Chapter Seven
Maerad blinked, watching the flames spitting in the grate in her rooms. She was shaken by the events of the previous night and focused all her attention on the glass of water clutched in her fists. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the gout of blood as Sharma smashed Norowen's teeth out of her mouth. She could hear his laughter and her cries of pain while the Hulls dragged her out. Maerad cursed herself. She had seen horrible things during her time in Dagra, but there was something so disturbing about seeing Norowen spitting up blood. She didn't know why it had so distressed her, but there was something overwhelming about a First Bard being so callously brutalized for the amusement of the Nameless One's court.
She hated him. She hated the way he had humiliated Norowen in front of the other Bards. She hated how he had made the Bards attend the feast to serve as witnesses to his cruelty. She hated how he had given Saliman the wine, and how he'd made Hem serve it. She hated him for making her sing and kiss Cadvan in front of the court. She felt like she had been shamed, though there was nothing shameful about kissing the man she loved.
I'll tear his throat out, Maerad thought, her fingers tightening on the stem of her glass. I'll turn into a wolf and tear his throat out for slighting me. Anger was bubbling up in her blood and a low growl built up in her throat. Not for the first time, she wished she had claws and fangs to wreak havoc on Hulls.
Suddenly, the doors to the room slammed open and Cadvan entered, his face pale and his hair disheveled. He spotted Maerad and she was shocked by the wild look in his eyes: she hadn't seen him look quite so chaotic since she had suggested she open herself up the Darkness in her. He didn't blink, he stared blankly at her, like he didn't understand what he was seeing. She stood, holding her hands out in a supplicating gesture, coaxing a scared animal to trust her.
"Cadvan, what happened?" He stared at her, searching for words to describe what had just happened. "You look like you were chased by a pack of dogsoldiers." When Cadvan still had not moved any farther into the room, Maerad sighed. "For the love of the Light, come here."
Maerad crossed the room, hands still out like she would stop Cadvan from running. The way he looked at her with wide dark eyes made her think of chasing animals through a forest in a dark night. When she was near enough, she reached past him, closed the door, and took his arm in hers to pull him forward. He moved stiffly under her grip and she maneuvered him toward the couch, but he stuttered to a halt before the hearth.
"No, no I'll stay by the fire," he said absently and simply collapsed on the rug. He drew his knees up, resting his palms flat on them.
He continued to stare and Maerad reached down, taking his chin in her hand and lifting his face up to her. Something in him shivered, finally an emotion registered on his face: fear. Maerad sank to her knees to sit before him; she took his face in her hands and used her thumbs to rub life into his cheeks. He reminded her of Hem when they pulled him from the caravan.
"Cadvan," she said gently. Up close, she saw the split in his lip, the bright patch on his cheek where someone had struck him. "Cadvan, sweetling, what happened?"
"The Nameless One," he said. "He is going to abduct Nerili before the battle."
While this was unsettling, Cadvan had known Nerili's fate for a while, and it didn't seem to merit the look of blank pain on his face. "I am sorry to hear that," Maerad said in a calm voice. "She is a good Bard, and truly loyal servant of Light. In truth, I cannot imagine her in this place." Somehow, Nerili seemed too free and wild to be a slave in Dagra, Maerad couldn't reconcile the image of the powerful, reckless First Bard she had met in Busk with the First Bard in Dagra.
"She will be here soon enough," Cadvan said blankly.
"It's not really about her, is it?" Maerad asked after a moment of contemplation. Cadvan's gaze focused on her and she felt the intensity of his distress. "What happened, my love?" she asked empathetically.
Pull yourself together, Cadvan hissed at himself. In the moment, fleeing the Nameless One in a wild dash had made sense, but now, far from his overwhelming presence, Cadvan felt childish. It was just…just blood.
"It was just the Nameless One." Cadvan made an abstract gesture with his hand but suspected Maerad wouldn't be easily distracted. She continued watching him, searching his face for some sign or meaning. After a moment, he pointed vaguely to his mouth. "He wanted my blood, he-he drank my blood."
Maerad's mouth dropped open. "Why?" It seemed like such a simple question for such a complex answer. "Why?"
"The Light only knows why he does anything he does!" Cadvan said vehemently, coming back to himself. "He just…wanted my blood all of sudden. He took it from my lips after Likud turned his blade on me."
The anger was back, the desire for fangs and claws. Maerad snagged Cadvan's shirt and lifted it high enough to see the purple bruises forming on his torso. She cursed. "Why? What did you do this time?"
"Existed?" Cadvan suggested dryly. He was fairly sure that no matter what he did, Likud would always find reason to track him down and hurt him. The Hull's hatred of Cadvan was as intense as Cadvan's of it.
