Chapter Thirteen

Gahal hesitated on the threshold of the hall, but a Hull shoved him forward and he took a tentative step into the room. It was lit well and a large fire in the center of the room put off a warm glow. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that arranged along the wall were his fellow First Bards. He moved to greet them, but upon closer inspection, saw the haggard lines on their faces. He swallowed tightly and moved forward, gesturing Anhil and his sons with him.

The younger Bards were appalled at the idea, but their fear and exhaustion colluded to make them obedient to their father's firm command. They went ahead of Anhil, who came last, guarding their backs. Ahead, they saw the impossibly mundane image of the Nameless One, seated on his throne, watching them approach. He had adopted a slouched, almost bored, appearance: elbow on arm rest, chin on hand, head tilted slightly. If it weren't for his golden, glowing eyes focused on them, they would have thought he was ignoring their arrival. When they were a stone's throw from the throne, he smiled.

"Welcome, Gahal of Gent." His voice was soft, melodic, but reached their ears with perfect clarity. His eyes slid past Gahal, over the boys, and landed on Anhil, who was holding Lyla against his side. "And, this is Anhil. I was most disappointed to hear of your brother's death. My condolences."

With great control, Anhil tipped his head. "I thank you for your kind words."

The Nameless One shifted, lifting his face from his hand. "The Hulls who did it are here, naturally. If you have a desire to know his last moments, I can have them tell the tale."

Again, Anhil fought down his burning anger, and held up a hand. "There is no need. I mourn my brother in my own time and in my own way."

The Nameless One's eyebrows twitched together in annoyance. "It is my desire to give you what you want. To make you comfortable in my new empire. You are, after all, important to me."

Anhil frowned. "And why are we so valuable?"

"Now, now, no need to get right down to business so early. You've only just arrived, and looking half starved, no less. Please, I invite you to eat at my table." The Nameless One made a grand gesture to the table where the Bards were seated. The Nameless One's eyes moved down the table, pausing at the end. An impressive glower overcame his face. "Where is the cobbler and that lazy slut?"

Gahal frowned at the description, nonplussed.

"Boy, where is your sister?" the Nameless One snapped at Hem, who was knocking his ankles against the legs of his chair in a remarkable attempt at boredom.

"How should I know?" Hem asked petulantly. "Am I my sister's keeper?"

Gahal's eyebrows shot up at the insolence of the boy to the Nameless One.

"I allow you the freedom of my palace and you turn around and spit in my face. I should chain you back up." The Nameless One flicked his attention at Saliman. "You're a bad influence on the boy. I had him trained properly before I let him go gadding off with you."

Hem smarted at the word trained and flushed angrily. "I wasn't gadding."

Saliman, though, intervened before the Nameless One lost his temper. "I would guess she is with Cadvan, and he is with her. I can't image they are far from your purview, my lord."

The Nameless One smiled narrowly. "Dureek, where are our missing Bards?"

"I sent the girl for them," a Hull supplied swiftly.

The Nameless One offered up a long-suffering sigh and turned back to Gahal. "My apologies, First Bard, but it seems we must wait for our entertainment. In the meantime, would you care for a glass of wine?"

"Water, please."

The Nameless One looked offended. "Water? But this is a special celebration for your arrival There will be no water here."

"Then perhaps water for my children? They are overtired." He glanced back at his two sons as if taking the measure of them. "In truth, Sharma, I think they should skip the meal and rest."

"But these are your First Circle, no?" The Nameless One inspected Nik and Beljan. "They are a bit young, don't you think?"

"They are good Bards, exceptionally Gifted," Gahal said firmly, believing the safest place for them was within his reach. "What they lack in wisdom, they more than make up for in their courage and tenacity."

"Well." And here, the Nameless One chuckled. "We will need tenacious Bards for our undertaking."

"Undertaking?" Gahal asked, and finally accepted the glass of wine offered to him. Best to keep the Nameless One pleasantly engaged.

"A great future awaits us." The Nameless One would say no more on the topic however and turned instead to Saliman. "While we wait, tell me the news of your First Circle. Do they come along nicely?"

Saliman hesitated a moment, but it was long enough for Hem to slip in. "Unfortunately, one of them passed beyond the final gates."

A silence descended on the crowd and the Nameless One's eyes narrowed. "I seem to recall an agreement, Saliman, regarding the creation of your First Circle."

"It was a failure on my part," Hem said swiftly. "Despite my best efforts, I could not save Orona. Saliman did everything he could."

"My lord-" Saliman tried, but the Nameless One was smiling toothily at Hem.

"Young man, I was told you were the most accomplished healer in all of the seven kingdoms. You were unmatched. What did you do?"

Hem shrugged carelessly. "I don't know, but her death is laid at my feet. Saliman was furious with me."

"As was his right," the Nameless One agreed. "You shall have to be punished, Cai."

"It was a mistake-"

"But how to punish a failed healer?" the Nameless One's eyes moved to Gahal, as if asking his opinion. "A lashing is too mundane. A beating, crass. This will require some level of finesse."

Hem chose not to look at Saliman, whose face was in his hands. "Banish me from your presence?"

"Don't play with me, boy." The Nameless One smiled at the Hulls, many of which adored opportunities to hurt children. "You're in enough trouble as it is."

"I've been in trouble my whole life," Hem muttered.

Sharma's eyebrows shot up in irritation, but the doors at the end of hall opened, drawing his attention. Maerad and Cadvan entered, heads up and mocking smiles on their faces, as if they were determined to flout the Nameless One's power. Cadvan led Maerad forward, making a vague acknowledging gesture to the Bards along the wall. When he drew level with Gahal and Anhil, he tipped his head politely, but gave no other sign that he was pleased to see them. Before the Nameless One, Cadvan bowed deeply and Maerad, hand still tucked in his elbow, sank into a low curtsey.

