Chapter Sixteen

You are the Fountain of Light, you are the spirit of our people, you are the heart of the Suderain. Never forget these things. If our cities should fall and burn, if our people should be slaughtered, if the very world is covered in darkness, you are these things. But know this too: you are my son and I will always love you.

Ir-Ytan breathed out slowly, staring at the black pool before him. It wasn't like the pool that had adorned his mother's throne room, populated by glittering fish and blooming lilies. It was a black sheet, that reflected the torches perfectly. He thought if he touched it, his hand would come back covered in black slime. It repulsed him.

You are the Fountain of Light, the heart of the Suderain. He forced down his nervousness and looked carefully about the room. An empty throne, tables along the wall, windows that showed a view of a mechanical city. It was strange, the emptiness. Ir-Ytan had assumed that if he'd even been captured by the Dark, he would be marched with great thoroughfare through the city of Dagra and brought before the Nameless One under the eyes of all his enemies. In his head, he thought it would be a desperate and magnificent show of force. He thought Sharma would want the world to know he had finally captured the Ernani.

But it seemed he didn't. Ir-Ytan had been chained and tossed in a cart like so much garbage. They had taken him through the city streets in the dark of night when no one was out. He'd been brought up the tower and left in this room, alone and in the dark, to wait on the pleasure of the Nameless One. He hardly missed the message: you wait on Sharma now because he is your king.

He grit his teeth. He was supposed to be the Ernani, the leader of the Suderain, he should have greeted Sharma as an equal. His mother would have. But no, he was to sit and wait while the Nameless One went about his business.

He moved around the room, checking the doors first, which were locked, then the windows, which didn't open. He inspected the pool again, and saw his young face reflected here, then the pattern on the floor created by the tiles. He noticed a strange burn in the center of the room and wondered what magic had been so powerful not even the Nameless One could fix it. He saw a dais raised up a little, chains hanging limply on its stage, and wondered who played there. Finally, he drew near the obsidian throne. On the arm rests, he saw scratches from nails or claws. A sudden grinding of a door opening made him sharply withdraw. He pushed down his embarrassment and turned to face the Nameless One.

But it wasn't the Nameless One. "Saliman?" he asked in stunned relief.

Saliman rushed forward, hands outstretched. He pulled the young man into a tight embrace. "Ir-Ytan, I heard you had been brought here. I am glad to see no ill has befallen you." He pulled back, glancing quickly over the boy's face. He looked shaken, his eyes had shadows under them and his hair, which was tied in the Turbansk fashion of countless braids, had fallen loose from a knot. He was still in his fine clothes, but they were dusty and frayed. "You have not been hurt?"

"No," Ir-Ytan said stiffly. "The servants of the Dark said I was to go before the Nameless One whole." There was a tinge of pride in his voice.

Saliman shook his head. "I petitioned otherwise. This is no place for you, even if you are the Ernani."

"Petitioned? I didn't know the Nameless One was in the habit of accepting appeals from Bards." Ir-Ytan glanced over Saliman, he seemed tense and distracted. "Are the rumors true? Are you a servant of the Dark now?"

"Not a servant, but a slave." Saliman grimaced, turning his wrist so the young man could see the brand there. "The Nameless One has a keen interest in First Bards, so he keeps us close."

Ir-Ytan bowed his head. "I pity you then."

"There is no time for pity." Saliman shivered, like a deer catching the scent of a wolf. "I was granted an audience with you before you meet the Nameless One, but it will have to be quick."

"An audience for what?"

Saliman gestured to the table and they took seats. He poured a glass of water for himself and drank it in one long gulp. "You are alive because the Nameless One intends to set you up as the warden of the Suderain. He will grant you the powers of the Ernani, but you will have to swear loyalty to him and accept his laws." Ir-Ytan's eyes widened in outrage. "No, stop and listen. I want you to accept. I beg you. The Nameless One will kill you if you refuse, and then divvy up the Suderain and grant it to his Grins. These are loyal men to the Nameless One, and they will be far harsher with your people."

"But to serve the Nameless One?" Ir-Ytan asked in abject horror.

"It is the lesser of two evils." Saliman hesitated. "Think of your people. You were sworn to protect them. The Grins will not deal easily with them. They will make slaves of the Suderain and destroy what is left of our home."

"My mother would have rather died."

"Dying is easy," Saliman said softly. "Living in this is harder."

"But I live under the yoke of the Nameless One," Ir-Ytan said desperately.

Saliman looked down and Ir-Ytan saw a great weight on him. "Yes, but to live under his rule is better than letting the lives of the people you love die under it. You are the Ernani, sometimes hard decisions are yours to bear."

Ir-Ytan opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of bare feet slapping on the floor came to him. He saw Saliman look up and his face harden. Slowly he turned.

The Nameless One was not what he expected. A man, not much taller than Saliman, dressed in silken robes in black and silver. He wore braids like men in the Suderain, but they were immaculate and braided with jewels. He was handsome, and when he smiled, Ir-Ytan saw his bright, white teeth flash at him likes knives. He drew his hands together and tipped his head politely.

"Ir-Ytan, Fountain of Light, welcome to my palace." His eyes shifted to Saliman. "Ah, and the First Bard of Turbansk. I trust you two have had a pleasant reunion?"

