Chapter Six

Gahal of Gent held his daughter firmly while the soldiers tore through his study. There was a callous disregard in their manner: tearing books apart, kicking loose bindings, breaking chairs and reading tables, scattering the remains of scrolls. It dawned on him as one of the men knocked a slew of books from a shelf that these men were not looking for anything, merely reveling in the chaos of the captured city. Lyla screamed when one of the men threw a book with such force that is shattered a window behind her and Gahal turned her about so her face was pressed against his chest.

"If you would tell me what you are looking for, I'd be happy to point you in the proper direction."

The man who had thrown the book glanced at him. "I'm not sure what I want yet," he said simply and then tore a drawer out of his desk, rifling through the contents. "You lot don't keep many treasures, do you? No jewels, no gold, nothing but books."

"One man's trash, I suppose," Gahal said with stiff courtesy.

"Indeed," the man returned, and his eyes dropped to Lyla contemplatively.

Gahal saw his gaze and glowered impressively. "I have it on Enkir's word that you were to escort myself, my Circle and my daughter to Dagra-unharmed. You would do wise to remember your oath."

The man smiled toothily. "Well, I've never been one to break an oath, but," and here he paused, his face suddenly serious, "think on this, Gahal of Gent: you are going to Dagra and rumors are that Dark things that were once thought dead are alive. You might consider sparing your daughter such a horrible fate. I could do you a kindness, take her away."

Against his chest, Gahal felt Lyla trembling. "My daughter will stay with me," he said in a low voice that would have scared a lesser man.

The man came forward, lowering his voice so his fellows wouldn't hear. "She hasn't got an ounce of Bard blood in her. Better to let her spend the rest of her life in my care than tormented in the dungeons of the Dark."

"No one," said Gahal sternly, "will touch my daughter but me, be it the Nameless One himself or some lowly cur who serves a traitor in Norloch."

"As you'll have it," the man said, suddenly uninterested in the girl and her father.

Gahal watched the soldier return to his looting and rubbed Lyla's back. He had absolutely no intention of letting his girl out of his sight, especially since the sacking of Gent. When Enkir's army had arrived on the heels of the Shika, the Bards were at a loss of what to do. The soldier tore through the city, slaughtering as they would, burning and pillaging anything that took their fancy. At the School, Gahal and his First Circle tried to produce a shield that would allow time for the Bards and their children to escape, but Enkir met them and, as Cadvan had warned, he seemed possessed of some mighty power. He had blasted their shield with lightning and the School had been destroyed. In the chaos, Gahal lost sight of his wife, Rena, and children- a tragic mistake. Rena was cut down trying to get Lyla on a horse and her brothers had been forced to drag her away from the corpse. By the time Gahal had found them, Nik and Beljan had sustained injuries, and though not life threatening, had needed immediate medical aid. Lyla had gone unharmed thanks to her brothers but was covered in her mother's blood and stared blankly in shock. On the road to Dagra, Gahal refused to let the girl from his sight and when they stopped in Carfedis to plunder the city, Gahal had taken her right off the horse and escorted her to his study there while the pillaging commenced.

"Don't worry, Lyla, you'll stay with me and your brothers, I swear on the Light." He ran his hand over her hair, flattening it down. "Even in Dagra, I won't let you go."

She shivered against him. "What's in Dagra, Papa?"

Gahal watching one of the men throw a beautiful painting of a hummingbird sipping nectar from a flower in the hearth. It didn't catch fire, just smoldered. "I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I won't let it hurt you."

Lyla turned to peek at the men. "What about Nik and Beljan? Will they be alright?"

"Nik and Beljan are Bards, they'll be fine." Of course, he had no way of knowing this, and, given how the soldiers had treated the Bards of Gent, he doubted very much that they would be safe.

"But I saw-"

"Don't think about what you saw, Lyla," he said swiftly, thinking of his Rena lying in a pool of her own blood. "Just trust me."

Lyla looked up at her father with distant eyes and he knew she was thinking of her mother too. "I'm afraid, Papa. I'm not a Bard, I'm not brave like Nik or Beljan I'm just-"

"You're my daughter," he said resolutely. "And I'm the First Bard of Gent. Nothing is going to happen to you."

The soldiers finished their search of the room, and, seeing no reason to stay any longer, left Gahal and Lyla to their own devices. It wasn't long before the First Circle-what was left it, anyway-was brought to join them. Anhil was the only surviving member of the First Circle, the other two having died during the attack on the School, and he seemed too shocked at the moment to struggle much. Nik and Beljan had been elected by Enkir to serve as the missing members of the Circle, but they very nearly came to blows with the soldiers whenever they were near: it seemed their mother's death weighed heavily on them, turning despair into rage.

"You'll stay here until tomorrow morning when we head out, and if I hear word of your leaving, I'll get the lieutenant to come deal with you," warned a soldier lazily. "You don't want that, do you?"

Beljan's eyes flashed but Gahal raised his voice. "We've heard you before, now leave us to our peace." The soldiers scowled but left, slamming the door on his way out.

"Lieutenant, indeed," Beljan snarled. "A Hull! A monstrous creature of the Dark that Enkir has made some bargain with. A disgrace to the Light and everything we serve."

"That may be the case, but I won't have you fighting with Hulls," Gahal warned, nodding his son over to the fire. "I'm still the First Bard and I'm still your father, and you'll do as I say."

Nik, the calmer of the two, went to sit by his sister, who was staring out the window of the study and watching lines of troops march past. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "We know, father, but to think that Enkir has betrayed the Light so completely is difficult to bear. And after he burned Gent-" Gahal's caught him with a dark look and the young man stopped, bowing his head.

