Chapter Fourteen
"The wind is the right quarter and the sun is shining. It is a fine day to sail, wouldn't you agree?"
Nerili and Ignalt were walking along the ramparts of the School, looking out over the sea. The smoke from battle had cleared a little from the strong winds that rushed down the mountains, and the ocean was revealed to them again. Waves broke on the shore, tossing debris from the recent battle upon the sand: broken arrows, boards from destroyed ships, bits of armor, corpses. A gentle breeze rustled her hair and the made the tattered ends of Nerili's shift flap in the breeze, and she repressed a shudder.
Ignalt was practically trembling with excitement. "We will leave tomorrow. It is time we were home."
Nerili fought the urge to look behind her at the smoldering remains of the School. Home. "I did not know Hulls had the capacity to miss anything, least of all a home."
"I was once a Bard, I still remember the…human comforts. The taste of good food and old wine, the simple pleasure of good company." Ignalt turned to face Nerili and ran his knuckles gently over her bruised cheek. "The warmth of a woman's touch."
Nerili forced herself not to flinch away from him. "How long has it been since you've known such things?"
"A lady never asks." The Hull's fingers moved to Nerili's hair, twisting the strands so tightly they curled. "It's rude and reflects poorly on me. You are my ward, for all intents and purposes."
"Send me back to my First Circle." Nerili finally turned and looked back at the sea. She didn't want to see the smug satisfaction on the Hull's face.
"There's no rush." Ignalt gestured for them to continue the walk. "You'll be spending quite a bit of time with them once we leave. Besides, I thought you might appreciate one last opportunity to see your School."
Nerili moved along, looking straight forward. "You are so thoughtful."
"Is it as beautiful as you remember it?" Ignalt nodded to the direction of the School and Nerili finally glanced in its direction.
"It will always have a place in my heart."
"Naturally." Ignalt clasped his hands behind him as he walked. "I am keen to be back to Dagra myself. There is great glory waiting for me there. You see, the capture of Busk, the enslavement of its people, the neutralization of the First Circle, these things will be rewarded. I suspect the Nameless One will promote me."
"Promote you to what?"
"We have our own Circles, Neri. I am interested in upward mobility.
Morbid fascination urged her to speak. "What Circle are you in now?"
Ignalt smiled congenially. "I am an Eye, and that is no small thing to be! But there is always room in Dagra for…aggressive expansion. Your capture will do nicely, I think."
"And what are the benefits of such a promotion?"
Ignalt shrugged. "What more could a man want than power and privilege?" When Nerili continued to stare, the Hull made a vague gesture. "I will be rewarded. There are things I want that are thus far refused to me. I can make a request of the Dark Lord."
"What can a Hull possibly want beyond power?" Nerili asked with disgust.
"Revenge," supplied Ignalt easily.
They returned to their slow walk along the edge of the School until the acrid smell of the burnt School, mingling with sorcery overwhelmed Nerili and she had to pause to let the cool breeze coming off the water fill her senses with salt and brine. Ignalt examined her.
"I am surprised our master was so keen about you. You are weaker than I imagined." When Nerili made no comment, Ignalt pushed further. "Then again, I suppose it's not really about you. It's about Thorold and Busk, and their history of defying him; it's about you being the last bastion of the Light the Bards cling to; and it's about Cadvan." Ignalt sighed, frustrated. "You are all these things, and yet none of them. A burning effigy of the Light. Your arrival in Dagra marks the end, you see. Busk was the last School and you the last Bard. There will be a great celebration to honor our lord's final victory."
Nerili tossed her hair back. "I can't wait."
"Our soldiers are finally going home." Ignalt watched her jaw move in predictably grim lines. "You've freed them at last from their war."
"Small mercies," Nerili concluded.
"So. This is how we are now?" Ignalt drew near her. "I thought you and I were really starting to get on well with each other. I thought we were…becoming closer. Now look at us, bitter, brittle. It's like we're eold, forgotten lovers."
