reduced to slouching on the floor, stuttering with the cold. Their hands shook as they clutched cloaks or blankets around their shoulders, their fingernails were tingled blue, their lips numb. The rest of the Bards were in a state of bemused shock, too weak to stand, willingly accepting Maerad and Hem's ministrations. Maerad and Hem had known that performing spells could drain a Bard of their energy and strength, but this summoning was clearly exceptional.
"Lean on me," Hem directed, pulling Cadvan to his feet and helping him balance. "We'll get you over to the a fire. You're as cold as a corpse."
"Y-you certainly know h-how to make a man feel better," Cadvan chuckled. "I'm a corpse?"
Hem flushed at the blandishment and smiled sheepishly up at Cadvan. He was still intimidatingly stern and Hem, lacking the close connection Maerad had with him, felt awkward making jokes with the man, but he tried anyway. "For some reason, the people I tended in Turbansk were always in a dark humor."
Hem was pleased to see Cadvan's quick smile. "You r-really are Saliman's apprentice."
Saliman glanced up at Cadvan and Hem approached. "In what way?" he asked curiously, offering an arm to help Cadvan down. Hem waved it away at once and precariously helped Cadvan sink to the floor.
"We're both excellent healers," Hem said shortly. His gaze flicked over Saliman again. "You're sure you don't have any broken bones? I know you want me to see to the rest but-"
"Aside from a co-cold, I am well. Use your Gift for the others." While Saliman's speech was broken, his hard gaze wasn't, and Hem retreated like he'd been lectured.
It took much of the day, but Maerad and Hem sifted through the Bards, offering aid where they could and comfort where they could not. Hem, who was already closely attending to Malgorn made a thorough inspection of the older Bard while Maerad sat by Silvia, letting her rest her cheek on her shoulder and smoothing her hair while she shook with tremors from the summoning. Vaclal was as bad as Cadvan and Saliman, and Hem spent time rubbing his hands, trying to bring life back to the cold fingertips. Selmana allowed Maerad to check her over, smiling a little as she worked.
"Your brother looks just like Dorn," she said softly. "He'll be the image of him when he's older."
Maerad had heard the sentiment before. "I think he'd be pleased to hear that."
"You look very much like your mother," she said. But too much like Anghar.
Maerad glanced up at her. "I'm not sure I'm pleased to hear that. I think you knew a different woman then I did. All my memories of Milana were her sadness."
"She was troubled even when I knew her," Selmana agreed. "Like many powerful Bards, I think she sensed a Dark change. But I think you should know, I do not think it scared her. I think it only made her sorrowful."
"I'm glad she did not live to see this," Maerad finally said, pushing Selmana's hair out of her eyes and checking that the pupils were dilating. "As much as I miss her and my father, I would never wish to see them here."
Selmana glanced over at Cadvan who, along with Saliman, had managed to crawl to Nelac to care for him while he slept. She had a sudden urge to speak to Maerad without Cadvan in earshot. Not that she wanted to say hurtful things about him, but…she wanted to tell Maerad who she was, how they were connected. A part of her naturally wanted Maerad to recognize her cousin's role in Cadvan's life, not to be petty or cruel, just because Ceredin deserved to be remembered.
"Loving is hard, especially when the people you love are gone," Selmana said in a soft voice. Something in her tone must have caught Maerad's attention, because she glanced up curiously. "Maerad, I know you not exactly free with your time, but I would like to speak with you in private at least once. And no, you don't have to look so worried, I would just like to share a few things about myself. Things I think you deserve to know."
"What of?" Maerad asked, sitting back. "And why in private?"
Selmana threw caution to the wind. "Do you know who I am? Besides a student of your mother's and a member of the First Circle?" When Maerad shook her head dumbly Selmana sighed. "How much has Cadvan told you about himself?"
Maerad felt a cold shiver run down her spine and she stiffened. "I trust Cadvan, no matter what happened in Lirigon-"
"That's not what I mean!" said Selmana quickly, impressed by the ferocity in the girl's voice. She clearly loved him. Of course, he had a natural ability for making people love him. "I'm not trying to poison you against him. He saved my life, I fought beside him, I certainly trust him as much as you."
Maerad hesitated in going. After Thorold, Maerad had naturally been forced to consider Cadvan's lovers before her, but she would have been surprised to find another before her so soon. If this woman was a previous lover of Cadvan's…she thought of the night before, the intimacy of letting him touch her. The idea was unbearable, and she flushed.
"He didn't mention you," Maerad said in a small voice.
"I don't think he would." Selmana saw her pink cheeks and had a good idea of what might be passing through her mind. "But he might have mentioned my cousin, Ceredin."
This was not was Maerad expected and the color drained from her face. Her eyes darted over her face, searching for some resemblance, but she saw none. "I'm sorry, I didn't know she had family that were Bards."
"We were the only ones in our family who ever showed the Gift," Selmana said with an ironic smile. Clearly, she was not so gifted now that she was trapped in Dagra. "That's not the point. I don't know how much Cadvan spoke to you of her, but I thought maybe you'd like to know about her? Things maybe Cadvan couldn't tell you."
Maerad's mouth had gone dry. Obviously, she was curious about the woman Cadvan had loved so deeply and so dearly he had spent his life in tribute to. She recalled the brief glimpse of her she had seen and immediately felt inferior to the memory of her challenging smile, her clear pretty face and proud tilt of her chin. Maerad wasn't sure she could bear to hear about her predecessor who seemed superior in every way.