"So, you've decided to grace us with your presence?" the Nameless One asked in a tone of voice that belied his annoyance.

"We were otherwise occupied," Cadvan said, smiling ironically. "Afterall, you have been so gracious with your gifts, it seemed a shame not to make use of them."

Maerad kept her eyes down but felt a pleasant blush on her cheeks. Sharma inspected Maerad closely. "You must have been thoroughly distracted."

"Captivated," returned Cadvan.

Sharma's anger diminished, replaced by a sudden urge to mock Cadvan publicly. "Never was a man more easily captured." His eyes moved between the two like he would see the last vestiges of sex on them. "It seems all this time, my servants were spinning intricate plots to undo you, and all it took was a pretty face and a few whores' tricks."

"A very pretty face," Cadvan amended, and Maerad smiled slyly.

The Nameless One prickled with irritation at Cadvan's ability to turn his jokes. "It does not speak to your wisdom to be so easily maneuvered by a young girl."

"We cannot all be as prudent as you, my lord," Cadvan returned with brittle courtesy. "Forgive us lesser men."

Saliman snorted into his wine, drawing the attention of the Nameless One. "You too, Saliman, were so easily enticed by a pretty face."

"I know it," he said, lifting his glass. "Pity me my terrible luck that I must go home to her every night."

"All of you are fair bit too easy," the Nameless One growled. "I did not achieve my throne by chasing after women's skirts and wasting days in tender caresses. It is the strength of my will that put me here, and it is my power that will keep me in my place and you in yours."

"I am indeed a small man beside your throne. Perhaps so small you will have no need of me."

"Small deeds for small men, I always say," the Nameless One said shortly. "I shall have to find you a particularly small deed to perform, Cadvan. Something suited to your skills."

Cadvan nodded Maerad toward the table and their seats, but it was not lost on the room that Cadvan had not waited for the Nameless One to dismiss him, and the Bards watched the exchange closely. The Nameless One's eyes followed them, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. Cadvan pulled out a seat for Maerad beside her brother and helped her sit.

"Wait a moment, Cadvan," the Nameless One said when Cadvan moved to sit beside her. "I am in need of your services, small as they are."

Cadvan sighed, spinning around on his heels. "Of course."

"Cadvan, we've discussed this."

"Of course, master," he said thickly.

"He's a good sport," the Nameless One said, switching his attention back to Gahal. "Now that we're all here, we can give our distinguished guests the attention they deserve. Gahal, you must be so curious as to why I have gone to all this trouble to bring you and your Circle here?"

Gahal kept his gaze carefully on the Nameless One. "It is prudent to keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

"You are not my enemy."

Gahal raised his eyebrows. "You could have fooled me."

"Is this because I burned your School?" He paused, inspecting Gahal closely. "Or because your wife died in the event? That was certainly unfortunate, but it was by no means my fault. I asked for her alive."

The mention of Rena so casually was jarring to Gahal, and he swallowed his wine loudly. The Nameless One's lips quirked up in a smile. "I find that hard to believe."

"Ah, but it's true. Ask your friends here." He gestured to the Bards along the wall. "Their wives, their lovers, their children…they kept them all. It is in my best interests to keep them happy."

Gahal glanced at the Bards again. "They don't seem happy."

"They are…satisfied." He spared a glance for Vaclal who was staring at the bread on his plate. "It's a simple thing, really. If I give them what they want, they are beholden to me. If your wife had lived, we'd be having a very different conversation."

"Perhaps not, my lord." One of the Hulls was standing, smiling knowingly. "The wife may have died but…the daughter is safe and sound."

Gahal threw a furious glance at the Hull, but the Nameless One was gleaming with pleasure. "A daughter? No one mentioned a daughter." His eyes moved to Anhil holding Lyla. "I adore daughters."

"She's not a Bard," Gahal said swiftly.

"No?" the Nameless One repressed a grin. "Now, that's surprising. Two sons on the First Circle, but a commonplace daughter."

"Hardly commonplace, my lord," the Hull said.

"No, no indeed," said the Nameless One slowly, his hungry gaze moving over Lyla. "She's as lovely as a flower. A perfect rose. What do you call her, Gahal?"

He glowered. "Lyla has nothing to do with our dispute."

"She has everything to do with it." He flashed a look at Anhil, taking in the sight of his arm around Lyla's shoulders. Something there, perhaps? "Because she is everything to you, and it would be so hard to lose her, wouldn't it?"

"You'll leave her alone," Gahal said again.

"That depends on you, doesn't it? I have no interest in hurting your daughter so long as you give me no reason to. Are you going to give me a reason?" The Nameless One's eyes gleamed. "Are you going to surrender your will?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You have a choice in the method, not the outcome." Now the Nameless One gestured at Cadvan. "Cadvan, for instance, took it hard, but Malgorn, why that was almost pleasant, wasn't it?"

Malgorn balked at the insinuation. "It was a relief to be over," he finally said.

"He was eager to be in my service." The Nameless One sipped his own wine. "Shall we have it simply, then? Give me your Name and I will spare your daughter."

"Just my Name?" he asked ironically.

"Actually, since you asked so politely, I'll have all your Names." He gestured vaguely to Nik, Beljan and Anhil. "I need your First Circle in my service."

"For what?" Anhil asked sharply.

"This and that." He looked at Cadvan, waved him forward. "Why don't you tell them, Cadvan, since you have been in my service the longest of all the Bards?"

Cadvan crinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm hardly a member of your inner circle. Didn't you say that all I'm good for is keeping your boots in order?"

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't become you."

Cadvan glanced up at the Nameless One then looked down at his hands, his teeth set in a snarl. The Nameless One inspected Cadvan slowly, mildly amused with his refusal. Now, Cadvan, you and I both know how this will go. Put a smile on your handsome face and explain to your friend how he will serve me.

Have someone else do it.

I want you to do it. Serve me.

