Chapter Seventeen
The fallout from Menika's execution was felt across the entire ghetto, though only the Bards from the Suderain had witnessed it. The shock of the brutality had rocked the Bards, and there had been an immediate uproar. The Bards had tried to storm the stage and attack the Hulls, but the dog soldiers had moved in swiftly, spitting acid. Not a few Bards died in the ensuing madness. When it became clear the Bards were not going to settle, the Hulls set the dog soldiers on them. They made a hunting park of the Suderain quarter and soon, Bards were running in terror, cowering in dark alleys and corners, younger Bards screaming and crying, other panting in desperation and fear. It took the entire night for order to be restored, and by then, a sizeable pile of corpses had accumulated in the square. In the other quarters, Bards had seen the flashes of green light and heard the cries for help. In the morning, smoke was rising over an eerily quiet district and stories were spreading of the brutal dismemberment and the corresponding madness that had broken loose.
"Butchered right in front of them," Mara said darkly while she ground a plant down into paste to put on an injured Bard. She and the Innail Bards were back in the Gent quarter, checking on their work.
"Who was she?" Camphis asked, running his fingers over stitches on a young man.
Mara shrugged. "There are just rumors. A noble, or a soldier, but apparently she was caught with the Ernani of Turbansk."
Camphis's hand jerked sharply and the Bard he was working on started. "The Ernani is here?" Camphis sputtered.
Mara's face was dark. "Rumor has it."
Camphis returned to the stitches, flashing a look at the young man. "Turbansk is going to be up in arms," he said in a low voice.
"Going to be?" she asked. "They already are. I've heard they want revenge."
"You think they might have learned a lesson," Camphis said.
Mara's brow furrowed. "Would you have them give up hope then?"
Camphis waved her away. "I didn't mean it like that. Only that they can't possibly want to fight back now? You saw what happened last night!"
The man with the stitches perked up. "What happened?"
Camphis and Mara exchanged a look. "Slaughter," he said shortly.
The Gent Bard closed his eyes but said no more as a Hull passed by. It held a short crop, which is swung easily as it walked, but paid no attention to the two young Bards. After all, they were just healers. Camphis and Mara bowed their heads and returned to their work with a renewed vigor. It was a long time before they spoke again.
"I've not been feeling well lately," Camphis said blandly, his eyes on the Hull. "It's especially bad in the evenings."
Mara caught his eyes. "Perhaps we enjoy the night's cool air after dinner?"
"Yes, that might serve me well."
They spent the rest of the day working on the Gent Bards, who were recovering as best as could be expected. The stories from the Suderain trickled in, and they were calm and orderly. The Hulls didn't need to brandish whips or blades, simply tell them where to go and what to do. Back in their dormitory, Mara and Camphis made dinner and kept a close eye on Ell who seemed preoccupied. When they served, he took only a little and washed his dishes quickly.
"I'm going to take a walk. I need to clear my head," he announced after he'd placed his dish above the small cook stove. "All this talk of the Suderian woman has put me on edge. You two don't mind cleaning up, do you?"
"Not at all," Mara said swiftly.
Ell's face was dark when he left, and his words-the Suderian woman- hung in the air like a noxious fume. She didn't have a story, or a face or even a name, but she seemed terribly, vibrantly alive in their minds. Mara scrubbed the plates harder than necessary, filling the small room with the sound. Camphis watched her expressionlessly, trying to once again piece together the parts of his own story, and understand how they had come so far down this road. At length, Mara straightened up and set the dishes aside.
"Upstairs again?" she asked.
They took the usual, quiet route through the dormitory and up to the roof. They saw that low smoke clouds still hung over the Turbansk district, and the faint glow of green lights moved like a flickering candle. Now, though, the silence was so complete that Camphis could hear his breath escape him in a low rattle. It was a moment before Mara waved him frantically, but silently, over.
"How bad were your losses?" Ell asked quietly.
"It's hard to say. On the one hand, perhaps fifty Bards were killed, but one does not measure a life in numbers." It was Gaz, the Bard who was taking messages to Turbansk. "What's worse, this is a serious blow to our plans. The Hulls are patrolling the streets in record numbers, every morning they take a count of the Bards in each dormitory and every evening check it against the new numbers. If any Bards are missing-" Gaz cut off sharply, taking a deep breath. "They say they'll lock all the Bards inside and burn the building down."
"You've taken a risk being here," Faja said slowly.
"Not exactly, not so long as I'm back before morning bell."
"Here," it was Peter. "I've brough a spare bit of bread and water. You look dead on your feet."
"They're cutting rations to us," Gaz said, gratefully accepting the offer. "Half what we were before. The Second Circle is breaking into their stores to try and keep the people from starving, but it'll run short soon."