Ir-Ytan couldn't speak, but Saliman seemed unperturbed. "Brief but productive, my lord."

"This is why I keep you around, Saliman. You are a gifted politican." The Nameless One took his throne and waved the two over. "I imagine Saliman has been encouraging you to accept fealty to my throne?"

Ir-Ytan swallowed, finding his voice at last. "Yes. Though I am loathe to give it."

"It won't be so terrible. You can go home, after all, and begin to rebuild your city." The Nameless One raised an eyebrow. "Without all the nonsense about the Light and Barding, of course. Your mother would be proud of the ruler you become."

You are my son, and I'll always love you. "Do not speak of her to me!"

The Nameless One glanced ironically at Saliman. "Sore subject, I see."

"You're nothing but a butcher in fine clothes," Ir-Ytan said hotly. "No magic or glamour can disguise what you really are."

"I do not hide what I am, boy. I do not lie about my intentions." The Nameless One drummed his fingers on the arms of his throne. "I will make you Ernani, and you will answer to me. Your laws will be my laws, and if you don't obey me, I'll have your people punished."

Ir-Ytan shook with his anger. "I'll not have your spies in my kingdom."

"Oh, no, these won't be spies. These will be family." The Nameless One laughed at the confused look on Saliman's face. "Forgive me, Saliman, but I thought I'd wait to share the wonderful news. You see, young man, I've arranged a marriage for you to the daughter of one of my most loyal Grin. The two of you will return to the Suderain with her family. Her father and brothers will sit on your counsel and help in the reconstruction of your city." His eyes sparkled. "And, you will make it a primary objective to…found your dynasty under my rule."

Saliman was shocked into silence by the announcement, but Ir-Ytan was outraged. "I'll not lay down with some Grin's family, whether in my counsel or my bed!"

"Come now, I hear she's beautiful," said the Nameless One reasonably.

"I think," said Saliman quickly, "the Ernani is surprised. It is not common to arrange marriages, even for political gain, among the Suderain. And he is rather young. Perhaps he had a woman in mind for such affairs."

"That was the old Suderain, this is the new." The Nameless One eyed Saliman with mild dislike. "I will not have the Ernani free to raise a rebellion against me. He will answer directly to Grin, who will see my will done in the south."

"Perhaps there is no need for the marriage?" Saliman said next. "Send the Grin and have him appointed to the counsel with special privileges."

"No. You see I need to know that the future generations of Ernani will be loyal to my throne. Your son will be half a Grin and all future marriages will be made to the daughters of Grins, until the blood line is more that of Den Raven than the Suderain."

"You would destroy us," Ir-Ytan said softly. "Everything my people are, you would destroy."

"Well, yes, that is how my conquering your country works. Slowly, over time, I will replace the ruling power with my servants. But," he said with a chuckle, "at least this way you get to live and even have a little fun."

"Why not just kill me and have done with it?"

"As Saliman pointed out, killing you only incites rebellion among your people. Keeping you alive and having you serve as the face of my rule will convince the Suderain to obey. It's not unlike the work I do with the First Bards. The Bards see that their leaders are loyal, and they fall in line." He paused, the smile dropping away. "Of course, if I must, I will kill you."

Ir-Ytan bit his lip and the Nameless One shrugged. "I see you are hesitant to accept my conditions. Let me show you what will become of your people should you refuse." He waved them both over to the pool. "Look here."

An imagine formed in the water. Menika marched up the steps onto the wooden stage. Before her, the Bards of the Suderain were gathered. They stared up at her blankly. Perhaps they didn't know who she was, or they knew but were too afraid of speak on her behalf. It didn't matter, there was no one who could save her now. A Hulls was speaking, listing her crimes, but she wasn't listening.

I failed you, she thought. I failed you, Har-Ytan. I swore to protect your son, to guide him. I was going to lead him to the throne. I failed you.

That knowledge was most bitter, and Menika felt tears welling in her eyes. The last she had seen of the young Ernani, he was being dragged away by Hulls. He was being taken to the Nameless One. Was he even now being tortured? Was he even alive? She tried not to imagine the things the Nameless One would do to him. It didn't work.

I am sorry I could not protect you, I am sorry I could not make this world safe enough for you. She glanced behind her to the black tower and wondered if he was there. She wondered who would take up her place to guide him if he lived.

"…high treason against the black throne!" the Hull cried, throwing wide its arms. It turned to her, grinning. "Do you have anything to say in your own defense?"

Menika blinked, coming back to the crowd and the Hulls. She bared her teeth in a snarl. "If I could do it again, I would change only that I cut more throats and pierced more hearts! I despise you and your ilk. I hope you burn!"

The Hull blinked as her cry echoed across the crowd. "Stirring words." It gestured to another Hull. "Get her on the table."

Menika didn't struggle when they dragged her forward and slammed her on a wooden table. When they tied her wrists and ankles, she spat in their face. The Hull pulled back, a curse on its lips, but its fellow pushed it aside. No point in letting the Bards think the woman had offended them.

"The punishment for such a high crime is severe, and you will all see what happens to such offenders of the dark lord's will." The Hull removed a long, jagged knife and held it up so it flashed in the light. "Watch closely."