"By the Light, I've made a mess of this," said Selmana ruefully. "Maerad, it's not my intention to hurt you or Cadvan or whatever there is that stands between you two. I'm not foolish enough to think that Cadvan would have gone the rest of his life without loving another, and I'm not angry that he loves you. But I thought I would offer to tell you about her, but I think I can see now that it was foolish of me."
"It's not foolish." Maerad was thinking again of how Sharma had used her love against her, and how Cadvan had warned her that secrets of the heart had been their undoing. She took Selmana's hand again. "It's not foolish at all. I saw her once, you know, in Cadvan's memories. I think he still misses her."
Selmana made a strange face. "That's almost sad. It's been a long time to remember her. And she would have wanted him to be happy." She flashed Maerad a small, encouraging smile. "I think you make him happy, and that's saying something, considering where we are."
Maerad swallowed hard. "I'd like to hear about her."
"Perhaps we can find time soon." Maerad mentioned that she ought to go check the other Bards, and she bowed slightly before leaving. Selmana watched her go, pleasantly surprised by the girl, and thought of her cousin, who would have been here now had she not died. It was hard, but in some way, she was glad Ceredin had died before she'd met her fate here.
The Shika struck in the west only once before it vanished from the current plain of existence, but the blow it delt was decisive. The Bards in Ileadh at the School of Gent had urged the common folk to flee to Amocen before Enkir struck, but even as the people loaded their wagons and cleared out their houses, a strange sensation came over the people. It was like a cold hand reached down their throats and squeezed their hearts; some of them shivered and held themselves tight, others clutched at their chests like they'd had a stroke. The Bards, that felt the shift in the shadowplains as the Shika approached, were jerked to attention, rushing to find the cause of the disturbance.
The Bards that knew what they were looking for-some incredibly dangerous creature of the Abyss-searched for a rift in the fabric of reality. They found the creature quickly because light itself seemed to bend around it, and though it was difficult to make our the exact shape and proportions of the thing, those that studied Reading knew they were dealing with a Shika. It circled around the School its presence like a wraith that siphoned the strength of the people below it. When it cried, soundwaves reverberated through the air but, since they couldn't actually be heard by human ears, just shattered glass. Where its wings beat, lines of fire exploded into existence in space and tore gaps between the plains so that any people nearby were pulled through to the deepest realms of the shadowplains. For any unlucky enough to be attacked by the creature, they quickly winked out of existence, the Shika's claws rendering them into pieces before sending their bodies to another plain. A few truly unfortunate souls were harvested by the Shika: it breathed in their life force and left behind mindless, empty shells of men and women. These victims were taken to the Healing Houses, but they remained catatonic, staring blankly at the walls.
While the Shika tormented the School, Enkir launched his campaign. The Bards tried to rally their troops, but there seemed little hope of even summoning White Fire while the Shika lingered there. It was a short siege: the Shika left on the third day, by which time Enkir's troops had already broken down the gates to the School. By the time the First Bard Gahal and Circle were found, and personally sentenced by Enkir to be banished with the rest of the traitors to the wastes of Den Raven, the people had surrendered and asked for mercy. Enkir wanted to show mercy and allow the Bards of the School to remain if they swore allegiance to him, but two strange Bards who wouldn't name themselves and who traveled everywhere with Enkir, urged him to send all the Bards south. They whispered in his ear that the Bards of Gent were traitors and had to be punished. They would have to beg for mercy from the Hulls in the south. Enkir agreed, and soon, the Bards had been cast out of the School and were being escorted to Den Raven by the strange, nameless Bards that looked at them with red eyes.
The murmur of a large crowd floated up from the great hall below and Maerad submerged herself in the bath water to drown out the noise. As if this is a reason to celebrate, she thought bitterly.
A few days after summoning the Shika, Likud had smugly told the Bards that the captives of Il Arunedh had arrived and to celebrate the capture of their School, the Nameless One was throwing a great feast for his loyal servants. Maerad had hoped she might be excused, but it seemed he wanted music for his feast, and Maerad would take that place of honor. In a great mockery to her pride, Likud had presented her with her lyre, bowing low and asking if she would do them all the honor of playing for the evening. She'd taken the lyre, cradling it like it was her infant, and she ran her hands along the battered wood where the runes of the Song had once been. She'd received word the morning of the feast that the Nameless One wished her to be presentable for such an important night and demanded she wear her finest gown.
Presentable, indeed. Nothing I own is presentable, Maerad thought, flicking through her gowns in her mind. They are all an embarrassment. She emerged from the water, taking a deep breath and tossing her hair so it slapped the smooth stone behind her loudly. She carefully scrubbed her face, her neck, over her body and under her nails before slipping out of the bath and wrapping herself tightly in towels. She watched herself in the mirror as she pinched her cheeks to raise a faint pink blossom of color and bit her lips until they puffed.
"I thought you'd drowned," Cadvan said mildly when she left the bathroom. He was lounging on the couch, trying with no success, to get a flame to spring to life in his hands. He kept trying to call on his Gift but it was like trying to hold sand, it slipped away through the hole in his mind. He glanced darkly at Maerad who was watching him behind a wet webbing of hair.
"You shouldn't think of water when you're trying to burn," she said softly. She knew by now that Cadvan took the loss of his Gift seriously and teasing him was an insult as well as cruel. He had told her once, in a strangely muffled voice, that it was like having a limb cut off. He had told no one else besides Saliman, though it seemed Likud was aware of the fact and liked to taunt him over it.
