AN: Hi everyone! It's been a long time since I picked this up. I lost a bit of momentum between work and school and decided that instead of trying to force myself to write and possibly turn out poor quality work, I'd just take a break. I'm hoping to start it again, posting once every 10-14 days. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Eleven

Maerad sat across from Cadvan, clutching a mug of warm ale so tightly her hands hurt, and waited for him to speak. He was watching the fire, and in the flickering light, the straight line of his frown was like a dark gash. She breathed out heavily, hoping to stir him from his vigil, but he merely blinked.

Can you blame him? she wondered to herself. Images of Thorold burning, of Elenxi's face showing his horror at the Hulls, the desperate battle of the Bards…it was branded into her mind. It recalled her few memories of Pellinor being sacked, and she felt her throat tighten with the strain of the memories. It's like watching the world end.

She sipped the mulled ale, hoping the warmth would bring life back to her numb lips. It didn't. "I wish I could crawl into bed and sleep until this was over. I wish I could sleep and sleep and when I wake there will be nothing left of the Bards and Sharma and all the Light and Dark."

Cadvan glanced up at her, bemused. "You wish the Bards were gone?"

"All of it," said Maerad stoutly. "The Nameless One is terrible and cruel, but we were fools to think we could win. We hid in our Schools and spent countless summer days strumming our instruments when all this time a bitter winter was coming. It is better we had never been."

Her harsh words seemed to stir something in Cadvan. He was used to his own misery, his own dark thoughts, but hearing it from Maerad was jarring. "You can't think that, Maerad. There must be hope-"

"I am sick of hope!" She slammed her mug down. "I am sick of having to carry the weight of hope with me always. I must hope our friends in the dungeons survive, I must hope for the Schools and Bards to gather their forces and defeat the Dark, and I must hope that we can bear the Nameless One's wrath day and night. I am so tired of hoping, Cadvan." She bowed her head so her hair fell around her face protectively. "What use is there in hoping anymore? We are beyond all hope or help."

Cadvan's frown deepened, but he said gently, "Do you truly think this, Maerad? Are you so terribly desolate? Is there nothing in this world that makes you hope for a better future?"

She saw the shock on his pale face. "Oh, Cadvan, I didn't mean it like that." She shifted forward, taking his hands firmly in hers and kissing them. "I didn't mean that you didn't matter-"

Cadvan was studying his hands in hers. "Of course not." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It barely changed the lines of his face. "But if we have no hope, then we are truly lost."

Maerad was thinking of Nerili, chained and bowed on a ship, trading away her people for the promise of protection for the children. She had looked so small, nothing like the proud, firm First Bard Maerad had met. Like Milana after Enkir. Maerad squeezed Cadvan's hand tighter. "Cadvan, I'm so tired of this."

Cadvan's hand came up, cupping her chin and lifting her face up to his. "We must find strength. The Nameless One relies on this to break us."

"It's hard to find that strength when all around us is such despair." Maerad gestured vaguely to the spacious rooms. "After what we just saw…"

Cadvan flinched. "It breaks my heart, Maerad, but our friends are alive. There is that."

"Alive, but slaves to the Nameless One!" Maerad searched his face. "Does this place give your hope? Can you imagine Nerili or Elenxi here? What will become of the children she fought so hard to save?"

"There is certainly no justice to it," Cadvan agreed, and he brushed his thumb across her cheek. "But I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad they had lived."

A brief glimpse of Milana, lying on her pallet, her breath rattling out her flashed through Maerad's eyes. "I-I'm not so sure I am."

Cadvan's face showed his shock. "You wish they were dead?"

"I wish none of this had happened."

Maerad's pain seemed almost physical and it disturbed Cadvan deeply. "So do I, so do we all, but here we are. And I may be mistaken, but I have never known Maerad of Pellinor to balk at such despair. She was born the Fire Lily, one that burns the brighter in dark places."

Maerad drained her glass of ale, feeling only the faintest thrill at the mention of her true Name. "I could burn myself out."

Cadvan stared at her blankly before he suddenly drew her against him in a warm embrace. Pressed against him, Maerad released her tight breath and molded herself to the contours of his body. She was shocked to find that he felt thinner in her arms, that the healthy muscle that had always covered his torso had thinned and the bones of his shoulders and arms pushed against her. She rested her head against the crook of his neck gently, but inside, she was screaming. That anger that always simmered under her skin, the anger that burned and urged her to turn into a wolf and tear Sharma's throat out, flared. How dare he drive Cadvan to starvation like this?

"I will have my revenge against Sharma for this," she said.

"I don't think you can avenge Busk," Cadvan said soothingly into her hair.

Maerad started. She had been speaking of Cadvan's illness, not the School. She looked up at him, brushing his cheek with her fingertips, and saw the strain in his face. Do not be his war in this place, be his peace. She forced her face into a determined smile. "No, I think you're right, I cannot fix Busk, but perhaps I can fix this gruff scoundrel into a proper gentleman."