"We'll gather what we can," Ell said firmly. "Is there a way to get food to your people?"
"The dorms that face the fences can take items and dispense them, but it's complicated…" Gaz's voice dropped as he ate. "…pass through Il Arundh to us."
"We can handle it," Faja promised. There was a pregnant pause. "Was it as bad as the whispers say?"
"I can't imagine they can convey how terrible it was," Gaz whispered. "Menika was known to our people. She was a true servant of the Light and didn't deserve that death."
"Is there no word of the Ernani?"
"He lives in the Dark Tower, but there is no word how he's kept," Gaz finally said. "I do not think we will expect help from him now."
"No, and what could the boy do anyway? He's very young to be involved this."
Gaz blew them off. "He's his mother's son. He knew the score when he took the throne. I'm sure he's trying to help, but I think the Nameless One is going to move quick to consolidate power."
"Any idea what?" Ell asked curiously. "Kill the boy?"
"The south would riot," Gaz said thoughtfully. "As it is, I took your request to the Second Circle. They weren't keen but Oslar pushed you through. They've accepted your request."
There was a palpable sigh of relief. "Then when do we start?"
"There's word that Busk has been defeated." A shocked silence followed this. "When the Bards arrive, Turbansk wants to move then. You know how it is when a new School arrives: the Hulls are in disarray, the dog soldiers are chasing stragglers, too much chaos."
"As soon as they arrive?"
"No, Oslar thinks it's better to wait till the evening. Use the cover of dark to mount an attack on the Hulls. The soldiers who marched the Bards all the way from Busk will be too exhausted to fight. If we can break the gates, we can attack the city."
"We'll need weapons," Peter said slowly. "Can we steal them?"
"The Makers tell me the stores tend to be watched closely. But, we've had word from slaves in the tower willing to trade weapons for freedom."
Peter whistled. "How did you make contact?"
"I told you before, Oslar's got a little bird passing notes."
"This could be dangerous," Ell finally admitted. "Even if we have weapons, the Hulls will be quick to attack."
"Ah, but the Hulls will be with the Busk Bards, and, word has it, the new quarter is farthest from the gates, pressed against a stretch of the palace wall and down a ravine. The Hulls will have to fight their way up to challenge us. And we'll have a head start into the city."
"But where do we move next?" Faja pressed. "Escaping into the city is all well and good, but where do we go?"
"Make for Turbansk," Gaz said roughly. "It's in ruins, but the foundation remains. And there are many slaves there rebuilding the city. We can set it up as a fortress until we regroup and find a safer place."
"There is no safer place," Ell said evenly. "The seven kingdoms are the Nameless One's."
"Perhaps we leave the seven kingdoms," Gaz said softly. "Far to the north, the Pilanel still stay out of his reach."
"Hide from the dark flame in the icy wastes?" Ell asked. He didn't sound skeptical, just exhausted. "So, when do they think the Busk Bards will arrive?"
"Two or three weeks, I hear."
"Then in two or three weeks, we make our bid for freedom."
Hemalatha wandered slowly through her family's cavernous house, her head down in quiet contemplation. For the last month, she had debated her upcoming nuptial and groom. No, not debate. Hemalatha could not debate her father's wishes-his wishes were her reality-but she could consider them.
Her gut reaction to the identity of her groom was abject horror. Hemalatha had spent her life incredibly sheltered, but she had heard dark stories of the outside world, especially of the Suderain. Everyone said they were man-eating barbarians. They sacrificed their own people to dark spirits, and that was how they had achieved their wealth and power. The men raped women and murdered babies, and the women were whores who lay with any man or beast. And Turbansk, the capital, was rumored to be a pinnacle of depravity and lawlessness, overseen by a cruel despot: the Ernani, Har-Ytan.
Her son, Hemalatha thought quickly. The woman is dead.
She shivered. Har-Ytan's son, Hemalatha's betrothed.
She didn't understand how her mother and father could marry her off to a monster. They were throwing her to the wolves with the desperate hope she could raise up the family. Their ambition was a shadow on her entire life.
You knew it would happen eventually, she thought, as she stepped out into a private garden. She closed the wrought iron gate and took the opportunity to push back the veil that covered her hair. It was the custom of Den Raven that young women from well-to-do families be modest in their dress, and many men visited her father's sprawling manor. Only in the private solitude of the garden could she enjoy the feel of a fresh wind on her face.
The announcement that her parents had arranged a husband for her was not in itself surprising. It was natural that she would marry to suit the family ambition. Her job, as a lovely daughter, was to make a good marriage that would bond her family to the rich and powerful. It was not so much a matter of if, but when, and not who, but why.
