Chapter Nine

"Please, please, just make it stop." Soron gripped Hem's wrist so tightly he thought the bone would break. "Please, boy, I can not bear this. Put me out of this misery."

Hem's mouth went dry as he searched for the words that would bring Soron comfort, but nothing was forthcoming. "I'll be over soon, I promise. I will ease your pain."

Soron caught Hem's eyes and the young man flinched away from the overwhelming agony there. "Please, Hem. I can't."

"Yes, yes you can," Hem said firmly, and then looked away, fiddling with the bandages. He didn't want to see that pain. He didn't want to see death. He dipped the bandages in the herbed water Saliman was busy stewing and then wrapped them around the recently set leg. Soron's back arched in the paroxysm of pain and a guttural cry escaped him. "Breathe, Soron, just try to focus on breathing."

"Hem, Hem…can't." He slumped back on the floor and panted.

Hem focused on his work, trying to ignore the cries of pain. Beside him, Saliman looked up sharply and inspected Soron closely. He wanted to help heal the other Bard but was acutely aware of his limitations. Even with his powers mercifully returned to him, Saliman had found quickly that he was too weak to be of much use. He had tried to set Soron's bones first, but felt a black wave of exhaustion overcome him and he'd had to sit back and rest. He felt supremely annoyed with his own failure and had set to work, preparing poultices, bandages, and water with healing properties instead. He continued to watch Hem closely, privately marveling at the boy's tenacity.

"Perhaps we should give him a moment to recover," Saliman said hesitantly.

Hem shook his head. "These wounds need to be set and cleaned," he said distractedly. "We'll go through it all now." But, after a firm look from Saliman, Hem set a cool, damp cloth on Soron's forehead as he worked.

Hem returned to the leg. It was set and he had braced it with a stint, but there was significant tissue damage and infection. Hem cleaned it carefully but he was sure that without the appropriate aftercare the infection would linger, possibly taking his life. They would have to keep a close eye on Soron.

"If healing his leg costs him his life, it will have been for nothing," Saliman sighed. He stood up and went to check on Nimikeri, who was tossing fitfully in a fevered sleep. Saliman feared she would rip the stiches Hem had so meticulously set to seal the gashes on her back, and he gently held her still while she muttered under her breath. He pushed the sweat-matted hair off her face and rubbed her cheeks. "She's running a fever."

"She probably has blood poisoning," Hem said absently, helping Soron shift onto a pallet of blankets. "I'll have to drive it from her. Can you check on Narbila? I tried to set the bones in her hands but I want to make sure the wrappings are firm." Hem glanced at Orona, who was sleeping in a frighteningly silent manner, and Irisanu whose breath came in short gasps. "Saliman, I think Orona might die."

Saliman hissed like he'd been stung. "That cannot be, Hem. They must live, all of them." He thought of Ignalt's final threat, that if any of them did not make it, Saliman would be responsible, and his punishment would fall on Hekibel.

Hem ran his hands through his hair. "I need help, Saliman. Are there any other healers we can call on? What of Silvia?"

Saliman shrugged. "Malgorn doesn't want her drawing attention to herself and I don't think he'll thank me if I ask the Nameless One to release her to help us."

Hem's immediate thought was that Maglorn was a selfish coward, but it was banished from his mind when he recalled the last time he had seen Malgorn: writhing in pain on the floor of the throne room. He had, Hem thought in retrospect, a right to his fear, and it wasn't Hem's place to rebuke him.

"So be it," Hem said after a beat. He stood up and moved closer to feel her face. Orona didn't respond to Hem's touch, so he reached for his Gift and tried to stir her. He felt her consciousness flutter in response, a leaf caught on a breeze, but nothing woke her. Hem tried again, throwing himself into it, reaching out a hand of light to summon her, but the second time, nothing in Orona responded. Hem sat back, his hands trembling, and he looked up helplessly at Saliman. "I can't fix this, Saliman."

Saliman frowned. "Let us see if we can together." Hem opened his mouth to refuse, but Saliman stopped him fast. "No, Hem. I will help if I can. These are my friends, they're going to be my First Circle. They deserve my help."

Hem and Saliman carefully joined minds, wary of aggravating the old wound the Nameless One had left. Hem privately wanted to explore a little deeper in Saliman's being, he wanted to first push out the old pains and griefs in the Bard before allowing him to attempt a healing, but he was conversely frightened: somewhere in Saliman, the Nameless One lingered. Instead, they focused their attention on Orona.

It was bitter and heavy work. Aside from the physical injuries that plagued her-which were extensive-there was indeed blood poisoning. More than that, it seemed that the Hulls had engaged in a little mental torture and they found scars from contact on her consciousness. Hem didn't know where to begin. He wanted to address the blood poisoning, but that seemed a foolish thing if she was going to die from her neural trauma, but he wasn't sure how to heal that either. He sent a questioning tendril to Saliman.

We must be careful and handle her with great tenderness. Part of her mind has been torn by the Hulls, and they left her in state of immense pain.