She joined him before the fire, taking his hand in hers and concentrating on summoning fire. She didn't speak a word, she simply thought of a flame living inside her like a candle. She tried to imagine passing it to Cadvan like pouring liquid fire from her hand into his, imagined her flame burning through his blood. She opened her eyes to watch Cadvan's free hand. A brilliant blaze burst to life and Maerad gasped in pleasure. As soon as she lost focus, though, the fire flickered and died.
"That was your flame, not mine," said Cadvan in a dead voice.
"Maybe," Maerad agreed, then took his chin in her fingers and forced him to look up. "But I'll gladly give you some of my fire."
Cadvan shook her hand off, smiling a painfully empty smile. "I'm not sure it works like that, Maerad. And besides, the Nameless One doesn't want you using your Gift. If he learns of this, I think he will hurt you."
"It works like this," Maerad said with certainty. "I'm sure I can share, we just need to find a way.
"As you say," sighed Cadvan, rising up to his feet and unashamedly admiring Maerad's state of undress. "I think you ought to just plead stomach upset and wait for me here. No need to put on a dress."
"I think Sharma wants them to see me. I think he will have spread the word of the Fire Lily far and wide so that when the Bards are bought to him, they see me as his prisoner. I think that will keep him amused indefinitely." Maerad scowled down at her toes. "I hope he chokes on his wine."
It was such an immature thing to say at such a dark moment, Cadvan snorted with laughter. "He has been oddly fond of it, hasn't he?" Cadvan wondered as they made for their room. "And food. I didn't think he could be hungry."
Maerad threw open a trunk and began to remove gown after gown, frowning in mild disgust at each. "I think it is the Song," said Maerad, pulling free a voluminous gown so dark blue it was almost black. She held it up for Cadvan to inspect and he shrugged. "It's something Ardina said, about the Song being alive in him, consuming him. She said he will be a void of life. I think he's beginning to feel the effects of the Song."
Cadvan watched Maerad vanish behind a screen to begin the arduous process of dressing. "Perhaps it will kill him."
"I think not. At least, I do not think he will be dead in a way we understand. He's a void of death, drawing all that is alive and vital into him. I do not know if it's possible for him to destroy himself, but I do not think he will find this constant life any better than deathlessness."
Cadvan, who wasn't feeling very generous after the summoning the Shika, hoped passionately that being a void of life was painful. He threw on a dark blue tunic with bright gold thread detailing at the cuffs and neck and poked his head around the screen to find Maerad lacing a corset up the front. She looked flustered and Cadvan smiled faintly.
"You want help with the gown?"
"I didn't think you were any good with lacing up dresses," said Maerad, gesturing vaguely at the folds of blue fabric.
"Well, I think I'm certainly better at taking a woman's gown off than putting it on," he said with a mischievous smile. "But, in this case, I think I can manage the strings." Maerad rolled her eyes and stepped into the gown. It was heavier than she expected, and as Cadvan began to pull the laces tight, she felt a trickle of sweat running down her back. For his part, Cadvan took the dressing as an opportunity to run his hands over Maerad's small, curvy frame appreciatively.
"Not very gentlemanly," Maerad said dryly, catching his eye with a playful smile.
"Haven't you heard? I'm not a gentleman. I'm a commoner, a cobbler's son. This is how folk like me act around proper ladies." Cadvan spun her about and kissed her forehead. "I've stolen a princess out of her tower and pulled her down low."
"I was never much of a princess," Maerad said thoughtfully, thinking of Gilman's Cot.
"Lucky me," Cadvan agreed seriously. He glanced up, a strange look in his eyes. "I sometimes wonder what would have happened had things been different, if Pellinor hadn't been destroyed. I wonder if I would have met you, and what you might have thought of me."
Maerad's face softened and she ran her fingers over his cheek, brushing the scar that curled around his eye. "I still would have let you steal me away."
"I might not have had the nerve. I met Milana and Dorn, they were an intimidating pair!"
Maerad felt her smile tighten, thinking of the few times she had spoken to Selmana and the revelations of Cadvan's past. Why had had never told her that he knew her mother and father? Why didn't he tell her about them? She quickly turned away before Cadvan could see how uncomfortable she was. She shook her damp hair out and headed for the mirror to hide the unhappy look.
"What do you think we'll expect tonight?" she wondered, brushing her hair out. "Who is the First Bard?"
"Norowen?" Cadvan wondered, picking at his shirt like he was uncomfortable with the fine fabric. "She was a student of Nelac's, a few years ahead of me. I knew her for a time."
"You should not fear him killing her," Maerad said in a low voice.
Cadvan's smile was hard. "Clearly. But you've seen how he treats the First Bards, and I do not relish the thought of her joining us. Or do you think Malgorn is in a happy state?"
Maerad bit her lip. "I meant only that she would live."
"Yes," Cadvan agreed, staring at the window at the darkening sky over Dagra. "Yes, she will have the privilege of living here."
Conversation seemed to fail them then, and they both busied themselves getting ready. When evening finally came in and there were only a few minutes before they had to present themselves to the Nameless One, Cadvan ironically offered his arm to Maerad. "If you would do me the honor of attending the celebration feast?"
Maerad took his arm with trained grace, her fingers tucked in the crook of his elbow so Cadvan could just barely feel her. "What honor there is to be had."
Cadvan snorted and led Maerad from their room. It seemed Saliman and Hekibel had gone ahead, and they went quietly through the halls. Maerad threw out her Bard hearing, unnerved by the silence, and that was when she heard the low murmur of many voices coming from below. She pressed closer to Cadvan and saw that his eyes were narrowed: he must have heard it too.
"It seems that the Dark Tower's inhabitants are in the throne room. A great feast, indeed."