It turned on Menika and held the blade before her. She set her mouth in a stern line, refusing to flinch as it balanced it over her chest. "It takes a gentle touch at first," the Hull said softly, and sliced through the shirt Menika wore. Her torso exposed, the Hull placed the tip against her breast bone before driving it straight down. A watery gasp escaped Menika and she coughed up blood as the Hull cut right down to her belly button. Blood bubbled up and spilled over onto the table, but Menika's eyes were wide and flashing. "The shears, please," the Hull said.

"Sometimes," the Hull continued, its voice magnified for the Bards to hear, "knives just don't cut it."

It pulled the flesh away from Menika's ribs, revealing the diaphragm. It angled the shears against her ribs and began to hack away at the sinew that held them together. The distinct cracks boomed across the small space before the stage for the Bards to hear, punctuated by Menika's gasps. With the ribs exposed, the Hull tossed the shears aside and began to remove her organs.

The Bards stared, aghast. They wanted to look away, but there was no doubt in their minds that if they did, the Hulls would stop the execution to draw their attention back. But as the Bards continued to watch the Hull remove her organs, they wondered how much longer they could bear. How much they could watch. At some point, Menika stopped coughing, stopped gasping and her head lulled to the side. She stared sightlessly at the Bards, a small trickle of blood dribbling down her cheek.

After almost fifteen minutes, the Hull finally removed her heart and turned to the crowd with a broad grin. "Do you see the consequences of betrayal? Do you understand how important obedience is?"

The Bards stared back, too stunned to speak. The Hull, annoyed by their silence, threw the heart at the crowd and madness broke out.

"A bit dramatic," the Nameless One said, "but it gets the point across, yes?"

Ir-Ytan watched the events unfold in complete silence, but he gripped Saliman so tightly the Bard's arm was sore. This was, after all, his closest advisor and protector since the fall of Turbansk. She did not deserve the death Sharma had given her.

"Where's my brother?" Ir-Ytan asked sharply. "Where's Har-Ltan?"

The Nameless One's eyes glimmered. "Somewhere safe."

Ir-Ytan's gaze snapped up and only Saliman grabbing him quickly by the shoulder stopped the young man from lunging at the Nameless One. "Release him to me!"

"And where would you put him if I did? It's not like you have a home." The Nameless One chuckled. "A simple trade, Ernani: you marry the Grin's daughter and swear fealty to me, and I'll send you back to rule the Suderain as my warden. I'll even give you back your brother."

Ir-Ytan shivered, eyes bright. "And if I still say no?"

"Then I'll have the Hulls cut open your brother next."

"Fine," Ir-Ytan said in a low voice, the energy suddenly going out of him. "I will swear fealty to your throne."

"In the Speech, young man, so I know it's true."

It-Ytan repeated his oath in the Speech feeling like a school boy reciting lessons. Saliman watched the exchange regretfully and wondered when he had gone from using his power as a politician to build alliances to encouraging surrender. The Nameless One glanced at Saliman.

"I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship," he said, inspecting his new servant keenly. "Your presence will certainly help smooth the way for my rule in the Suderain."

Ir-Ytan bit his lip. "Release my brother to me."

"After the wedding," the Nameless One stipulated. "Until then, I invite you to enjoy the comforts of my palace." He waved to the doors then finally opened wide. "We have much to discuss, you and I, about the ruling of the Suderain, but for now, I want you to rest and recover from your rather tumultuous day."

He resisted, but Saliman was already leading him from the room.

"Until we meet again, Fountain of Light," the Nameless One called ironically from his throne.

Hem felt the wind shift below his feathers and he stretched his wings wider, catching a warm updraft. The sun beat down on his back and he hummed with pleasure, reveling in the buoyancy of his body. Around him, beautiful music echoed on the breeze; it sounded like starlight and filled his heart with joy. Ahead, he saw a craggy line of mountains and he angled for a gap between two peaks. In time, he sailed through the pass, and the air became cold and the wind was fierce. The music that had been so sweetly echoing around him turned discordant, a single note ringing higher and higher, so terribly pitched it made Hem's bones ache.

Suddenly, Hem dropped sharply as the warm updraft vanished. He flapped frantically to regain his flight and dropped a few feet. When he looked down, he saw the lush, green landscape had given way to barren desert. The wasteland was dotted with small, mean structures that spewed forth great black clouds. A smell of death and decay reached Hem and he faltered in his flight. Suddenly, in the distance, a black cloud took shape, and upon closer inspection, he could make out the distinct shape of individual birds.

Deathcrows, Hem thought just as they descended on him.

He panicked and plummeted from the sky as the mindless beasts came upon him. He felt the air churn and he aimed for the ground, desperate to escape, but the deathcrows followed him, snapping at his wings. One managed to catch his right wing and it broke like a twig. Hem's dive turned to a crash and as the ground came up he gave a desperate cry of help, completely unanswered.

It does not ring true, Songboy, a voice said as he fell. You hear the madness of the Song, the agony of existence. It will ring and ring for an eternity and never be whole.

Hem felt an aching desperation in his entire body. It was as if all his muscles were taught. It hurt to breathe. I don't understand.

It can only want, it cannot be complete. It is lost. The voice was familiar to Hem, but he couldn't remember. He saw the ground rushing up to meet him. It is lost.