"Come, Cadvan, I'm sure I have something that can ease the aches." She stood, taking Cadvan's hands in her and helping him up. "But the first line of defense is hot water."
"Is a bath your cure for everything?" Cadvan asked, the smile in his voice but not quite on his face.
Maerad began filling the tub, adding rosemary oil to the water so the tangy smell of damp forests filled the room. "It's the only thing I can recommend," she said, thinking of her meager power about the tower. "Bathe and then come to bed."
"It's barely evening," Cadvan said, glancing to the window. Of course, it was difficult to tell time in Dagra, but clocks still existed.
Maerad raised an eyebrow. "Does it have to be dark to be in bed?"
At this, Cadvan blinked. "I suppose you are right in that."
Maerad tipped her head, a thoughtful expression on her face as hot water filled the tub steadily. The last time she had seen Cadvan looking so desolate, it was the first night the two had been locked in the tower room, the night she had convinced Cadvan to surrender to the Sharma and he had simply collapsed in submission. He had the same look in his eyes, confused and hurt, like he hadn't understood how he had been forced into a corner. She was beginning to understand that feeling. He was powerful in his own right, and to be rendered completely helpless and left at the mercy of someone else was disorienting. This couldn't be something Cadvan understood.
"Cadvan," she murmured, approaching him with the same cautious pace as before. Standing before him, her head barely reached his chest, be he watched her with doleful eyes, waiting to see what she might do to ease his pain. She stepped close to him and rested her forehead against his chest while she took one of his hands in her and raised it to her lips. She kissed his wrist, his palm, and each finger in their turn. He trembled under her attention, but she continued, reaching up and undoing the buttons that held the neck of his shirt before pulling it over his head. She loosened his trousers and helped him step forward out of them, holding his forearms to steady him. He leaned forward, like she could bear all the weight of his body and soul and pain, but she merely led him across the space to the bath that was almost full. She turned him so he faced the water instead of her and placed a gentle kiss on his back before his shoulder blades.
"Cadvan. Bathe and then come to bed. This day has been hard and painful and I would share the night with you so as to ease your pain."
Cadvan stared at the steaming water, thinking of the Nameless One's bright eyes while he licked the blood off his fingers. "I don't know that this is something hot water will wash away."
Maerad sighed, laying her palms flat on his back. "I'm not going to wash it away. I am the Fire Lily, I'll burn it away."
Her voice echoed with power and Cadvan shivered before Maerad left. She closed the door softly behind her and waited, listening for the splash as he sank into the tub. She went to the bedroom, snatching up her glass on the way, and helped herself to a large serving of dark red wine. Whatever had transpired between Cadvan and Sharma had left him in frightening state, and she thought suddenly of her duty to Cadvan, not just because Sharma ordered it, but because he was her closest friend and lover.
She disrobed and dug through her possessions until she found one of the night gowns that had been sent up from the brothel. It was the one she had worn on her fight night and had so fascinated her with its silken delicacy. She admired the flowers stitched into the cuffs and daring neckline in silver thread then slithered into it. She let her hair loose and distractedly pulled at the tangles, applying oil to her hair by running her hands through it. She had another glass of wine, she waited nervously.
This will be fine, she thought, sitting on the bed and studying her small feet. Last time, it was wonderful. This time, you will make Cadvan feel the same. Her memory pulled up images from the book Lyla had showed her, different positions, different places on the body. She didn't blush this time, thinking of touching Cadvan as Lyla had suggested, but she felt the thrill of trepidation: she wasn't sure she knew how to satisfy him. Pictures and words only went so far, and a part of her doubted she possessed the necessary skill or knowledge to awaken in him the same sensations he had in her.
No fumbling or falling, just be confident you silly girl. She tried to picture Lyla's sly smile and felt her lips curl, mirroring her enticing look. If Lyla can do this, so can you.
As she waited considering her way froward, she took a moment to imagine Cadvan's body. She had never done so and realized she wasn't quite sure what she might find under his tunic and trousers. Of course, she had seen parts of him naked, but his entire body, that was different. She bit her lip, thinking of him as she had seen him in the bath: he had a fine form.
"What are you thinking?" Maerad glanced up sharply and saw that Cadvan had slouched into the room. His hair was wet and dripping on the shirt he had replaced. His dark blue eyes were watching her closely, like he would see the truth in her words. "By the look on your face, it seems important."
Maerad lifted her wine glass in a salute. "Indeed, it is. I am thinking that I should very much like to kiss you."
The smile Maerad was hoping for didn't come, but Cadvan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And where has the little seductress from before gone? No word games, no jokes at my expense, just desire."
Maerad swallowed her wine loudly. "Just desire tonight."
Cadvan tore his gaze from Maerad, looking instead around the room. He noticed the wine and almost took it, but the color reminded him too much of his blood on the Nameless One's lips and he recoiled. "So, you would have me forget the Nameless One?"