"It seems that Enkir serves the Dark as we feared. Worse than we feared!" Anhil was looking around the room morosely. "And so, we go to Dagra now. Do you think it's true, what the soldiers whisper? Do you think the Nameless One is returned to power?"

Gahal worried his lip. His conversations with Cadvan were on his mind and he briefly saw the young woman, Maerad, around which everything turned. He glanced at his daughter, who was Maerad's age and so like her in spirit. "It is to be hoped not."

"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" Cadvan asked flatly, his gaze fixed on the empty throne where the Nameless One usually sat. Hem, who was sitting beside the throne, put his bowl of watery soup aside to observe. He met Cadvan's eye and chanced a quick smile to the other Bard, and though Cadvan couldn't smile, Hem sensed something soft brush his consciousness.

"The pleasure is all mine, Cadvan." Likud was seated to the left, studying the Bard with his red eyes. Since their return to Dagra, their time together had been limited, and Likud had hungered for the opportunity to be alone with the Bard. In Dagra, there were plenty of Bards to torment, but none of them seemed to suffice. Likud often thought of the time he made Cadvan watch the razing of Lirigon, he remembered the Bard's haggard face and desperate eyes with relish. The other Bards in Dagra paled in comparison. "I've missed our little talks."

Cadvan could feel the weight of Likud's gaze on him like a physical thing. "Surely, you, who are so trusted by the Nameless One, have better things to do than keep up on my business? Now that the war for northern Annar is done and my knowledge is useless, you can turn your attention to more important things?"

"How quickly you dismiss yourself," Likud purred, and helped himself to glass of something red. "Important things? But, Cadvan you are important to me. Remember how I told you we were bound to each other? I made you what you are, I'm not about to abandon you now."

Cadvan stiffened at that and Hem's eyes narrowed. "You didn't make me who I am."

"Ah, but I showed you the spells that destroyed your youth." Likud leaned forward. "Through you, I killed that lovely little Bard woman, freeing you to love another. I wonder what you would have done had she lived and you met Maerad of Pellinor. Which of the two women would you have chosen?"

It was an uncomfortable thought, and one Cadvan had toyed with in his less lucid moments. After Ceredin's death and her final farewell to him in his room in Pellinor, he mourned her, but accepted the futility of wishing her return. Time was linear, her passing was linear, and though he missed her sorely, she would never exist in his world with Maerad. There was no room for what ifs or what abouts. She was dead and he was alive, and that finality was a release. He saw Hem watching him closely and wondered, for the first time, how Hem felt about him and Maerad. Not that the boy had much say in their relationship, but Cadvan understood the senseless possessiveness between siblings and thought it would be nice to know Hem didn't resent him.

"The choice is moot. One is dead, and one is alive," Cadvan said, pressing down the urge to lunge at Likud.

"Where would you be now, I wonder, if she had lived. Would you have been the First Bard of Lirigon?" Likud drummed his fingers on the rim of his glass. "We see where that road ends."

"All rivers lead to the sea," Cadvan said blandly.

"Hm." Likud sensed Cadvan's stony silence like a wall and bared his teeth though the Bard didn't see. Likud didn't like it when Cadvan refused to play with him, the Hull enjoyed the anger and frustration-it was like food for them. But that had always been the appeal of a Bard like Cadvan: the longer he fought, the more it whet Likud's appetite. "But yours had a few bumps along the way. Some stones, a few rapids."

"You would know more about that than me." Cadvan still hadn't looked at Likud, but he could feel its anger. With a hint of bitterness he said, "You put those stones there."

Finally, Likud thought, exasperated. "I wanted you better than you were. Nelac's little pet student, pah! You were born to be so much more."

"Do not pretend you cared my future," Cadvan said stiffly. "You cared only to have a slave of exceptional power you could use."

Likud pressed his fingers together. "I think, in this case, the ends justify the means. For you have become great, indeed, even the Nameless One thinks to. He elected you to summon the Shika, remember. And then, he spared you the struggle, for he knew you had uses yet. He cares for you." Cadvan's face hardened at those words and Likud chuckled. "He said only yesterday that he owes you a great favor, for you have brought the Pellinor girl to heel more effectively than his Hulls ever could. You are his favorite little courtier, aren't you?"

These words rang disturbingly similar to the Nameless One's comparison to Andomian. "I am not a courtier to the Nameless One."

"You lounge about his court, drinking his wine and eating his food. You entertain him. What would you call yourself? Surely, you are not prisoner." Likud saw a muscle work in Cadvan's jaw and gestured at Hem. "You are not chained. Look at little Cai here, he is a prisoner. Tied up like a dog, fed on table scraps from a merciful master. You cannot pretend you and Cai are subject to the same treatment."

"I wouldn't dare make that claim," said Cadvan, his voice softening at the sight of the boy. He did suddenly seem hopeless and Cadvan was acutely aware of his spacious, comfortable rooms and ready supply of food.

"And yet you are not satisfied," Likud mused, and took a long draw on his beverage. "Ungrateful, little whelp, it's what you are. But I suspect it is ever the temperament of your kind to greedily long for more."

"My kind?" Cadvan asked in a cold voice.

"Ditchborn."

It had been a taunt thrown at Cadvan since his instatement at the School of Lirigon, and though it had bothered him as a young man, he had long since set aside his insecurities regarding his blood: he knew there was more to a good Bard than the quality of his ancestors. He made a great show of rolling his eyes for Hem's benefit, and the boy's lips quirked up.