"Hem! Hem, wake up."

Hem gasped, jerking awake violently. He wasn't a bird, he was a Bard, a man. He was laying on his back, his head resting in Maerad's lap, he could feel her hand brushing his hair back gently from his forehead. His back ached fiercely and he wondered if it were a phantom injury from the dream where the deathcrow struck him.

"Where am I?"

"In my room," Maerad said gently. "You're safe."

Hem blinked and sat up. He scratched his head, mussing his hair in the process. "I had a strange dream."

"I gathered," said Maerad softly, searching face. "You were speaking in your sleep."

Hem flushed. "What did I say?"

"It is lost," Maerad repeated, a strange look on your face. "You just kept saying it over and over again. What did you dream of?"

"I…well I was flying." Hem described the dream in detail to Maerad, who listened closely, frowning thoughtfully.

"This reminds me of Ardina," she said at last. "She warned me that the Song was not whole. It's missing something."

Hem was staring off into the distance, haunted by the music that had filled him. It had been so beautiful… "It's horrible."

Maerad blinked, confused. "Horrible?"

Hem tried to find words to explain. "It could have been so beautiful, and to hear what it is now, is horrible."

Maerad recalled vaguely the feeling of being ripped apart after she had performed the Song and shivered. "What do you think is missing?"

Hem shrugged. "It is lost."

"Does that mean our cause is lost?" Maerad asked sharply. "That there is no use in struggling?"

"I don't know." Hem poured himself a glass of water, but the movement aggravated his back. Maerad caught him when he spasmed and jerked to the side. "It seems that way, doesn't it?"

Maerad sat back. Could this really be the meaning of these dreams? Was this really their fate now? The shame and humiliation she had pushed down since Sharma took the Song returned, and Maerad felt the weight of her failure anew. She bowed her head and stared at her hands clasped in her lap. She was completely to blame for this.

Hem was aloof to Maerad's inner turmoil and was still thinking of dream. The music lived in him still, leaving goosepimples on his arms. "Perhaps the Song itself is lost? Perhaps it has been destroyed and we cannot get it back?"

"But you said it will ring and ring for an eternity. It must be alive in some way or another," Maerad said urgently.

"Even if it is, what can we do about it? Sharma keeps his eye on us at all times." Hem wasn't feeling very optimistic given the dream. "If it is alive, it lives in Sharma."

Maread recalled the Singing and Ardina's warning. The Song lives in you. Only in you could it have been made whole. It desired you. She felt a sudden, senseless anger. A feeling of entitlement: that Song should have been hers. "He doesn't deserve it."

Hem noticed the tone in her voice and glanced at her in surprise. "I don't think anyone deserves the Song. It is its own, living thing."

Maerad, though, was thinking of Sharma using the power of the Song to bend the world to his will, to breke the will of Bards with frightening ease, and trembled with anger. "He uses powers that he has no right to. It is an affront to the laws of nature."

Hem watched his sister closely. "It makes little sense to me. The Song is lost? Then we must find it?"

"We already found it!" Maerad said swiftly.

Hem shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps we must find something else?"

Maerad stood and walked toward the window meditatively. Whatever the dreams meant, time had not made them any clearer. She closed her eyes and saw again that strange forest with the swirling snow and tall grey trees. She strained her memory for a place it reminded her of, but there was nothing.

"I don't know," she finally said. "But I wonder…" She was staring into the distance, studying the craggy peaks of the mountains. "I wonder if Sharma knows."

Hem barked a laugh. "If he does, he's not telling."

"But what if we could get him to?" Maerad turned to face Hem. "Think about it. All these dreams...They keep saying that the Song lives in him, but also it wants to be free. It's almost like another person."

"And you want to speak to that person?" Hem asked, nonplussed.

A strange smile crept over Maerad's face. "Is that so strange?"

"How would you go about speaking to that person?" Hem smiled despite himself. "Just ask Sharma?"

"I'm not sure," Maerad said softly. "But this thing inside him wants to be free, wants to be heard. Perhaps he won't have a choice."

Hem considered this. "We'd have to be careful how we brought up the subject. We couldn't approach him directly, or even indirectly. I think it would have to be a slow game, unconsciously pushing it out in the open."

Maerad nodded. "Maybe not pushing at all. When he's angry he's not as…prudent."

"Well, you and I certainly have a way with him," Hem mused.

Maerad caught his eye with a swift smile. "We shall have to use our charms." Maerad paused a moment, staring at Hem. "You were a bird? Can you shift as well?"

Hem glanced up quickly. "What do you mean?"

"I can turn into a wolf, perhaps you can become a bird?" The idea that her brother might be able to change shape into a bird and escape the castle opened a hundred new horizons.

"No," Hem said after a beat, deflating Maerad's hopes. "I think it was just Irc."

Maerad frowned, confused.

Hem explained the white crow and Maerad smiled sadly. "You don't know what happened to him?"

"Hekibel said he stayed with her through the sack of Innail, but on the road to Dagra, he fled."

"Where could he be?"

Hem glanced out the window, his eyes bright with pain. "I don't know. I miss him fiercely, but I'm glad he's not here. I can't imagine Irc trapped in this castle."