But this who was too much.
What Hemalatha craved now was someone to talk to. A woman to talk to. She had been living in fear or her wedding day, but no one else seemed to worry. As far as her mother and younger sister were concerned, she was to be envied. She felt tears welling in her eyes.
"Not crying, little Hema?"
Hema looked around, startled. A woman lounged on a day bed under the cover of a large, flowering tree. Like Hema, the woman had taken off her veil and let her long brown hair fall over her shoulders and arms. She wore a loose dress that draped flatteringly over her form. The neck was so deep it almost touched her belly button, where a belt was sinched tightly. Jarla, her father's mistress.
Hema's face relaxed. After her mother had given her father two sons, Rikesh had taken a mistress, but that had not affected the steady, political marriage her parents had forged. It was not an uncommon arrangement that a wealthy man would keep a wife and mistress, so long as there was an explicit understanding between the two women. The wife would bear the children, and, should the husband die, inherit the wealth. The mistress would be kept in rich condition until the day one of them died, though she would never bear children of her own. If the man died first, he arranged for the mistress to have a comfortable life after.
By dint of this diplomatic agreement, Hema had grown up knowing Jarla well. They were shockingly close in age and Hema considered Jarla something of a friend or confidant. Jarla considered her, smiling sadly.
"Are these tears for yourself, or your future husband?"
"You heard?"
Jarla laughed. "Everyone heard. Your father has proclaimed far and wide that his daughter is going to be queen consort of the Suderain."
Hema sighed and threw herself down on a grassy spot near the feet of Jarla's bed. She leaned back against the cool stone and looked out over the garden. "I don't understand how they could do this to me."
"Really?" Jarla asked dryly. "How could they jump on an opportunity to elevate themselves to the highest family in the land though the marriage of their daughter?"
"No, I understand that." Hema rested her chin on her knees. "But…he's Turbanskian."
"He's the Ernani," Jarla said simply. She sighed and began to run her fingers through Hema's hair soothingly. "You can't do better, in this regard your parents are right."
"Do you think the stories about men from the Suderain are true?" Hema asked in a small voice.
"I don't know. My grandmother was a slave on a plantation in the northern corner of Den Raven, and she told my mother, and my mother told me, about the time she met a strange man from the Suderain." Jarla closed her eyes a moment. "She said simply, he was kind but sad. I suppose that doesn't really compare to all the tales of man-eating monsters, but, for what it's worth, I think it's true."
Kind but sad, Hema thought in a brief moment of self-pity. That can be my motto once I'm queen consort.
She shook herself, pushing away thoughts of what might be and drawing to the forefront worries that would be. "Jarla, my mother says my first and most important task is to get myself with child. And that I must have a son."
"Your mother is correct," Jarla said softly. "As a queen, it is your duty to make princes and princesses. As a wife to a hostile husband, it is the only thing you can do to ensure your safety."
"But why does it have to be a son? The last Ernani was a woman. If I just have to have a child, it's much easier."
"If your father hears you talking of women ruling, he'll have you lashed." Jarla began braiding the girl's hair. "Princes to inherit the father's throne, princesses to marry and forge alliances. And I'll tell you a secret," Jarla added in a whisper, "a husband can betray you, a daughter will leave you, but a son…sons will always be loyal to a loving mother." She tweeked Hema's braid. "Have a son and love him, and you will be safe from even your husband."
Hema bit her lip. "I suppose I never thought of that."
"Why would you?" Jarla snorted. "You're a proper little Grin's daughter. You think of looking pretty and being charming, it'll suit you better in the long run, I'm sure."
"To be pretty and charming?"
Jarla turned up Hema's face. The younger girl was striking. "It can't hurt. I don't know what to believe regarding these Suderain men, but I know men. If you're beautiful, they forgive you most anything. So, if you must be something for your new husband, be pretty and charming."
"I don't understand why Sharma has you doing this." Maerad was standing by the window, arms crossed. She could see down into the ghettos where the Bards were moving sluggishly through the streets. "You are a Bard, a servant of the Light. You are not suited to this work."
"The Nameless One thinks otherwise," Cadvan said dryly. He placed the book he was reading down and closed it. He didn't want Maerad to read the cursed text. "It is not my choice, but it is necessary. The Nameless One has ordered it."
"You make a poor Hull," said Maerad. She turned away from the window and stared at him flatly. He seemed exhausted by his work. She suspected this had nothing to do with the hours he had spent reading, more the content. It was common knowledge among Bards that casting spells was tiring work, but so too was learning them. These were worse, however, and Maerad saw the price it exacted in the purple shadows under Cadvan's eyes. "I do not think this work is good for you."