"You are a Hull, and you destroyed my home. There will never be anything between us but hatred." Now Nerili turned to Iganlt, and she was smiling nastily. "And when I go before the throne, know this: I will tell Sharma that I intended to surrender all along, and that your great effort to claim my city was utterly wasted. I would have traded it for the promise of safety for my people. Instead, you cost him weeks of battle, supplies, and men." She lifted her chin. "You botched an entire battle."
Ignalt's hand snapped across her face, but she was laughing. "I'll rip your tongue out."
"He'll go through my mind. He'll see the truth," Nerili said in a low voice. "No promotion for you, I suppose."
Ignalt snarled, grabbing her by the elbowing and dragged her the rest of the way back to the School. He marched her to her Bard house, flinging open the doors in his fury, and tossed her into the bedroom with her First Circle.
"Stay here and rot!" he howled, and slammed the door shut as he left.
Elenxi and Kebeka were looking startled. "You still have a way with words, I see," Arnamil said weakly.
"Ignalt has just been gravely disappointed," Nerili said ironically.
Elenxi glowered. "And what did the Hull have to say now?"
"We leave tomorrow," Nerili said shortly, looking around hopefully for a glass of wine. "I can't imagine it'll be a comfortable journey, so take your rest while you can."
Kebeka threw herself on the bed facedown. "So, we come to it."
Nerili watched her a moment before sitting at her desk. "Take a little heart. We saved countless innocent people from a horrible fate. Even now, Sharma's armies are searching caves and forests for our people, but they will not find them. Our people-the soul of Thorold-escaped Sharma. They carry the future with them."
"And perhaps we go into darkness now, but we will carry that knowledge with us," Elenxi finished, catching Nerili's eye.
Nerili extracted a bottle of wine from her desk with a flourish and raised it up for the Bards to see. "Shall we have one last drink?"
They each took a glass and as the sun set over Busk, they toasted their people and their city and their heroic effort to stay the spread of the Dark. The night rolled in, strangely silent, and though she was tired, Nerili didn't sleep. She stood by the large doors that opened onto a private courtyard that overlooked the sea and watched the waves wash the shore. She realized with a throbbing pain in her heart that this was the last time she would see these shores. This was the last time she would smell the clean, salty air or feel the damp breeze on her face. It was time to say goodbye.
Perhaps we'll meet again in another time, another life, she thought morosely.
When the Hulls came the next morning, Nerili work her Circle and they followed her through the Bard House and down to the shore. Around them, Bards were being herded onto ships, and there was a general sense of panic that only dissipated when they saw the First Circle being led with Nerili. She pushed down her own rising fear and forced herself to remain calm and collected.
Let them see you're not afraid. Lead them one last time, show them the way.
Nerili allowed Ignalt to bind her wrists and gag her before marching her onto the ship. This time, there was no chair on the deck, and the Hull led her and the First Circle down to the dark hull. He tossed her back in the cage, laughing as she banged her knees noisily on the hard floor, and had the First circle strung up by their wrists to metal rings driven into the wall. Ignalt checked each once before stepping back and opening its arms wide.
"Make yourselves comfortable. It will be a quick journey from here to Annar, a few days at most. I suggest you sleep, you certainly won't be getting much soon."
This time, Ignalt left the room in complete dark, and the Bards, gagged and bound, couldn't communicate save for mind speech. There was little to say, however, and they mostly sat in silence, taking small pleasure from touching each other's mind and feel the warmth of emotions. They felt the familiar bump the ship made as it left the harbor, and the steady rocking as it cut through the waves. They were making good time, the slaves driving the ship must have been moving fast for fear of a whip. Perhaps three days had passed, just long enough for the Bards' stomachs to ache with hunger and thirst, when they ship slowed. They were entering a new harbor. Nerili opened her eyes even though they were in pitch black, and drew a sharp breath.
We must be in Annar, Nerili said to the other Bards.
Where did we put in? Elenxi wondered.
Il Arundh is closest, Kebeka said reluctantly, and word was that the School fell to the Dark some time ago. Or, we've arrived in Lanorial. Enkir was making war there, wasn't he?
The entire coast is for the Dark, Nerili said at last, I suppose it hardly matters where we land.