"We poor, pathetic plebians never knew our place," Cadvan agreed in a rather jaunty tone. "Thank the Light someone is there to remind us."

Likud's lips drew into a straight, annoyed line. "You might jest now, Cobbler Cadvan, but just remember that you have a taken a princess down from her towner and cast her into the mud. Your love is a poison to her, dirt cast on her good name." Suddenly, the Hull turned to Hem. "Can you imagine, Cai, the filthy little mutts your sister and Cadvan will breed?"

Hem had the grace to flush, his eyes dropping from Cadvan's face. "There were Bards that called my father unworthy of my mother, but she loved him, and I am a child of that union."

"Aye, and so is your whore of a sister." This earned a dark look from Hem and Cadvan thought briefly that Likud was lucky Hem was chained. Likud stood, looking thoughtfully down at his pale hands. "Perhaps all the great houses are destined to fall, tainted by the mediocre. You should have stuck to your own kind, Cadvan. The Lirigon woman, or the one in Busk, they were both painfully average Bards."

Nerili, Cadvan thought, his blood going cold. Of course, the Nameless One would tell him.

"I've extended my reach."

"You reach too far," Likud said in a hard voice. The Hull moved slowly around the table, fingertips tracing a line on it. "But a First Bard whose blood is a thin as water, that is more suited to you." Red eyes bore into Cadvan and finally he turned to face the Hull. "Tell me about her."

"There can be nothing I know that you don't already." Cadvan shifted through his thoughts of Nerili quickly. Aside from their passionate and brief affair, he could offer no guidance that mattered. Nothing he could say would aid the Nameless One, and so refusing to disclose it would not put Maerad in harm. "She is a Gifted First Bard. I've already told the Nameless One that he will be hard put to defeat her."

"Oh, we have ways of defeating her," Likud said flippantly. "Her Gift may be great, but you wouldn't dare suggest she is greater than our master, would you?"

"That isn't what I said," Cadvan said calmly, but the hair on the nape of his neck was on end. Likud was approaching him from the side, and he felt like a deer before a wolf lunges for its flank.

"That's good to hear, because I would hate to tell the Nameless One that you were doubting the completeness of his power. He would be most displeased to learn that you were even thinking his authority was not absolute. That would be a betrayal of the highest caliber. We would have to put you down in the barracks to join those pathetic slaves." Likud considered Cadvan's tense shoulders. "But perhaps you would like that too much? You would like to be a Bard striving against the Dark again, and not the pampered darling of the Dark tower?"

"I am not interested in leaving this place," Cadvan said carefully. Now they had entered murky water: one wrong word, one comment out of place, and Likud would spring on him like he was traitor. "I'm content to stay here and continue serving the Nameless One."

"Master," Likud said in a low voice. "You call him master, Cadvan."

"I'll continue serving our master."

"I think you are a liar," Likud said simply. "I think you seek any way to deceive our master, and you think yourself clever enough to get away with it. I see what you would do, Cadvan." When Cadvan turned his face, Likud's was inches from him. His huge, red eyes gleamed and a smile like a razor crossed his face. "You will betray us."

Cadvan opened his mouth to speak but Likud's hand cracked across his face and Cadvan stumbled back. He raised his arm defensively, waiting for Likud's next blow, but the Hull hadn't moved, and instead watched Cadvan's antics with something akin to amusement. Likud glanced up at Hem, smiling widely.

"He's a little coward, isn't he?" Likud asked sweetly. "He was like this the entire way to Lirigon. It was embarrassing to have him around."

Hem swallowed loudly. "You're just a filthy liar."

"You've got some nerve, boy," Likud said with a faint smile.

He snorted derisively. "Nerve? For what, talking to a little Hull? Are you supposed to frighten me after all I've seen with Sharma? I suppose he was just the first act then but you're the finale?"

Likud stared at Hem like he'd never seen something so strange. "You've grown bolder, little boy. I remember when I came across you in the orphanage, sobbing like a little girl because you were so lonely and scared. I remember you begging not to be taken home by me."

Hem flushed faintly. "And now you're nothing but a joke."

"When I'm done with Cadvan, I'll deal with you," Likud said decidedly. "Can't have a little Bard child mouthing off to the lieutenant of the Black Army, can we?"

Acting far braver than he felt, Hem lurched forward until the chain that held him to the throne tugged him sharply back. "I'll be here."

Cadvan had watched the exchange, impressed. The last time he had seen Hem interact with Hulls outside Dagra, the boy had cowered against him at the Broken Teeth. Of course, Hem had seen much of the Dark since that time, and it seemed to have awoken a courage in him. Cadvan again wondered at the depths of the Pellinor folk who seemed to burn away the Dark like it didn't matter.

"And what more do you and I have to say to each other? I told you, I don't know anything about Nerili that you can use in your battle. She is your problem to deal with."

"Ah, but she was once yours, wasn't she?" Likud flicked his gaze down Cadvan. "You seem to entangle yourself with powerful women, but I can't imagine what they find in you that is so appealing."

There seemed no point in lying. "Nerili and I were lovers long ago, and even that was brief. Whatever I knew of her then, I doubt it will serve much use now."

"It is more the point that you were than anything else. It will break her heart to learn you've taken another woman."

"You must think very little of her heart if you think that my loving another woman will break it. She isn't First Bard for nothing." Cadvan glanced askance to the Nameless One's table and saw a large knife with a gleaming serrated edge used for slicing tough meat.