Cadvan sighed, closing the book and pushing it away. "I know, but he threatened Nelac, and…I have failed too many people lately to fail him as well."
"But he won't kill him." Maerad looked down at her hands thoughtfully. She couldn't explain why, but the sight of Cadvan studying the Dark arts turned her stomach more than seeing a Hull perform spells. There was something about seeing Cadvan, who in her mind was so completely good, doing something so terrible that made her sick. It seemed important that Cadvan stop now before he did irreparable damage to himself. "This work is hurting you, I can see it!"
Cadvan looked up at Maerad, and he felt his exhaustion like a blanket. "This isn't a choice, Maerad." He looked away sharply. "But, if it makes you feel better, I will not study where you can see."
Maerad crossed the room and snatched the book up. She let it fall open to a random page, and she scrunched her nose at the sight of the twisting words. "It's not the spells that bother me. It is that you're doing them. I think it is…bad for you."
Cadvan perceived a deep fear in Maerad and he looked at her sharply. "Do not worry about me, Maerad, if the Nameless One's war in the north didn't undo me, this certainly won't." He gave her a crooked smile, but Maerad returned it with a level look. He held out his hand and Maerad reluctantly stepped into his reach. "Look at me, Maerad."
Maerad drew a deep breath. "I worry about you, Cadvan. I worry that Sharma plays a long game and if you were to fall to the Dark, it would be almost as serious a wound to the Light as Sharma taking the Song."
Cadvan's eyes widened. "Not nearly, I think."
"No, in this I am sure." Maerad lifted Cadvan's chin so he couldn't look away. "This is my knowing, Cadvan." She looked thoughtful a moment. "This is Sharma's knowing as well. Think, he chose to keep you alive, he knew from the very start how important you would be." She caught his eye severely. "I do not think your role in this is over, nor that you will simply vanish into history, a great Bard who was cruelly punished by the Dark. There is something left for you to do."
While she had spoken, Maerad's voice had taken on a low, rhythmic quality, like she was chanting. Cadvan was forcefully reminded on her mother, Milana. "You see a future I cannot."
Cadvan leaned back in his seat, resting his foot on his knee, and caught Maerad's eye. "You seemed distracted lately-well, more than usual. What's happened?"
Maerad leaned her hip against the desk. "Hem had a strange dream, and it's presented me with a riddle."
Cadvan's eyes widened. "Could it help us?"
"I'm not sure. It didn't make much sense." Maerad shrugged. "But it could be useful in trying to take the Song back from-"
"Maerad, wait." Cadvan held up a hand sharply. His eyes traveled to the books on the desk uncomfortably. "He's in my mind. He could see if he wanted."
This pulled Maerad up short. She inspected Cadvan closely, as if she could see the Nameless One hiding behind his eyes. "But, he doesn't see everything?"
"No," Cadvan said slowly. "But he pays close attention to my thoughts, more so if I am going to be summoning things for him. I am not sure I am safe from him." He said this last part with a particular vehemence.
Maerad balked. She had become so used to Cadvan's ability to give advice that the thought of him holding back was like knocking the legs out from under her. "I didn't know you two had become so…close."
Cadvan's nose crinkled. "That is not the word I would have chosen, but I begin to doubt the safety of my own mind." Maerad saw how much this disturbed Cadvan, and she reached out took his hand. He studied her small white fingers. "It's merely my suspicion, nothing to worry yourself terribly about."
Maerad laughed hollowly. "This is exactly what I should worry myself about." She considered him a moment before bending and kissing him, slowly, with aching longing. "You've given me more nights of worry than I can count."
Cadvan's hands moved to her hips, her waist, along the bead-embroidered bodice. He had the notion to shove the books off the table and have Maerad right there. He pulled her forward, pressing her against the edge of the table. "Then I beg your forgiveness."
Maerad laughed at him desperate his roughness. "This is why you make a poor student."
"I can think of many reasons I'm a poor student," Cadvan growled. He pressed his lips against Maerad's belly and she felt the heat even through the boning in the corset. "None the least, the work environment. Get up on the table, just there."
Maerad did as she was told, curious and a little excited. She felt Cadvan's hands under the layers of her gown and up her legs. He continued kissing her stomach, and she arched back on the table, automatically spreading her legs a little wider. Cadvan's fingers reached her center and elicited a shuddering cry from Maerad. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, breathing heavy, until she felt Cadvan shift below her and brush aside her skirt.
Her eyes fluttered open. "Shouldn't we go to the-"
"I haven't the patience," Cadvan said huskily. Maerad watched, fascinated, as Cadvan ducked his head beneath her gown. Heat rushed to her face when she felt his breath brush the inside of her knees and she jerked when his messy hair nestled the inside of her thighs. "Relax, Maerad."