As they neared the huge double doors that opened to the throne room the din reached such a pitch that Maerad and Cadvan had to relax their Bard hearing. Before the doors was a young, famished man with sunken eyes. He eyed the two Bards warily as they approached and his trembling hand snatched for the handle to one of the doors. As it opened, sound poured out like a crashing wave and Maerad and Cadvan reeled as they entered.
The scene before them was something out of nightmare. The tables that ran the lengths of the walls were filled with mostly Hulls. They were spread about at their ease, talking and jesting with each other, drinking from glasses that were bright, red as rubies. Maerad saw Cadvan's face harden at the sight of the glasses and she wondered what was passing through his mind. Nearer to the throne, Maerad saw the Bards of the First Circles of Innail, Lirigon, Ettinor and Desor. They were pale from the dark with blank faces and hollow gazes. They were dirty from dint of living in a cell with no water to wash: their finger nails were black, lips cracked and chaffed, hair streaking across their faces in witchlocked tangles. They wore the cloths which they had been captured in, dressed down from their majestic armor and robes, the men wore thin cotton tunics and tattered pants, the women were in stained shifts. Maerad saw too that their bare feet peaked out from under the tables. Looking at these Bards who were accounted the most powerful, loyal servants of the Light, Maerad found herself thinking of the starving orphans she and Cadvan had seen outside Ettinor, and she cringed at her finery wishing that she could retreat to her room.
Through her shame, it took her a moment to realize that the Bards were all stony faced, their attention directed to the center of the room. Maerad turned her gaze there and recoiled. There was a woman dressed in white robes being tossed back and forth between soldiers who were laughing as she struggled against their grip. She had long grey hair that had been tugged free of a band and cascaded over her shoulders and arms so that when she stumbled between the men, it flew around her face. She suddenly through up her hand and struck one of the men with the heel of her palm, breaking his nose. The man took a step back, snarling and howling in equal measure while he clutched his bleeding nose. His partner paused a moment, staring at his fellow's gushing blood before striking the woman hard enough across the face that she fell to the ground.
Maerad felt Cadvan stiffen beside her. "Norowen?" she whispered.
"So it seems," he said stiffly.
"Finally, our entertainment has arrived!" The Nameless One was seated on his throne as usual, watching Norowen's struggle with an amused smile. It seemed her torment had not driven him to laughter, but his eyes moved around the tables, enjoying the looks of disgust om his Bards' faces. When Cadvan and Maerad had arrived, he clapped his hands together to call an end to the jeering of the Hulls. "I was worried you might not attend this evening, and then who would play for us?"
Maerad could feel the eyes of the Bards on her, and she had the grace to blush. She knew how she would look to them. Cadvan, though, was quicker on his feet. "How could we refuse such a gracious invitation?"
Across the room, seated closest to the head table, Saliman and Hekibel both smirked. Cadvan led Maerad through the room under the eyes of the Hulls all the way to the two remaining spots that were at the very end of the table. Cadvan paused a moment, thinking of sitting beside Saliman, but decided he'd rather not have Maerad set closest to the Nameless One and pulled out a chair so she could sit between the two. The Nameless One watched the entire process and waited silently until he was sure they were seated and Cadvan poured Maerad and himself a measure of what he hoped was wine.
Now the Nameless One stood and smiled broadly around the room. "Welcome and thrice welcome." His gaze fell on the Bards ironically. "To those dear to us and those strange to us, to those who return-" his eyes shifted to Norowen crouched in the center of the room "-to those who enter this hall for the first time, I drink the welcome cup!" He reached down, lifted his chalice, and drained the red liquid within. His glass was full and as Maerad watched him she saw his throat contract and relax and he gulped steadily, heard the sound of his swallowing, noticed a dribble of red wine leak out of his mouth.
When he finished, he raised his cup to Norowen. "May the Light bless you," he said sarcastically and then threw the empty goblet with so much force at her that it left a dent in the smooth stone of the floor at her knees.
Around the room the Hulls chortled with voracious glee, slamming their own goblets on the table. Maerad saw that the Bards had turned ugly faces on the Nameless One for speaking their traditional welcome. He saw the expressions on their faces and snapped his fingers at them.
"I thought to make you more comfortable. To show you that I respect and honor your traditions. I see you are not impressed with my effort." He paused a moment, scanning the assembled Bards until his eyes fell on Finlan. "Perhaps you might explain why your people look so grim, First Bard?"
Finlan stared blankly back, horrified at being singled out by the Nameless One. He trembled in his seat, and though Maerad had much reason to hate him for the trouble he and his First Circle had caused her during her time in Innail, she couldn't squelch her sympathy when she saw his hands shaking so bad he spilled his drink.
The Nameless One's eyebrows drew together in an incredulous frown when he saw the wine spilling on the table. "What insult is this?" he roared, jumping down from the small dais where his throne was raised. "I offer you a place at my table, I share my food and drink, and you have the nerve to refuse it?"
"No, no I-I'm not refusing-"
"You rebuke me?" the Nameless One demanded, coming forward slowly. "Do you think yourself superior to me, Finlan?"
"I never said-"
"He thinks that as First Bard he has a right to treat me like this in my own palace!" the Nameless One snarled to the rest of the room and the Hulls hissed.
Maerad could see Finlan pressing back into the chair and shrinking down in his seat. She thought he looked like a cowering dog and she looked imploringly at Cadvan. She saw that his face was set in an uncomfortable frown, and he slammed his hand down on the table.
"Perhaps he simply spilled his drink, my lord. He is an old man and his hands may be stiff with cold," Cadvan said loudly.