Likud was too distracted by Cadvan's words to notice his gaze. "Well, we'll find out when we tell her the truth, won't we? It will be rather amusing to watch."

"Don't say you're leaving so soon?" Cadvan's voice dripped sarcasm. "What will we do without you about the tower to keep us all in check?"

"I suspect our master will manage you fine." Likud drew up alongside Cadvan and ran his finger over his scar. "Though I admit, I think that my methods are superior. I asked him, you know, to let me have you on this campaign. I practically begged for you. He sees fit to keep you here. Do that worry you?"

Yes. "It has never served me well to worry over things I cannot change." Cadvan wished that Likud would stop touching him; he hated the feeling of Hull hands on him.

"Pretty words." Suddenly, the scars on Cadvan's cheek didn't seem appropriate for the depth of his treachery. His betrayal went too deep for simply one blow.

Though Cadvan expected Likud's attack, it didn't make it hurt any less. He drew his sword with a hiss that echoed around the empty throne room. Cadvan threw caution to the wind and lunged for the knife at the table. He held it out steady, but Likud had a full sword that gleamed brightly in the light. The Hull cackled.

"You look like a farm hand defending your cows," he spat. "Are you going to gut me with that blade?"

"What guts?" Cadvan asked wryly.

"Ah, Cadvan. You're playing a losing hand. If you attack me, you are a traitor to our master and he will punish you."

It was true, but it took every bit of Cadvan's willpower to lower the knife. It was hard not to defend oneself from a Hull. "Perhaps I play a losing hand, but you cheat."

Likud held the blade out as he approached so the point dug into Cadvan's chest when he drew near enough. A small red flower blossomed on his breastbone. "Name calling? Bit childish for a great Bard, don't you think?"

Cadvan surprised himself-as well as Likud and Hem-when he spun the blade expertly so the tip pointed down and offered to the handle to Likud. Everyone in the room had thought him out of practice to be swinging blades. "It's the company I keep."

Likud tossed the blade casually and it slid across the floor. "Like I said, I make you what you are. Like this." Likud turned the blade so the flat side ran parallel to Cadvan, then swung it back and struck him with it. This time, Cadvan crumpled to the floor and had to curl into a ball while Likud struck him again and again. It was surprising how each blow with such a thin piece of metal could force the air out of his lungs, but Cadvan gasped for breath.

"Maybe now. You'll. Answer. My. Questions." Likud punctuated each word with a blow. When he struck at Cadvan's face, he caught his fingers and Cadvan yelped, thinking his fingers broken.

Horrified, if not embarrassed, by the sound he had just made, Cadvan snarled, "Stop! Stop it! How can answer if you keep striking me?"

"Find a way," Likud said flippantly. He lifted his blade up above his head and brought it down again with enough force to bruise.

Hem watched Cadvan with a dull sympathy: he knew how painful it was, but simultaneously knew he could do nothing to stop it. He'd felt the same apathy when he nursed Malgorn's wounds at the urging of Sharma. A part of him recognized the horrific suffering and humiliation the Bards experienced, but he knew there was nothing to be done for it. He grappled with the sensation, pressing it down. The foot of Sharma's throne was nowhere for such delicate emotions.

His gaze drifted away slowly, back to the window where he could see the red sky and dark clouds. Lightening cut a jagged line through the sky, illuminating the room and Hem's eyes were drawn to something on the floor that flashed. It was the knife that Likud had thrown, and though he didn't know why, in a moment of desperation, Hem lurched forward as far as his chain would allow to reach it. His fingers just managed to brush the tip, and he quickly pocketed it.

A small, sad knife, but a knife all the same, Hem thought.

When he looked back to check that Likud hadn't seem him, he found the Hull had sheathed his blade and was holding Cadvan up by his hair. "Look at the handsome face," he cooed, "I bet if we sent you to convince Nerili to surrender she would do it in a heartbeat."

"I am through serving your army," Cadvan said through clenched teeth. "I have betrayed the Light enough."

"Your betrayal has only just begun. History will remember the crimes you committed against the Light and curse your name."

Cadvan jerked back as the familiar shiver of cold raced along his spine and dispersed into his mind like toxic fumes. Likud straightened up, still not releasing his grip on Cadvan, and made a deferential bow. The Nameless One was standing at the end of the room, leaning against the door, his face carved into an amused grin.

"My lord," Likud murmured.

"Likud, you know I respect your dedication to detail when it comes to interrogation of Bards. You are singularly gifted in the matter of torture and extraction of information, and yet-" the Nameless One came forward smoothly, moving like liquid mercury, his smile turning predatory as he flicked his gaze over Cadvan "-when it comes to this Bard, I fear you are too easily distracted. Too amused by your own small cruelties."

Though he was once again faced with the Nameless One's wrath, Cadvan was pleased to feel Likud stiffen at his side. The Hull said, "I am not, my lord. I was simply trying to convince Cadvan to speak."

"Really?" the Nameless One was now only a few feet away, and his soft voice seemed to ring around them. "Because all I see are his bruises and blood. This is why I cannot allow you to take him to Thorold. You are too preoccupied with your revenge."

Likud released his hold on Cadvan. "Cadvan of Lirigon is a traitor and-"

"And I will deal with him." The Nameless One looked into the distance and sighed heavily. "It is like this all over. You all want revenge, you all want to make them suffer, but must I remind you that we have a war to win yet? It took some of your comrades almost a week to learn the location of the Ernani. A week. When I asked why it took so long to question six Bards, I was told that exceptions had to be made because Saliman of Turbansk had to be present during their torture."