Maerad suddenly crossed to Hem and drew him into a tight embrace. "Wherever he is, I'm sure Irc remembers you and misses you sorely. But I think you are right, better far away from this place."

Hem might have been right, but he wasn't any happier for it.

"You can't read if you don't open your eyes."

Cadvan shot a petulant look up at a Hull who was learning over the table in the quiet corner of the library where Cadvan had been spending most of his day. There were two books spread out before him, one written in scrawl of Den Raven script, another half filled with Cadvan's neat, flowing hand. He shoved the two books away sullenly.

"That was rather the point."

"I do not think our master will appreciate his young pupil shirking his studies." The Hull pulled Cadvan's copy of the script toward himself with one finger and inspected it. "This is sloppy work."

"Perhaps I am not suited to the study," Cadvan said carelessly.

It looked affronted. "There can be no higher calling for a Bard as Gifted as you in Reading. You should be exultant in the opportunity to serve our master in such a way. His trust in you is astonishing."

"I guess I'm a poor student," Cadvan replied evenly, and leaned back lazily in his chair.

The truth was that Cadvan was terrifying adept to such studies, but he despised them with a passion. Since he helped break Gahal's mind, the Nameless One thought it would be useful for Cadvan to study the Dark arts. He could not serve as a Hull, but to the Nameless One, a Bard well versed in Dark magic was even more valuable. There were spells and charms that Hulls could not perform since they required some inherent trait of Bards, and there were spells Bards would not perform because they were an abomination to the Light. But, a Bard who could cast those spells was a valuable asset, and the Nameless One saw Cadvan's potential. He had given Cadvan his own books, written millennia ago, with spells and summonings and charms, and set him to studying them. They were so old Cadvan had to translate them from the previous language, and even that left him feeling sick and cold. He thought it a shame the books had not been destroyed in the first Silence, because the spells they mentioned were terrible.

"Let us hope not," the Hull said slowly. "He will test you, and if you fail, there will be repercussions."

"I can only imagine," Cadvan said.

"Do you know that not all Bards that wish to be Hulls are successful?" The Hull asked casually. Cadvan frowned despite himself: that didn't figure with the stories he had been told. The Hull sensed his interest. "You see, the Nameless One only wants skilled servants, brilliant servants. When a Bard comes to him, seeking to destroy its name and join the Nameless One, we must perform a complex charm to demonstrate our skill. And you and I know that such spells can go awry in so many ways. Sometimes, the Bard cannot control the magic, as in your case with the Bone Queen, and are destroyed. Sometimes, the spell is simply not impressive enough. But regardless, if a Hull-to-be fails to sway out master, he destroys them. What do you think will happen to a brilliant Bard who fails in his attempt?"

Cadvan's face was hard. "A brilliant Bard who does not wish to be a Hull."

"It's a moot point," the Hull said softly. "I'll tell you what happens. The Nameless One destroys you, first your body, then your mind. He rips you apart and scatters the pieces like ashes on the wind. You think the things we do to Bards are horrible? Where do you think we learn?"

"My mind is already destroyed."

"No, it's not." The Hull shoved the text back at Cadvan. "I suggest you apply yourself before your lesson with our master. He will not handle you gently."

The Hull left Cadvan sitting motionless, staring at his own writing. He poured himself a glass of water and sipped it thoughtfully. Aside from the Hull's announcement that not all Bards who betrayed the Light were accepted as Hulls, he had given Cadvan a glimpse into what the Nameless One might have in mind. Sometimes, the spell is simply not impressive enough. What would the Nameless One view as impressive enough from Cadvan? What would be demand?

He turned to his writing with renewed, albeit morbid, interest. The page he was open to was a description of summoning a revenant, or at least that's what Cadvan thought. It reminded him painfully of the memories of the Bone Queen, but he could use that knowledge to help decipher the strange language. A small, academic part of him marveled at the opportunity to read a text that predated Annar and the seven kingdoms, but it was quickly eclipsed by his disgust for the subject.

Find something impressive.

The problem was that, regardless of the subject matter, the translation was slow and Cadvan constantly had to check his notes. He loathed the idea of asking for help but…he also knew the Nameless One would know the translation. He toiled for another hour but progress was sluggish. Frustrated, he slammed the cover of the book closed and took it under his arm. He stormed from the library, passing a few servants cleaning books and a single Hull flipping lazily through an ancient tome, and back to the throne room. It was empty.

For the first time, Cadvan wondered how he would go about finding the Nameless One. Usually, the man simply appeared like some terrible apparition, a mocking smile painted on his face. Now, he was completely-perhaps purposefully-absent. Cadvan wandered aimlessly through the throne room, pausing to inspect the pool in the center, and waited.

You're always with me until you're not. Cadvan approached the throne and wondered if the Nameless One was waiting for him to ask for help. A horrifying thought crossed his mind that the Nameless One was waiting for Cadvan to kneel. I'm not kneeling before your throne.

"I didn't ask you to."

Cadvan snapped around and saw the Nameless One lounging in the doorway. The Nameless One didn't smile, but his eyes dropped to Cadvan's hands where the books were huddled. He raised one eyebrow slowly.

"You…need my help?"

Now that he came to it, Cadvan felt his throat go dry. Asking for help from the Nameless One? "The translation is slow."