Hem followed Saliman's advice and soon realized that they had not simply attacked her consciousness, but targeted the aeras of her mind that interpreted pain. The Hulls had inflamed the regions of her brain that received pain signals so she was constantly in anguish. Hem felt a flare of anger at that: was it not enough to torment her in life, must they aggravate her most private self too? However, as soon as they began work, Hem accidently irritated one of the injuries and a fresh wave of pain washed over her. Hem recoiled, horrified at his own carelessness.

Saliman, I cannot. I'm afraid I'll do more damage.

We must try, Hem. If we leave her like this, she will certainly die a slow, painful death.

The trepidation in Hem's voice was warning enough for Saliman. He knew what the boy was thinking. Is it not more merciful to simply let her die? Should we not put her from her misery?

Saliman paused, considering how to answer the question. It is no small thing to kill, even to kill in mercy. So I ask you, Hem, what criteria will you use to determine the way forward? When is the damage too severe that you can't heal it?

If we heal her, what will be her standard of living? Hem said firmly. If she will live, will she spend the rest of her life in pain?

Saliman smiled bitterly. Ah, so you will only heal those whose lives will be better for having lived? What of me? Is my life so much better now that you have healed me and condemned me to slavery to the Nameless One?

Hem felt as if Saliman had punched him in the gut. But that was different. I didn't have a choice-

No choice? Saliman's voice was sharper than he intended. The Nameless One did not demand you heal me. You did that because you wanted a companion.

No! No, it wasn't just that I wanted-

Yes, it was. Saliman felt a flare of anger that was so rarely directed at Hem. You were afraid and alone and thought me better awake and aware. And as soon as I was recovered, I was sent to make war against the Schools. I do not know that my standard of living was better for having survived.

For a brief moment, Hem retreated from Saliman. Was Saliman really that angry? Did Saliman really wish he was dead? Did he blame Hem for his suffering? He flicked through his memories and all he could think of was his fear and his despair when he found Saliman after Sharma had forced his mind. Yes, he had healed Saliman because his missed him, but it wasn't selfishness…

"Hem."

Hem started, surprised to hear Saliman's voice aloud. He opened his eyes and looked up to see Saliman sitting beside him, his hand resting on his wrist. He couldn't look into Saliman's face, he couldn't bear the expression he would see. He knew it would not be anger, but forgiveness, because Hem knew that Saliman didn't blame him for anything. He tried to find a voice, but his throat was oddly tight.

"Oh, Hem," he said tenderly, and took his chin in his hand and lifted his face up. Hem crumpled at the compassion there. "Look at me. Do not despair, I do not mean to blame you or hurt you. I do not mean to lay my suffering at your feet."

Hem felt hot tears trembling on his eyelashes. "I'm sorry, Saliman. I'm so sorry. I thought it was worse, the way Sharma left you, and I thought if I could just heal you-"

"Stop, Hem. I should not have been so harsh with you. You did nothing wrong in healing me, it was the right thing to do. I only meant to give you something to consider as a healer." Saliman saw a tear slip down his cheek and he suddenly pressed Hem against him in a warm embrace. Hem shuddered, drawing a sharp breath, and Saliman ran his hands through his hair, stroking him like he might a startled horse. "Do not weep, Hem. I'm sorry."

Hem managed to pull away far enough to look into his face. "I'm sorry. You're right, though, you're absolutely right. I wanted your company because I didn't want to be alone with Sharma. Maerad had Cadvan and I could only think how alone I would be. It was selfish and childish and cowardly."

"No, Hem, it wasn't. It was no more selfish than me bringing Hekibel here. It was no more selfish than Malgorn protecting Silvia from the Nameless One." Saliman smiled sadly. "Love is a selfish thing."

"But you and Malgorn did that to protect them, not because you were lonely."

Saliman chuckled. "Come now, Hem. Was I protecting Hekibel by bringing her into the shadow of the Nameless One? Does Malgorn truly keep Siliva safe, locked in a cage? You healed me because you thought my torment was too great to bear, I know this."

Hem sat back still thinking of the day he had healed Saliman, and even farther back to Zelika and her death. "I do not think I know the Light from the Dark anymore. Or perhaps I never did. I'm afraid that I grew up cursed by the Dark and now everything I do is tainted by it."

Saliman felt Hem's desolation like a physical thing, and, without a second thought, drew on his meagre strength, and kissed Hem's forehead, doing his best to heal the young man of his inner turmoil. Hem felt the warmth wash over him like a hot bath and he slumped against Saliman.

"Never think that, Hem. You are a child of Light. Even in the Darkness of Dagra, your Light shines like a beacon for us. You are deserving of love and forgiveness and happiness. Remember that."

"You mean to tell me, Elenxi, that you have no idea where she is?" Kebeka demanded in her high voice. Her eyes were wild and she seemed on the verge of shaking him. "How could she have vanished in the middle of the day from the School that is locked tighter than a prison? We are on the very eve of battle and our First Bard is gone!"

Elenxi glanced around the table, but the other members of the Circle were simply staring aghast. "I think it was some work of the Dark. Nerili was troubled when I last saw her…"

"Troubled by what?" Arnamil asked sharply. "For she never spoke to us of trouble."