Hem cringed. No wonder Saliman had looked grimmer than usual at the feast.

"When the war is over and the Bards are slaves, then you can spend your days tormenting them!" the Nameless One snarled, and his voice filled the room with his anger. "Right now, I have battles to plan. I want my information. So, tell me, Likud, have you even bothered to question Cadvan, or have you amused yourself with his cries of pain?"

Likud dropped his face. "I was getting to it just now."

"Allow me," the Nameless said icily, pushing past Likud and dragging Cadvan up to his knees. He tiled his face up and stared into his eyes. "You and your little Bards must have guessed by now that that my forces will move on the School of Busk. The west coast is mine, they have no place to run."

Cadvan and Saliman had suspected as much and debated the approach the Nameless One would take. It seemed brute force would suffice.

"I suspect that the Bards of Busk will play me false, though. They are like rats, running and hiding in their hills, but the queen rat, she will not escape so easily. I will catch her first and she, like you, will be made to watch the destruction of everything she loves."

I'm sorry, Neri, he thought, but made sure to keep his face blank under the searching gaze of the Nameless One.

"Of course, I will need to catch our little queen rat, and you have information about her I desire."

"I've told Likud there is nothing I know that will help you. This relationship you think I have with her, it ended long ago." Cadvan felt Hem's eyes one him and flushed with anger. The Nameless One did this on purpose to torment the boy, to sow seeds of doubt in his mind. "And even if I could, how would it help? What would you like to know? Where I touched her? The sounds she made when I kissed her? The curves of her body, naked and drenched in moonlight while we made love? How will it help you conquer Busk to know how the First Bard likes to be loved?" He was breathing hard when he finished speaking.

"That is certainly information that I could find a use for," the Nameless One mused. "As you know, I repay loyalty among my servants, and if Nerili proves a devoted servant, I see no reason not to reward her."

Cadvan's face showed his disgust and the Nameless One chuckled.

"But while that is fascinating, that is not what I want to know. The First Bard will be removed from action long before the battle begins, but I suspect someone will take her place. Who sits on the First Circle? Who is going to take her place once I have her?"

Cadvan didn't bother to ask how he planned to capture Nerili. He suspected he wouldn't like the answer much. "The First Circle?"

"Yes, tell me who my Hulls must find and capture. Who are the strongest Bards in Busk?" The Nameless One saw his hesitation and knew he had touched on Cadvan's knowledge. "Give me their names."

"I wouldn't-"

"Don't." The single word carried the weight of the Nameless One's will, and Cadvan's head bowed. He felt the long fingers of the Nameless One in his hair and realized he was stroking him the way a man would a dog.

It is no use, Inareskai. If you withhold the information I want, I will consider it betrayal and call you disloyal. What happens when you are not loyal?

Cadvan closed his eyes, pushing away the creeping sensation of fingers playing in his hair. You will hurt Maerad.

Correct, Inareskai. The Nameless One laughed when Cadvan shivered. You and I both know you will yield in the end. You will not risk your woman for these Bards. Give me their names.

"Elenxi," said Cadvan, twisting out of the Nameless One's grip. "Kebeka, Intatha, Arnamil."

"And who among them is the most Gifted?"

"I haven't a clue."

The Nameless One elected to twist Cadvan's ear the same way a father would a misbehaving child. "Cadvan, we just discussed this."

"Gifted in what way?" Cadvan growled, freeing his ear. "By sword? By word? By sheer willpower alone? There are too many ways to be Gifted."

"Who will take her place?"

"I can't be sure." Cadvan sensed the Nameless One's impatience. "Elenxi is a warrior. I imagine if Nerili were gone they would answer to him."

"That is the only reason?" The Nameless One's golden eyes glittered with malice. "They will follow his lead because he can swing a blade?"

You can't betray them like this, Cadvan thought, eyeing the Nameless One surreptitiously from the side. To be on the Circle is one thing, but to be-

As if the Nameless One sensed his deceit, a petal of fire uncurled in the place right behind his eyes, and Cadvan gave a cry of startled pain. It felt like the worst headache of his life-including the one he'd suffered after the wright had attacked him. He pitched forward as the flames spread, engulfing his mind and leaving him senseless to the world around him. Though it shamed him mightily, Cadvan curled up into as tight as a ball as he could and held his head, moaning while he grappled with the pain.

Inareskai, you have now worn away my patience. Speak, or I get the woman.

"He's her uncle," Cadvan rasped. "Elenxi is her uncle."

The flames faded and Cadvan could breathe again, though the pain behind his eyes lingered. The Nameless One was admiring Cadvan now, the way his body expanded with air as he drew haggard breaths, his determination to retain some semblance of honor. He suddenly wanted to kick Cadvan until his ribs broke then make him run through the palace. His pain and humiliation would better than a glass of wine.

You are so like Andomian, Inareskai. He wept when I slaughtered the people he loved. Will you?

Cadvan chose not to answer that question and instead threw back his hair and faced the Nameless One furiously. "Are you done questioning me?"

"You've certainly given me the information I need." The Nameless One pressed down the urge to hurt him and snatched a look at Likud. "You see how easy-how efficient-it is to simply ask? No need to swords or beatings or the like, just words."

Likud shifted uncomfortably, making a vague gesture with his hands. Cadvan was visibly pleased to see him so, and he smiled so his lip split and dribbled blood. The Nameless One caught the scent of his blood, and without thinking, took Cadvan's chin in hand, pulling him upright. Cadvan stared back, into those bright, hungry eyes.