The Hulls stopped laughing and the Nameless One turned about, studying Cadvan. "An old man who caught cold? This is Dagra, a desert if you hadn't noticed."
"Not in your dungeons," Cadvan said shortly.
The Nameless One came forward, dragging his hand along the table and coming to stop before Cadvan. He smiled down on him showing all his teeth and gums. "Perhaps you would like to trade? You can go down to the dungeons and Finlan can have your rooms and all its-" his eyes slid to Maerad "-trimmings."
Maerad rolled her eyes expressively. "I'm sure Cadvan isn't suggesting that. Merely that it is unsurprising that an older man who has been kept in inclement conditions dropped his glass. He probably has arthritis."
"My lady Maerad, though you could have been a doctor, all you are fit for is making music. Perhaps you should remember that the only time you should open your mouth is for singing."
As if it were a great joke, the Hulls in the room burst into laughter. The Nameless One turned from Maerad and smiled at his room before shooting a look at Hem. The boy was crouched by the throne watching the Nameless One sneering at his sister with an ugly face.
"Cai, what do you think your sister is fit for?" the Nameless One asked, jumping back up to his throne. When Hem said nothing, he grabbed the chain that held Hem to throne and tugged him forward. "Come now, speak up boy. Your sister thinks she's a doctor, I think she's a minstrel, but what do you think of her as?"
Hem was scowling up at the Nameless One. "The Fire Lily," he spat.
The Nameless One's eye widened at the barb and he threw Hem so hard the boy tumbled off the dais. He said in a low voice, "Don't you dare whisper of that prophecy to me. Your sister is an idiot, Bard, whore. Say it."
"No," Hem growled.
"Cai, say it," the Nameless One said, staring down on him. Hem could feel the Nameless One pressing him down again, bending his will, trying to force his mouth to work around the words. "Tell this room what your sister is."
Maerad clamped her fists tightly but looked down with her face burning.
Hem tried to find the anger, the fire he needed to throw off the will of the Nameless One. "The Fire Lily! The Fire Lily! The Singer of the Treesong!"
"Boy!" the Nameless One snarled, and Hem was thrown flat on his face. "Say it!"
Hem curled up in a tight ball and tried to fight it. "She's a-a Bard."
"An idiot Bard."
Saliman, who could see the pain Hem was in, finally threw back his wine and slammed the glass on the table. "We all know how you feel about this. Does it require repeating?"
"It requires repeating until you all say it," he snapped.
"As far as you and all the Hulls and Bards in this room are concerned, I am idiot, Bard whore," Maerad said loudly. Her chin jutted out and her eyes were bright with anger. "Surely if I say it, that is sufficient?"
"Only if you say it enough," the Nameless One said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shall have you put your writing skills to use and begin copying lines." The Nameless One's interest in Hem seemed to waver and he returned to his throne. He threw himself into the seat and leaned back, looking bored. "Boy, get me some more wine. I seem to have misplaced my glass."
Hem sat up and, as dignified as he could, brushed his pants off and retrieved the cup the Nameless One had thrown. He carefully filled it and held it out at arm's reach. The Nameless One took it and swirled the wine, staring Norowen. She had watched the interaction between the Nameless One, Hem and Maerad with a look of astonishment, for she had not through that anyone, especially not children, would so openly oppose him in his own domain.
"I am too easily distracted, and that is an insult to our esteemed guest. Norowen of Il Arunedh, I hope you have found the courtesy of my tower to your liking?" He raised an eyebrow and Norowen showed her teeth in a snarl. "And the men who escorted you, they were above reproach?" Norowen's mouth was still bleeding and she wiped at it unconsciously. "Have you been made to feel at home? Would you like some food or wine? You must be hungry after that journey."
Norowen realized after a moment that the Nameless One wanted an answer. "I've been treated better before, if you want an honest answer."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the Nameless One said earnestly. "Cai, get the First Bard a glass of wine. She's parched." When Hem didn't immediately jump to fill a glass the Nameless One kicked him.
Norowen's lips drew together into a straight line at the callous behavior, but she accepted the glass of wine from Hem when he offered it. "Thank you," she said softly, and she sipped it. She turned her attention back to the Nameless One. "This is from Turbansk."
"You have refined taste. I had my men mine the wine cellars of Turbansk after the city fell. We had to dig out the Ernani palace to get it, but I think it was worth it." He paused as if a sudden thought had just come over him. "Cai, get our Turbansk Bard a bottle. He must be missing it."
Hem's demeanor would have been comical if they weren't prisoners to the Nameless One. He stomped to the nearest table and snatched up a bottle of wine. He waved it at the Nameless One and slammed it down on the table in front of Saliman. Saliman's teeth flashed white for a brief moment and Hem felt a pulse of warmth.
"Excellent," the Nameless One said with relish. "But, again, I am being a horrendous host. I should have offered you a meal. Perhaps we can scrounge something up?" He glanced at one of the servers lingering in the shadows and they scurried off to the kitchens. "So, how was the road? Did you have a horse or did you walk the entire way?"
"I rode with my people," she said.
"You are a true leader, Norowen. I imagine your people love you very much. I wonder, do you love them?" The Nameless One examined her closely. "What sacrifices are you willing to make?"
"Whatever sacrifices I must. They are my people, they put their trust in me, and that it something I will not betray, even should you threaten me." She met the Nameless One's dark eyes with her straight gaze. "And I trust that you are."
"Come now, I am no barbarian, Norowen. I think you and I are mature enough to have a conversation. I merely wish to know how far you would be willing to go to spare your people a horrible fate."
She shook her head, eyes dark. "My people have been cast in your prison. You have made them slaves. Nothing I do now will spare them. Stop these games, Sharma."