Elenxi hesitated. Nerili had confided in him as her blood, her kin, not her Circle member, and the things she had told him has been more than troubling. "I do not know that I should betray her trust."

"We are her Circle," Intantha of Gent reminded him firmly. "Are we not the most trusted of advisors and friends? You say she had been troubled, is it to do with the Midsummer Festival?"

"Not exactly," Elenxi sighed.

Kebeka eyed him unforgivingly. "Elenxi, if you have reason to think that Nerili was compromised to the Dark-even against her will-then you must tell us. If, the Light forbid, they break her mind, they will know all our plans, our tactics, where our people are hiding and how. We have precious little time to prepare now that the forces of the Dark are within reach of our ports."

Elenxi looked up, horrified at the thought of his little Neri in the hands of the Dark, disgusted that she might already have had her mind ripped apart. "She had nightmares," he finally said. "That was all, just nightmares."

"That does not seem like all," Kebeka pressed. "We all have troubled sleep. Why were hers so different?"

"She was haunted by the likeness of the Nameless One. She told me he…" He searched for the words to describe the nightmares she had confided in him, and he cringed when he realized that he should have been more forceful with her to see a Healer. He had failed her, failed her as an advisor and uncle, and now she was lost. "She told me he came to her and told her he would steal into her heart and mind."

Whatever the other Bards had expected, this was clearly not it. "He would steal into her heart and mind?" Arnamil repeated dumbly. "The Nameless One was in her mind?"

"It's not as you think," Elenxi said swiftly. "It was just nightmares, just faint attempts to weaken her, but you know Nerili as well as I, she would not fall. She was just tired."

"But she is gone," Intantha said firmly. "She might have been so weak the Dark could take her. Did you consider that?"

Elenxi had considered that-and worse-but it was hard to admit that his niece might have been taken captive by the Dark. "We should try to find her. She couldn't have left the island."

"We should prepare for battle immediately," Arnamil said sternly. "If the Dark has taken her, then they will have questioned her. They will know our plans for battle." Silence followed the announcement because they all knew that the Dark did not question Bards, simply took what it wanted from them. In Nerili's case, it would have been by force.

"You wish to abandon her?" Elenxi finally asked. "You think it best we leave her to her fate?"

"I do not think it is best," Kebeka said softly. "I think it is the only choice. We could spend the next week looking for her about the island, but I think it more likely she has already been taken. I do not think we will find her, and we will only waste precious time looking. There is a war coming to our doorstep."

"Can we fight it without her?"

Elenxi looked from face to face, his eyes dark. He knew they would go to battle without her, and they would put up an impressive fight, but he doubted that they would win. Perhaps even with Nerili they would not win, but Elenxi liked the idea of Nerili at his side during battle far more. He saw Kebeka close her eyes to hide the bright pain there. He was about to ask who they would put in her stead, but a long peal of bell rang out over the School, silencing them all. Arnamil shivered the crossed to the window to look out over the School and the city of Busk to the sea. In the distance, mingled with the blue of the sea and sky, he could see the faint outline of a ship.

"It seems we have no choice now, Elenxi," Arnamil said in a dead voice. "Enemy ships gather on the horizon, it seems the Dark has finally come for us." He stepped back so they could see beyond him, see their doom approaching. "I think we have no choice but to name a new First Bard and prepare for battle."

Elenxi saw the black ship floating in the space between the sea and sky and wondered if Nerili was there. He wondered if she looked on the island that had been her home all her life and shivered with the knowledge that it would soon be laid to waste. He feared he would never see her again, but he feared even more that he would fail her, fail the memory of her. With a deep sigh, Elenxi turned back to the Bards.

"I think you are right, Arnamil, though it breaks my heart. You wish to name a new First Bard-"

"Obviously the choice is you," Kebeka said swiftly. "You are the strongest of us, the most capable. Only you can lead us now."

Elenxi grimaced. He wasn't sure he wanted to take Nerili's place. "It doesn't have to be me."

"There's no one else better suited," Arnamil said, still watching the ship on the horizon. "Tell us, Elenxi, what would you have us do?"

Elenxi turned away from the ship. "We've sent our civilians into the mountains? Good. We've barricaded the walls and gates? Have every ship in the harbor brought in and burned, bring up the harbor chain, cover the beach head in spears and have our archers line up along the shore. I want the beach in range of our arrows at all times."

"Burn the ships?" Kebeka asked sharply. "What if we need-"

"Need them for what?" Elenxi barked a laugh, it bordered on madness. "Remember, we're not escaping. We're going to make the greatest distraction we can, we're going to destroy as much of the forces of the Dark as possible while our people run for cover. Owen has already left for the north of the island, he will take the Thoroldians to northern Annar. The only thing those boats do is provide the Nameless One's forces with additional transportation. Burn them."

Arnamil and Kebeka exchanged a dark look but didn't argue. Intantha asked, "The children? The Bard children? Will they stay in the School?"

Elenxi breathed heavily. "We'll do as Nerili said: we'll mount such a force against the armies of the Nameless One that when they finally reach the School, we can barter for their safety. Get all the boys and girls, anyone under the age of sixteen, to the Music Hall and keep them there. Then rouse our soldiers."