Have a Hull-

Speak now!

Cadvan flinched when the Nameless One exerted his will. He felt the words come up like vomit and almost yelled them. "We will help the Nameless One in his pursuit to bring about the final Silence." Smile you useless Bard bastard. Cadvan's lips turned up at the corners in a hideous smile. "To destroy the Speech."

Gahal blanched at the sight. "That…that isn't possible."

"Ah, but it is." The Nameless One waved Cadvan over and he moved against his will to the throne. He made a vague gesture and an invisible hand lifted Cadvan's chin so he was looking to into his eyes. At the same time, Cadvan's legs gave out beneath him and he knelt before the throne. The Nameless One ran his hand tenderly over Cadvan's hair. "It will take the combined effort of every Bard of great renown, but it is possible. You should consider yourself lucky to be so favored."

"I would rather not help at all," Gahal said stiffly, watching the Nameless One pet Cadvan with morbid curiosity.

"As they all said," shrugged the Nameless One. Cadvan was shivering, trying desperately to pull away. "But I cannot allow this. So, we shall have our meal, enjoy the wine and the food and the entertainment, and then I shall break your mind. This is fair, yes?"

"You are a monster," Cadvan spat out.

"Silence, Cadvan, you were not given leave to speak." His voice was like a whip and Cadvan's jaw clamped shut. "Gahal, will you and your Circle surrender?"

Gahal grimaced. Protect my daughter at the cost of my sons? He didn't dare look to his sons, but he could feel the tension in their bodies. "Take me. Anhil, Beljan and Nik have little to offer you."

The Nameless One blinked. "We are not bartering, Gahal."

Gahal bowed his head. "Please, my sons are too young to be of any use to you."

"If they are members of the Circle, they must yield themselves to me." His attention drifted to Cadvan and he rubbed his thumb against the beard that dusted his jaw. "What is this, Cadvan? Maerad! You let your master go about looking a mess?"

Maerad started. "The state of Cadvan's beard wasn't foremost on my mind last night. Or this morning." She slid a smile down the table at the other Bards, as if taken by a particularly good joke.

"What, if anything, is ever on your mind?" the Nameless One asked dryly.

"I defer to you," she returned mildly.

The Nameless One growled in annoyance. "I don't want to see Cadvan looking like this ever again. I hold you accountable, Maerad."

Maerad bit her lip to stay herself pointing out that Sharma had kept them for weeks by his pool, observing the war in Thorold, and that Cadvan's appearance was far more his fault. "I will make sure to give him a thorough inspection every morning."

"One of my finest servants looking like…a ditch born drunkard." The Nameless One shook his head in disgust. "Well, Gahal? Now that we have exhausted the usual crying and pleading, are you going to give me reason?"

"These are my sons you are asking me to sacrifice to you," he said slowly.

"I noticed."

Gahal's face crumpled. "How can you ask me to choose?"

"You are the First Bard, it is your duty to make difficult decisions."

The Nameless One shivered with pleasure at the sight of Gahal panicking before him. There was never anything quite so amusing as a Bard of the Light grappling with his consciousness. He leaned forward, his nostrils flaring like he could smell the fear and indecision on him. Cadvan, who was still kneeling at his feet, looked away in disgust.

"When it's over, will you leave my sons alone?"

The Nameless One considered this. "When the Speech is destroyed-assuming they lived-I will find a job for them far from my throne. They can live out the rest of their lives in quiet, dutiful service to me." He smiled at the brothers for their benefit. "No wailing away over their harps in my hall, no cleaning my boots, no caring for my horses. Will that suit?"

Nik opened his mouth for the first time to complain, but Anhil jabbed him and he closed his mouth with a snap. "They're quiet, too. Good, I'm tired of Bards sobbing and screaming and cursing at me."

"Take me first." Gahal lifted his chin. "Take me first, so they can see how it's done."

"Monkey see, monkey do," mused the Nameless One. His gaze dropped to Cadvan again and a smile split his face. "Gahal, I will honor your request. I will break your mind first and your sons and friends will watch. And, this time, I will have Cadvan's help."

"You'll not!" Cadvan snarled, outrage clear on his face.

Ah, there's the anger I was looking for. The Nameless One preened under Cadvan's mounting rage. "You will, Cadvan, because you will not deny me in anything. You forget how completely you are in my service."

"I am not your puppet," Cadvan hissed, his pride smarting.

"Puppet, no? You are my most favorite Bard. The one who got away," he teased gently. "But today, you will see what your life could have been had you not so cleverly avoided the snares of the Dark. You're going to help me break a Bard's mind."

"I'll be little use in that," Cadvan said furiously. "That is the work of Hulls."

"Precisely." The Nameless One said, flexing his power over Cadvan's mind. "But I'm going to teach you the secret to it. The art of destroying a person." The Nameless One stood, stretching a little and gestured Cadvan toward him. Cadvan felt his mind suddenly engulfed in smoke, clouding his senses, rendering him compliant.

"Now, Gahal, you won't be much in a talking mood once we're done, so I suggest that whatever sentiments you have for your children, you say them now."

Gahal saw the merciless truth in those golden eyes. He turned swiftly to his children who were staring aghast, and made a vague, hopeless gesture. "I think it will hurt, but if you don't struggle it might be over quickly. Have faith in that. Lyla, don't watch."

"Now, Cadvan, attend me." Cadvan's feet dragged on the floor. He felt lazy, almost confused by what was going on around him. He knew he wanted to move away, he wanted to run away, but his body wasn't responding. The Nameless One gestured to Gahal. "It's like unraveling a blanket. You need to find that one stray thread and tug it, gently at first, then with a bit more force. That can be difficult. My Hulls often struggle with it because it requires a certain amount of empathy. You, though, are fortunate because you are a Truthteller. You don't need to struggle to find that little thread, they will reveal it to. How clever you are, my little Bard."