When the boat came to a stop, the Bards waited apprehensively for the return of the Hulls. But the Hulls seemed to have other business. Hours passed while the Hulls went ashore for other tasks and errands, leaving the Busk Bards to wait in growing confusion and fear. When it seemed like they might spend another day locked below the deck, a beam of light pierced the dark and two Hulls leads a handful of men came down. They loosened the chains from the wall, and led the Bards up into the light by their chains.
Il Arundh, Nerili thought as she emerged from the dark, blinking in the painful light.
They passed through the town that surrounded the School, and were greeted by the pale, terrified faces of common folk. It seemed that the Nameless One had come only for the Bards, leaving the non-Bard folk to wallow in ruins. She saw their bright eyes inspecting her, wondering if she was going to free them, but she was dragged along by the chains on her wrist, and then pulled away. It seemed as if even looking hopefully to a Bard was punishable. What was left of the School was a miserable pile of rubble. The houses, the stores, the music rooms and restaurants had been pillaged and burned, so that only sad remains lingered, like an echo of the place. They were led up a street-what had undoubtably been their main road-but it was torn and pockmarked where war machines had come through.
They made their way to the First Bard's house and Nerili wondered who might be inhabiting it now. Surely, the First Bard had been taken to Dagra? The Hull leading her threw open the gates and directed them into a dining area. Here, two figures were bent over maps and accounting books. Nerili recognized one on sight and snarled through her gag.
The man looked up and smiled blithely. "Nerili of Busk." His eyes moved up and down her in a lazy manner. "This form suits you."
She cursed, but the gag stopped her. The other figure didn't smile, but its red eyes gleamed with perverse pleasure. "She wishes to speak, Enkir. We should let her."
"I have little interest in the wailing of women," Enkir said distractedly.
"Now, now." It was a Hull, and when Nerili met its gaze she noticed a strange recognition. It knew her. "The niceties must be observed." The Hull waved to its companion and they removed the gag.
Nerili spit on the table. "You traitor to the Light! You bastard! You make alliances with this Hull?"
"Hmm." The Hull glanced at Enkir. "I'll admit, I expected her to be a bit more…verbose. My name is Likud, Nerili, call me Likud"
"She isn't worth the breath," Enkir said dismissively. "Can't we keep these Busk Bards somewhere else?"
"I'm afraid it's best to have them in our sights at all times least they," the Hull paused, staring hungrily into Nerili's face, "get up to something."
Enkir scowled at Nerili. "Well, I suppose one conversation can't hurt, can it? Someone call for dinner."
Camphis found Mara standing in the door to their dormitory, looking into the distance where the Gent Bards were being housed. "Would you like to take the air?" Camphis asked politely.
"A nice stroll through the neighborhood?" Mara asked ironically.
"I can't sleep," Camphis admitted.
Mara shrugged, standing and dusting the dirt off her tunic. They took the stairs carefully, it was night now, and most of the Bards had gone to bed. They crept through the men's stifling dormitory, up along the hearth and through the loose slates. The evening air hit them first, surprisingly cool and refreshing, though it smelled like iron ore and ash. This time, they crouched on the edge of the roof that faced the newly inhabited Gent-quarter. It was well lit, a rarity in the ghettos since it meant the Bards, forbidden from using their Gift unless in service in the Nameless One, were burning oil. Oil was not cheap. When they opened their Bard hearing, they heard the low murmur of hundreds of men and women moving around.
"Tomorrow we'll be down there," Mara guessed.
Camphis looked down. Even in the night, his pale hands glowed faintly. He saw the cut on his thumb, the burn on his knuckles, the soot stains from their dinner fire earlier. He thought he could measure the passage of time by the state of his hands. "We'll be down there all week. They came a long way, a hard way, and I'm not much of a healer," he admitted softly. "I'm not like you. I'd just started my mentorship with Silvia. The last Bard I'd worked with was probably worse for wear when I left them."
Mara was about to argue, but instead, took his hand and held up it up. She ran her thumb along each finger, not exactly stroking them, but touching them all the same. Camphis watched Mara intently, barely breathing, searching her face as she went.
"These are the hands of an accomplished healer," Mara said softly.