The First Circle stood silently a minute, the void opening up before them. They recognized in that moment that there was no escape, and though they had prepared for months for the coming of this storm, seeing it suddenly before them was very different. They had come to it now. There were always grand words to be said, proud deeds to be spoken of, but the truth of the matter, the bitter end they all foresaw, was hard to ignore. And with Nerili gone, they suddenly had reason to fear: if the most powerful of the Bards of Busk could be taken, what chance did they stand?

Regardless, the First Circle dispatched with purpose. Arnamil went at once to announce the plans for the Bards while Kebeka went to the harbor and ordered the ships burned and the chain raised. It was a shameful moment, watching while the Bards set fire to the hulls of the ships. They caught with sudden ferocity and went up in flames in minutes and the row of burning boats followed her as she headed for the School. Within the School, bitter partings were taking place. Intantha had gone to announce to the people the coming of the battle and their plans for the children. Grown men and women were going to the armory, houses were being packed and parted, and children were escorted to the School, some with difficulty, as the older boys and girls refused to go quietly. An unspoken fear lingered over the Bards, that they may not see their loved ones ever again. And, of course, there were the whispers of the fates of the other Schools. Even far away on Thorold, rumors had spread that the Schools had been razed and their people led away like chattel. Which was the worse fate, some wondered, to be killed or to be a slave? As if their fear and discontent and regret were a physical thing, a heavy silence settled over the town of Busk in the days that followed, and always, on the horizon, more ships were appearing.

The First Circle did not put out that Nerili was missing, and instead, insisted that she was busy with preparations for the battle. Within the School, few Bards pressed more, but after a few days of demands to see her, the First Circle invited the Second Circle to a council. When the Bards arrived and found Elenxi seated in Nerili's customary seat, they gave pause.

"There is something important to tell us, I see," said Merida, a fierce looking, curly haired Bard. She pressed her lips together in a thin line at the deception of the First Circle. "So important, though, that Nerili herself cannot be here?"

Elenxi glanced at Kebeka to intervene, but she shrugged helplessly. Though she had spoken of it to no one, Kebeka dearly missed Nerili and had spent the previous nights worrying herself sick over the fate of the Bard. She didn't trust herself to speak.

"The truth," said Elenxi, then fell silent as he gathered himself. "The truth is that Nerili is gone. We think she was taken by minions of the Dark three nights ago. She had confessed to me the very day she went missing that the Nameless One himself had been tormenting her in her dreams, trying to undo her with fear. I think, when she finally threw off his power, he sent forth his servants to take her before she could recover and face him." Elenxi bowed his head. "Forgive us, my friends, but we could not speak of her loss. The pain was still too near."

The Second Circle looked horrified, and the sharp look on Merida's face softened. "Then you are First Bard, Elenxi?" she asked shakily.

"Yes," he said gruffly. "I trust you take no issue with this? The First Circle thought it wise enough."

The Second Circle raised no complaint, though one of them pointed out the shared concern of the First Circle. "If the Nameless One is powerful enough to reach from Dagra to Busk, then do we stand any hope of victory?"

Arnamil laid his hands flat on the table. "We do not hope for victory, Tarel. We hope for more time for our people to escape. Even now the civilians of Thorold make for the northern harbor to be ferried away from war. The longer we stand and fight, the better their chances of reaching Annar and going into hiding."

The Bard, Tarel, sighed but his face didn't show surprise. "So, we are doomed?"

"We have a duty to uphold the Light, and that includes protecting the innocent," Kebeka said in an impassioned voice. "The Nameless One comes for the Bards of Annar and seven kingdoms, and we must stand against him."

"Even the children?" Merida asked swiftly. "The children who are confined to the Music Hall and await their doom?"

"Believe us, if there were another way, we would have taken it." Intantha looked from face to face. "We considered sending the children to the ships but the Nameless One will hunt them down. No Bard, no matter how old, will escape him. If we had sent them away, his army would have tracked down the children, taken them, and slaughtered the others." She looked down at the table and found her hands were clenched tightly. "We will trade for their safety, have no fear. When the time comes, when the battle is all but lost, we will send word to the leader of the Black Army that we will surrender in exchange for their safety. We will not have them murdered on our account."

"So, it is true then?" Tarel asked quietly. "The stories of the other Schools? They are saying that the Bards are taken away to Dagra, where they go to be slaves under the dominion of the Nameless?"

"It is true," Elenxi said shortly.

"That is our fate?" Tarel pressed, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had been told. "We will be taken from our island and made slaves in the desert?"

"It seems that way," Arnamil confirmed. He saw the faces of the Bards go pale and brought his hand down on the table with more force than he intended. "My friends, take heart. If this is to be our last battle, then let us give the Dark such a show that it will be remembered through all the Silence to come: Thorold stood against the might of the Nameless One himself and did not bow. And when we meet our fate, perhaps here on the island or far away in Dagra before the throne of Sharma himself, let it be said that no Thoroldian yielded their souls."