"I would have you come here because I think you are in pain and it hurts me." Cadvan blinked at her and Maerad saw a look of apprehension flit across his face. She rose from the bed, and though she was significantly smaller than him, she pointed imperiously to the bed. "Come, Cadvan, you must sleep sometime."
He shrugged suddenly, the tension in him leaving like a breath as he came across the room. Cadvan paused before her, waiting for her next command. A shock raced up Maerad's spine when he drew near, the shirt that clung to is body where he was still wet and she could see the outline of him through the shirt.
Absently, she plucked at the hem. "You should take this off if it's damp. You could catch a cold."
"In the desert?" Cadvan's voice was rough, Maerad thought, not at all his usual smooth candor.
"Nights are cold," Maerad murmured and slid her hands around his waist, under the fabric so her palms rested on his skin. It was hot from the bath. "If you are sick, I think I will be the one charged with caring for you, and I make terrible tea." She chanced a smile, and though he didn't return it, she thought the strain in Cadvan's face eased a little.
"Well," said Cadvan in that same timbre, "I would not want to put you out." He pulled the shirt free and Maerad was suddenly faced with Cadvan's bare chest. She had seen him shirtless in the bath before, but not so close, nor with so much intent. Other times, she could feign indifference to offer him privacy, now there was an unspoken knowledge that he had undressed for her.
"What did this?" she asked softly, her fingers running along the bruises on his sides, his belly, his back.
"Ah." Cadvan inspected them dispassionately. "I believe that was the work of Likud's blade. He cannot help himself about me, you see."
Maerad's eyes narrowed but she merely rubbed them gently. "I'll have to make you a poultice."
"You're a healer now?"
"I'm whatever I set my mind to," she said distractedly. Be bold, men like bold women. Her words failed her, and in that moment, it was easier to simply take Cadvan by the hand and set him on the bed. He allowed her to move him, and he sat there, looking up at her like she was a wise, old mentor giving a lesson.
"Lie back," she said tightly. Her nerves were getting the better of her and she pinched the fabric of her nightgown as if it might clam her.
Cadvan finally smiled, but it was tired, almost teasing. "Maerad, you don't have to-"
"I want to. Now lie back."
Cadvan held his hands up in surrender and laid back. He heard Maerad's movement beside him and wondered vaguely what she was doing. He wanted to look, to turn and watch her, but the tension in her body was palpable, and Cadvan suspected that if he caught her eye, she might lose whatever nerve she had. The lights in the room dimmed perceptibility as Maerad doused the torches and candles and left only the firelight to dance on the wall. Cadvan closed his eyes to chase the spots away, but snapped them open when he felt the bed shift and then the cool kiss of silk on his chest as Maerad leaned over him. He opened his mouth to again tell Maerad she didn't have to do whatever it was she was going to do, but she silenced him with a hot kiss.
She told you she wants to do this, let her, he reminded himself firmly. You're allowed to enjoy her as long she's willing. Still, Cadvan felt a pang of guilt. Whatever Maerad's behavior suggested, she might be driven by a different will than her own.
Maerad's small hands were flat on his chest, and he felt her weight bearing down on him for a moment and suddenly her leg swung around and she sidled onto his hips. This time he did look up, then quickly down. Maerad's gown was gathered up around her thighs and she was seated squarely on his hips. He bit his lip: just the sight of her like that awakened desire. When he looked up again, she was staring down at him, not quite smiling, but her eyes hazy with longing.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a kiss but didn't linger this time. She moved swiftly, placing a line of kisses at his neck, shoulder and then chest. She breathed after each kiss, her breath brushing the small dot of damp flesh and raising the tiny hairs on his body. She didn't speak as she wiggled a little down-an utterly tantalizing movement-and began to kiss each bruise on Cadvan's torso. As she went, Maerad heard Cadvan's breathing increase and felt a tingling pleasure at her performance. His hands moved up to rest on her knees, his splayed fingers tracing patters on her smooth skin.
It's like riding a horse, Maerad thought, but the moment she imagined herself on Darsor at a full gallop, she had to choke back her laughter. Except Cadvan's not a horse. He's far more terrifying than a horse.
She reached a bruise that curled around his hip and her teeth nicked the protruding bone. Cadvan drew a sharp breath and Maerad glanced up, but his face was relaxed. She noticed his hands moving farther up, pushing the flouncy material of her skirt aside to find the inside of her thighs. She let him, she wanted to feel that burning pleasure again, but she also forced herself to focus on him.
This isn't just about you and your pleasure. You can make Cadvan feel that way. She didn't feel comfortable admitting to herself that the prospect was intriguing. Making Cadvan feel pleasure seemed in the same line as casting a charm on him, but then…she smiled devilishly. But though he may be a powerful Bard, you can make him powerless to his own desires. Perhaps it is in your Gift.