"Look about you. Do you see the Bards here?" The Nameless One glanced at his Hulls, who were studying the First Bard with deep interest the back at the ragtag assortment of Bards. "They are my servants, loyal, honest servants. Isn't that right, Cadvan? You enjoy your service to me, yes?"
Cadvan's hand clenched tightly around his glass of wine and he saw that Norowen was staring at him, confused. He gave a bright, bitter smile. "Immensely."
The Nameless One gave him a long, hard look before flashing Norowen a smile. "You see? Here is a great Bard, a defender of the Light who happily serves me. You will join him in such happy servitude."
"I would rather-"
"Oh, stop. I've heard it once, I've heard it a hundred times from these Bards." The Nameless One rolled his eyes at the Hulls and they banged their fists one the table. "You would rather die, no? Well, you won't die! You will live your long, long life here, waiting on me. You will surrender your Name to me and take your oaths, and if you are properly repentant, I will not rip your mind apart."
Norowen's eyes flashed dark and she thew the cup of wine at his feet. "That is what I think of you and your oaths!"
The Hulls had stopped laughing when she threw the glass, and the Bards faces were set in expressions of terror. The Nameless One stared at the cup a moment as if it might speak to him. "If you didn't like the wine, you only had to say so."
Maerad felt a tremor race through her spine. The Nameless One may have spoken gently, but his anger was palpable to those whose mind he had touched. She took a sip of her wine to try and press the feeling back but it was overwhelming. When she looked askance at Cadvan, she saw that he had gone pale and his lips were set in a firm line: she knew whatever she was feeling, Cadvan's experience was worse. Hem must have felt some command because he got up and retrieved the cup.
"Thank you, boy," he said with a toothy grin and then his eyes slid back to Norowen. "Perhaps after a meal, you might feel more amenable to my conditions? You see, Norowen, I reward loyalty in my servants. Allow me to demonstrate." He waved vaguely and servants appeared with food.
It became quickly apparent that the food was just more of a barb at the Bards than a reward. There was roast duck with buttered, herbed carrots, there were fried potatoes, thick, soft bread with hard crusts. Even roast mushrooms. Cadvan looked mutinous as he was served. Malgorn and Silvia looked affronted to see food that they served in their own home being placed before them. Vaclal's face remained blank as someone scooped potatoes onto his plate. Nelac, who was still wane from his summoning, needed help due to is broken fingers. A plate was put together for Norowen that the Nameless One vigorously waved the food to her.
"Don't serve her," said the Nameless One sharply, pointing at Maerad. "She's to play for us tonight. Maerad, take the stage and sing us one your Bard songs."
Maerad smarted at the dismissive comment but took up her lyre and approached the small dais that had been raised near the Nameless One's throne. She settled on it, tucking her feet up in the folds of her billowy gown and setting her lyre in her lap. The Nameless One watched her, waiting politely while she tuned the instrument, plucked the strings and checked the sound. When it seemed that everything was in order, he tipped his head.
"And what shall you play us tonight, mistress Maerad?"
Maerad breathed out loudly through her nose. "A song from the north. From the Pilanel."
"Your father's people! How lovely."
Maerad bowed her head and for a brief moment, a horrible pain welled up in her chest. She looked out at the room, into the pale faces of the Bards that watched her. She saw the blank looks in their faces, the immutable sadness in their eyes. Maerad sang:
"Oh, raven where are you flying,
Over ice and over snow?
Oh, raven surely I'm dying,
And my mother doesn't know.
Fly through the bitter weather,
Fly through the starless night,
Where my people come together
To sing by firelight."
Her voice was haunting and the Bards refrained from their meal to listen. Siliva felt her throat tighten, captivated by Maerad's beauty and voice. She thought she had never seen her look so much like her mother as she did then. Hekibel had never heard Maerad sing and leaned forward like a moth moving to the light. The Nameless One stabbed at his duck, listening to Maerad's lilting only half-heartedly; he was far more interested in the response of the Bards.
"Fly to my mother and kiss her,
For I'll not kiss her again,
How sorrowfully I miss her,
Staunching my final pain."
Hem squirmed uncomfortably, thinking of their mother and father who had been murdered by the Nameless One. Though she maintained her steady voice, Maerad had to pause, plucking the tune. She carefully didn't look at Cadvan.
"Find my darling lover,
Whose lips are sweeter than wine,
Tell him that I love him,
And that he will never be mine.
Oh, raven where are you flying,
Over ice and over snow,
Oh, raven now I'm dying,
And my mother doesn't know."
Cadvan had watched her perform the entire song and shivered at the sound of her voice. It was like she was casting a spell, pushing away the presence of the Dark, and he was transported back to a School. He remembered the night they had performed together in Innail and how even then he had thought she was the most incredible, strange woman he had ever met. When her voice faded away, Cadvan was returned to the throne room with the Hulls and the Nameless One and his poor friends.
There was a brief pause and then, perhaps out of habit, the Bards applauded. Maerad lifted her head and tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. The Nameless One slammed his glass on the table before him, his mocking applause echoing around the room and silencing the others.
"How beautiful. You are a little lark, a delicate songbird." He smiled at the Hulls. "You know, I had almost forgotten the beauty of such musicmaking. It is reason to let them live. But only just."
Maerad was watching the Nameless One and still not looking at Cadvan, though she wasn't sure why. "Then I have done my duty by your hall and may eat?"
"No, little songbird, you will entertain us tonight. You have enraptured this hall with your voice." His eyes moved to Cadvan. "Were you moved by her, Cadvan? She certainly sang for you."