The call to arms was enough and the Bards of the Second Circle looked up, their eyes glowing with bright intensity. They would not be undone by the threat of a shadow, not today. When the council ended, each member of the Second Circle gave their deepest regrets to Elenxi at the loss of his niece, and promised to avenge her when the Dark came. Elenxi could not have asked for more, but it didn't make her loss any easier.

With the Bards of School united, war councils were appointed and orders were soon dispersed. Though the First Circle had originally planned for Nerili to remain at the School, being the First Bard and able to parley with the Dark, they agreed that they could not afford to leave Elenxi there. With a stab of regret, they decided that Arnamil would remain at the School, and that he would hold off any attacks with his own forces, though Elenxi had sworn that he would not get caught in the thick of battle and would return to the School as soon as things looked darkest. For most of the battle, though, Elenxi would be by the harbor, leading the charge along with Tarel, where they thought the battle would be fiercest. Kebeka would be in the city of Busk with a cavalry, and would relieve Elenxi when the Dark finally swamped the shores and pushed the Bards back. She would be joined by Intantha, who had a battalion of archers under her command. The city of Busk seemed naturally built for such an assault: the city was set upon layers of terrace which meant that the retreating Bards would have the advantage of higher ground to rain arrows down upon the heads of the Dark.

The School gates had been inscrolled with new charms so that when the Bards were finally forced back into their School, they could hold off the attack of the Hulls. There were mutters among the Bards enchanting the gates, talk of the shika that laid waste to Gent, but as there seemed no other choice, they placed layer upon layer of protection on the gates. The archers were outfitted with new bows and arrows that were charmed with White Fire, longbows lined the first steep rise above the shore. On the beaches themselves, large spiked structures of metal jutted up into the surf, preventing ships from docking; if troops wanted to storm the beaches, they would have to disembark first. Some of the more powerful Bards were summoned to weatherwork, and on the seventh night since the arrival of the Dark fleet, a storm began to brew high up in the mountains, lightening forked the sky on the peaks and thunder rumbled in the distance. As if in response to the mountain's rage, the sea began to churn and the water turned steely grey and the wind pushed the Black Army mercilessly inland, waves crashing violently against the jagged shore. It was only stern spelling from the Hulls that kept their ships from being smashed against rock and steel. The island was furious and the sea ruthless, and there were those in the Black Army that recalled stories of Thorold, and how it had held against the Nameless One all through the Great Silence, and they wondered if this island might overcome their master.

The Hulls were furious with the rumors, and two slaves were put to death for demoralizing talk. But, on the eighth day, the storms rolled down the mountain side and swept over the land with a wild fury even the Bards had not anticipated. They hunkered down in the School as the rain came in icy sheets so thick they couldn't see but feet before them, and the wind roared around them and tore trees and detritus and loose debris in a gale. In the School, the Bards thought of the stories of the mountain Elidhu that protected their people in the Great Silence, and thought that if this was the work of the Elidhu, they were lucky indeed to be in the School and protected by their charms. The storm crashed into the sea and the waved arched in the lightening, tossing the Black Army about. Even the Hulls charms couldn't still the ships, and one capsized on the waves, and another crashed against the shore and was splintered to pieces. Any men or Hulls that landed in the water were consumed by the ocean, the few that managed to get to shore were lost in the onslaught of the storm.

In the School, Elenxi watched with grim satisfaction. "I wonder how long the storm will avail us."

Kebeka and Arnamil were focused on the pathetic remains of the Black Army's ship. "We should try to make the most of it," Kebeka said thoughtfully. "The Hulls are too busy trying to keep adrift, but the storm will not rage forever, the sea will eventually calm."

Elenxi turned to her curiously. "What do you propose?"

She shrugged. "If we attack now, we could deal a mighty blow. They are defenseless. Almost, literally, sitting ducks."

"We have precious few ships, and none of them capable of surviving this storm," countered Arnamil, though the thought of surprising the Black Army was so tempting he wondered if a few of their most Gifted Bards could get one or two ships within range. "We have to wait and hope the storm does our business for us."

"No ship will brave the waves, but something else?" Kebeka asked. "Perhaps you recall the story of Cadvan or Lirigon and Maerad of Pellinor's arrival? Owen certainly was telling it to anyone who would listen."

Elenxi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "An ondril pursued them for miles at the urging of Enkir."

"Yes." Kebeka looked meaningfully at them both. "If Enkir can tempt an ondril, why not us? It would only take a few to do real damage, especially because the Hulls won't be able to fight them off in this."

Elenxi's eyes sparkled. "That's brilliant, Kebeka." He glanced at Arnamil, who was smiling toothily. "We'll have to go down to the sea and call for them, but even a few…" Excitement gleamed in Elenxi's eyes. "Summon Tarel, he's of the Tending and no one knows more of the great sea beasts than him."

A few hours later saw the First Circle and Tarel fighting the hurricane to reach the shore. Unlike the harbor, that was protected by natural stone walls, there was nothing to shield them from the storm and Elenxi and Arnamil were enlisted to create a small ward while Tarel and Kebeka tried to summon the sea serpents to them. Tarel, not unlike Malgorn, was well versed in animal husbandry, and stripped down to his trousers and wandered dangerously out into the water until he was almost waist deep. Kebeka went with him, keeping a tight grasp on his wrist and a strong connection to the Bards on shore. Tarel had warned them it might be some time before he could reach a creature willing to carry a message to the nearby ondril, but as it was their only hope, they waited, investing their small patch of beach with a globe of protective White Fire.