Maerad began to slowly move her hips as Lyla had instructed her, a smooth, steady rocking motion. She chanced a look down and saw Cadvan was watching her intensely, eyes now completely in focus and burning at he looked her up and down. When he caught her eye, a sly, crooked smile crossed his face. Maerad barely had time to consider it and almost lost her stride when Cadvan's fingers slid up her thigh and began making a languorous circular motion between her legs.
"Cadvan, you can relax."
"I am." His voice was sure and confident, and Maerad flushed with mingled pleasure and frustration. She was supposed to bring him pleasure, not the other way around.
But by the Light it feels good! she thought wildly. She threw her hair back and moved her hips faster and was pleased to see Cadvan's eyes grow wider. She felt something between her legs then, not Cadvan's fingers, something hotter and heavier. At least now you know what you're playing at.
Cadvan was doing his best to maintain some control over himself, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to tear the dress over Maerad and plunge deep into her. She looked as beautiful as Ardina, wild and fey and mysterious in the flicking fire light, but the feel of her hips grinding against him was driving him mad. What little control he had won back by touching her was escaping him as she increased her pace. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.
"Cadvan," Maerad said suddenly. As if his name was a command, he opened his eyes at once. She had slowed the motion of her hips, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. She smiled fully now, looking down. "I think you should take your trousers off."
Cadvan blinked, at first completely uncomprehending, but when she began to fumble with the buttons his hands sprang into action. Maerad moved off him, letting him shimmy out of his trousers while she removed her own undergarment.
It's just like riding a horse, but it's Cadvan, but it's like a horse. Maerad's throat was getting tighter as she thought of what was to come, and when she glanced back at Cadvan and saw him naked, her heart skipped a beat. It's just like riding-
"Do you wish to continue?" Cadvan appreciated the effort on her part, but he was determined to respect her boundaries. "We can sleep if you want. Or I can finish what I was doing with you." His eyes darted to her hips then back.
It would be so easy to say yes and let Cadvan touch you again, she yearned. Just say yes, he won't mind.
"I want to try." That seemed safe phrasing, Maerad thought. That way, if she made a fool of herself, she could retreat.
Cadvan couldn't hide the excitement on his face. "Do you want to lie down?"
Maerad managed a rather scandalized look. "No, of course not. I'm still a young woman, after all, and I don't have to be on my back."
"And I'm old?" Cadvan asked in the same appalled tone.
A smile twisted Maerad's face and she pulled herself up onto Cadvan's hips. She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his chin before murmuring, "Mature."
Maerad began the steady motion of her hips again, and this time she felt Cadvan stiffen beneath her. Cadvan's response thrilled her and Maerad began to move faster, though she wasn't entirely sure what she would do next. Something of her thoughts must have crossed her face because Cadvan gripped her knees.
Maerad looked down at his hands on her. "I don't really know how to-"
"This might hurt the first time," he said in a rough voice. Cadvan began to stroke her again, using the pad of his thumb to touch the most sensitive part of her until she was damp under his hands. He pressed to fingers inside her and she gasped. "I'll be gentle. You can tell me to stop if you want."
"What do I do?"
"Relax," Cadvan said, maneuvering himself so he could enter her. Maerad's hands moved to his chest. She felt the tip of him pressing at her and instinctively spread her legs a little wider. There's a brief pause, both of them drawing deep breaths, and then Cadvan entered her.
Maerad gasped and her fingernails dug into Cadvan's chest. For a single second, it hurt. Not sharp pain, like when the Nameless One struck her, and not aching pain like a broken bone. It was an uncomfortable stretching that reminded her of a sore muscle, and Maerad thought for a terrible moment it would feel like this the entire time. But Cadvan's hands were on her hips suddenly and began to move her, directing the motion. Maerad moaned with pleasure: the feeling of Cadvan moving inside her was even better than his fingers. As she became more accustomed to the feeling of him in her, she arched her back and her eyes closed. Below her, Cadvan was thrusting with more and more vigor, seeming to be approaching a desperate tempo.
"By the Light," Maerad gasped, her body buzzing with the sensation.
Cadvan groaned. The sight of Maerad, the sound of her, the feel of her was too much. He wanted to go faster and harder but forced himself to maintain a steady pace for fear of hurting her. Instead, he began to stroke Maerad again and was pleased to hear her shuddering cry when she climaxed. As if that were a signal for him, Cadvan gripped Maerad's hips tightly and increased the tempo of his thrust until he finished. His breath escaped him in a jagged moan, and he relaxed back on the bed, feeling utterly spent in the best way possible.