She forced herself to breathe out and press her shoulders down. "You don't make it easy."
"And you make my studies difficult. It's only fair." Cadvan placed a line of kisses along her thigh.
Maerad's laughter gurgled out of her, but before she could abandon herself to Cadvan, someone pounded on the door to their rooms, and then threw them open roughly. A Hull stormed in, but checked on the door when it saw the scene unfolding before it: Maerad, head tipped back and eyes closed in carnal delight, Cadvan buried between her legs under her gown. She twisted her face to glare at the Hull.
"Thoroughly occupied I see," the Hull said after a moment, not deigning to close the door to the hall. "You really ought to be applying yourself to your studies not mistress Maerad, Cadvan."
Maerad heard a very loud, long-suffering sigh escape Cadvan. "And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" he asked from below Maerad's skirt. She swatted at him and he emerged, an impressive frown on his face.
The Hull offered a sympathetic smile. "Our master has asked after the company of your woman."
Maerad's eyebrows raised. It had been months since Sharma had requested a private audience with her. "I suppose I ought to be flattered."
"You'd do better to close your legs and follow me." The Hull had seemed to recover from its shock of finding the two Bards so exposed and let a little acid creep into its voice. "You little Bard whore."
An ironic smile tugged at the corner of Maerad's mouth and she pushed Cadvan away so she could stand. Cadvan, though, had no intention of sending Maerad to the Nameless One alone and unprotected.
"I'll escort her. The Nameless One always has an interest in me."
The Hull beckoned Maerad with a snap. "Not this time. You stay here and mind those books. The girl goes alone."
Maerad felt Cadvan's anxiety like it was her own. She caught his hand. "Don't worry overmuch about me. He needs me alive, remember."
"Alive and well, are two different things in his mind," Cadvan said darkly, but let her hand go. He cast an unhelpful look to the Hull. "I'll collect you in an hour if you're not back before."
"So keen to continue where you left off?" The tone of the Hull's voice suggested it thought very poorly about where they had just been.
"I need a bath and no one gets the water temperature right quite like Maerad," Cadvan returned. He cast an unwilling look at the books on the table. "I'll be here until then, I suppose."
Maerad brushed the ripples from her skirt. "Try not to work too hard while I'm gone."
"That shouldn't be too difficult," Cadvan said wryly, dropping down gracelessly into his seat. He flipped a book open and tapped the page carelessly. "I'll make excellent progress, I'm sure."
Maerad turned to the Hull. "Whenever you're ready."
The Hull turned sharply and swept from the room, Maerad following a step behind. She wondered what had brought on this sudden request, and worried that the Nameless One had somehow become aware of her and Hem's dreams. Did he know they were still seeking to free the Song and undo his enchantment? Did he suspect they were having help from the Elementals? And how could he know? Cadvan's mind was open to him, but surely hers was safe? She endeavored to remain calm, but fear made her blood run cold.
As they went, the Hull spoke. "By the Eternal Darkness, you are a wanton woman. I can't imagine why you were ever a threat to our master's plans. No doubt you were too busy on your back."
Maerad kept her chin up and an even smile plastered on her face. "You can't imagine, but evidently Sharma does."
"You will call him master," the Hull hissed.
"Of course," said Maerad easily.
The Hull noticed she had not called Sharma by his title and glowered. "You've got some nerve, girl."
"Woman," Maerad corrected sweetly. "I am, as you just called me, a woman."
"Barely a child to my experienced eyes," the Hull answered.
They continued down to the throne room and the Hull bowed Maerad ironically through the doors. "Enjoy yourself."
The smile stayed on her face until the Hull left, then she entered the throne room. The Nameless One was already there, standing by a window that looked out over his city. He was dressed less lavishly than usual, in only shirt and trousers. He'd let his hair down from the traditional bun so it hung in rather raggedy fashion. Maerad suspected that the Nameless One, in some strange, abstracted way, viewed them as equals. Or, perhaps not equals, but intimately familiar with each other. He did not bother to play games with her like the other Bards. He didn't seem to care about his appearance to her.
"Cadvan will not forgive me from taking you away," the Nameless One predicted, not turning to face her. "He was quite enjoying that."
Maerad bit her lip. So, he could read Cadvan's mind. "I'm sure we can always pick back up where we left it."
The Nameless One shrugged, disinterested. "You are such an easy distraction for him. I sometimes I think I made a mistake in giving you away so freely. I should have kept you."
Maerad watched him closely. "He would have settled for nothing less than me."
"I know it." The Nameless One titled his head, considering the sky. "The truth is, I hoped you would be his ruin. I hoped I could drive him to madness for wanting you. He is too good a man in that regard, frustratingly so."