Small crustacean came to Tarel, and he pleaded with them to send word to the ondril that they needed help. Though most of the sea creatures promised to carry the message, Tarel doubted that any of them could reach the ocean proper without being carried away by a terrible current, and it wasn't until a great sea turtle emerged from the water, that he had any hope. The turtle listened carefully, its strange, dilated reptilian eye inspecting the drenched Bard. After almost a minute of silent contemplation the turtle submerged its head in the water in acquiescence.

Tarel and Kebeka returned to shore to huddle with the Bards and wait until for an ondril to arrive in the shallows. They cowered against a stone wall, one of steps that led up to Busk, and watched the ocean in miserable silence. Though it was a tropical storm, the mountain had sent down icy hail and bitter wind, and they shivered terribly. After what seemed like hours, Tarel gave a shout and leapt up, the other Bards rushing after him to keep him protected from the gale. He made it knee deep into the water when they saw one the waves arch and reveal in its peak the huge, triangular head of an ondril.

By the Light, Arnamil swore. Though they knew what the ondril would look like, few Bards had seen one so close. Through the wind and rain, they saw the enormous serpentine body emerged from the waves: it was a wide as a small boat, its back spiked and head like a horse with fangs. It arched out of the water and towered over Tarel, looking down on him as if considering whether to snap him up then and there. Be careful, Tarel.

Tarel felt his heart stutter when the head snaked down and it fixed its huge black eyes on him. Thank you for answering my call, he said with a deep bow that brought his face into the waves. We are desperate and need your help.

The eyes didn't blink but a startlingly pink, forked tongue lashed out and flicked about. The sea is furious and my kind can get no rest. I think this is the fault of land dwellers. The turtle said you might know how to calm the sea. Is this true?

Tarel relayed the message to the Bards, who urged him to continue. There are Dark creatures on the horizon, and the Mountain and Sea are furious at their presence here. They try to break the ships with their winds and waves.

I know these things, the serpent said thoughtfully. I slipped beneath them though they did not sense me. Their dark underbellies stretch many, many miles of ocean. You say this storm is their doing?

Their presence here has angered the Mountain and the Sea.

The serpent narrowed its eyes. If they were gone, would the storms be still?

It is possible, Tarel said uncertainly, acutely aware that the ondril was large and feral and could do him great harm if angered. The Black Army is an affront to their dignity, but I cannot assure they will go. Only that it could help.

You do not seem very sure, the ondril observed. Why should I and my fellow sea creatures aid you?

Tarel glanced at the other Bards, relaying the words of the ondril and waited for Elenxi to say something. The older Bard hesitated, though, and shook his head, nonplussed. It's true, Tarel finally said, I cannot promise they will go, but I know they will stay if we do nothing. These ships have come to destroy the city and slaughter the people. They will wait out the storm as long as it takes, and the waters will run red with blood and black with their oil. They poison the waters around them, feeding on the fish unlucky enough to pass. They will linger in your territories, stealing from you, polluting you. Tarel ducked as a wave crashed over him, drenching him through. Help us, I beg you! And you will help rid yourself of this abomination.

The ondril lowered its head until one of its large eyes was level with Tarel. With distracted terror, he saw the large, jagged teeth that peeked out of its mouth each as big as a dagger, felt the surprisingly warm breath on his face. Please, we cannot do this on our own.

It was brave of you, coming out to the sea in this storm, and braver still to summon me. My kind and yours have not always carried on well. Surely, the ondril was thinking of all the ships it had taken in its lifetime. Its head swung around to face the black ships rocking in the waves. For all your foolishness, you are not evil. You are not the darkness that blackens my sea like these ships. You say our help might help drive away these invaders? Then we shall give it. I will call my kith and kin and we will drag these ships to the depths of the sea.

Tarel could have leapt for joy, but the great serpent turned back to face him. It said proudly, But you will remember this. Your people will go immediately and sing to the Mountain and the Sea and try to calm the winds and waves. And you will remember, too, that when your time of need came, we answered.

Tarel nodded his head, sinking into a low bow. We will go at once and try to still the wind. And should our people survive this, we will make offerings to your kind in memory of your generosity.

The serpents tongue lashed out once, flicking by Tarel's face. He wondered if it was similar to how humans shook hands. Good then, Bard. The ondril began to sink beneath the waves, it sinuous body curling into the grey water and vanishing. Do not forget your oath to us, do not forget your duty to the world.

As the ondril's head slipped away, Tarel stood still, shaking in the sea spray and waiting until he was sure the creature was gone before turning his back and head for shore. "They will help, but they want us to try and calm the storm."

A tree came loose on the shore and was tossed into the ocean with a crash. "Easier said than done," Kebeka said dryly, but she was smiling through the wing and rain. She drew her hands together as if in prayer. "I can't believe it worked! Thank the Light for your clever tongue, Tarel."