Cadvan tried to form words, but they wouldn't come. Instead, he looked to Maerad who was watching the Nameless One with narrowed eyes. He had become so accustomed to her sadness that he was rather shocked by her anger.

"Now, watch closely, Cadvan." The Nameless One waved sharply and Cadvan unwillingly approached from behind. He studied Gahal, who was nervously clenching and unclenching his fists. "Gahal, if you relax your mind, it will be easier."

Cadvan switched his gaze between the two, and then the fogginess that had been clouding his mind turned to darkness. He gasped, but the world seemed to spin and fall away and Cadvan was cast out into the darkness of the cognitive realm. It was a place that was not part of the physical world, but existed around it, like an unseen layer. It was the place where Cadvan often found Maerad when she was lost. It was intangible, but for those who knew the way, it could be found. Usually, Cadvan could navigate it with ease, but this time, he'd been pulled along by the Nameless One and the experience was rocky.

It was like someone was cuffing him about the head, shaking him violently so he'd see points of light behind his eyes. He wasn't sure he had a stomach, but a feeling of nausea bubbled up and he felt lightheaded. He tried to focus on something tangible. His Name.

Inareskai. It should have brought him some comfort, some sense of self, but instead it burned.

That Name belongs to me, Cadvan. If you wanted help, you should have asked. Like tugging on his collar, the Nameless One forced Cadvan to attention. Watch how this is done.

Now that he had called Cadvan's Name, Cadvan couldn't turn away. His attention was focused on the Nameless One's voice, on the feeling of his malice turned on Gahal's mind. An impressive force was arrayed before them, what seemed to be an immoveable will was pushing back against the Nameless One, but Cadvan felt a concentrated energy building up around them. It was inexorable, relentless. It was pounding in Cadvan's head so hard it ached.

You probe, prod, until you find it, that one loose end, the Nameless One whispered. First Bards have impressive will, but even they are not impenetrable. Sometimes, you must draw them out.

The Nameless Onerippled with amusement. Lyla.

The effect the name had on Gahal was instantaneous. The barriers he had erected shivered like the Nameless One had delivered a decisive blow and Cadvan felt a flash of Gahal's consciousness. Like he was Gahal. He recoiled from such intimacy but the Nameless One pushed hungrily on, drawing up an image of Lyla being set upon by ravenous men. Cadvan could feel Gahal's shock and then terror at the prospect.

There is his weakness, and it is a doorway for us.

Like Maerad and I, Cadvan thought after a beat.

Precisely. And once I find it, I pull the rest of you apart. Watch.

The scene Cadvan-and Gahal-was treated to grew more detailed, more gruesome, until it didn't seem like a play anymore, but a vivid memory. Cadvan felt his stomach twist when one of the men snapped Lyla's wrist and he wished desperately he could stop them. Her cries were not so much fresh in his mind, but seemed to call from a long way off. He wasn't watching the vision like a play, he was reliving the memory or the event: the details were lost to him but the emotions her sobbing evoked were vivid. Once, she looked to the side and called for her father and Cadvan retreated so quickly from the sound he thought he almost escaped the Nameless One's hold on him.

Stop that, Cadvan. You need to see how the rest is done.

Gahal was as morbidly enthralled as Cadvan. He could no longer remember if the scene was a memory or a vision, and the uncertainty tormented him. It made his barriers weak, so much so that other, smaller memories escaped him. There were flashes of his wife laughing, his sons being born, his hands dancing over the strings of an instrument. The Nameless One gobbled them up.

These are but the small pieces that make a man. Alone, they serve little purpose, but together, they are useful.

The Nameless One did not simply consume the memories like some glutinous parasite, but poured over them carefully, paying close attention to minute details. Cadvan knew he was looking for something, searching for information. Each face, each faint word, each meaningful look was more kindle for the fire he was stoking. He was trying to learn Gahal's person.

Now, you have the small pieces, just enough to weave a story. To craft a needle to tear the fabric of their minds. It's elegant, beautiful really, if you do it correctly.

Cadvan retained enough of his memories that he could still recall the burning, tearing sensation of Sharma digging through his mind. Fleetingly, he tried to resist, to protect Gahal, but the Nameless One crushed his resistance like a bug under his thumb.

No, Cadvan. In this, your obedience will be complete.

It was fascinating, in a perverse way. The Nameless One bombarded Gahal with images of his family, and each one seemed to elicit a response from Gahal. The face of Rena would flash before their eyes, then a response: a new, brief memory of Rena extracting honey from bees. Lyla, reading a book, then Lyla, binding a wound on someone's arm. Nik and Beljan practicing with swords, Nik and Beljan…bound and riding alongside Hulls.

Ah…a painful memory. But we can use this, Cadvan. His pain is like a doorway for me.

The Nameless One pushed harder on the memory of Nik and Beljan, and though Gahal tried to push back, the emotions the memory evoked seemed to weaken Gahal, forming a festering wound in his consciousness. The Nameless One drew out the memory of Rena's corpse, and Gahal made the equivalent of a scream. Cadvan retreated from the sound like he'd been burned, but the Nameless One chuckled and then lunged at the wound forming in Gahal. This time, there was no memory, just Sharma's malice and will, shaped into a flaming spear that lodged in Gahal's mind and sent shockwave after shockwave of pain reverberating through his consciousness.

Cadvan remembered this pain all too well. He cried out. For the love of the Light, stop!

The Nameless One ignored Cadvan's plea. He was watching Gahal, prowling in the dark corners of his mind, waiting to strike. The pain was a distraction to Gahal, so much so that soon he could not keep the barriers he had erected and the Nameless One found hole, another memory. It was Gahal, as a young man, watching the previous First Bard perform the midsummer ceremony. The Nameless One lunged, latching onto the memory and dragging another forward: Gahal performing the midsummer ceremony himself.

How fortuitous.