"I'm sorry you are so disappointed in us," Maerad said evenly.
He finally turned to face her. "I am not. I like a challenge, this should prove most entertaining for me. You see, Maerad, one day he'll break. One day, this life will push him too far and he will do something you cannot forgive. Then he'll be mine."
She couldn't help herself. "Why are you do desperate to have Cadvan? What use is one Bard to you now?"
"Idiot girl." The Nameless One strolled casually to his throne, waving her along. "History must remember those who opposed me. Cadvan of Lirigon, Saliman of Turbansk, Maerad and Cai of Pellinor…these names must never be forgotten. People must remember a thousand years from now what I did to you, so they never think to challenge me again. He is not one Bard he is a piece of the story I will write. The Tragic Fall of Cadvan, they will call it." He chuckled at the idea. "The Undoing of Maerad, the Breaking of Cai…these are new tales my people will tell."
"Is that why you've brought me here? To tell tales?" Maerad didn't like that the Nameless One still thought of her brother. She lifted her chin. "If so, you've wasted a day. I have nothing to contribute."
The Nameless One sat back on his throne. "No, that is not why I ordered you to me. It is merely a thought that I consider in such quiet moments."
"Then what do you want of me?"
"The Song." The Nameless One announced. "I am not satisfied with what you have given me."
This brought Maerad up short. She gaped. "I do not control the Song."
The Nameless One leaned forward and his voice took on a harsh quality. "Do not play coy with me, girl. You knew the Song was wrong when I forced you and your brother to make it. You will tell me how you knew."
"I don't understand," Maerad said simply. "You wanted the Song. Now, you don't?"
"The Song," he spat. "It lives in me, I feel it, burning with eternal life. But it longs for more and I don't know what." His eyes flashed angrily. "You knew this, and you cursed me!"
Maerad shook her head blankly. "I swear on the Light-"
"Curse the Light!" he howled suddenly. "Curse the Light and all it touches. This is nothing to do with Light and Dark. This is the power of Song growing, demanding, searching for something."
"I don't understand the power of the Song any more than you do," Maerad said. His anger was like a physical presence in the room and Maerad felt a sliver of fear. Sharma in his senses was bad enough, but he was logical, reasonable, even. He would not kill her. But this wasn't Sharma. Whatever was sitting before her was a creature consumed by a power that should never have been. He cared not for her words or oaths. He was a being of pure hunger.
"You lie," he hissed, showing his teeth. "You will tell me what you know, or I will have you and everyone you love punished. I will have your brother flogged and your lover fed to my hounds. And those idiot Bards from Innail will be sold one by one to slave masters to be broken. I will-"
The fervor of his outburst shocked Maerad. "I cannot help you! I knew only that the Song should never have been. The runes should have been destroyed."
Sharma slammed his hands down. "What does it want?"
Maerad stared at him, his ragged appearance, his frantic, searching gaze. If he had not blighted her life, cursed everyone she loved, she might have felt pity for him. But she couldn't muster that emotion for him now. "To be free."
The Nameless One laughed harshly. "There is no such thing."
Maerad felt a flash of anger. Sharma had what should have been hers by right. "Why ask if you don't listen?" she snapped without thinking. "You ask what the Song wants, I tell you what I know. That you don't like the answer is no fault of mine." Maerad smirked. "Live with your curse."
Her blatant disregard for his authority surprised the Nameless One, and he showed her his teeth in a fierce sneer. "If I am cursed, I will visit my vengeance upon you tenfold. Does that sit well with you?"
"I cannot help you," Maerad said carelessly. "You took what should not have been taken. There is no way to undo this spell."
Sharma's fingers dug into his throne. "I do not want to undo it. I want to answer it, feed the hunger. You will help me in this, or it will go poorly for you."
"You eat and drink enough to sate an army, what more can you want?" Maerad demanded.
"What more, indeed," the Nameless One mused, inspecting the girl before him. "What is life, if not food and drink? What more does a body want?"
Maerad felt her mouth go dry. She didn't like his tone, or the implication in his words. "I do not know. I have never been free to make such decisions. My life has always been decided by those around me."
Sharma sat back, inspecting his nails. One of them had broken when he gripped this throne tightly, and he flicked it casually. "You and I are bound to each other by this Song, so I will tell you something. I sleep, and when I do, I see a world unlike one that has ever existed. I see a beautiful, wonderous place that would put even Afinil to shame. All the hurts and fears that exist here are gone. The men and women live in a land of plenty, there is no starvation, no struggle, nor even death. I see a bright sun looking down from a clear, blue sky on a green and prosperous world." He closed his eyes, and Maerad knew he was seeing that world again. He sighed heavily, and when he opened his eyes, they were dark. "But then I wake and turn to this world with disgust, for it is cruel and empty, a barren wasteland. That world I see is so beautiful that to live in anything else turns my heart black and engenders such hatred that I would burn this all down." His gaze shifted to the window, to the dark, cloudy sky above Dagra. "That is what I want more than anything."