Tarel glanced back out at the sea as they retreated. "It's not for the Light's sake the ondrils will help us. They are as repulsed by the Dark as us. This is their battle as much as it is ours, and they will want payment when it's over."

"If we're alive," said Elenxi shortly, "they'll get whatever they want."

Ignalt was fuming in the cabin below the deck where the maps of Thorold and the notes they'd gathered from Nerili's study were precariously spread on a desk. The ship was tossed sharply and only quick action on the Hull's part stopped a mug of mulled wine being spilled across the sheets. Ignalt snarled and slammed his hand on the desk; the paper snapped back as if they were plastered to the wood.

"Damn those Bards!" he howled. "Can you not still the storm?" he demanded of the two Hulls who were huddled before him. "The Bards called it up with their meagre powers, and you stand here and tell me that none of us can stop it?"

"This doesn't taste like magery," one Hull said nervously. "There's something else in the else, something more than Bard tricks."

Ignalt stared at the two Hulls petulantly. "The mountain?" he guessed. "You tell me the stories are true and the mountain Elidhu is furious at our invasion? You think the Bards have brokered some alliance?"

The Hulls looked back blankly. "Elidhu have never been fond of our master. This may have nothing to do with the Bards at all."

"It's a mighty fine coincidence." Ignalt drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. "That worthless wench will know. Come."

Ignalt gestured for the two to follow and felt a minor thrill at the power invested in him. True, he was not Likud and not second-in-command, but he was granted immense dominion over the other Hulls and liked to remind himself of the fact. They had to go down another flight of stairs to reach Nerili's prison, and had just begun to maneuver the wet stairwell when a low groaning echoed from outside. Ignalt paused, listening to this new sound, so unlike the scream of wind and crash of waves. As he waited, the groaning grew more intense, like something was bringing great pressure to bear on an object, then, suddenly, there was sound like cannon fire, smashing, and over the howling wind, he heard screams.

"Now what?" he demanded, turning sharply and bounding up the stairs for the drenched desk. "What in the name of Dark could we have now?"

Ignalt burst out onto the deck of the rocking ship followed closely by the other two Hulls. Through the sea spray and pounding rain, Ignalt could just make out the ship beside them, completely split in half and sinking into the tempest. Men leapt into the water, swimming as fast as they could for the nearest vessel. The slaves, born and raised and Den Raven, had never encountered water and crowded on the edge of the ship, crying out for help. Ignalt snarled viciously, and went to haul one of the retreating men out of the water when the sound of groaning timbers echoed through the rain and a ship not a hundred yards away suddenly burst into pieces.

The work of the Bards! he growled to one of his companions, but the Hull shook its head and pointed into the distance, where another ship was capsizing.

Look, Ignalt. There's something wrapped around the bow I think. The Hull bared its teeth as the ship swirled in the ocean's current, the mast snapping from the force of it. For a moment, the Hull saw something silvery grey snake along the mast, and then drag it under. Something is attacking the ships from below.

Below! Ignalt staggered to the edge of the boat to investigate, but it was useless. The rain was coming down so hard that the surface of the water was utterly distorted. He couldn't even see his own reflection, let alone beneath the waves. He slammed his hand down on the railing. Make fire! If it's a creature of the sea it will flee from fire!

The word went out frantically from ship to ship, but even in that time, another ship was pulled beneath the waves. Men thrashed about desperately, but after a few moments, they were swept under the water and disappeared from view. Through the hail, Ignalt saw ships suddenly alight, but the groaning and moaning of bending timber still reached him and he watched in horror as more of his ships were torn to pieces. In the fires of one, he finally saw the flash of a scaly body and a horse-like head that darted out of the water, twisting around the figurehead, before sinking into the ocean, tipping the boat over as it went.

Ondrils! he cried to the Hulls around him. Giant sea serpents are attacking the boats! Have your swords at the ready, have arrows, have fire!

Ignalt's orders came too late, and as the day wore on, more ships were consumed by the beasts. It was a while before the Hulls managed to rally their soldiers and mount a counterattack, but even then, the ondrils lingered, snapping careless men off boats, knocking the ships with such ferocity that they tipped and were at the mercy of the furious sea. It was a long while before the soldiers could drive the ondrils off, and when all was said and done, they had lost more than twenty ships to the beasts. Ignalt, shaking with fury at his army's impotency, took himself down to his chamber and smashed object after object against the walls.

It was another two days before the rains stopped, the waves calmed, and the ondrils retreated entirely. In the fresh dawn, two weeks after the arrival of the ships, the Black Army could finally take stock of their ships. Debris drifted in the waves, corpses floated on the surface, steel weapons sunk like flickering candles into the depths. Though they were by no means defeated, the Black Army was a ragtag assortment of men after the storm.

"That didn't go so well," Cadvan observed dryly from his seat before the pool.

Cadvan, Maerad and the Nameless One were still in the throne room, seated in their great chairs, sipping their bitter red wine and feasting on the extravagant meals served to them by little Iris. They had been quietly observing for days, acutely aware of the energy that buzzed around the Nameless One like a living shroud. He never blinked, never turned his gaze from the pool that cast its eerie muted light all over the room, and his teeth flashed in a silent snarl.