"The Light save us all from proper gentleman," Cadvan teased gently.

Maerad felt her head buzz from the glass of ale, and when she lifted her hand to brush her hair back, it was shaking. "Perhaps it is best to leave you a rogue for the evening, least I leave you with a few new scars."

Cadvan lowered his face to her and pressed a firm kiss against her lips. She felt the small hairs on his chin tickle her face, and she giggled. "Well, you took me with one, what's a few more?"

Maerad shifted and her eyes flicked toward the bedroom. "For now, I'll simply take you."

Cadvan's eyes widened theatrically. "And I'm the scoundrel?"

"I'm a lady," Maerad sniffed delicately, standing up to her full height. "I am nothing if not proper."

Cadvan sighed. He wanted to love Maerad, he wanted to take her into the bedroom, lay her down and make her forget all the horrors of the previous weeks. "My lady, forgive me, you are a perfect mistress." He stood, stretching and slapped his hands against his thighs. "Shall we retire early?"

In the low light of the fire, Maerad's face looked wild and mysterious, and she saw Cadvan's pupils dilate in anticipation. Flattering, she thought. They pushed into the bedroom, Maerad walking back and Cadvan with his hands on her hips, in her hair, pressing into her lower back. He peppered kisses on her face and throat and tugged at the neck of her shift, trying to pull it off her. A strange guttural sound escaped her.

"Wild thing," Cadvan whispered against her lips.

They were in the room then and Maerad felt the heat of her desire growing in her belly. It was accompanied by a stirring of strange emotions, how could she feel anything but despair after all she had seen? Should the anger and fear not have consumed her? Perhaps it was the wine clouding her mind or the heady scent of Cadvan when he shrugged out of his shirt and positioned her on the bed.

You must make your own Light in the Darkness.

Ardina's words were like a shock thrumming through her body, and Maerad watched Cadvan tamp the fire in the grate down. His back was streaked with lash marks from the time Likud had struck him with the flat of his blade. She frowned perceptibly but when he turned back with a wry smile, the anger dissipated.

"I sometimes forget," Cadvan said softly, "when I see you in my bed, that we are in Dagra. I forget the Nameless One and the Hulls and all the terrible things happening to us."

Make your own Light.

Maerad watched him cross the room and come to stand before her. She was on the edge of bed, her legs parted just enough for Cadvan to stand between them. "I was thinking the same thing about you."

Cadvan bent, placing his hands on either side of her so his face was close to hers. She shook with pleasure and leaned back on the bed, and Cadvan's went down with her. Maerad felt Cadvan's knee pressed between her thighs and she bit her lip. He loosened her shift the rest of the way and pulled it over her head. Naked before him, Cadvan took back up his kissing, now her collar bone, now her breast, now the tip of the nipple, and Maerad gasped in pleasure. When she closed her eyes, she didn't see Busk anymore, her senses were completely consumed with only Cadvan.

"Tell me what you want," Cadvan murmured. His hands were on her hips now, waiting for her command to lift her onto the bed and take her. "Tell me what you want me to do."

Maerad wasn't sure she was capable of describing what she wanted anymore. "I want you to love me."

Cadvan smiled. "I'll do that, sweetheart. But what do you want?"

"You," Maerad returned, her eyes opening a little.

Cadvan hesitated. She's young, he thought, she doesn't know how to tell you what she wants. Show her.

Cadvan began to rock his knee gently between her legs, setting a steady rhythm with his thrusts. Maerad unconsciously arched against Cadvan and gripped him tighter with her thighs. Cadvan took her hips and moved her with him while he kissed a line between her breasts and down her belly. Her hands came up around his waist, running along his back and she dug her fingernails into his skin. Cadvan thrust harder than he intended and Maerad gasped beneath him. The sound of her drove all other thoughts from his mind and Cadvan levered himself back, firmly gripping her hips and buttocks and threw her back on the bed.

"Cadvan!" she chuckled, but he was a man driven by his own desires.

Weeks of watching war, of terror and exhaustion, had left Cadvan almost completely devoid of any emotion. He felt empty, a void of his former self, and he knew with a sudden desperation that he needed to fill himself up with some emotion.

Making love to Maerad will do nicely.

Cadvan fumbled with the waist of his trousers, pulling them down in a rush. His hand replaced his knee on Maerad and she bucked underneath him. He kissed her fiercely, barely breathing, but determined. He could feel Maerad's pulse leap and hear the steady, deep breaths she drew when he pushed his fingers inside her. She pressed back, a silent, carnal plea for him to continue, and Cadvan paused a moment, gathering what little wits he had left.

"Do you want me, Maerad?" He was shaking. If she called a stop now, Cadvan thought he might go mad.

"Yes," she whispered huskily. "Yes, keep going."