The tittering of the Hulls filled the room and the Bards at the table stirred, a few looking down the line at him. Cadvan looked down at his plate. "I am honored."
"That's all you can muster, that you are honored?" the Nameless One pressed. He stared at Cadvan, his dark eyes boring into him, his annoyance palpable. He suddenly snapped his fingers, "Maerad, put that instrument down a moment. Stand up, let this hall see you."
Maerad hesitated a minute before rising up as gracefully as she could. She stood before the Nameless One stiffly and felt his eyes on her. She had a flash again of that hunger. He was unlike his Hulls in that respect, for when they looked at her with dead eyes they wanted nothing but her humiliation. When Sharma looked at her…it made her feel dirty, like the men in Gilman's Cot.
"You are lovely, Maerad. Truly, you are an image. And Cadvan says he is only honored by you." Maerad flashed her gaze up, refusing to be embarrassed.
You possess the same stubborn pride as you mother, girl, the Nameless One said, his voice like a noxious fume in her mind. Let us temper that a bit.
"You must not be keeping Cadvan very satisfied if he is only honored by you. Kiss him, Maerad." Her mouth fell open and Cadvan glared daggers. "I need you to do that right now."
Maerad blinked at the Nameless One as if he was insane. "And what will that accomplish?"
His eyes narrowed as they always did when Maerad questioned him. "I want to see that my investment in you has paid off. Now, do as you're told."
Maerad felt a thrill of anger but turned sharply on her heels and walked smoothly to Cadvan, coming to stand directly opposite him at the table. She bent at the waist just as Lyla had taught her and pressed her lips firmly against his. He hummed with muted pleasure and Maerad cupped his cheeks in her hands, deepening the kiss. She broke the kiss when Sharma snorted with laughter.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Maerad turned to face the Nameless One. "I trust that was to your satisfaction."
"Looking at you…I am almost jealous I traded you to Cadvan." He looked down at his wine glass. "Are his lips sweeter than wine?"
Maerad's face twisted into a smile. "Far sweeter."
The Nameless One's switched his gaze to Cadvan, eyebrows raised. "Quite the lady's man, I see." He waved Maerad back to the stage and her lyre. "Play something a bit more cheerful this time. Sad music doesn't aid in digestion."
Once Maerad returned to her music, the Nameless One lost interest in her, and turned his attention back to the Bards. Having humiliated Cadvan and Saliman sufficiently, he moved next to the ragtag assortment of Bards at the table with them. He taunted Finlan, who seemed to be on the edge of death, he threatened Malgorn and Vaclal in equal parts. Silvia, Kelia and Selmana, he treated with ironic respect, likening them to tavern wenches with every other breath. Indik, he expressed a keen interest in, telling him that he wanted a crown and thought Indik would be a fine candidate to make it. He thoroughly ignored Norowen bowed in the center of the room until the meal had concluded.
"Is the food better fare than the wine, Norowen?" he asked, setting his plate before Hem. There was still a sizeable portion of duck and bread left, and when Hem pushed the plate away, and Nameless One slammed his hand flat on his throne. Hem was thrown forward, his face almost pressed into the food. "When I offer you food, boy, you should take it."
Norowen narrowed her gaze at the treatment of the young man. "The flavor is quite ruined by the company."
"I agree entirely but unfortunately these Bards are my guests," the Nameless One said, his mouth quirking up a little in the corners.
"They were not the company I was referencing."
Maerad studied Norowen closely as she continued to play. She was impressed with her nerve in the face of the Nameless One, but she could feel the anger of the Nameless One mounting beside her.
"You're rather rude for a First Bard. I expected better manners from one your age." He sent a spike of consciousness at her and she reeled like she'd been slapped. "Perhaps you, too, might be better suited singing than speaking. Norowen had an instrument, yes?" he asked the nearest Hull. "Fetch it."
Maerad had slowed her playing, curious and not a little afraid of what the Nameless One would do. A Hull returned a few minutes later carrying a flute. The Nameless One took it, slashing it through the air like it was sword. He admired the carefully carved instrument, running his thumbs over the curves, inspecting the workmanship.
"What a lovely piece you have here." He rose up and walked slowly down the steps toward her. Maerad had ceased playing, overcome with a sudden, inexplicable fear. The Nameless One spun the flute idly, still staring at Norowen with increasing intensity. "You must play for us, First Bard. Demonstrate your skill."
Norowen eyed the flute doubtfully. "I'm not in the mood to make music."
"That wasn't a question," the Nameless One said firmly, stopping his spinning so the mouthpiece of the flute was before her face. "Now, put this in your mouth and play us a little tune."
The Bards along the wall that had spent any time with the Nameless One recognized that tone of voice. It was honey smooth and polite, but it was dangerous. His anger would soon break. Maerad tried to catch Norowen's eye, urge her to take the flute, but the older woman was looking away. When she shook her head sternly, the Nameless One pressed the flute against her lips.
"Play, Bard."
"I said, no," Norowen whispered, "I won't-"
What she wouldn't do, though, they never heard. The Nameless One suddenly jerked his arm back and slammed the mouthpiece into Norowen's open mouth. There was a horrible crunching noise and a gout of blood as three of her front teeth were knocked clear out. She let out a yelp of pain, clutching her mouth as blood poured out and pooled on the floor. The Hulls burst into raucous laughter, the Bard's had gone white.
"When I tell you to play, you should play," the Nameless One said icily. "You serve at my pleasure now, Norowen."