The Nameless One took a step back, sweeping his arm wide. "Walk with me, Cadvan."

Cadvan grudgingly joined the Nameless One, but he was already walking away, speaking in a smooth, thoughtful voice like he expected Cadvan to be following him.

"…when our two worlds were closer. Now, the paths between the worlds are longer, the doors closed against our summons. It makes sense that you would struggle."

The Nameless One spoke in a strange tone, almost like he was chanting. Cadvan unwillingly noticed that it was actually quite beautiful. "Long ago when the world was a different shape, there was no barrier because there was only one world. The un-creatures were not so, they were alive and real. But now, the world is changed and the walls have been erected. Pulling the creatures into this world inverts them: on one side, they are beautiful, on the other, monsters. Remember, Cadvan, that all the monsters you see here are just reflections of their true self. They are creatures of the Light, you are simply blind to their beauty."

They had wandered out along the ramparts of the tower, and Cadvan hesitated, wondering if the Nameless One was going to turn back rather than let Cadvan out of the tower. But he pushed on, and Cadvan was forced to hurry after him. "Then you believe that in the other world, I am the monster?"

The Nameless One smiled. "You see my point, Cadvan? You think you can divine light from dark, but do you even know light and dark?"

They had come to the bend in the wall and could look our over Darga. Closest to the walls were the ghettos where the Bards were kept. Cadvan saw the black, small dormitories, the crooked streets, and the pile of corpses being apart by rabid dogs and deathcrows. Beyond that, the city stretched like a black, crooked block. Smoke drifted up, choking out the sun and turning the sky a dead, pale yellow. "I know this is of the dark," Cadvan said finally.

"Perhaps here," the Nameless One allowed. "But on the other side, this is a kingdom of abundance where the rivers flow with milk and honey, where the sun shines down on fields of plenty." He turned to Cadvan, his face thoughtful. "But this place will not remain so. I am going to cure this place of its illness and rebuild our world anew."

Cadvan snorted. "You're going to cure this place?"

"I will use the Bards to create my new world. Perhaps your people will die, but they will be the tools by which I construct my glorious vision." He threw his arms wide. "You should be so grateful to be part of it."

"You cannot undo the darkness you have sewn," Cadvan said stiffly.

The Nameless One snapped around and Cadvan took a step back, expecting a blow. "You will see soon, Cadvan, just how great this world will be under my rule. And you shall help." He held out his hand, demanding the books. He flipped through Cadvan's work. "I knew you were a dolt, but I expected better from a famed Reader like yourself."

"This is an older language than I am used to." Cadvan swallowed back a string of expletives. "Perhaps you could enlighten me."

The Nameless One gave a good-hearted chuckle. "I am flattered."

"No one alive knows this language but you," Cadvan said simply. "I can translate something from my experience with the Bone Queen, but I…had help then."

"Ah, you mean Likud? Yes, he was a particularly good tutor, but I think I would be better." He studied the script. "An impressive effort, I suppose, but your grasp of Dyllic is poor. This, of course, is a subvariant spoken only in regions of Imbral, but still." Cadvan chose not to answer, just watched the Nameless One flick through his work. "I think you will have to work closely with me."

"You don't want that," Cadvan said swiftly, thinking that the last thing he wanted was study overseen by the Nameless One. "If I recall, Nelac said I lack ability."

"Yes, I remember that," the Nameless One said with delight. "But, perhaps with the right mentor, your skills would flourish. At least, let us try. Come." He waved Cadvan away and with a last regretful look at the city, Cadvan slouched after him.

The Nameless One led Cadvan down to the courtyard and stretched before turning to face him. His face was twisted in a feral grin. "Let us begin with something simple: summoning a spectre. These are minor creatures of the Abyss, the shades that haunt the shadowplains. Watch me, Cadvan."

The Nameless One turned his palms so they were facing up to the sky, the fingers touching to form a small arrow. He muttered something, a spell that slipped into Cadvan's brain and stayed there, bouncing around like an echo. He felt the shift of the world as the Nameless One cast his will against nature. A small portal open and a cold breeze rippled through the courtyard. Cadvan saw a shadow form before the Nameless One, a faint human-like figure. It turned a featureless face toward Cadvan and stepped toward him. Cadvan immediately drew back, but the Nameless One made a vague wave and the thing ran at Cadvan.

Instinctively, Cadvan threw up his hands to send a bolt of White Fire at the creature, but a moment later he remembered that the Nameless One had taken his Gift. "Wait, stop!" Cadvan called out.

The Nameless One laughed loudly. "Those are the wrong words, Cadvan!" the Nameless One called out.

Cadvan took a few steps back, and the creature dove at him. It hit him and a wave of cold washed over him, through him. He fell back, slamming against the cobblestones, and the shade was still on him. It gripped his shoulders and held him down, and even though it was completely silent, Cadvan sensed it draw a breath. He felt the heat in his body being drawn out of him with each breath the shade took.

"Call it off!" Cadvan cried.

"You must command it! Say the words!" the Nameless One called back.

Cadvan felt his toes going numb, his legs getting cold. He jerked under the creature and it sloshed to the side, its weight like water. Cadvan gasped for breath and bucked again, and finally the creature was pushed off him. Cadvan rolled over and scrambled up to his knees, then stumbled to his feet. The Nameless One watched him with amusement, his eyes tracing Cadvan frantic, erratic steps.