"You're bleeding, Cadvan," he murmured distractedly, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the metallic odor. Then, he swiped his thumb across Cadvan's lip. He released the Bard, studying the tip of his thumb now covered in red. To Cadvan's mingled disgust and horror, the Nameless One sucked the tip of his thumb clean.

Cadvan's mouth was hanging open and even Hem, who had seen much of the Nameless One's madness, was shocked at this display.

"What a peculiar flavor. Exotic." the Nameless One said softly. "Perhaps more in the future?"

Cadvan still hadn't quite managed to process what he had seen. "If you bleed me dry for wine, you won't get any more information out of me."

The golden eyes were on his face, dancing with delight at his confusion. "I won't bleed you dry. But a glass now and then? Why, you should be so honored that I would consider your blood. It's a very intimate gesture."

Cadvan's face had gone pale and his eyes wide. "I've seen many an intimate gesture, but never one that required my blood." He took a step back and fetched up against a table, but the Nameless One prowled closer, a smile tearing across his face. The hairs on the back of Cadvan's neck stood all on end, and felt a thrill race up his spine. He had to get away, he had to run; whatever the thing before him, it wasn't even close to human.

"Now, Cadvan, don't be childish," the Nameless One said in a sweet voice. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I told you that you were important to me, that you were born to be here."

Get away, get away as fast as you can. Don't wait-

Inareskai! The Nameless One snarled low in the back of his mind and Cadvan felt his legs give out beneath him. "Were you going to run?"

"I-I was-"

"You would leave me?" the Nameless One tilted his head, childlike in his curiosity. "That's no way to treat your master, and certainly no way to treat a friend."

It was too much. "Stay away from me!" Cadvan hissed and scrambled back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Likud laughing, but he didn't care how it looked. The Nameless One had slipped into that raw madness that drove him to break Norowen's teeth and send Maerad to a whorehouse and laugh while Malgorn had withered in his own blood- "You can command me only so far, but I won't stay here to be slaughtered like some animal."

The Nameless One blinked and his face shuddered. "Animal? Oh, Cadvan, you are so much more than just an animal. You are a memory, my memory, and I would not see you slaughtered again." He bent at the waist and kissed the crown of Cadvan's head, and Cadvan recoiled into himself. His voice, when he spoke, was distant and eerily calm. "You will live again. You will see my empire rise from the past and join me in its future. You are so very precious to me."

The gravel dug into Nerili's back when she squirmed, small points of sharp pain in her spine. She whined against the hand pressed against her mouth and tried to push it from her face, but the Nameless One dug his nails into the soft flesh of her cheeks. She felt the sharp points-like claws-piercing her, felt blood dribbling down her cheeks.

"Does that hurt?" he asked in jagged gasp. She tried to throw him off her by arching her back and bucking her hips. "Or perhaps you like it? Does it feel good?"

It's not real, it's not real, she told herself, looking up and seeing a dark sky shot through with flashes of red. In the distance she heard the thunderous roar of fire and knew the School had caught. She thrashed about trying to break the hold he had on her, but the Nameless One was laughing.

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you must relax, Neri." The proportions of the Nameless One didn't seem to make sense to Neri. His torso was elongated, his arms bent at awkward angles, so that even though his face was inches from her, somehow one of his hands was curled around her knee, pulling it up so her leg was bent. "Just try to enjoy it."

This isn't real. This is a dream, a nightmare. I'm still asleep in my room and I'll wake up in my bed. Nerili closed her eyes, trying force herself out of the nightmare, but hot breath brushed her face.

"Open your eyes. I want you to be awake for this, Neri."

Wake up! Nerili bit her lip, hoping the pain would jar her awake. Open your eyes and see the ocean outside your window!

Nerili opened her eyes but she was staring into the eye sockets of the Nameless One. In the red light of the burning city, she saw him smile, a rictus of repulsion. He was laughing at her, mocking her while she struggled vainly to escape him. "You'll like it, I promise. I'll be…" the rasping voice trailed off. He was considering the end to that sentence. "…well, I won't be gentle, but you'll like it."

Nerili managed to grab two of his fingers, breaking the grip of the Nameless One. "I'll kill you. I'll destroy you-destroy what you are."

"Oh, no you won't," he said, and his hand was moving up, bunching up her gown around her hips. She felt his knee between her thighs. "I'm in you. I'm a part of you." She felt sharp teeth on her neck, on her chin in a sloppy kiss that was more of a bite.

"No, no," Nerili moaned, and she tried in vain to slap his hand away and the fingers inched up higher. "No!"

Nerili sat upright in her bed, the bedsheets gathered around her waist. She felt tears on her cheeks, but they were cold, like she had been crying for a while, and her hands were clamped into fists. She was shaking uncontrollably, and she drew her knees up, hugging herself tightly to make it stop. Even with her eyes closed she could still see the smiling face cast in sharp relief against the red sky, hear his guttural voice, feel his hot breath on her face.

Don't think about it, she ordered.

Nerili threw the blankets off her and stumbled to a small table that was situated by an open window. There was a bottle of wine from the previous night and she filled a glass liberally. She lifted it to her lips, but before she drank it, she paused staring at the dark red liquid. Slowly, her face crumpled.

"It this what I've come to?" she asked the glass. "I can no longer fight the Dark in me and so must drown it instead?" The wine didn't answer and Nerili carefully set it down on the table. She stumbled back to the bed and sat on the end, staring, unseeing, at the wine. "I'm the First Bard, I'm the leader of the School of Busk. I'm the First Bard."