Maerad stared, unblinking. This was such a strange departure from what she knew of Sharma that she could find no words. He craved beauty so much that he would destroy the world to rebuild it. She saw the fierce longing on his face and held her hands before her in a placating gesture.
"I do not understand," she said simply. "You speak of the beauty that the Light brings to this world, but you would destroy everything the Light has made."
"You do not understand," he agreed shortly. "This is beyond Light or Dark. The Dark may not render such things, but neither can the Light even begin to touch upon this."
"Then what would you have?" Maerad asked softly.
"I begin to think that the works of the Dark are abhorrent, but-" and here, he turned to her with a gleam in his eyes "-I will not turn to the bastions of the Light. If I must use the power of the Dark to begin this, I will. The Light cannot do what I need, but I suspect the powers of the Dark might."
"It seems unfairly cruel, don't you think? You detest the Dark as much as a Bard, but must use its power?"
He smirked at her. "I take that upon myself. I am, it seems, the savior your people need."
"From the Dark cannot be born the Light you seek," Maerad pressed. If Sharma spoke of the Light, then perhaps she could convince him to renounce his powers. "Put aside your anger, free my people, and we will work with you to create this world."
"Ah, Maerad," Sharma said slowly. "You are young and cannot understand that anger is a great strength. I cannot set it aside, so I will use it to do what I must. In the end, you will understand that it was a good thing."
Silvia watched a young boy balancing a bucket of steaming water carefully on his shoulder enter the cell with his eyes down. She thought there was a strange order in Dagra. There were the free people, there were indentured servants, there were slaves, and then there were the Bards. Somehow, even the slaves didn't trust the Bards, and refused to acknowledge them. Whatever stories the Hulls told, they had done a good job convincing the men and women of Dagra that Bards were dangerous.
"What's this?" Kelia asked, watching the steam rise in enticing circles from the bucket. The boy didn't answer, just turned and ran from the cell. Kelia turned to Siliva. "What new torment have our masters thought of now?"
Before Siliva could answer, the boy was back, now accompanied by a girl, who was also carrying a bucket, and they wordlessly arranged a line of pails, before retreating and leaving the Bards to stare suspiciously at the water.
"Poison?" Indik wondered at length, sniffing the air around them. The water had no odor, no indication of chemical or perfume to mask it.
"Or maybe just water to rinse the rancid smell of piss and fear from you?" A Hull leaned in the doorway, eyes glimmering with amusement.
"And why would the Nameless One care how we smell?" Silvia asked suspiciously.
"Because you're going to spend an evening with him, and he detests anything rank." The Hull entered the cell and inspected them each in turn, coming to stop before Silvia. "For your beauty alone will not suffice, lady Bard." Then it scooped up the nearest pail of hot water and upended it on Silvia.
She sputtered in outrage. "And what can that do!" she demanded, vigorously wiping the water from her eyes. She noticed her hands came away streaked with dirt.
"Nothing without a bit of soap," the Hull responded delightfully. It threw a bar of rough soap with more force than necessary at her, and it smacked wetly against her cheek. It turned to the rest of them and "All of you are to wash – thoroughly- and dispose of those filthy rags you're wearing."
When the Bards didn't move to take its command, the Hull grabbed Kelia by the arm and dragged her to stand up right. She struggled uselessly against its iron grasp, and the Hull ripped the tunic she wore down the back. Suddenly exposed, she shrieked against the cold and wrapped her arms around body.
"Don't flatter yourself," the Hull said dryly, tossing the torn tunic aside. "And the rest of you, undress. You'll not have a need for these anymore." It pointed a finger at the dirty tunic, and it burst into flame. "If the water gets cold, I recommend you heat it. We can't have you catching sick and dying before the destruction of the Song."
Kelia had stumbled back against the wall, still holding herself, but the Hull had already lost interest in her. "I'll be back shortly, and when I return, I had better find all of you washed."
The Hull left them, still gawking in confusion. "He didn't even let us wash for the Gent Bards arrival. What could be going on now that requires a bath?" Kelia mused.
"Perhaps the destruction of the Speech has finally come?" Malgorn suggested morosely. They turned to face him, slouched in the corner. He glanced back and forth between their horrified faces. "What other reason does he have to celebrate?"