"Who is this man before me? Where is the great Cadvan of Lirigon, the mighty Bard of the Gift, who wields White Fire like he was born to it? What is this bumbling oaf before me?"

Cadvan had managed to reach the dead fountain in the center of the courtyard and watched the shade ripple and reform. Its shady figure looked left and right before sensing Cadvan again. It took another running start for Cadvan, but Cadvan grabbed a loose stone in the fountain and arched it back. The smoky figure seethed and swirled and Cadvan felt his grip on the stone slacken.

I don't know the right words, but I might know the right action.

Cadvan twisted and threw the rock at the Nameless One. The Nameless One snarled dodging out of the way of the stone. In that moment, though, the Nameless One dropped his concentration and the shade, furious at having been summoned into their world, turned on its master and lunged for him. It couldn't hurt the Nameless One, but he was forced to send it back into the void before it became a pest. When the creature was gone, a heavy silence fell on the courtyard. Cadvan knew he had gone too far, but he didn't try to hide.

"What a remarkably honest act," the Nameless One said slowly, studying Cadvan with renewed interest. "It was desperate, foolish even, but honest. I can appreciate that."

He can appreciate it, but he's not going to allow it. Cadvan's hand tightened into fists. "Thank you."

"In that moment, when reason gave way to fear, that was you. That man was the real Cadvan, stripped of his powers and skills. The real man." The Nameless One took a few steps closer but Cadvan didn't move. Running from the Nameless One was useless. "And he's not such a bad man after all, is he?"

Cadvan shrugged. "I am a product of my upbringing."

The Nameless One studied Cadvan closely. "I know, I saw it all."

The statement left Cadvan unsettled. "Well, I think you have demonstrated I am incapable of performing your charms. Perhaps you will release me?"

"I think not, Cadvan. I think, if anything, this demonstrates you are quite capable of this work. What you need is practice." He made a vague gesture and the book with the charms shot into his hands. "You need to start small, is all. I want you to begin with summoning a spectre. You heard me, you saw the passes. You'll summon it for me next week. We'll make a show of it."

Cadvan still felt the deathly cold in his legs. "I am to assume that if I don't there will be consequences?"

"Naturally," the Nameless One said easily. "But, this time, I think the hammer will not fall on Maerad. This is a matter for students and teachers, think you not? We'll have Nelac present for the summoning and if it goes wrong…well, he'll just have to clean up your mess."

Cadvan took the proffered book. "There will be no need for that. I think I'll manage."

"Of course, Cadvan. And if you find that you need help, please come speak to me again. I am always here for you."

"What do you think they're talking about?" Mara asked.

Camphis, who was reclining on a pallet, didn't open his eyes or sit up. "I'm too tired to care."

Mara snorted. "Not curious about what our elders are whispering about?"

"Not remotely." Camphis shifted a little so a beam of cloudy light struck his face. The warmth was comforting.

A shadow fell on him, blocking the sunlight. "There must be a reason they don't want us there." Camphis cracked his eyes. Mara was standing over him, hands on hips, looking exhausted by intrigued. When she saw his eyes open, she smiled enticingly. "Come now, you must be a little curious."

"Three days and barely a few hours of sleep kills my more curious nature."

Mara raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to listen at the stairs."

She turned to go and Camphis, against his better judgement, sat up, ruffling his hair. "Alright, alright, wait."

Her teeth flashed in a bright smile in the dark. "A little bit of a smile is all it takes?"

"You'd already woken me," Camphis groused, swinging his legs around and taking a deep breath. He stood and stretched briefly before joining her at the door.

They went down the hall quietly, taking care not to wake the many other sleeping Bards, and hesitated at the entrance to the narrow stair. Mara sank down and carefully placed one foot on the stair. When it didn't squeak, she moved the other foot, scuttling one stair at a time until she was four steps down. Camphis joined her, awkwardly navigating the tight stairwell, so that his knees brushed hers when they both knelt. The low murmur of voices floated up.

When the Il Arundh Bards had arrived some weeks before, a change had come over some of the senior Innail Bards. They would gather at different dormitories on different nights, shooing away any younger Bards, and they would have low, whispered conversations over the fire. Occasionally, once they were sure there were no guards patrolling their street, one would slip away for an hour or so. Upon their return, there would be more whispering, then a sudden silence and departure.

Gatherings were not forbidden, as a rule, but whatever these Bards were doing, they wanted no one around to hear or see it, and naturally, the younger Bards were keen to listen in. Mara had been waiting for an opportunity for the meeting to be held at their dormitory and when Faja and Ell had sent her upstairs with stern looks, she knew tonight would be ideal.

I can't hear a thing, even with Bard hearing, Camphis griped. Perhaps someone is working a charm?

They would run a high risk. You know we're not supposed to use our Gift unless in service to the Dark Lord. The Hulls have sensory charms. Mara learned closer, casting out her hearing, but there was nothing. Nonetheless, I think you're right. We'd have to be right above them to get anything out of it. She sighed loudly and there was a sudden silence downstairs.

Damn!

They darted up the stairs, turning a corner just in time for Ell's face to appear at the base of the stairs. He frowned. "Why don't we take the fresh evening air?" he suggested over his shoulder."