It wasn't the passionate response he wanted, but it was all he needed in that moment. Cadvan shook his underwear off and positioned himself carefully against Maerad. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him with hazy blue eyes, drunk on more than wine.

A smile trembled on her lips. "Don't stop," she murmured.

Cadvan entered Maerad in a swift, almost frantic, motion. She drew a sharp breath, but as soon as Cadvan began to move inside her, she dissolved into low guttural gasps. She instinctively began to move in time with Cadvan, and his inexorable rhythm pushed the recent memories of Busk and Nerili from her mind. Maerad felt Cadvan's pace increase and she gave way, merely lifting her hips to meet his and let the warm sensation grow in her belly. Cadvan's thrusts reached an unbearable pitch and though he tried restrain himself for the sake of Maerad's pleasure, he felt himself shudder as he reached his climax. Below him, Maerad felt a warm wetness between her legs and fleetingly wondered what to do to sake the aching need in her, but Cadvan's hands were suddenly back on her. His fingers moved in delicate circles, teasing her and pushing her to edge of madness until she jerked against his hands, moaning.

The two tumbled on the bed together, utterly spent. Cadvan drew Maerad into his arms and wrapped the blankets around them. Neither of them spoke as they curled around each other and almost instantly fell into a dreamless sleep.

Elenxi didn't bother to fight when the Hulls roughly escorted him and the rest of the First Circle into the School and the First Bard's house. The discovery of Nerili's deal with the Dark had shocked them all into a stunned silence. She was the very last person any of them would have suspected of surrendering to her fear and allying with the Dark.

Unless, of course, she knew it was hopeless to begin with. Elenxi scowled. But of course, it had always been hopeless. They had planned to surrender all along. I just thought you had more faith in us, Neri. I thought you wouldn't give in so quickly.

They arrived at the Bard House, and a contingent of soldiers surged ahead. They pummeled the high, iron gates down, and stormed into the neat courtyard where they set about smashing the plants and pottery before breaking the doors to the house and heading in. Beside him, Kebeka stirred, eyes flashing indignantly at the wanton destruction of Nerili's home. Her lips parted, a curse forming on her tongue, but the Hull leading her dug the hilt of its blade into her back and a sharp cry escaped her instead.

"If we want your opinion, Bard, we'll ask for it. You'd serve yourself better with silence."

Kebeka's outrage was evident on her face, but she saw a faint warning flicker across Elenxi's face and she glanced away. The Hull behind Kebeka had watched the exchange with mild amusement. It laughed, gesturing to its companion.

"My, my, my, it seems the Bards can be tamed." Its red eyes slid sideways to Elenxi. "You have impressive command of your pack, Elenxi. I think we should take a leaf from your book when it comes to keeping the slaves in line."

Elenxi didn't have the energy to argue anymore. "I do not keep slaves, so I doubt I could be of any use to you."

The Hull rolled its eyes and continued pushing them onward. They were taken into the Bard house, vaguely watching as the soldiers pillaged the contents. They passed by room after room, glimpsing the savage work of the soldiers: ripping books from shelves, flipping tables, tearing through cabinets, scrambling through papers for information. It was a profoundly sad thing to watch and when the Hulls finally brought the Bards to Nerili's private rooms, tossing them in unceremoniously, they were grateful for privacy.

"Draw the curtains, I don't want to watch," Intantha said sharply, waving her hand in the direction of the huge patio doors.

Elenxi snapped the curtains shut, plunging the room into shadow. He sat heavily behind Nerili's desk, considering the papers spread out across her desk. "Curtains won't hide us now."

Kebeka spun about, eyeing the doors through which they had come vengefully. "We should not hide. We should wrest this house from the Hulls and their filthy army and have their heads. Rather we burn this place than let them have it."

"No, Kebeka," Elenxi said heavily. "We did what we set out to do. We distracted the army long enough for our people to escape. They will be in Annar now, already in hiding. It's over."

Kebeka's eyes flashed. "How can you say that? How can you allow this atrocity? Where is Elenxi, the great warrior of Busk? Where is the mighty captain who led our armies on a dozen defense maneuvers? Where is the man who would be First Bard?"

If Kebeka thought she would incite Elenxi to anger, it didn't work. He watched her dispassionately, as if trying to decide whether or not to speak. On one hand, arguing wouldn't serve any purpose, on the other, Kebeka was his friend and an honorable woman, and deserved a response.

"I did not ask to be First Bard, nor did I want it." He glanced down again, saw Nerili's clean, flowing script. "This was the job Nerili set us: distract the Black Army until the innocents could escape, surrender when we had the upper hand to ensure the safety of the children. This we have done, and I will not antagonize the Dark any more. We are not safe from their wrath, do not forget it."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then you're a fool," Intantha hissed. "I would die for the Busk, but I still fear how the Dark might treat me."