Camphis lowered his eyes. "Mara, I'm so tired. At first, I thought it was the work, but the work stays the same and every day I feel worse and worse."
Mara shook her head. "This isn't exhaustion, it's the Nameless One. Fight it!"
"Where do you get this hope, Mara?" Camphis took his hand back regretfully. "Where do you find this strength?"
"I think hope is a privilege," Mara mused, looking out toward the Gent quarter. A green light flared brightly, a Hull casting a charm, most likely, followed by panicked screams. "It is a privilege for those who have never know such terrible Darkness as this. I thought once that I had known suffering and strife-after the battle with the Landrost-and I thought I had come out of it a stronger, better person. I was sure my salvation was proof that there was always hope. Must be hope. And when I first came here, I still hoped, I clung to this idea that there was a chance." Mara shook her head, smelling fire in the distance. "How could I have been so unbearably stupid?"
Camphis swallowed tightly. "It is the nature of man to hope; a man bears hope as a tree bears fruit. I do not think it was foolish of you, it is but the cost of a true heart, isn't it?"
Mara scowled at the green fire casting strange shadows against the blank, black buildings. "I wish I had not been so."
"There are shadows aplenty here, no need to go making more with that face." A smile flickered across Chmphis's face.
"I'm half sick of shadows," Mara muttered, but Camphis's faint grin glowed through the dark and she shook herself. "Listen to me, prattling on about how miserable I am. I should have been poet."
Now Camphis laughed aloud. "It's beautiful. As much as anything can be in this place. I won't judge you for it."
"Well, that's good of you." Mara sat and continued to watch the Bards from Gent slowly funnel into their dormitories. "Light only knows what would become of me if you did." The dying green light lit him from behind and cast an eerie light over her face. She smiled for the first time that day. "We can't have any discord in the house."
"He needs spiced tea," Hem said, running ahead of Saliman who was supporting Cadvan into his rooms. "Spiced tea with lemon."
Maerad made a vague gesture with her hand and the fires in the torches and grate sprang to life. "We haven't got tea."
"Send for a servant. He's got chills from the magery." Hem pointed imperiously to the bedroom and Saliman, smiling a little despite himself, helped Cadvan stumble in.
When the doors were flung open, a loud yelp sounded from a chair positioned directly before the hearth. Iris scampered up, clutching at her too-big shift. When she saw Hem, she flushed bright red. Maerad, a step behind them, made a sharp gesture.
"Iris, I need you to go down to the kitchens and get a pot of spiced tea with lemon, warm bread, stew if there's any left." Saliman crashed through the doors and hefted Cadvan onto the bed. Iris blinked in confusion. "Iris," Maerad said, sharper than she meant. "Cadvan is sick. Go to the kitchens and fetch the food my brother tells you."
Cadvan lurched forward and Saliman managed to swipe a bucket just in time for Cadvan to vomit. Iris jerked to attention. "Tea and soup? And bread?" She looked around, a little lost, before Maerad found a robe she could drape over herself.
Maerad bent and took Iris's chin in her hand, holding her firmly but not unkindly. "Go as fast as you can. If anyone stops you, say that Lord Cadvan has sent you and you are beholden to his command, on order of the Nameless One. Do you understand?"
"Yes," the girl said, shaking her hair out and heading for the doors. "It's early yet, but I think I can rouse a cook."
"Good girl," Maerad said, straightening up and watching her go. She heard another guttural gasp and Cadvan threw up red wine.
He leaned back on the pillows, groaning. "I though Turbanskian wine was strong going down. How do you manage when it comes back up?"
Saliman had the grace to laugh. "My people don't make a habit of throwing up our wine."
"You must have livers made of gold then."
Maerad came over, glad that Cadvan seemed conscious. "He must be feeling better if he's well enough to complain."
Saliman glanced back. "A sure sign."
"He'll be the better for the tea and stew," Hem called. He was by the fire, stoking it up. "We might get him out of those clothes as well and into bed."
"Yes, mother," Cadvan clucked. He moved to take off his shirt, but Saliman pressed him back.
"You can barely sit up. Let us take care of these."