Some First Bard, a soft voice whispered. You failed the Midsummer Rites, and you're failing your people now. You are weak, helpless in the face of the Dark. You will fall and everyone will know.

"No," she moaned, clutching her hair tightly, "No, no, no. It's not me. It's Sharma."

It's you! Its your fault you're weak. You don't deserve to be First Bard. You should have stepped down when you couldn't make the Tree.

"It wasn't me!" she hissed.

You're an embarrassment. The entire School watched you fail. Cadvan watched you fail. Is it any wonder why he didn't want you? No man wants a weak woman. If the voice had been horrible in the previous weeks, it had reached new levels of vindictive pleasure now. It seemed that nothing in Nerili's past was safe. You are a pathetic thing. You should never have been accepted to a School, never been made full Bard. You should have stayed up in the mountains and been a goatherd's wife.

Nerili cringed away from the truth behind those words. Though her family had a history of turning out great Bards, she hadn't been born into an old Barding house. Her people were the goat herders of the mountains, and though she had no shame in it, there were those who were quick to remind her that she had mixed blood. There had been a time she proclaimed it, it was something that had bound her and Cadvan together, that shared exhilaration, that stubborn pride, that they didn't need pure blood to be great Bards. But as she aged and began to realize that regardless of her strengths, there would always be those who would mock her. The Bards of Norloch were particularly vicious, but she had never minded their crude comments. Until now.

You are not deserving of the title of First Bard. You are a woman from a mediocre family, at best. Your Gift is a mere candle flame compared to Bards of the old families. Nerili stared down at her hands and bit her lip. Not like Maerad, Maerad of the House of Karn, who burns with White Fire. She is a prodigy. It's no surprise Cadvan left you for her.

"He didn't leave me for her," Nerili muttered bitterly. "He left me long before Maerad came."

But he didn't take you back, did he? You saw how he looked at his student, how he smiled at her with all the warmth in his heart. He went out dancing with her. He drank with her. What did he give you but that empty, friendly smile? He wanted nothing from you because you are nothing.

"Stop this, stop this," Nerili spat and slammed her hands down on the bed.

Since her vision of Busk burning, the voice in her head had become more incessant, more demanding. At first, she had pushed it aside, ignored it as ramblings, but the longer she pushed it away, the louder it seemed to become. Her nightmares occurred again and again, more vivid, more violent and more haunting. She barely slept now, and what little work she did, was poor and sparse. She tried to focus on preparing the city for war, and though she had arranged travel by ships for the common folk, and designated a safe area of the School where the children would stay until the surrender, she felt that she wasn't working fast enough.

I'm running out of time, she thought weakly. I'm running out of time and I can't even keep myself focused on the work.

Nerili sighed heavily. She had begun to suspect that the Nameless One had somehow stolen into her thoughts, thus disabling her with fear, but she was disgusted by the idea. She was a Bard of the Light, one of the most powerful Bards in all of Annar and seven kingdoms, and yet he had defeated her already. She was ashamed and too embarrassed to tell anyone what had happened. She would sit alone for long periods, grappling with the Darkness in her, trying to quash it by force of will

Perhaps if Cadvan were here he would understand about feeling Darkness inside you, she thought a little sadly. But Cadvan wasn't here. In fact, if all evidence were true, it seemed that Cadvan was in Dagra a prisoner to the Nameless One.

Her reverie was broken by a firm knocking at her door. Nerili stared at it a moment, wondering if she could just turn them away. When the knocking continued, more urgent this time, she stood, tossed a pale blue robe over her nightgown and smoothed her tangled hair down. Elenxi was waiting on the other side of the door when she opened it.

When he saw her puffy eyes and pale face, his eyes narrowed, but he said, "You're up late this morning, Neri."

She waved away the comment. "I was up late last night, it seems exhaustion got the better of me."

Elenxi entered her rooms, eyes moving from the desk scattered with papers to the uncorked bottle of wine and the full glass on the bedside table. "Exhaustion or intoxication?"

"Perhaps a little of both?" she shrugged and tried out a rueful smile. She thought she managed it well enough, and, in any case, Elenxi had already moved to take a seat at her table. "I thought you should know that we've begun evacuating the people from Busk and many of our ships are heading west around the island to meet them."

"Has it come to it already?" Nerili asked sharply. "I thought there might be more time…"

"We've received word that Gent and Carfedis have fallen to Enkir, and even now the Bards are being taken to Den Raven. I imagine that the Nameless One will move swiftly now that the west is open to him. We are one of the last Schools to stand opposed."

Nerili shook her head. "Gent and Carfedis? How could both be so quickly toppled? There were good Bards there, Bards of exceptional quality."

Elenxi toyed with the table before him, tracing a pattern on it while he debated the validity of the whispers he'd heard. "It seems a Shika dealt them a bad blow," Elenxi said quietly.

Silence hung between the two Bards heavily and Nerili fought the urge to take up her glass of wine.

"A Shika? But who summoned it?" she asked hollowly. "Perhaps the Nameless One but that would require a feat of power that a single person alone simply doesn't possess."

"If he has the Song, perhaps he has become powerful enough to command it on his own." Elenxi said this in a hopeful voice, because both he and Nerili knew the alternative. Shikas were difficult to summon in the first place, and commanding them required exceptional strength of will. Perhaps the Nameless One had managed to release the Shika, but it was more likely that a number of Bards had performed the charm instead, since Hulls couldn't aid their master in the summoning. If that were the case, that left them to wonder which Bards had betrayed them.