"Well, that was wasted," Mara muttered, listening to the sounds of feet moving about below. "Sorry to wake you."

"Perhaps not," Camphis said slowly. "Outside?"

Mara's face broke into an excited grin as Camphis led the way to the closed dormitory with the loose tiles. They clambered expertly over the hearth and through the small hole, emerging into the cool night air. Camphis pointed to the right, holding his finger to his lips, and they scurried to the edge, crouching on their knees so as not to be seen.

Faja's voice drifted up to them, soft but clear. "…does Ettinor say?"

"They're in a bad way," someone answered. "The Bards are asking for aid, but none of the other Schools are keen to give it. You know how they were before the fall."

"We can't have infighting," Faja said sternly. "Selfish and greedy though they were, we are all the same now. Could we turn the mood of the other Schools, get them in agreement?"

"Maybe." The voice sounded skeptical. "It will be difficult. The mood among the other Schools is to leave Ettinor to its own devices."

"Now who's selfish," chuckled Ell darkly.

"I'm not saying I agree."

"Peter, you lived in Ettinor for a time, perhaps you could make a case?" Faja asked.

The man, Peter, seemed uncertain. "I have no love for the Ettinor Bards, but I could petition for them. It's hard, when Turbansk is pushing to expel the Annarean Schools."

"Turbansk isn't our enemy," Ell said stoutly. "They sent food when we first arrived."

"No, we are not enemies of Turbansk, but only because we had the good sense to publicly defend Maerad of Pellinor. But as far as they're concerned, any School that turned a blind eye to the Dark isn't to be trusted. They're skeptical of Schools from Annar."

"Since when does Turbansk make decisions for the rest?" Faja demanded.

"They have the most food and water stores," Peter said tiredly. "Too many Schools side with them purely for the benefits it might bring. And, if truth be told, the seven kingdoms have dark moods against Annar."

"Turbansk is hoping to have an alliance before Norloch arrives," Ell said slowly. "They don't want the power of the Light to shift back to an Annarean School."

"Gent sides with them?" Faja asked sharply.

"Too early to say for sure, but once Gent's Second Circles gets their wits back, I doubt they will wait too long," another person said in a low voice. "Il Arundh took a week, Carfedis less. And after the woman was publicly executed…they're up in arms, and their anger is infectious."

"They accepted Lirigon?"

"No answer yet. Opinions are muddled. On the one hand, Nelac is from Lirigon and not a Bard in the four corners of civilization would dispute his service to the Light. On the other, Cadvan was spotted at the razing of Ettinor, Lirigon and Innail."

"But," Ell said swiftly, "Cadvan was at Innail with Maerad when she defeated the Landrost. No one can say for sure how Turbansk will fall on them, but I think they'll extend the olive branch."

"And us?" Faja asked.

"Our loyalty to the Light is not doubted," the fourth person said. "Turbansk will allow us to join the alliance."

"But we'll end aid to Ettinor and Desor?"

"That will most likely be their advice."

They were quiet a long a time, before Ell finally said, "I fear this. This turning of Bard on Bard, this abandonment of the Schools. I understand that there is bad blood on all sides, and there is good reason to be suspicious, but this division will not help us in achieving our goal."

"Probably not, but it's where we stand now."

Faja sighed. "If we aren't included in the alliance I fear for us," she admitted. "So far, we've managed well with help, but without it…our people won't last."

"I wish Malgorn were here," Peter admitted. "We could use his guidance."

"In his absence, we must take what decisions we can," Ell said. "I think we should take up with Turbansk."

"I'll make sure they know," the fourth person said.

"How are you getting these massages back to Oslar?" Faja asked, amazement clear in her voice. "I thought the Hulls were keeping tight guards."

A low chuckle. "A little bird."

"I'm serious, Gaz, you need to be careful."

"I'm as serious as you," the man, Gaz, replied.

Ell snorted. "Alright, whatever the case. Send our condolences with the Ernani's guard and reaffirm our alliance. Let us know the next move."

"Of course," Gaz said.

There was a low spattering of farewells and the Bards departed. On the roof, Camphis ad Mara exchanged shocked looks.

"A rebellion led by Turbansk?" Mara breathed.

"Sounds like it," Camphis said, his eyes darting in the general direction of the Turbansk quarter. "Do you think they actually can?"

"Turbansk must be furious," Mara said softly. "I wonder what happened to the Ernani's guard."

"Something terrible if they are angry enough to try and fight the Dark," Camphis mused.

"We should help," Mara said at once. "We can offer-"

"What, no!" Camphis said sharply. "They are meeting in secret and they're certainly not asking our help. Whatever they're doing, it's dangerous."

Mara opened her mouth to argue, but at that moment, the long peal of a bell rang out. It came from the direction of the Turbansk quarter, and it was the sound of an alarm, a warning. The Bards recognized is it the bell the Hulls rang when the Bards were being particularly rambunctious and they needed to return to order. It was followed by curses, dog soldiers, and a string of corpses. Both the Innail Bards flinched, lurching for the trap door.

Mara flushed, embarrassed by her sudden response, but Camphis pushed the tiles aside and vanished back into the safety of the grimy barrack.