Maerad was still seated on Cadvan's hips, taking careful stock of her body. She felt a dull pleasure warming her body. She gently crawled off Cadvan and glanced down, surprised to find a warm, cloudy liquid tinged red on the inside of her thighs.
"I'm bleeding?" she asked, bemused.
Cadvan glanced at her sharply, sitting up at once. "Yes, it happens sometimes, but that's certainly no reason for my discourtesy." He swung his legs around and Maerad watched him as he hurried from the room. She frowned, still confused, but he returned a minute later with a damp cloth. He held it out with a sheepish smile.
Maerad felt a tad graceless, wiping at the liquid on her thighs, but Cadvan didn't seem to notice. He crawled back into bed, smiling lazily and stretching. Maerad burrowed down into the blankets and curled up in the circle of his arms. She found herself stretching like Cadvan and felt like her whole body relax like a released spring.
Cadvan's hand came up and he began stroking her hair. "You enjoyed yourself then?"
"Immensely." Maerad recalled the motion of him beneath her and sighed. "It wasn't exactly what I expected."
"What were you expecting?" Cadvan asked curiously.
"I'm not sure. When women in Gilman's Cot talked about it…it didn't sound pleasant." She flashed him a coy smile. "That was beyond pleasant."
Cadvan's hand dropped to her waist where his fingers beat a rhythm against her hip. "What the women in the Cot were describing was not lovemaking," he said in a low voice.
"I know that now, but…it's difficult to explain." Maerad reflected on her fears and doubts, and also her innate trust in Cadvan. "I suppose I didn't know what to expect."
"Well, from now on, you do. If I don't live up to those standards, you should certainly tell me." Cadvan closed his eyes, the events of the day, mingled with the pleasures of the evening were conspiring to make him sleep.
Maerad hurriedly asked, "And did you enjoy yourself."
Cadvan's laughter shook through his chest and he kissed her forehead. "You have undone me, Maerad. I am utterly, completely at your mercy."
"How wonderful," she said, and she meant it.
The bitter, acrid taste of bile was in Saliman's mouth, coating his tongue and teeth; it was burning through his throat so each swallow was painful; it was in his nose, scorching. When he took a deep breath to steady his nerves, the smell hit him again and he gagged.
"They need a healer," Saliman rasped. "You need to get them-"
"I need to get them nothing," the Hull beside Saliman observed. Its red eyes moved from one figure to the next, a smile played on its lips. "I think a healer might ruin things. There is something…beautiful in extremity."
Saliman couldn't find the words to express his disgust. "Get them a doctor or get me out of here."
"You don't want to see your friends? They were your brothers-at-arms and you want to abandon them to loneliness and the dark? You do not deserve the loyalty of your friends."
Saliman couldn't turn his eyes from the scene before him. The Hulls had interrogated the Bards from Turbansk for over a week, and the results of their work were gruesome to behold. Saliman didn't know where to look. He couldn't bear to look into the faces of his friends, see the pain and fear, the shame and embarrassment. But to look anywhere else, at the tables where the Hull's tools lay, or at their bodies where the marks of their torment were red and raw and oozing.
"Let them go. Just-just release them to their own people," Saliman said desperately. He thought they might die in their current state, and the least he could do is get them out of the cell and away from the Hulls. If they were going to die, they should do it with their loved ones.
"You think they could walk?" Ignalt moved into the room, studying its victims. The Hull paused before Soron and gripped his leg firmly. Soron's eyes flew open and he cried out.
"Stop!" Saliman cried, stumbling forward but falling short.
Ignalt watched Soron's face transform into a mask of anguish, but he just laughed. "Ah, you live yet Soron of Til Amon. Would you care for some refreshment? Perhaps water or wine? You were a chef, were you not? We can bring you some roast duck or herbed chicken. That will do, yes?"
Soron's eyes were cloudy and unfocused. He tried to make words but spat out blood instead. Ignalt wiped the blood on his chin away dismissively. "I think your friend will have a hard time walking if I unchain him, Saliman. Will you carry him to a bed?"
Saliman glanced at Soron. Even from that distance he could see that the Hulls had hobbled him, he wouldn't be able to walk without significant support or a Gifted healer to set his knees. "Just leave these poor men and women be."
"Poor men and women? They defied our master, they actively tried to stop our campaign. If you support them, you are a traitor." Ignalt turned to glare at Saliman. "Are you a traitor, Saliman? Shall we take this up with our master?"
"No." The words were bitter, almost as bitter as the taste of his vomit. "No, I am not a traitor but I am asking you to let me help them."
Ignalt released his hold on Soron and moved to Hared, who, Saliman noticed, had one dislocated arm. When Ignalt flicked his nose and he didn't respond Saliman feared the Bard might have died. Annoyed, Ignalt grabbed a hank of Hared's hair and tugged it as hard as he could. Hared groaned, his eyes fluttering open to stare into Ignalt's face.