Cadvan rolled his eyes. "I'm just tired-"
"Your lips are blue," Maerad said sternly. She unlaced his boots and pulled them off one at a time. "Light knows, I should have known being your lover meant taking care of you when you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk!" Cadvan howled, shaking his foot at her.
"Not on wine," Maerad muttered. Cadvan slouched and his legs drooped.
Saliman tugged his shirt up and whistled at the series of bruises on Cadvan's belly. "What happened here, Cadvan?"
Cadvan glanced down, seemingly surprised to see his own exposed belly. "I…I don't know. The Nameless One?"
Saliman pulled the shirt over his head and carefully folded it. Maerad handed him a soft, downy undershirt and Saliman maneuvered Cadvan into it. "How do you manage to infuriate him so frequently? I am mildly impressed."
"I'm mildly impressive," Cadvan answered.
Maerad chuckled softly and reached for the waist of his trousers. Cadvan made a strange noise, between a growl and laugh. "You're quite forward, madam."
"Don't flatter yourself," Maerad warned, refusing to look at Saliman's flash of a smile. Saliman turned away while she shimmied the pants down his legs, and replaced them with loose, cotton pants. "If I didn't do this, no one would."
"You cut me to the quick," Cadvan said ironically, but obediently allowed Saliman to move him onto the bed and under the blankets. He buried himself in until only his eyes peeked out. For all his humor, Maerad and Saliman both saw how dull his eyes were. His face was starkly pale and there were bruises under his eyes so dark it looked like someone had punched him. He was biting his lip to stop it from trembling.
Maerad sat on the bed and pushed the hair back off his forehead, and his eyes closed slowly under her touch. "I'll be kind in the future."
Saliman watched the bizarrely domestic scene with fierce longing. "Don't sleep yet, Cadvan, we need to get food in you. Our Master Healer says as much."
Cadvan mumbled something but didn't open his eyes. Hem came over and touched his face, frowning. "He's cold. We need to get him warmer."
Maerad looked up at her brother and was pleasantly surprised by his authority and gravity. "He'd pass out in the bath."
"More blankets then." Hem went to the closet to dig out a blanket, but was greeted by the extensive, rich wardrobe. He stared blankly at Maerad.
"It wasn't our choice," Maerad hesitated. When Hem continued to stare she shrugged shortly and pointed to the siting room. "Just get the blankets from the couch."
Hem rolled his eyes and headed out into the hall, returning shortly with blankets and Iris. She had a tray with a roughly hewn bowl of thin, steaming soup and thick, hard loaves of bread. Cadvan's eyes opened his eyes a sliver and Maerad tweaked his nose.
"So, hungry?"
"Just cold," he admitted in a low voice, watching Saliman closely. Maerad realized he was embarrassed to be seen so weak before his friends. "Helping the Nameless One with the scrying…it went hard on me, Maerad."
"I know, so for now you must rest and recover." She paused, because the truth was, she suspected the Nameless One would have him do it again. "I need you to have your wits about you. It's hardly fair otherwise."
"You could never outwit me," Cadvan said as gently, and then struggled to sit up as Hem joined them, balancing the soup carefully before him.
"You'll want to drink this quickly." Hem said it calmly, but Maerad could see he was looking nervously at Cadvan's blue-tinged lips.
Cadvan obliged and allowed Maerad to spoon large portions of soup into his mouth Saliman emerged from the sitting room with a bottle of wine and showed it to Iris with a wink. She flushed, pleased. She liked Cadvan and Saliman both, but Saliman held a particularly special place in her heart. He had been the first kind face she had seen following her family's death.
"So." Saliman took a seat with a heavy sigh, placing his hand on Hekibel's lower back. "Gent has made their meandering way here. Am I mistaken or is that the last of our allies?"
"Thorold, but they are enroute," said Maerad from the bed.
Hem was sitting opposite Saliman, but his eyes were following Iris, who flitted around Maerad like an overhelpful moth. She was, Hem realized with a slight shock, rather lovely. Her red hair was brushed until it gleamed and her face was all cheek bones and large, pink lips, and Hem caught himself watching the way her wrists moved, flashing about with nervous energy. When she intercepted his look, she smiled shyly and Hem adopted a very serious but polite expression. When he turned back to Saliman, he saw the older Bard watching him with mild amusement.