"So, this is how it ends? Cowering in a bedroom and waiting for the hammer to fall?"

"I believe it already fell," Arnamil said dryly.

Kebeka sat heavily on Nerili's large bed. "You have accepted your fate with little difficultly, I see."

Arnamil's eyes narrowed marginally. "This was Nerili's command to us before they took her. I would see it through."

"Why?" Kebeka smiled toothily. "She saw it through for us."

Arnamil stiffied. "She was doing what she thought was best. Hope for the best, plan for the worst, it is wise."

For all her anger, Kebeka didn't have the nerve to mock Nerili. "Perhaps this is her way of telling us to fight back? She ensured their safety so we can challenge the Dark."

"I do not think so," Arnamil said.

Kebeka glanced away. "I do not want to surrender," she said softly. "This isn't how it should end."

"We do not always get the story we wanted." Elenxi thrust the papers to the floor. "We don't get to choose."

His bitter words settled over the Bards as the sack of Busk continued. The Bards listened to the screams in the distance, the children's high shrieks, the weeping and shouting of the adults, and the booms and thuds that resounded as buildings collapsed. A low roar grew in intensity as a fire spread through the School until it reached such a pitch that any other sound was drown out. It was so loud they didn't hear the door of the room open and jumped when a Hull spoke.

"You're not watching the show?" It was Ignalt, smiling broadly. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and you've drawn the curtains early? This is something to be remembered, think you not?"

Elenxi opened his mouth to tell the Hull off, but noticed that Ignalt was looking behind him, head tilted playfully. He gestured forward and slowly, Nerili emerged from the shadows of her house. The Bards jumped to their feet at the sight of their leader, shocked by her appearance. She was dressed in only a thin, cotton shift that fell to her knees. Her hair had been let loose from the usual braids that kept it back, and washed with harsh salt water so it hung around her face in stiff strands. Standing just barely over five feet, she looked like child, and the farthest departure from a First Bard they could imagine.

"I do not think one must see the destruction to remember it." Nerili's voice was clear and commanding, firm as iron. "This day will live forever in our hearts."

Ignalt offered her an indulgent look, reaching out to her like he would draw her to his side. "It must be difficult, but it is important to remember. This must be a lesson, my little Bard, this must be a reminder that all your might and scheming and planning was for nothing when the Dark lord sent his Black Army to your shores." He waved again and Nerili came forward into his reach. Ignalt ran his hands over her hair, her cheeks, an intimate caress. "Will you remember this, my dear?"

Nerili's lips formed a straight line. "I am not yours."

Ignalt's smile was fixed on his face, but his eyes were dead. "No?" Suddenly his hand snapped up, grabbed her hair, and jerked her head back so she was looking up at the ceiling. "There are laws in the new world, order that must be maintained under the watchful eye of the Nameless One and his servants. You are a woman, you are not a person in your own right. You belong to someone."

"Your master can burn," Nerili gasped.

"Your master, Bard." Ignalt watched her swallow, watched the panic and disgust in her eyes. "You must accept the new order of things. Call him your master, surrender at last."

"He won't like that," Nerili said weakly. "He'll want me unspoiled."

"Perhaps," said Ignalt, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "But your First Circle, you must order them to acknowledge him."

Nerili's eyes darted to the other Bards in the room. "Yes, yes, they will acknowledge him. There will be no need for them to fight."

"Neri!" Elenxi cried as Kebeka jumped to her feet. "No, we will not surrender to the Nameless One."

"They say no," said Ignalt, smirking. "You do not have the control of them you think you do."

"They will do as they are bid," Nerili hissed. "I am their First Bard, and I will give them a command."

Ignalt's excited face turned to the Busk Bards. "Do you yield? Do you obey your mistress and accept the rule of the Nameless One?"

Before any of them could respond, Nerili spoke. "There is no reason to ask them. I say it, and as First Bard, I know best. They know to trust me." Elenxi opened his mouth in protest, but Nerili's eyes darkened in warning.

The silence impressed Ignalt, who chuckled, brushing a speck of dirt of Nerili's cheek with his thumb. "This is good, very good. I thought there might be some use in keeping you about." Ignalt's teeth flashed disturbingly white. "You're my good little girl."

Nerili drew a deep breath and managed to twist free of Ignalt's grip, but the momentum of her pull sent her toppling forward and she fetched up against a large wooden chest. She remained there, head bowed, unwilling to acknowledge the fool she'd made of herself. Ignalt glanced around the room, reveling in the general despair.

"Try to relax, have a glass of wine, enjoy yourselves. It will not be long before we leave the School, perhaps a day or two at most, and then we'll be on our way home." The word home was particularly jarring, and the Bards scowled, but they didn't argue. The sooner Ignalt was gone, the better. The Hull must have realized that he wouldn't get a rise out of Bards and shrugged carelessly. "Have a happy reunion. I know how much you've missed each other."