"We told you," he croaked. Saliman saw that a few of his teeth were missing. "Damn you, we told you."
"You did," the Hull agreed amicably. "It took some time, but we loosened your tongue. Or rather some teeth. But you were good little Bards in the end and you told us the truth. And now you will be rewarded for it."
Something like fear stirred in his eyes. What did the Hull mean by rewarding them? He glanced aside and caught sight of Saliman. "A reward?"
"Yes, I think you deserve something for all your strife." Ignalt turned, flashing a smile at Saliman. "But what shall it be? You know, Saliman, it was Hared who gave us what we wanted in the end. He could not bear the screams of his comrades anymore and he told us what we wanted. He was loyal and deserves a reward, think you not?"
Saliman shivered at the tone of voice and watched while the Hull considered Hared. "A just reward is mercy, I think."
"Show them mercy," Saliman agreed hollowly, eyes moving to the other Bards chained along the walls. They were arrayed in different states of undress, their injuries were exposed to the putrid air and leaking blood or puss. Saliman thought it they could just see a healer they might survive their wounds.
"Him not them," Ignalt said softly. He waited a moment for Saliman to draw his own conclusions. When the Bard just stared, nonplussed, the Hull smiled beatifically and reached behind him, grabbing at a short, curved blade with a serrated edge. "I will give him mercy."
Saliman understood a moment before it happened. He moved forward, hand outstretched to stop the Hull, but Ignalt pulled the blade back then drove it into Hared's chest. A look of faint surprise passed over Hared's face, like it was taking time for his brain to register the attack. His gaze dropped down to chest where the handle protruded. He blinked.
"This is mercy," Ignalt said empathetically. "This is freedom from pain and torment and a future of fear."
Saliman didn't scream while Hared slumped forward in his chains. He didn't scream when Ignalt pulled the blade free and blood bubbled sluggishly out of the wound. He didn't even move. It seemed to Saliman a pointless gesture since Hared would die, and, if anything, a faster death was preferable. Saliman wished he could reach out and hold him while he went to offer him some kind of human comfort, but that was a small wish in the face of such a painful end. But he did maintain eye contact with Hared until the light left the other man's face.
I won't leave you alone.
Ignalt watched the death impassively. "I wonder why he bothered to hold on for so long if his death was so fast."
Any anger Saliman had been feeling at the callous disregard for the human life around him faded. Arguing wouldn't change the Hulls minds, and it wouldn't bring Hared back either. Saliman bowed his head to the inevitable and waited; he wasn't sure whether the Hull would kill the other Bards or release or something even worse, but Saliman was aware that at that moment, he would have no control over the situation.
"I suppose it is a pity we lose such a capable servant for our master, but we have gained so much." Ignalt returned to Saliman and lifted his face up. "I will leave to find the Ernani's son, and he will soon give his allegiance to our master. You will counsel him in this, Saliman, First Bard of Turbansk."
Har-Ytan's son, Ir-Ytan. The boy-the man-would only be Maerad's age. To bring him to Dagra and force him before the Nameless One could destroy him. "Why must he give allegiance at all? Turbansk is no more. He need not be seen giving lip service to the Nameless One."
"He will be seen swearing his enduring loyalty to the black throne. He will declare the Suderain official territory of our master and will submit to our master's will. He will surrender his throne and crown and allow himself to be made Warden of the Suderain. You will explain this to the boy." When Saliman opened his mouth to refuse, Ignalt help up his hand. "It has ever been the duty of the Bards to counsel the kings. That does not change now."
Saliman frowned. "There is no reason to suspect the boy will obey me."
"Convince him. It will be a pity if the boy must be made to see things our way."
"I will do what is in my power," Saliman finally sighed. His eyes traveled to the other Bards in the room, those who had had been charged with convincing to cooperate. It hadn't been a very successful first attempt. "Will you release these men and women now? They have given you what you want, yes?"
Ignalt was inspecting a leather strap stained with blood and waved vaguely at Saliman. "They have. But I wonder if they will survive, and if not, what is the point in releasing them? Perhaps they should be kept here until-"
"Release them!" Saliman howled, jerking up to his feet. "Let them be among their own people. If they are to die, let them do it with their own."
Ignalt smirked. "Giving orders?"
"You want my cooperation with the Ernani, then perhaps you might show some good faith. If I am the First Bard of Turbansk, then these men and women are my wards. I would see them cared for."
"How noble of you." Ignalt turned back to the Bards. Soron's broken legs would prevent his walking, Narbila's arms were broken and Nimikeri had sustained serious injuries to her ribs. Orona and Irisanu had infections from their burns and were running a high fever. "None of these Bards will survive."