"Surely, we would know if he were planning that?" Silvia said reasonably. "Busk would have arrived!"
"And how would we know if it did?" Malgorn asked harshly, jangling the chain that bound him to the wall. "We don't exactly have the freedom of the palace."
Silvia laid her hand gently on Malgorn's wrist where the hideous brand from the Nameless One stared redly. He looked down at her and the anger left him. "We may be utterly defeated by the Dark, but the Light has not abandoned us. I think we would know if something as momentous as Nerili's arrival had occurred."
"Yes, you are right." Malgorn glanced up at the other Innail Bards. "I must admit, my friends, that I feel blinded by the Dark. Perhaps I am simply weaker than the rest of you, but I feel like my Knowing is gone. Like I am blind and deaf to the world."
Indik was shaking his head. "I think not, Malgorn. I'm no Healer, but I imagine the Nameless One works his will against you. You are not weak for it."
Malgorn wanted to shrug off the Indik's words as sympathy, but when he looked toward him, he saw a painful honesty in the other Bard's eyes. "Perhaps you're right."
Silvia glanced kindly at Indik. "Whatever the cause, I don't doubt the Hull meant its words when it said we had better be washed." She looked down at herself and shivered. "And perhaps we should have a fire, if just to keep the cold back."
After a few tries, Indik managed to start a fire with Kelia's worn clothes. He looked around at them with an ironic smile. "Would anyone else care to donate?"
Malgorn chuckled hollowly and carefully divested himself of the tunic and trousers he wore. Silvia handed him a bucket and soap and he carefully cleaned himself. As he went, he took stock of his injuries, old and new. The whip lashes on his back and finally begun to scar, so they didn't tear when he twisted to wash himself, but it was hard to ignore the accumulated bruises and cuts that peppered his torso and legs. He closed his eyes and nodded to Silvia, and she tipped half the bucket over him. Malgorn rasped, soaping himself, and when Silvia poured the rest, Malgorn grinned with childish pleasure. It had been so long since he had been clean.
Silvia took Malgorn's face in her hands and rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs. "Look at you. Still my handsome husband." Silvia kissed him softly on the lips.
"The sooner that Hull is back with the clothes, the better. I'm freezing." He looked around at the other Bards, each taking turns with buckets. "By the Light, did I just wish for a Hull?"
"Not the Hull, just the clothes," Kelia said dryly. She was wringing out her hair in the corner, using Indik's muscular bulk to cover her. "Not that a tunic does much to protect me from the Hulls, but I don't like the idea of being naked in Dagra."
Siliva smiled wanly, combing her hair with his fingers. "I don't remember the last time I felt the simple comforts of clean clothes."
"Stoke the fire as high as you can," Malgorn said, and they gathered around the spitting flames. It barely produced enough heat to feel on their faces, but they crouched as close as they could.
When the Hull arrived, it snarled at the sight of their faces, grey with ashes from fire. "I ask you to be clean and you look like you've been scrubbing out hearths. Wash your faces!"
The Bards wiped the ash from their faces and stood before the Hull, arms crossed over their chests and stomachs, shifting from foot to foot in the chill. It walked along their line, inspecting them. It paused before Kelia and pulled some of her hair forward, untangling the ends, then dusted dirt from Indik's shoulder carelessly. When it came to Malgorn and Silvia, it smiled between the two of them.
"You are looking like nearer the mark of a First Bard and his wife, but these will help, I'm sure." It offered two sets of robes, which Silvia snatched out of its hands. She started, noticing that they were both moss green, with gold threading, the same she wore in Innail. Unconsciously, she ran her hands over the robes, wondering if they would still smell like Innail.
Malgorn sensed Silvia's pain and cleared his throat. "Would you do us the kindness of turning away?"
"No," the Hull said simply, handing clothing to Kelia and Indik. "Move quickly, the less time I spend here the better."
Siliva slipped into her robe and Malgorn did the buttons up the back with shaking hands. When Malgorn had slithered into his own green tunic, Siliva firmly took the sleeves and pulled them taught, buttoning away the sick moon. She smiled up at him, a memory of helping him dress in Innail plaguing her. She closed her eyes resolutely on the memory, pushing back an overwhelming sense of loss.
"I'm going to loosen your bonds, no running away," the Hull said with a twisted smile, as if it knew that they were not capable of running. It loosened the chains one at a time, and then looked them over. The robes hung loosely around their shoulders and waists, a telltale sign of their starvation. "You're all looking quite bonny, you shall make for engaging company tonight."
Malgorn rubbed his neck where the chain had been. "And what event will we be attending?"
The Hull waved them through the door, into the low hall where they could see a few Bards dressed in their finery. "A wedding, my good Bards."