Cadvan guessed that this memory would be key to the Nameless One's dominance of the Bard. To perform the ceremony, Bards had to open themselves up to their fullest power, and, as Cadvan had learned before, this was dangerous. Never was a Bard more powerful, but conversely, more vulnerable, and any injury was a grievous one. Gahal's memory of the ceremony, of the walls he had to lower and relax so that he could access his powers, were like a roadmap for the Nameless One to access his most important barriers and weaknesses.

Gahal realized a beat too late what he had revealed. He panicked, uselessly trying to obfuscate, but the Nameless One brushed him aside.

It's no use now, Gahal, he said consolingly. Try to relax, it'll be over soon.

And it was. Armed with his knowledge of Gahal's consciousness, the Nameless One could locate his barriers and focus his attention on each in turn, systematically destroying his defenses. Cadvan watched with a detached sympathy: he was too familiar with the process to open himself to Gahal's emotions fully, but he still lamented the Bard's suffering.

You see how efficient it can be when you don't struggle? The Nameless One asked Cadvan. You were insufferable.

Cadvan balked. Oh yes, I was the unsufferable one.

The Nameless One flickered with annoyance at his impertinence. Careful, Cadvan, I've exercised about all the patience I have with you today.

Cadvan wasn't fool enough to press the matter anymore, and instead returned his attention to the Nameless One's swift destruction of Gahal. Now that he had put aside most of the barriers between himself and Gahal, the Nameless One enjoyed a long, detailed montage of Gahal's memories. Cadvan did his best to respect the other Bard's privacy, but even he saw brief glimpses of intimate memories. Towards the end, though, they came faster. It was almost like Gahal was bleeding memories, gushing out of him in a frantic flow. Cadvan realized that he no longer felt Gahal's consciousness, though, didn't feel his presence pushing back against the Nameless One.

He's gone, Cadvan thought morosely. Practically dead.

Cadvan waited until the Nameless One had glutted himself on the pieces of Gahal, before trying to leave the connection. This time, the Nameless One let him go with nothing more than a low chuckle. When Cadvan came to, he found himself lying on the floor, breathing shallowly. There were hands on his chest and face, voices floating over him.

"…stopped breathing!"

"No, he hasn't." A deep voice, familiar. Saliman.

"But he's stopped moving."

"But he's not dead, put your fingers here. No, here." Saliman moved a small set of fingers to a place on his neck. "You feel the pulse."

"He's so…still." The voice trembled, faint. Cadvan knew that one like his own. Maerad. "It all happened as soon as Gahal stopped thrashing."

"It must be part of spell," Saliman said, now feeling for his pulse. "It's weak, but there."

"Perhaps he's injured?"

Cadvan searched for his voice, and his words came out in a rasp. "Just sick." Maerad's jumped back as Cadvan struggled to rise, his eyes unfocused and dark. "It's not a pleasant task, breaking souls." Then without preamble, Cadvan leaned away and vomited.

Maerad wordlessly handed Cadvan a napkin off the table and poured him a glass of water. "Then Gahal is lost?"

Cadvan flinched away from the memories of how he'd left Gahal, he'd barely been alive. "Worse, I think."

Saliman cursed. "His loss will go hard on his children."

Nik and Beljan were being physically restrained by Anhil, who had watched the entire event with disgust. They were shaking, desperate to reach their father, who appeared unconscious. Lyla hadn't bothered to fight. She had simply sunk to the floor and cried.

Cadvan made a hard face. "The Nameless One will go hard on his children."

Maerad gripped his arm tightly. "Their fear is not their fault."

"No." Cadvan looked down, suddenly embarrassed by the harshness of his response. "No, I suppose it is easy to forget that not everyone has been so unlucky as us. They have no reason to be accustomed to such things."

Saliman glanced between Cadvan and Maerad. "It is a terrible thought that those young men will be treated so. They don't deserve this."

There seemed little else to say. For all the pain and bitterness of it, it was the truth.

The silence demanded an answer. "They will live," Maerad said softly.

And they would, but at the moment, Nik betrayed his father's command and wrenched himself free of Anhil's grasp. He scrambled across the room, tumbling down to his father's side. He gathered up Gahal's body in his arms, patting his face to wake him,

"Nik, come back!" Anhil hissed, his attention focused on the Nameless One, who was seated on his throne, eyes closed, a small smile creasing his face. "Get back here, now!"

Nik shook his father gently. "For the love of the Light, Father, wake up."

Anhil directed Beljan to his sister forcefully and hurried over to the young Bard. "Get away from him. He's being interrogated by Sharma. He'll come for you next."

Nik wouldn't move. "Father, please, wake up."

"Get away from him!"

Nik shot a dark look at Anhil. "Coward! He's your First Bard and you just want to abandon him to this?"

"You can't help him," Anhil said tersely, gripping the boy's shoulder firmly. "What's done to him-" He stopped short. What had happened to Gahal was waiting close in their future. "You can't fix this."

"He's my father." Nik pushed back his hair, searching his face for signs of life.

Anhil shivered, like a deer smelling a wolf. Something about Sharma's pleasant smile unnerved him. He was sure Sharma was aware of them, watching them. "For Light's sake, get back to your brother and sister! Sharma will come for us next." Nik bit his lip, and Anhil, watching him clutch desperately at his father, was reminded suddenly of how young the Bard was, and how gentle his life had been up until then. He tried again, this time his voice softer. "Please, Nik, your father put you in my care. I would do him a disservice if I didn't protect you now."

Nik shook his father once, but he remained limp. "It can't be like this."

Anhil wasn't sure if the boy was speaking of his father or himself. "This is precisely what your father warned you of. I know it's horrible and frightening. Light knows, I'm terrified of what will become of us, but this is where you must call on your strength and courage. Do not despair."

Nik closed his eyes and sighed heavily. No, begging his father to wake and help him was not the solution. He laid his father's body back down with care and stood to face Anhil. "You're not a coward."