"If they can see a healer, they might. Why waste the lives of five slaves?"
"There are many to replace them." Ignalt fingered the blade he had killed Hared with. It would be so easy to slit their throats. "They are a liability."
"They have uses yet." Saliman realized suddenly that while he could not have saved Hared's life, he was desperate to save the others. He didn't know why it mattered so much to him, but he knew he needed them to live. "I will personally see to their healing myself if I must."
"Oh? But I am told you are not welcome to leave the tower except under the care of Hulls? How will you care for them?"
Saliman glanced at Soron and saw the Bard trembling. Death, he didn't fear, but to die slowly and painfully and alone in this cell, that was unbearable. "I-I-" Saliman reached for words desperately. "I need a First Circle if I am to help our master in his great charm casting. The old Circle perished or vanished after the fall of the city. These Bards, though, may serve me well."
"A First Circle." Ignalt hesitated. It was true that the Nameless One needed First Bards and First Circles if he would complete his spell and destroy the Speech. "These Bards won't live long enough."
"They will if they are taken to the tower and placed in the care of gifted healers. I am a healer, and Nelac of Lirigon and Hem." Saliman leaned forward. "Ignalt, if you want me to beg you, I will, but you and I both know I need a Circle. These Bards are some the most capable and Gifted Bards in all of the Suderain."
Ignalt clicked his tongue, placing the blade down. "So be it. Take this ragged assortment of Bards up to the tower and find a cell for them." The Hulls who had watched the exchange were shocked to hear Ignalt's command, but Ignalt turned on them, eyes blazing. "They have such a great destiny ahead of them, we shall not stop them."
Soron caught Saliman's eye as a Hull loosened the shackles that held him in place and something not quite pleased passed over his face. The strange emotion gave Saliman pause, but when Soron was free, he tumbled forward with a guttural cry of pain, his legs giving out beneath him. Saliman turned away, unable to bear the sight of the man floundering on his knees. The Hulls forced him up, but he was breathing heavily and couldn't walk.
"But, my lord-" said one Hull, eyeing Soron with dislike, "these Bards are all but dead."
"Get him up to the tower!" snaped Ignalt. "First Bard Saliman says he needs a First Circle and these Bards will do. If they die on his watch, he can explain to our master how it happened."
The Hulls looked mutinous at the idea of helping Bards, but their anger quickly turned on Saliman, who was watching the progression by the door. They carried the Bards past, most with pale faces and disgusted looks in their eyes for having to touch a Hull. When they finally moved Nimikiri out, the last in the line, Saliman stood shakily, carefully not looking at Hared's corpse.
"I will go with them," Saliman said. He didn't want to phrase it as a question because he didn't want to ask a Hull for permission, but he suspected it was better to air on the side of caution when it came to Ignalt's temperament.
"You will remember what I said." Ignalt was looking at Hared's body closely, considering where to put it along the wall. "I will send word at once to our master that these are the Bards you have chosen for your First Circle. If they die, you will pay the price for your incompetence."
"Incompetence?" Saliman asked, frowning.
"You chose these men and women out of love, not out of assessment. None of these Bards were on the former First Circle, which would suggest they are not suited to the task now. If they die, our master will blame you and your pathetic, bleeding heart."
"It is my understanding that the Bards our master needs are those which can bear his Darkness and partake in casting a spell with him. What better Bards could I find than those that have spent tortuous nights in your care? Who could possibly be better suited?"
"Who indeed?" Ignalt turned then, and standing beside Hared's slumped figure, he looked intimidating indeed.
Saliman chose not to answer, however, as he left the room and hurried to follow the Hulls in the distance he considered Ignalt's warning. He did not fear the Nameless One for what might happen to him-he was quite sure that very few things could be worse than what had happened-but he wondered what the Nameless One might do to his friends. Torture like Ignalt's was one thing, but dealing with the Nameless One, that was an altogether different experience.
As if speaking to Elenxi had cast a charm of its own, Nerili found herself pleasantly exhausted by the afternoon. She felt fatigue in her body and mind, but, as it was unaccompanied by the nervousness and fear that usually came with her sleep, she slipped into her bed gratefully. She rolled over to face the great glass doors that opened onto a patio and, farther back, the sea. Sun penetrated the curtains and fell on her face, and Nerili let the sunny approbation ease her to sleep. She didn't wake when the gulls soared overhead arguing with each other, she didn't wake when the waves from the sea rose up and roared, and she didn't wake when the door to her room creaked open and the plain-faced man with the watery brown eyes slipped in.