The Bards watched as Ignalt left and turned as one to Nerili, who was still bent over the chest, hair obscuring her face. Elenxi approached Nerili slowly, reaching out like he would calm a wild beast.

"Neri," he said soflty. "are you alright?"

She drew a shuddering breath and tossed her tangled hair back, turning her face up. Her eyes moved to the desk where wine waited. "Something to drink," she croaked, voice weak. Elenxi scrambled for the wine and handed it her. In an impressive display, Nerili uncorked the wine and knocked it back.

"Nerili, we didn't know if you-we didn't know if we would see you again…" Kebeka began, then faltered. Nerili wiped the wine from her mouth. "We didn't know what happened."

Nerili blinked. "I thought that would have been obvious."

"We were lost without you."

Nerili smiled feral like. "You seemed to do well enough without me. Our plan worked."

"But you had doubts?" Arnamil's voice held a note of skepticism.

Her eyebrows twitched together in consideration. "I surrendered to my fear. I worried that you would be defeated. That whatever your fate, you would have been incapable of seeing our plans through. I wanted to make sure our people were protected." She lifted her chin in defiance, but none of the Bards spoke. She swallowed loudly, her will shivering, and when Elenxi touched her wrist affectionately, she drew a shuddering breath. "I was afraid."

"You are not less of a Bard for your fear," Elenxi finally said. "You were only trying to protect your people."

She stared at his hand, feeling supremely unworthy of his love. "I tell myself again and again that I betrayed out city for love of our people but…I worry that I was afraid I would not last torture, so I surrendered to spare myself." She shook her head and finished the wine. "I suppose it didn't matter in the end, but it would have been nice to think fondly of my actions."

Kebeka lowered her eyes, the fire going out of her. "We do not think less of you."

"It is what one thinks of themselves that matters," Nerili said sharply, and her words were a rebuke to Kebeka. She glanced up, shrugging suddenly like she would shake off her mood. "Ah well, if Ignalt is to be believed our battle with the Dark is not over. We journey now to Dagra and Sharma. We must gather our strength."

The other Bards glanced at each other, wondering just what strength was left in their First Bard. "You should try to recover," Elenxi said firmly. "You, among all of us, will bear the brunt of Sharma's rage."

She raised an eyebrow. "I am aware of what awaits me in Dagra," she said flatly.

"I didn't mean that you were too weak," Elenxi said gently. He glanced at her up and down again and though she was dressed like a child, though her small, bare feet peeked out, though she was willow thin, her eyes were hard. "I mean only that this will be the ultimate trial of your life. This is Sharma. He will want to see you undone."

"Obviously."

"I am afraid for you."

She bit her lip, caught the guilty looks of the other Bards. "I am afraid, too, but it is too late for fear. And besides-" Besides Cadvan is there "-besides, other Bards have gone before. Whether this is the will of Light or not, it seems that the servants of the Light are drawn to the Darkness. Perhaps it is our duty to contest this evil."

"That would be comforting," Arnamil said after a moment. "To have meaning to this madness."

Nerili smiled ironically. "I'm not saying it's true. But it is something."

Lyla tightened her grip on her brother Nik's waist and sunk down in the saddle when a soldier drew up alongside them. The soldier slowed the horse down, smiling rather broadly at Lyla, caught her brother's glower, and chuckled.

"How now, young master Bard?" the solider asked pleasantly. "You seem in poor sorts."

Nik's mouth drew into a straight line and his grip tightened on the reins. "I don't know what you mean."

"If I were in your place, I'd be quite pleased with myself." The eyes moved again to Lyla, who turned her face away.

Nik felt his sister shift and her cheek press against his back. He snapped about, raising his fist to the soldier. "Get out of here you rat!"

The solider smirked at Nik's display, but just shook his head and pushed on. Nik was in no position to threaten a solider, not when they would be in Dagra by the evening, but he couldn't let a soldier ogle his sister with no repercussions. Nik's eyes followed the soldier as he spurred the horse on, and he longed for his sword.

"It's not worth it," Beljan said gruffly. "They are sworn to leave us alone. It does not due to rise to their taunts."

Nik flushed. "He scared our sister."

Beljan's eyes moved swiftly to Lyla, who was now sitting back, staring blankly at the burnt and blasted landscape around them. She seemed almost catatonic, and had been since they left Gent, and while it worried her brothers, they had no cure for it. During their travels, Lyla had grown uncharacteristically quiet and pliant, she went where she told without complaint, she sat for hours at a time without speaking, she barely ate, but she didn't sleep. She had to be cared for by the other Bards. They would remind her to eat, going as far as to put the bread scraps in her hands, they would wrap her in a cloak when it was cold, rub her hands and stocking feet in the morning to draw blood to them. She would always ride with someone and had to be lifted in and out of the saddle each day. They worried for her, but there seemed little to be done unless they could find her a healer.