Anhil took his arm. "I know that, Nik. And you're not a fool for loving your father." He smiled suddenly, an irrepressible smile. "But Light knows you make my life more difficult for it. Now, stay behind me. Do not speak, do not move unless you have no other choice, do you understand?"

Nik didn't need to ask what Anhil meant by no other choice. He returned to Beljan, who was stroking Lyla's hair soothingly. They waited while the Nameless One finished with their father, which took surprisingly little time. He drew a deep breath and his eyes popped open, flashing in the light of the torches. He sipped his wine, gathering himself before turning his attention back on the Bards.

"You weren't nearly so terrible as I suspected, Cadvan," he admonished. "With just a little more practice, you'll make an excellent interrogator."

Cadvan looked appalled at the idea.

The Nameless One shrugged. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked the First Bards along the wall.

Nelac was carefully not looking at Gahal's children. "It was…most informative."

The Nameless One had almost deep a dislike for Nelac as he did for Maerad and Hem. He had thus far not broken the old Bard's mind, and felt that each time he spoke, Nelac mocked him. "You wish to try your hand at it?"

"I fear I have not the natural aptitude," Nelac said reasonably. "I'm certainly not a Truthteller. Just an old healer."

"Then perhaps you would like to experience it?" Now the Nameless One's eyes gleamed with pleasure. "It could be almost fun between us, Nelac. I suspect you would demonstrate more of a challenge than any other Bard, even your prized students." He waved to Saliman and Cadvan.

If Nelac was afraid, he didn't show it. "I imagine it is entirely up to you when my mind shall be broken. If we've come to it now, then I would offer myself to your inspection."

Maerad felt a surge of pride at his words. While only Nelac had the composure to speak plainly with Sharma, it was like watching a comedy routine: Sharma determined to cow everyone around him, Nelac politely careless.

"You would surrender?" The Nameless One asked curiously.

"Oh no." Nelac chuckled. "No, you'd have to break me, but I would not deny your command to present myself to you."

The Nameless One's lips twisted up into horrific smile. "A Bard such as yourself…you could prove a challenge. I might need help."

Cadvan shot a pleading look at Nelac, but the older Bard merely bowed his head. "You yourself said he is skilled in such arts."

"You will not hold a grudge? One of your own students-the young man you raised!-you will let him hurt you?" The Nameless One looked shocked. "When I was a young man, coming into my Gifts, our masters did not brook such betrayal. Students who deceived their masters were dealt with harshly."

"Cadvan hasn't been under my purview in a long while. It is no great betrayal."

"No, he's under mine." The Nameless One fell silent, mulling over Nelac's words. The Bard's empathy was supremely annoying. He wanted the Bards to succumb to their small fears and hurts and tear each other's throats out. Their knack for limitless forgiveness was problematic.

"We shall see how he progresses in his studies." He cast a fond look at Cadvan, who, despite himself, sunk down to avoid the Nameless One's bright gaze. Then snapped back to the Gent Bards. "Well, Anhil, I trust you are going to offer yourself next?"

"In Gahal's absence I am the First Bard," Anhil said slowly.

Again, the Nameless One studied him closely, and Anhil felt the weight of his gaze like a stone around his neck. In that brief moment, Anhil wondered why the Nameless One even needed to bother breaking his mind, he must be able to see into him already. The Nameless One raised one eyebrow and Anhil felt himself shrink down to nothing. That was how little Sharma thought of him.

"Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose," the Nameless One announced to raucous laughter from his Hulls. The Nameless One smiled indulgently at his servants before waving his hand to silence them. "The truth is, Anhil, I don't really need to search for the key to break your mind. I know the way in already: Dernhil."

Anhil shrugged. "I suspected this already."

"But do you know how?" The Nameless One smiled.

"How?"

"How I will use that information to destroy you?" When Anhil remained silent, the Nameless One clasped his hands. "I'm going to show you how he died."

Anhil paled. "I don't need to see that-"

"That is precisely why I am going to make you watch." His eyes moved to Cadvan. "I think I will do this on my own, Cadvan. You can help with the boys."

Maerad tugged at Cadvan's arm and pulled him into her chest so he didn't have to look at the Nameless One's face. The Nameless One hissed and was overtaken by a sudden urge to fling Maerad across the room. He wanted to hurt her.

"Always in the way," he muttered, shaking his head. "Well, Anhil, shall we?"

Anhil looked at Gahal in a heap on the floor. "Not much use in struggling."

"No," agreed the Nameless One brightly. "None at all."

From his vantage point, Camphis thought the Bards arriving from Gent looked like a line of marching ants. They moved in a single line with a tired rhythm, a slow, inexorable pace that took them step by step into the stronghold of Dagra. Camphis had vivid memories of his arrival, the exhaustion and fear washing over him in black waves, the bone deep sense that something was wrong, and the aching yearning in his heart to turn around and run. But he had not run, he had marched along with the rest of the Bards, too scared and tired to resist the will of the Nameless One.

Three months ago, Camphis thought, turning his gaze down to his hands. They were calloused from meaningless labor and covered in dirt. He turned them over and saw the new, pink scar that puckered his knuckles, curtsey of a white-hot metal rod used to construct dogsoldiers. He turned his hand, inspecting the wound with renewed interest. It would leave an ugly scar, he decided, the kind that puckered the skin. If he'd been in Innail, he would have made a poultice, a fine salve to leech the pain and sooth the angry burn. He's had carefully wrapped it in soft cloth bandages, each one soaked in a balm with mint and honey and-

If I'd been in Innail, I never would have burned myself trying to fit a greave on a dogsoldier.

That was perhaps the most bitter part. If he'd been in Innail, none of this would have happened. But he pushed that thought aside almost as soon as he'd had it. There is no Innail, there is nowhere to go, this is my home.