He paused, watching the steady rise and fall of Nerili's chest, waiting to see if she would awaken. She didn't and gradually he moved farther into the room. The man's eyes moved everywhere, the walls with their sparse decorations, the chest with dresses peeking out, the rich, blue robe that slithered over the desk chair. The desk held its own plethora of goods: notes of food stores, books, maps, letters to important people about town, lists of boats and sailors and children. The man sifted through the papers idly. It was all interesting but not novel, he and his fellows knew or guessed most of these things. He moved next to the wine and paused before it, a smirk tugging at the corners of his thin lips.
Finally, he faced Nerili herself. She had slept through his perusal of her possessions-unsurprising really, given that she had barely slept a night since the Nameless One had returned to power. The man inched closer, drinking in the sight of one of the most powerful Bards in all of Annar and seven kingdoms looking so helpless in sleep. There were shadows under her eyes and her lips were set in a frown, she clutched a thin blanket to her chest and curled around herself protectively. She seemed so small in sleep.
The man stood above her, his face blank and eyes unblinking. He considered how best to move forward. Naturally, to render her unconscious was simplest, but where was the fun in that? Waking her might cause a scene, and the last thing he needed was Bards rushing to the room to defend her. Should he wait for her to wake? Should he take her now?
He pulled a chair over and lounged back, admiring her. He knew what his commander would prefer. There was word among the soldiers and servants of the Dark that their master had gown tired of their dalliances. Torture and torment, so revered among the Hulls of Dagra as an art form, was put to the side in place of complete, sweeping domination. There was no time for playing with Bards, it seemed.
But how could we not? Nerili, still sleeping soundly before the man, shifted a little and the light from her window struck her face. She looked completely untroubled. What a waste, what a perfectly good waste.
The man sighed, helped himself to a glass of wine and drank it swiftly, coming to a decision. There will be time later. It's a long road from here to there.
The man stood and went to the door, running his hands over the frame. It seemed to glow momentarily red, but the light faded the door was itself. He then went to the windows, passing his hands over each in their turn. Quite suddenly, the room was silent, no waves crashing, no gulls calling, no wind playing with the curtains. It was like the room rested in a separate dimension. He returned to Nerili's bedside and toyed with his weapon. It was too tempting.
"Nerili." He said, and his voice was devoid of emotion. "Wake up, First Bard." She stirred, whispering something under her breath, and, because he couldn't help himself, the man struck her across the face.
Nerili came to at once, fumbling at her blankets in confusion. A hand snapped around her wrist, then another grabbed a hank of hair. She glimpsed a pale face with brown eyes that glared at her with undiluted hatred. She opened her mouth to curse, but her voice died on her lips.
"Now we can't have that, Nerili." The man leaned over her, twitching the blanket aside so he could see the rest of her. "You sweat during your sleep? Are you having nightmares?"
Nerili's eyes were wide and furious when she realized she had been incapacitated.
"Yes, I suppose this must be a strange sensation," the man continued and Nerili saw that his eyes were a strange color: brown but with a strange glow. "You are not accustomed to…helplessness, are you? You are, after all, the First Bard, the most powerful Bard, the most dangerous. When were you ever rendered so utterly powerless?"
Nerili tried again to call down White Fire, but nothing happened. Her hands were still locked to her side and her mouth remained firmly shut. Her frustration slowly gave way to fear: this creature had powers beyond a normal Hull.
"So, you understand? The pathetic little powers you and your Bards play with are but pale shadows of true strength. And that is strength that our master has found. You are nothing to him."
Nerili's eyes moved to the door as if willing it to open. Begging for Elenxi to enter and stop this madness.
"Ah." The man followed the line of her vision to the door and smirked. His entire body seemed to shudder, as if his will were keeping the door closed by his will. "You must be thinking of all the soldiers and Bards who even now defend your keep. You must be thinking that one will come and save you." The man leaned over her, his face barely an inch from her and stared into her eyes. He pressed his lips against hers in a terrible mockery of a kiss, biting her lower lip till it drew blood. "You must be thinking of your uncle who will come running to save his favorite niece. He will not come, not in time, at least."
Nerili shivered. His kiss had been as horrible as the ones Sharma gave in her nightmares. Perhaps she couldn't speak, but she spat in the man's face smugly.
"Damn you, Bard bitch!" he hissed and pulled away, rubbing his face. Nerili was horrified to discover that as he turned back to face her, the pale face and brown eyes had faded and she was staring up into the yellow-red eyes of a Hull. It struck her again, a casual blow that made her jaw ache. "I'm going to have to do something with you-" the words paused on the Hulls lips, its eyes moving to the door. "Company is coming, but I'm afraid you're going to miss the call."
The last thing Nerili saw as the Hull stood up and threw back its cloak was its horrid eyes. It took her chin and forced her to stare up into its face. Words formed on its lips, ugly words in a language she didn't recognize, and then shadows rushed in and she knew no more.