By the Light, what's wrong with me? Hem thought angrily. He was reminded again of his fascination with the Busk Bard, the way he had eagerly watched her in Sharma's pool. Can you not keep your eyes from women for even a moment? He turned his gaze inward, grappling with the strange emotions that seemed to plague him lately.
"And so, just like that, we find ourselves in the final round," Saliman mused darkly. "Have you given any thought to what will happen once the Speech is destroyed. I'll admit, I've avoided it only because I could not bear it."
"The Speech is the heart of what makes us Bards," Hem said blankly, repeating from memory lessons driven into him during his short stay in Turbansk. "If it is taken away, we are not Bards."
"That means nothing," Cadvan said shortly from the bed. "What will the actual impact be? What arts will be lost?"
"The Speech allows us to communicate with animals," Hem said after a moment, thinking of Irc. "We will surely lose that."
"That will go hard on Malgorn," Saliman muttered. "The Speech is how we weave our charms, use our magic. That, too, will be gone."
Hem glanced sharply at Saliman, but Cadvan merely laughed harshly. "A curse to lose my Gift? A relief! Then the Nameless One will never demand my help again."
Saliman's eyes widened, but Maerad hushed Cadvan with a quick look. "Don't say things like that. Perhaps you are bitter now but to lose your Gift? To lose the thing that has made you who you are? Do not say that."
Cadvan clamped his mouth shut but Maerad could see that the events of the day had worn his temper thin. "My Gift…what Gift is that, Maerad? It is not mine anymore. I am permitted to use it when the Nameless One says so." He lay back, his eyes closing. "I don't have a Gift anymore."
Maerad was about to argue again, but she noticed Saliman was looking uncomfortable. Did he feel the same? "I wonder if it will hurt Sharma," was all she said instead.
"That would be welcome." Hem sat up, looking interested. "I wonder, Maerad, if somehow this has to do with Nelsor capturing the Song. That was a grave mistake, I think."
Maerad was admiring Cadvan's eyelashes splayed on his cheek. She slowly looked up to her brother. "Perhaps. The Song is alive. It might…want to be free."
Saliman rubbed his face. "These mysteries are beyond me."
"I think if we have any hope of stopping Sharma, we must unravel them." Maerad returned to admiring Cadvan.
"You think we can still stop him?" Saliman sounded surprised. "You think there's a way to end all of this?"
Maerad was quiet, thoughtfully brushing Cadvan's hair. "I have to think that. Anything else is to betray myself."
Saliman noticed the change in her voice and tiredly rose up. Whatever she was thinking, he doubted now was the time to push her. He glanced at Hekibel and then to the door. "It's been too long a day for me. Hekibel, would you care to join me?"
"By the Light, take me to bed," she proclaimed, winking at Maerad as she left.
Saliman looked once to Hem. "Are you staying here?"
Hem glanced at Cadvan, dozing fitfully under his blankets. "I'll sleep on the couch. I want to keep an eye on him."
Hekibel joined Saliman at the door and the two passed quietly from the room. "I think Cadvan is only half the reason the boy stays back," she said as they left.
"Oh, and what other thing could possibly keep him?" Saliman asked playfully.
"A pretty little girl with long red hair and a shy smile," Hekibel said. Saliman closed the door behind them and turned to face Hekibel. He brushed her long blond hair down and kissed her forehead. She hummed with pleasure. "You know the sort?"
"I think I do," Saliman mused. "But, I'm partial to sensual women, with long blond hair and seductive smiles." He kissed her and a sly smile transformed her face. "You know the sort?"
"I think I do," Hekibel replied in a low voice, turning to face the room. She stuttered to a halt when she saw the figure lounging on the couch.
"I think I know the sort as well." The Nameless One smiled brightly, eyes raking over Hekibel. "The kind of woman meant for bed matters, the kind of woman that would drive a man wild with desire."
Saliman dragged Hekibel back behind him with a hiss. "What are you doing here?"
"That's not very polite, Saliman," the Nameless One pointed out.
"Master," he amended. "I wasn't expecting you."