Maerad gripped her lyre tightly as the Nameless One turned smartly and walked back toward his throne. Anger seemed to well up among the Bards, especially those that had known her well. Nelac's voice could be heard over the grumbling.
"You need her to cast your spell, is it wise to break her jaw?"
The Nameless One glanced at him dismissively. "Nelac, if I wanted your opinions I would ask for them. Norowen is still more than capable of speaking, though it may be with a bit of a…" The Nameless One inspected the growing puddle of blood in front of her face. "Lisp."
Silvia took a long draw on her wine and said in a low voice to Malgorn, "She won't be able to eat, let alone speak."
Malgorn didn't turn to face her for fear the Nameless One would see them speaking. " He won't let her die, he needs her, but," Malgorn cringed when Norowen lifted her face and saw the jagged gap in her teeth, "she'll need a healer to ease the pain."
Silvia looked down at her hands. "I could do it if they'd let me near her."
"Don't offer," Malgorn said in a low, stern voice.
"And what would you have of me? Sitting in a cell, forbidden from using my Gift like Maerad? Shall I dress in beautiful gowns and wait on you as she does Cadvan?"
"I doubt that is what passes between them," he said. Under the table he took her small hand. "I want you to live, Silvia. At some point, this torment will end. The Nameless One will have no more use for me, and he'll send me away. When he does, I want you with me."
"I will be with you, but I'd go easier knowing I did everything I could to help our people." A Hull approached Norowen and tugged her to her feet. She seemed light-headed and stumbled slightly. The Hull cursed when her blood dribbled on his sleeve and lifted his hand to strike her. Norowen flinched away and the Hull laughed at her. "I do not like sitting back and watching evil."
Malgorn followed the Hull with his eyes as it dragged Norowen from the room. "It's easy to say you wish to fight the Dark, but you have no idea what it's really like until you're staring into his terrible eyes."
Silvia sensed Malgorn's despair and glance at him. His shoulders were slumped, defeated, and his face was set in a blank stare that reminded her of the brutalized Bard children she had seen. She wanted to draw him into her arms and hold him until a smile returned to his face, but she guessed it would be a long time before Malgorn smiled again.
"Well, that was certainly eventful. An excellent conclusion to the meal." the Nameless One announced, watching Norowen's sagging figure being dragged away. He turned to give the Bards a stern glance, like an angry father. "There's a lesson in this, you know. You see, don't you, how I take what is mine by right? You see that your people fall before me and that I am their master?" When no one spoke, the Nameless One snarled, "You see, do you not? Answer me, Bards, or I shall smash another one of your faces in!"
"We see," they murmured.
"And the First Bards, Finlan, Vaclal, Malgorn and Saliman, do you agree that you answer to me. You are the mightiest of your people, but you still bend at the knee in my service."
"We do," the four Bards echoed.
"Good. You must never forget that I am your master." The Nameless One slammed his glass again and Hem refilled it. "Maerad, play something else. I'm bored of this talk. And you," he spat at the assembled Bards, "one of you much know how to act or dance, yes? Entertain us."
The Bards stared back, nonplussed. While acting wasn't outside their ken, none of them felt particularly up to the task after watching one of their own be beaten. When no one immediately came forward, the Nameless One pointed his long finger down the line, pausing on Helgar. She was small and pale and dark-haired and the Nameless One thought that if used his imagination just a little, she might resemble Maerad, and he could torment her instead.
"You look like you could dance. Come here, perform for us."
Helgar looked horrified at the prospect and pressed back against the chair. "I can't."
"Can't or won't? And before you answer that, perhaps you should reflect on the last Bard that told me they won't play for me." The Nameless One recognized weakness. Helgar may have been on the First Circle, but she was a pale comparison to a proper Bard; she had been made small and weak by greed and pettiness.
Helgar's hand gripped the stem of her wine glass. "I've had too much to drink."
"Now, now, that's no excuse. Come up here and dance!"
Maerad remembered Helgar's ugly face when she had been in Innail, her cutting words and skepticism. A small part of her delighted in the terror in the other woman's face, but they she saw her eyes were bright with tears, her face desperate for help. Seeing her undone had been a small victory.
"I can dance."
Maerad almost dropped her lyre when Hekibel spoke. She pushed her glass of wine away and looked up. Beside her, Saliman's face had gone rigid and Maerad knew that under the table he was grabbing at her hand. She tried to smile carelessly, failed, and settled for a look of polite inquiry.
"I can dance and sing and recite poetry. I'm a player by trade." Hekibel didn't know what had come over her in that moment, but now that she had spoken and the Hulls and the Nameless One were all looking at her, it seemed important to prove she wasn't afraid. "I could recite a monologue from a play for you if that would suit you better."
The Nameless One was looking at her as if she had sprung up out of the ground. He graciously waved her toward the center of the room where Norowen's blood still gleamed in the light. "What an astonishing woman you are."
Hekibel moved to stand but Saliman was already up. "We'll do a scene together from Lorica," he said loudly. He took Hekibel's wrist and maneuvered her behind him. "I traveled with her troupe for a time and besides I know my way around a few lines."
"A duet then," the Nameless One echoed. He gestured again to the center of the room. "It had better be good, lady Hekibel. I spared your life, now I'd like to see it put to use."
"Lorica, though?" asked Likud, speaking out for the first time that evening. "You will perform the words of a woman?"
A few of the Bards scowled at the blatant misogyny and the Nameless One smiled ironically. "True, it will be of poorer quality than if a man had written it. Is there nothing else you know, Hekibel?"
"Nothing more entertaining," she said coldly.
"Well, a woman's words to entertain women, at least," the Nameless One shrugged. "Play on."