"What," he said in a voice like iron, "did you say, Cadvan?"

Cadvan sat up a little straighter in his seat, cleared his throat. "I was saying that the first battle didn't go too-"

The Nameless One's hand shot out and snatched a hank of his hair, dragging him out of his chair and onto his knees before the throne. "You were saying nothing," he spat, "because you were not invited to speak! You wait on my pleasure, Cadvan, and speak when I say you may. Or have you forgotten your oaths?"

Cadvan's temper blazed, though. Seeing Thorold staunchly refuse to bow to the Dark Army had kindled a sense of resistance in him, served as a reminder that the Light was not utterly extinguished in the world yet. His dark blue eyes darted up to the handsome, snarling face. "I didn't know I was forbidden to speak. You never seemed to mind my observations before, indeed, you welcomed them."

The Nameless One's eyes widened at Cadvan's rebuke. "I have your Name. You are utterly at my mercy. A word from me and you will be as silent as the grave."

"Say it then," Cadvan hissed back, trying to wrest his hair free of the Nameless One.

"Impertinent whelp," the Nameless One spat. "You forget yourself. You see your friends fighting me and get it into your head that you too may refuse me? A terrible influence these Busk Bards are on good servants like you."

"Then send us away." Maerad was still dressed in her nightgown, wrapped in a warm robe, and she drew it tight about her. "If you think Cadvan and I will form bad habits, send us back to our rooms until the battle is done."

The Nameless One's gaze flicked up to her and he smiled toothily. "You wish to escape me so badly, Maerad?"

"I would not want to be anything other than a perfect courtier," she said with equal verve, turning her own bright eyes on him and refusing to acknowledge his grip Cadvan, which grew even tighter. "If these Bards are as bad an influence as you say, perhaps Cadvan and I should be far away, enjoying the pleasantries of your court."

The Nameless One laughed at that, shaking Cadvan's head so he was forced to look up at him. "Listen to her! Why she has the clever tongue of a Bard and the cunning of a little whore. What a wonder she is."

Cadvan bristled as usual when the Nameless One called her a name. "She's right. Let us go back to our rooms. You'll be happier for it."

"Cadvan," he said gently, "I adore your company. This setback is not a defeat, it is merely a pause in the battle. The Thoroldians have been clever, I give them that, but they are not going to win. My army is far greater, my power complete. They turned the mountain and the sea against me, but I will bend the world to my will. I will topple the mountain, I will drain the seas, I will run the Thoroldians into their burrows to hide, and I will drag them out kicking and screaming. And you and mistress Maerad will watch." When a sharp gesture, he threw Cadvan down at his feet and stared at him. "You should know by now their fate."

Cadvan couldn't hold his gaze and turned away, face pale. "I am cursed by my hope, for I hope they will defeat you even though I know you will triumph."

"Not very loyal," the Nameless One observed mildly, and though his gaze never left Cadvan's face, Cadvan knew he was thinking of Maerad.

"I am the most loyal, for I hurt myself hoping you will be defeated though I know you will not. Could you ask for a servant more dedicated to your cause?" said Cadvan ironically.

The Nameless One blinked slowly, studying Cadvan closely. "You break your heart for me. How poetic."

Cadvan felt a shiver of anger. He knew he could not fight, he knew he had long since lost the battle against the Nameless One, but he was angry all the same. He didn't enjoy the feeling of helplessness the Nameless One engendered in him, it shamed him more than he cared to admit. "Better my heart than anything else."

"Well, I suppose we must agree there because I can still use you even with a broken heart." The Nameless One tossed his head back suddenly, laughing. "Ah, Cadvan, despair becomes you. I think you were born to be miserable."

"Then he is in like company," Maerad growled from her seat.

"Ah, but for all your misery, all anyone sees of you is your wanton provocativeness." The Nameless One finally looked at her, and his eyes raked her in, the dark fall of her hear over her pale breasts, the shapes of her legs through her thin shift, the delicate curve of her hips. "You will never be anything more than shallow, pretty girl. History will only remember what a vain young woman you were."

Maerad was used to his taunts and maintained a blank stare. "You are working so hard to make your desires reality I wonder that you have time for such distractions like this battle at all."

"I'll always have time to play with you, little Bard," he said, disappointed by her lack of response. His eyes moves back to the water, reflecting the floating disaster that was his navy. "A cunning maneuver on behalf of the Bards of Busk, and when they are here in my fastness, I shall pay them back for it. But come, let us dine before the next part begins, I think it will be most exciting." He stood, going for the carafe of wine Iris had left while she hid in the kitchens. With the weight of his presence suddenly lifted, Maerad left her chair and went to help Cadvan up, but the Nameless One snapped around and grinned crookedly. "Stay where you are, little Bards, on the floor at my feet."

Cadvan slumped on the floor a safe distance from the throne where the Nameless One reclined back with fresh wine. He drew Maerad tightly against his side and was surprised when she shivered violently against him. For all her bravado in the face of the Nameless One, he knew she was scared of what would come next.