"No, I imagine not." The Nameless One looked around, disgruntled. "Look at the state of this place. No food or wine to offer guests, not even an acceptable fire to keep warm. How do you entertain?"
Saliman jumped on his opportunity. "Hekibel, go to the kitchens and get wine and bread, cheese and any cold meats available," he snapped out.
Hekibel hesitated, unsure whether to leave Saliman alone with the Nameless One, but he pinched the inside of her arm and she took a step back toward the door. "The bread might not be fresh," she said thoughtlessly, still staring at the Nameless One. She'd seen him before, but in such a domestic setting, the sight of him was jarring. She felt like the world had tipped on its axis.
"Stay until they give you something warm," Saliman ordered, and nodded her out the door. She squeezed his hand once before turning and leaving the room.
The Nameless One watched her go with something akin to disappointment. "There's no need to send her away, Saliman. I'm not going to snap and ravage her, or whatever it is you think I'll do."
Saliman walked stiffly into the room, coming to stand behind on the chairs. He didn't sit. "The last woman who crossed your path didn't come out better for it."
The Nameless One chuckled. "Sit, Saliman. These are your rooms after all." Saliman reluctantly sat, and the Nameless One gestured about himself lazily. "The last woman who crossed my path wasn't nearly so enchanting as yours. I grant exceptions to such things."
"I am glad to hear it," he said awkwardly.
The Nameless One studied him closely. "Why are you so tense? By the Light, you feel like a lute string strung so tight you'll snap."
"Forgive me," Saliman said with brittle courtesy, "but I am unaccustomed to your presence in my rooms. I was not expecting you here tonight."
"Ah, you wanted a night alone then?" The Nameless One seemed to shiver with amusement. "I cannot blame you with such diversions at your command, but duty to the throne comes first."
"And what do you command of me now?" Saliman sounded tired and the Nameless One noticed, eyes narrowing.
"You should practically jump on the opportunity to serve me, Saliman. Your kind are rabid beasts who should have been destroyed ages ago. I grant you the highest honor by allowing you into my inner circles of service, and you disparage them? Perhaps I should remind you of your place?"
Saliman pressed down a curse. "It was not my intention to displease you."
"Intention or no, if you speak like that again, I'll have you whipped." The Nameless One stared at him a moment longer and Saliman didn't doubt he would do everything he threatened. "Exciting developments have emerged in the north. My spies have located the Ernani."
Saliman's eyes widened perceptibly. "Ir-Ytan?"
"So, you know him?"
"He's a boy," Saliman said softly. "He's too young to-"
"He is old enough. He leads a rebellion against me."
Saliman looked up sharply. "What are you going to do with him?"
"I haven't decided yet." The Nameless One sighed, looking into the weak fire thoughtfully. "My first thought was to catch him and skin him alive before his own armies. That would certainly make for a good show, don't you think? They say he is young, barely come to manhood, he would break so easily."
Saliman shook his head. "You would only anger his people," he said reasonably. "Killing him would not serve you well."
"You make another impassioned plea?" The Nameless One laughed derisively. "How infuriating this must be for you. You were a man of action, a man of means, before I caught you. Now look what you have been reduced to: begging for the lives of your friends."
"I care not for my pride," Saliman said angrily. "It is a small thing compared to lives of innocent men and women."
"I'm glad to hear you've set aside your pride, Saliman. You make a better servant." The Nameless One shook himself. "But forgive me, we were discussing the matter of the young Ernani. He will have to be made an example of so his people understand there can be no other king. But to kill him? I wonder if there is a better use to put him to. Or perhaps a better place?"
"I wouldn't know." Saliman sensed his role in this conversation wasn't to contribute, merely to listen. The Nameless One simply wanted an audience and knew such things would hurt Saliman most.
"He is too young to lead his people, yes?" the Nameless One asked. "He will need counselors, someone to guide him as he comes into power."
"Is that a role you wish for me?" Saliman asked hesitantly.
"You?" The Nameless One laughed loudly. "No, no, Saliman, I won't have you filling his head with stories of the Light. I shall make him a ward of one of my servants, and they will guide him."