He straightened up, retuning his attention to the Gent Bards entering the ghettos. There was a small crowd of Hulls assembled and waiting to greet them. From his distance, Camphis could not make out any features, but he wondered if Chilo was there. He'd managed to get himself on the bad side of the Hull-assuming Hulls had a distinct bad side-upon arrival in Dagra. Chilo was not particularly high ranking among the Hulls, and perhaps that was why it was so keen to demonstrate its skill.

When the Bards arrived, they were separated into groups: able bodied adults, children, and the elderly. Camphis had been helping an older man walk, bearing the majority of his weight, and was not listening as the Hulls read out orders. When the older Bard gestured down a right fork in the road and Camphis obligingly began to walk, someone grabbed him by his hair, tugging him back and throwing him to the ground.

"And where do you think you're going, little Bard?" the Hull asked, standing over him, inspecting the rapid rise and fall of his chest with pleasure. "Do you not listen, or do you think yourself above our command?"

Camphis blinked in confusion and didn't answer. He was not accustomed then to the closer company of Hulls.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" the Hulls slammed its boot down on his leg, eliciting a sharp cry. "Do you not understand?"

"I understand!" Camphis gasped.

The Hull watched him a moment longer, acutely aware of its companions observing the interaction. "Get up, boy," the Hull snarled, dragging him up to his knees. It turned to the other Hulls. "This one can have his mark first, get me the brand."

Camphis eyes widened, but the Hull kept a firm grip on the back of the neck. Another Hull joined them carrying a dull, black brand in the shape of a circle. Chilo tore his tunic, exposing his back, and took the brand in hand. Camphis watched the head of the brand grow hot and red.

"Wait-"

Camphis barely had time to process what would happen when Chilo slammed the brand into his back. Pain laced down his spine and his back arched beneath the brand. He screamed and the Bards around him pulled back in terror. They tried to push back, run through the gates and into the city, but the maws of the dogsoldiers opened wide to receive them and the Hulls took up whips against them. Camphis collapsed on the ground, but Chilo wasn't done with him.

"Tell me, little Bard, what Gift do have?"

Camphis was shaking in the dirt. "Gift?"

"Are you dumb as well as deaf?" Chilo sank down so their faces were close. "Are you of the Making, the Tending or the Reading?"

"Tending." Camphis wanted to roll on his back to hide the wound from the Hull, but it held him down.

"This part always hurts," Chilo warned, a smile in its voice.

Camphis managed to ask, "What?" before the tip of a finger touched his back. It burned with dark flame and Camphis screamed again as Chilo began to write on his back. It was over quickly but the pain lingered long past the touch. It wasn't until later, when Camphis had collapsed on his pallet that another Bard looked him over and told him there a large letter I and T stamped into the circle along with a number.

Innail. Tending. Camphis scratched as his brand absently. That was all I ever was, just a Bard from Innail, studying Tending. An entire life, summed up in two words.

"The Gent Bards arrived?"

A young female Bard appeared behind Camphis. She walked slowly at first, as if she were afraid to see the events unfolding before her, but when she reached the edge of the roof of the mean tenement where they lived, her eyes were hard, not sad. In the few months they had lived together, Camphis had come to admire Mara, at first because she was a clever and gifted healer who could work the meager materials they had to their fullest advantage, but as the weeks wore on, Mara proved to be a Bard of incredible courage and immutable will. She wasn't afraid of the Hulls or dogsoliders, she had even spoken to one of the common guards, asked for bandages and hot water to clean injuries. Besides that, she had a habit of smiling, not always happily, sometimes sadly, sometimes like a razor's edge, but her smile was like a light for him.

"So it seems." Camphis made room on the edge of the roof, yielding the prime spot to her. "I expected more, though. Do you think some died on the way here?"

"Come now, Camphis, do you think the Hulls would let any Bards escape their clutches so easily? They are horrible, ugly stupid creatures, but they are not careless." A strand of blond hair escaped the loose knot at the back of her neck, and Mara pushed it back behind her ear. Camphis saw her jaw tighten. "There was war in Gent. Perhaps Enkir lost control of his forces."

"Enkir," Camphis spat. "What do you think will happen to that traitor when he finally gets here?"

"For that, I defer to our wise and just masters." She smiled, a sudden bright, mischievous smile and Camphis felt himself flush with pleasure. "But where will they put them, I wonder."

Camphis turned, looking out over the countless dull, grey roofs. "Well, there's space besides us and the Turbansk camp, so perhaps we'll be getting new neighbors."

Mara considered this. "I have a few friends in Gent."

Camphis wondered who those friends were. "If they are of the Tending, we might run across them during the day."

The two Bards fell into companionable silence, leaning against the lip of the roof. The Gent Bards were in the ghetto now and the gate closed behind them with a definitive boom. The Bards huddled together, clutching at friends and families. A general, desperate weeping emanated from the group and it set the hairs on their arms on end. Camphis stepped back from the edge first.

"Shall we have a bit of dinner?"

Now Mara did laugh. "Ah, yes. And what is on the menu tonight? Bean mash? Bread and butter?"

"With a side of stale water. A fine vintage," rejoined Camphis.

Mara watched the Gent Bards being separated into groups a moment longer before turning away. "I think there's just some mashed oats left from lunch."

They crossed the flat roof and found the loose slates that opened up into the men's dormitory. The hole in the roof was conveniently located above the hearth in the dormitory, and it was a short drop to the ledge that sat above the small fire. Camphis went first and then helped Mara down before carefully replacing the lose slates. While the Bards weren't sure whether or not the Hulls would punish them for the small escape route, they had agreed to keep it secret.

The room was in low light, and a few Bards were sleeping fitfully on meager pallets. Camphis and Mara crept quietly through the room and into the low hall. They passed another three rooms, each filled with sleeping Bards, and took a tight staircase down to the main room. Here, a few Bards moved around, boiling water for baths, stirring a pot of mash, scrubbing their tunics with stones.