She is in shock, Beljan said.

She knows fear, Nik reaffirmed. She's seen too much at the hands of these men.

Both brothers flinched away. The memory of their mother's corpse was branded fresh in their minds, a raw aching wound. A fresh wave of fury washed over them both: this army had been responsible for the death of their mother. Beljan closed his eyes tightly, wondering what had become of her body. Surely, they buried the corpse, didn't just leave it out for the birds to tear apart.

"We'll be in a room tonight I suspect," Beljan said loudly. "Perhaps a bed."

Nik shrugged, eyeing the large, looming black shapes in the distance. Dagra. "Do you think so? Think the Nameless One will house us in comfort tonight? Will we be treated as honored guests?"

Beljan considered. "Well, we are the First Circle now."

"Lucky us," Nik agreed. He switched his gaze up and watched his father who was plodding along beside a Hull. Gahal kept his eyes forward, but the straightness in his spine suggested he was listening to the landscape around him. "Do you worry about father?"

Beljan shivered. "He isn't a fool."

"I didn't say he was a fool, I said I'm worried about him. What will happen when we go to the Nameless One?"

"It doesn't do to think about it." Beljan bit his lip.

"Shall we think instead of what will become of us?"

A deep, uncomfortable silence filled the air around them. Nik and Beljan were the replacements to the First Circle since two of the members had been murdered in the sack of Gent. They were furious and stubborn and filled with a passion for the Light, but they were both aware that, at least in terms of Bards, they were young. Talented full Bards, but by no means, First Circle material. A contradictory feeling of fear and desire filled them: they wanted to be worthy of the First Circle, but contrarily, were terrified of what it meant to shoulder the full wrath of the Nameless One.

Nik gave in first. "No news escapes the dark citadel. No one knows what becomes of the First Circle, only that they are taken to the Nameless One. The Hulls say that we go to him and he will break our minds, but after-"

"So simple, is it?" Beljan asked sharply. "Just break our minds."

Nik opened his mouth, but Lyla stirred, hugging him tighter against him. "Don't go. Don't go to him."

Nik jerked the reins so sharply the horse reared back. "Lyla! Lyla, you shouldn't listen to-"

"Don't go to him," she whispered again. "If you and papa go, I'll be alone."

"No one is leaving you," Beljan said firmly. "We're all going to together, and we'll stay together. No matter what happens." When she just looked up at him dolefully, he sighed, shaking his head. "Our father is a clever man, he won't let our family be separated."

"Not again," she whispered. "Not like mama."

"No, never again," said Nik, but his voice was faint and his face grim.

They rode on until evening fell and a frigid breeze brushed along the dry planes. In the distance they saw fires spring to life like beacons of the small, impoverished villages that surrounded the capitol. By reflex, the Bards wondered if they could run, make it to a village, and hide, but they all knew it was futile. They villages they had passed were desperately poor and overseen by harsh, unforgiving masters. A brief escape would only earn them a protracted punishment. When the sun sunk fully below the horizon, the temperature dropped rapidly and their breath fogged on the air. The Hulls, determined to reach the city that night, called a brief stop for the slaves to better equip themselves, then continue their march. Nik helped Lyla down from the saddle as her father and Anhil joined them.

"We make steady progress," Anhil was saying. "I think late this evening we'll be in the city."

Gahal grunted. "I've spoken to the master Hull at the front. It says a quarter has been set aside for Bards in the city and our people will go there. I told the Hull I won't go a step further into the tower until I see our people housed and fed."

Anhil raised his eyebrows. "And the Hull agreed?"

"Yes." Gahal did not mention the laughter he had seen in the Hull's eyes at his demands.

Nik and Beljan were listening closely. "And what of us?"

"There is a dinner prepared for our arrival," Gahal said distastefully.

"A dinner?" Beljan spat. "The Nameless One thinks to pacify us with dinner?"

"I doubt it," Gahal said darkly. "This is not an attempt to charm us or win us over. I suspect this is pure amusement on his behalf."

"Then we should refuse," Nik said quickly. "Simply go to whatever miserable cell he has prepared-"

"Absolutely not." Gahal caught his son's eye severely. "Whatever this is, we do not act rashly. I do not think for a moment that Sharma is going to offer us forgiveness or clemency, nor do I think he will free us. What I do know is that spitting in his face and cursing his name will get us nowhere. You are members of the First Circle now, and it is your duty to see to the safety of your School! This you will do by engaging with Sharma."

"You want us to speak with him?" Nik was outraged.

"You will say nothing." Gahal shook out a cloak and wrapped it about his daughter, who was watching him with wide, terrified eyes. "I will do the speaking for our School, perhaps Anhil. The only thing you two are to do is care for your sister and keep an eye out for any allies among the crowd. I will not have you in Sharma's sight."