"Or, he has commanded Bards to do it for him." Nerili caught her reflection in the glass windows of her doors and frowned. "But which Bards, I wonder?"

"I do not think we can lay blame at their feet, if there is blame to be laid," Elenxi said swiftly. "If there are Bards in Dagra, they certainly do not serve the Nameless One willingly."

But Nerili was thinking of those First Bards who had gone before her. "Vaclal, Finlan and Malgorn are all in Dagra if our sources tell us right. And Nelac, too. Those four perhaps could summon it, but to keep it and command it is another thing entirely. If Saliman of Turbansk and Cadvan were to help, perhaps the thing would stay…"

"It isn't helpful to think about," Elenxi said roughly. "Those Bards are his slaves by all rights and their service is forced. It doesn't do to think of it."

But Nerili couldn't not think of it. She was a First Bard, and if this was the fate of First Bards, what did her future hold? Ah yes, what will you do once your mind is broken and you are in thrall to the Nameless One? To what end will he use you? Perhaps nothing so grand as a summoning, for you are weak even now.

"Will a Shika come here, though?" Nerili caught Elenxi's eyes with a hard look. "Who among us will fight a Shika if it arrives on our shores?"

There was something in her voice that caught Elenxi's attention and he studied her closely. "What do you fear, Neri?"

"What do you mean?" she said stiffly, now turning away.

"I mean that all your life you were never afraid of the Dark, not even of monsters like a Shika. But now, you have grown small with fear, and your voice trembles." He gave her a long searching look before coming to kneel before her and taking her hands in his. "I feel like you are hollow, and it hurts me to see. Tell me what has happened."

You can't tell him of the Darkness in you! He will be repulsed, disgusted by your betrayal. She flinched away from the voice and when she opened her eyes she was looking in Elenxi's kind, open face. Her uncle, a man who was like a father since hers had died. The feeling of his large, warm hands holding hers was like a release.

"I-I've had visions. Perhaps they are premonitions of the future. Perhaps they are nothing but my worst fears, but," she paused, trying to find the words to explain, "but they haunt me in my waking hours."

Elenxi eyes widened and he reached up, cupping her cheek. "Why have you not spoken of these sooner?"

"I couldn't," she whispered, reveling in the feeling of his hand on her. "I couldn't tell you."

"Neri, you are like a daughter. To see you like this…for the love of the Light, what happened?"

Don't say it, don't let him know. You are a traitor to the Light, you've let the Dark in.

The looked up at him, her face drawn and rigid. When Elenxi didn't look away, Nerili's face crumpled and she collapsed into him, her face tucked in the crook of his neck and shoulder. He felt her hot tears on his neck and he held her closer her against him. She shuddered.

"It's Sharma," she finally said, pulling back but refusing to look at him. "I know it's him. I don't know how, but Sharma has found a way-" she bit her tongue, she couldn't bear to say he had found a way into her mind, she couldn't say what Sharma did to her in her nightmares "-he's found a way to charm me. I dream of the fall of Busk every night, and when I wake, it's like I haven't slept at all. During the day, it's all I can think of is it. I-I can't work anymore."

Elenxi drew a sharp breath. "Neri, why didn't you say anything sooner? I would have found you a healer, or we could have made a counter-charm, or-"

"I thought it would go away!" Nerili said suddenly, throwing her hands up. "I thought if I just slept and tried to focus on work I could make it go away! I'm the First Bard-" her voice caught in her throat "-I am the First Bard, I should have the power to make this go away."

"Yes, you are a First Bard, but he is the Nameless One." Elenxi looked around the room and snatched up the wine glass. He dumped it and refilled it with water, thrusting it to Nerili. She took it with shaking hands and gulped it down. He watched her closely. "I see no diminution in your Gift. I do not think the Nameless One has managed to slip past your wards. You seem free of the Dark to me."

Nerili paused in her drinking, staring up at Elenxi. "I am glad to hear it," she said flatly, but inside, she was rejoicing. Since the Nameless One had begun visiting her, she feared he had done more than entered her mind. Hearing her uncle tell her she was still a child of the Light was like a release, a vindication of her being.

Elenxi was staring out her large glass doors, his face inscrutable: he looked like he wanted to ask a very uncomfortable question. "Neri, will you let me speak to the Circle about this? I think between the four of us we might be able to construct a countercharm."

"We should be focusing our efforts elsewhere," she said distractedly. "We must arm the School, we must prepare our people, we must-"

"We will be nothing if you are not ready for the battle to come. You are the best of us, and we need you. Let the First Circle craft a countercharm to protect you."

Nerili frowned, but Elenxi sounded desperate. "Fine, but only after you have finished charming the boats. We'll do it tonight."

Elenxi looked ready to argue but Nerili's face was so stormy that he shook his head in acquiescence. "Tonight, but no later. I won't have you suffering for another day."

Nerili bowed her head in assent, casting a faint smile at her uncle's display. Elenxi left the room then, preoccupied with his thoughts about his niece. Had he not been so worried, he might have seen the pale faced man standing by one of the large glass doors that opened from the Bard House to the ocean shore. He wasn't particularly noticeable, dressed in dull blue and black silk, eyes watery brown, hair a flop of brown over an impassive face, but that was precisely why Elenxi should have noticed him. Casual men didn't just lounge around Nerili's apartments during a war, but Elenxi's eyes slid past him, and as the great Bard strode off, he didn't see the toothy smile that split the man's face or the red gleam in his pale brown eyes and he turned to study the door to Nerili's rooms.