"Ell."

"What's the news?" asked a large man, sitting before a pot and prodding the pile of oat mash with frustration.

"Gent arrives at last," Mara said. She pulled up a small stool for herself and Camphis and accepted a bowl of hot mash. "I'm sorry for it, but at least it's a day off."

"Indeed," Camphis said.

It was standard practice that when a new School arrived, all the Bards were to remain in their dormitories. The Hulls thought it kept tempers even and hysterics low if the Bards weren't allowed to mingle with their over-emotional counterparts. It was a rest day, a brief respite from their miserable work.

"You two should sleep," Ell said, looking at the tired lines of Camphis's face. "Besides, there's going to be high demand for your work in the coming weeks. These Gent Bards are going to have to be processed, cleaned up. Healers will be at a premium."

Camphis sighed, his gaze dropping down to his hands again. He noticed a cut on his thumb, it burned slightly. "I couldn't sleep if I wanted."

Ell grunted in agreement. "And you, Mara, not interested in catching up on your beauty sleep?"

She snorted into her oats. "Are you saying I need it?"

Camphis had the good grace not to answer, but Ell chuckled. "Forgive an old man. My granddaughter was just a bit younger than you and all that girl ever thought about was her reflection."

It was generally agreed among the Bards that discussion of non-Bard family was to be kept to a minimum. Before the Schools had been destroyed, Bards had sent any non-Bard relatives into hiding to protect them from the Nameless One's wrath. The Hulls made no secret of their interest in finding these people, bringing them back to Dagra, and keeping them among the slaves. Having Bard blood was a crime in the new world order.

An uncomfortable silence fell between the Bards until Camphis cleared his throat and gestured to the door. "We might be able to see the new Bards pass by in a bit. Mara, you said you had friends in Gent, yes?"

Mara and Ell jumped on the chance for a new, safer topic. "Do you now?" Ell asked kindly. "I spent almost two years there myself chasing down a few rare wines."

"Two years spent drinking wine?" Mara asked, her smile returning. "How did you manage that?"

"Well, I was working alongside Malgorn, wasn't I? He was keen to try a new method of pressing the grapes and seemed to think Gent had the secret. Sent me out there to find it."

"And it took two years?" Camphis asked.

"It's long work, trying wines. I decided the best way to learn about this pressing method was simply to try wines from every wine-making I could find. Figure out which were common and which were rare, and pick the maker's brains regarding the methods."

"I imagine this could have been accomplished without the drinking part."

"Words lie, young Camphis, but taste doesn't."

The Bards were silent once more, and it was a moment before Mara spoke. "I never met Malgorn. Not even before he was First Bard."

Ell and Camphis shared a long look. "He's a good man," Ell said slowly. "But, well, he's not one for war."

Mara pressed her lips into a firm line. "A poor time to be made First Bard."

Camphis was thinking of the battle of Innail. "He's not helpless," he said quickly. "He's smart, you know, and not even a few Hulls could match him."

"They're saying he fought a wright during the sacking," Mara whispered, glancing around the room. The battle was still fresh in the minds of many Bards, and most did not wish to reflect on those dark days. It was polite to discuss such terrible things privately.

"Aye," Ell agreed. "He wasn't First Bard for no reason."

"But, I heard he was betrayed," Mara said. "I heard another Bard attacked him."

Ell was staring into his bowl. "Cadvan of Lirigon."

Mara shivered at the name. Rumors flew around the ghetto, Bards from all the Schools were comparing stories, picking out common names, and again and again, two names kept coming up. Cadvan of Lirigon. Saliman of Turbansk.

"It can't be right," Camphis said quickly. "I knew Cadvan-"

"Knew him?" Mara asked sharply. "You barely had one conversation with him."

"Still, it was enough to know." Camphis paused, feeling uncomfortable. "Besides, Maerad of Pellinor trusted him. Are we not to trust her judgement?"

This seemed to pull Mara up short. "Perhaps he fooled her."

"Or, perhaps there's more to the story," Camphis said stoutly.

"More or less, it matters not. Just remember that he already killed a Bard." Mara looked away. She liked Camphis quite a bit and hated when they fought.

"That was a long time ago," Ell said judiciously. "Perhaps we'll never know outright what happened."

"They say he's up there," Camphis said, nodding vaguely toward the dark tower. "They say Malgorn and the First Circle are prisoners in Sharma's fastness. They say…" Camphis didn't want to repeat what he'd heard. "Well, they say a lot of things."

Mara sensed how uncomfortable Camphis was. "You knew Silvia, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes," he said with a forced verve. "I was a regular in their house. Silvia was always very kind to me. I was never the best student, always more interested in making music and debating poetry than learning about healing, but Silvia saw something in me." He frowned. "I think about her often. The Light only knows what's happening to her."

"Silvia is a strong Bard, Camphis." Ell had met Silvia on a few occasions and always been impressed, but it was hard to measure a Bard-no matter how remarkable- against the Nameless One.

"Do you think we'll ever see them again?" Camphis finally asked.

Ell opened his mouth but no words came out, just a heavy breath. There was suddenly a flourish of a trumpet and a cry went up. A shiver raced through their spines when they felt the steady vibrations of hundreds of feet moving in their direction. As one, the Bards in the room stood and moved to the wood-plank door.

Outside, they saw a scattering of Bards peering out from their own slums. They're faces were carefully blank, covered in dirt and grime, but there was a stiffness to their shoulders and a hard light in their eyes as they watched the slowly approaching procession. They were moving quickly, being chased by the dogsoldiers and led by the Hulls, and the onlookers could tell they were nearing the end of their strength. The crowd passed, looking up when they saw the other Bards watching. Perhaps they expected some recognition, but none came.

"I guess we have new neighbors," Mara said blandly.