"But we're on the First Circle-"

"By dint of your relationship to me!" Gahal swung about, eyeing his son harshly. "You are too young by far to have business with Sharma. If I can, I will try to barter your safety as well." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Anhil, but I suspect you and I will have no respite."

Anhil ran a hand through his messy hair. "I expected as much. Do you know what to expect from Sharma? Have the Hulls been forthcoming?"

"Just games and threats." Gahal shook his head, glancing at his younger sons then his daughter. "I think that Lyla might be best served if we can send her to be housed with the other Bards."

Something flickered in Lyla's eyes and she shuddered. "No!" she said suddenly, jerking to life. "No! No, I won't leave you. You can't leave me alone!" Nik caught Lyla's hand but she tore it away. "I'll be left alone to die like mama!"

A flash of pain burned through her father's eyes. "Your mother wasn't left alone, sweetheart. And you won't be either. Our people will take care of you, see you fed and clothed and protected. You could be-"

"I won't be taken from you!" Her eyes were wide and she looked desperately between the Bards. "Don't let them have me. Please! Please! I can't go."

Anhil smiled sadly at her, taking her carefully aside and wrapping the cloak tighter. "Lyla, we're just trying to keep you safe. The Dark tower is no place for a full Bard, let alone a young woman." When she opened her mouth to speak, Anhil raised a hand, "But, if you're sure you want to join us, then I'm sure your father will let you accompany us." He smoothed her hair down and gazed straight into her eyes which were unusually focused. "You are, after all, safer with him than anyone else."

She switched her gaze quickly to her father, who was looking uncomfortably at them both. "I'd rather you be somewhere safe."

"There is nowhere safe," Anhil said gently. "Better to have her in your eye than anywhere else. Besides, what could be safer than the First Circle to protect her?"

Before Gahal could answer, the call went up for the Bards to continue their march. Gahal gestured for Nik to climb up then gently helped Lyla up behind her brother. He squeezed her knee tightly and she looked down somberly.

"I'm not going to lose you, sweetheart. I swear on the Light that I won't let anything happen to you."

Lyla didn't smile, it seemed that ability to smile had been take from her, but she nodded gravely. "He'll try to separate us. Don't let me go."

Gahal nodded sternly before pulling himself up onto his own horse and setting off again. They moved slower than the Hulls liked, and in their displeasure turned their riding crops on the Bards. The dog soldiers that accompanied them sensed the mounting annoyance of their masters, and snarled and snapped, lunging at the Bards who scurried back, crying out in terror. As they approached Dagra, though, the Bards' feet began to drag, the air seemed thinner and they felt weighed down by an unseen force. Once they were in sight of the wall, it became almost unbearable to move on.

"Your people are weak," observed the Hull riding alongside Gahal. "I wonder that they will last a fortnight under our master."

"There are different types of strength, my people will endure your master's cruelties. You will see." He didn't bother to look at the Hull, though he sensed its eyes on him. "Our people will prevail."

"You seem awfully confident for a man who is even now riding to his doom." The Hull paused taking a measure of Gahal. "Perhaps your people will endure, but your daughter is a different story. Such a sad fate for such a beautiful girl, to die in torment in the halls of the Nameless. You do not do her any service keeping her with you. It is a selfish, hungry love you possess. Perhaps, since the death of your wife, you covetously keep a small piece of the woman you murdered."

Hot anger burned through Gahal at the mention of Rena. "And I suppose you will know how one might best care for their daughter?"

The Hull laughed. "Not particularly. But I've enjoyed you, Gahal. I find your indifference to your doom quite impressive, so I'll make you an offer. Say the word and I will make sure your daughter it taken away from the torment that awaits. Trust me when I say you don't not want her imprisoned with your lot, the fate of the Bards is dark indeed. I will make sure she is taken to live with common folk, men and women who are beyond the sight or care of our master. She would be safe, Gahal, and not condemned to a life of misery."

Gahal closed his eyes, thinking of her desperate plea that she stay with them. "Your promises are hollow. I do not trust for a moment that you will see my daughter to safety."

The Hull grinned. "I would make sure she wasn't in the tower, is all. That's as much as the daughter of a First Bard deserves."

Gahal frowned. "She stays with me. I will protect her from the wrath of your master."

"If you think it is in your gift," shrugged the Hull, and pushed on.

The moon arched overhead, turning the desert into a strange, foreign tundra of pale white and stark black. Shadows seemed to move on the ground, and the Bards weren't sure if it was a trick of the eye or creatures of the Dark. They pressed tighter together and felt a grateful, if disgusted, appreciation for the dog soldiers that accompanied them. At least the creatures of the Dark feared Sharma's army enough to let them pass harmlessly. When they finally reached the gate, the exhaustion and fear conspired to make the Bards compliant, and they barely resisted the command to enter the city.