"He might refuse," Saliman said darkly. "His mother was an unstoppable force, I suspect the boy will be the same."
"His mother was clearly stoppable. Besides, he's in no position deny me. I'll let his people live so long as he obeys me." The Nameless One watched Saliman closely. "We'll rebuild Turbansk under my wardship. A glorious new city devoid of the Light and Barding, and if Ir-Ytan is a good little Ernani, I will let him rule it."
"He'll be a puppet king," Saliman hissed. "He will not rule, not in any real sense. You will set edicts and your Hulls will force him to obey."
"Yes, that was rather the point," the Nameless One said with biting sarcasm.
"If this is your goal, then what do you need of me? If you catch him and hold his people over his head, you force his hand." Saliman turned away. "No need to ask my help."
"You will guide him in this," the Nameless One said suddenly. "He trusts you, yes? His mother believed you were a valuable and wise man, and the boy must have learned something the same. When he is brought here, you will advise him to bow to my wishes. You will tell him that granting wardship of his lands and people to my loyal servants is in the best interests of everyone involved, and you will encourage him to swear an oath to me."
"If I cannot accomplish these things?" Saliman asked dryly.
"Do I really need to answer that?" the Nameless One returned. "Don't fail me, Saliman. It cannot go well for Hekibel if you do."
Saliman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'll do my best."
"See that you do. I am not too pleased with you after that fiasco with your First Circle." He looked around curiously. "Where is the boy? I expected him here."
"He stayed behind to see to Cadvan."
The Nameless One rolled his eyes. "Must everything be a performance for that man? It's not like his mind was broken."
"All the same, he isn't feeling well and Hem thinks he should be there." Saliman breathed a sigh of relief that the boy had stayed behind.
"Cai is approaching my impatience," the Nameless One said, but then stretched luxuriously on the couch. "I think you'll have to do something about him, Saliman."
"He is not mine to command," Saliman said slowly.
"The Pellinor Bards should be dead," the Nameless One said blandly. "That they lived was a happy accident, nothing more. They serve no purpose in my world because they are small and weak. I only have interest in the great and powerful, like yourself. Cai is your task as much as Maerad is Cadvan's. You will do something about him."
Saliman clenched his hands into fists. "And what do you think is suitable?"
"I'll have you whip the boy, I think." The Nameless One looked down at his hands and picked casually at a nail. "Nothing obscene, no need for blood and gore. He's a boy after all, I think a belt will suffice, don't you?"
Saliman shrugged, hoping that his anger didn't show. "If you think so."
The Nameless One stared at Saliman a long moment, feeling out his emotions, his brief thoughts. "Tell me how you really feel, Arundulan."
It was like some dam had been broken, words and emotions came pouring out. "I think you're a blazing coward! I think you're afraid of Hem and Maerad, and so you seek any means to make them small, to humiliate them. You think if you treat Hem like a little child it will somehow make people see him as one? You think if you call Maerad a whore, others will too? Instead, you reveal your fear of them, for we all see that you are desperate to destroy them but can't through any other means."
Saliman caught himself suddenly, snapping his jaw shut. Damn it.
Through his outburst, the Nameless One had remained quiet and thoughtful, but now, the smile he usually wore had turned into snarl. "You will never say that again, Arundulan. And if you should think it, you will be doubly punished, do you understand?"
The Nameless One wielded his True Name like a whip, and Saliman sank back against his own will. "Yes," he said shakily, feeling the Nameless One reaching inside him, setting small fires to the regions of his mind that had not healed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on pushing away the unbearable touch. "Yes, I understand."
When he opened his eyes, the Nameless One was bent over him, his hands on either arm of the chair Saliman sat in. "You will not forget that I am your master, and to doubt my absolute authority is to betray me. Say it!"
"I don't doubt you, master," Saliman spat out.
The Nameless One lifted Salimans face up to him. Saliman waited for the blow he was sure would come, but the Nameless One merely smiled again. "You see, Saliman, that you and I can be friends. Tomorrow, you will bring the boy to the courtyard, is that understood?"
"Yes," Saliman said weakly.
"Good man," he said, giving his cheek and friendly slap.