The streets were dark, lit with oil lamps that produced greasy smoke that hung in low clouds over the city. The citizens of Dagra peered out through the windows of their blank-faced buildings, watching with dark eyes as more prisoners from the north marched through the city, up to the tower and the neighborhood that had been put aside for them. They barely made noise, just watched the procession with dull eyes. When the Bards finally reached the final circle of the city, the Hulls drew them to a stop and gestured toward a cobbled road that led to a large walled off quarter. Behind it, they saw the roofs of grimy, low buildings and faint purple light.

"This is where we go our separate ways," the Hull with Gahal said. "Explain to your people that they will follow our soldiers to their barracks and stay there. If they are quiet and orderly, they will be fed. Tomorrow, some of our number will come and perform a census. They will have to provide their names, sex, age, descriptive features, and Gift. It may serve them well to know that, in addition to the census, our soldiers will brand each of them with a number and they should not struggle."

Gahal narrowed his gaze but turned to his people who were assembling in a crowd before him. "Our journey is over," he said simply, gesturing around him vaguely. "We will go now to the district behind us. Here you will be housed among other Bards from the other Schools and fed. Tomorrow, a census will be conducted and you will each receive an identifying mark. Please," and here, Gahal's voice took on a desperate tone, "do not struggle. It is not in the nature of the Nameless One's servants to be forgiving. Do not give them reason to harm you. I ask that you go to your homes as calmly and peacefully as possible. I will go with my First Circle now and speak with the Nameless One to do all in my power to earn us some respite."

The Bards had opened their mouths to argue when they heard about the marking, but the passionate plea of Gahal drew them up short. Was struggling worth it when their First Bard was warning them of the dangers? They glanced toward the gates that surrounded the barracks, repulsed by the harsh, unforgiving appearance, but swallowed down any complaints. When Gahal gestured again, they shuffled in the direction.

"I swear on the Light, my friends, I will do whatever I can to ease our suffering."

"Brave words," murmured the Hull as the Bards entered through their gates. "You inspire much love from your people. It's a lie, of course, but a brave lie nonetheless."

"A lie?" Gahal hissed.

"You will not earn respite from the Nameless One. You have nothing to offer. Perhaps, if you are properly penitent, he will spare the lives of your children. But he will not give your people an inch."

Gahal grimaced. He'd expected as much. "Nik, Beljan, come here," he said instead, turning to his sons who were standing by Anhil. Their young faces showed their shock at the reality of Dagra. Nik blinked at his father in confusions. "I said, come here."

Anhil nudged the boys and they approached their father. Lyla went to her father's side at once and he placed an arm on her shoulders. "Listen to me closely. You will not speak unless the Nameless One demands it of you, do you understand? He will want to question us, but I will do the talking, or Anhil, if needs must. Do not catch his eye and do not show your outrage or fear. You must be as indifferent as stone. He will delight in our anger and pain. He will mention your mother and the destruction of Gent and the enslavement of our people. Ignore it. Sit and eat and drink, but say nothing, do you understand me?"

Beljan was watching the Bards vanish into the city. "But, father-"

"I do not want a conversation from you. Do you understand, yes or no?" He looked between his sons, his face stern.

"Yes," Nik finally said, Beljan a moment after.

"Good. You must understand what comes next will be-" he stopped suddenly, glancing to Anhil who shook his head miserably. "I will be honest with you. I don't know what will become of us. I fear the Nameless One, I fear what he will do to you. You've heard the old stories of Bards who were taken to Dagra during the Great Silence, you've seen their fate, and I would be remiss if I didn't warn you that it might be our future. He may torture us, he may seek to destroy the very things that make us Bards: our Gifts, our hearts, our minds. If that is the case, then I am sorry. I will do everything in my power to protect you, I will sacrifice myself to him if it would protect you-" Beljan opened his mouth to complain, but Gahal cut him off. "I would sacrifice myself, but I do not know that even that will protect you now. I can ask you only to be brave."

The boys nodded, glancing at one and other. Gahal turned to Anhil.

"Well, Anhil, it has been a pleasure to serve beside you, know that."

Anhil smiled sadly. "And I you."

There seemed no words that captured the emotion in the two Bards' hearts. Gahal shook himself. "If I die, I appoint you, Anhil, as First Bard. Please, if it is in your power, protect my children."

Anhil nodded seriously. "Of course."

Gahal glanced once to Lyla. "And, boys, you will look after if your sister if I am gone, yes?"

"Yes," they both said.

"Then we are prepared as ever. Let us meet this dark lord." He turned to the Hull, who was watching the last Bards pass with amusement. "Are you just going to stand there?" Gahal demanded. "Did not your master say that we were to dine with him?"

The Hull blinked in surprise at his tone. "Why in such a hurry to meet your doom, Gahal?"

"I don't appreciate games. Bring me to the Nameless One," he said fiercely.

The Hull bowed ironically. "Of course, First Bard. Just this way."