A Season in Hell

by dorsata

Possessed of the Song, Sharma now has the power to cover the land in a second Silence more complete than the first. Maerad, Cadvan, Hem and Saliman are reunited in Dagra, but, as determined as they are to fight the Dark, they cannot escape their enslavement or the part Sharma will make them play in his new world. Sequel to These Violent Delights

21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Cadvan poured a steaming mug of tea and handed it mutely to Nelac, watching the older Bard closely. It had been a few days since his attempt at summoning the un-creature and though he had failed miserably, the Nameless One had allowed Nelac to stay with him and Maerad. He suspected this was not for completely unmixed reasons, as Nelac was clearly disturbed by the thieving of his memories, and for a days after, had an empty, lost look in his eyes. Nelac sipped the tea and breathed in the tangly smell of the steam.

"I am not a kitten in need of constant attendance, Cadvan," Nelac observed wryly.

"And I am no mother cat," Cadvan answered swiftly, but he realized he had been staring at his old mentor with an almost fanatic intensity and looked away. He couldn't help himself. Since coming to Dagra, he had been slowly losing control of everyone and everything in his life, an unsettling sensation for a man who had always commanded control of himself and the things around him. Now, with the opportunity to look after someone, Cadvan was taking every opportunity.

"Is the tea too hot?" he asked, ignoring Nelac's gentle teasing.

"It is perfect." He took another long draw and tried to smile around the cup. Cadvan didn't smile, though, just watched nervously, and Nelac rolled his eyes. "Is there anything I can say that will stop you worrying?"

"Nelac, the Nameless One attacked your mind. He pieced me together after and I was still laid out for a week!"

Nelac eyed Cadvan severely before smiling sharply. "Maerad, please call off Cadvan."

Cadvan looked outraged but Maerad came sweeping into the room before he could answer. "By the Light, if I could I would. He is worse than a nanny goat."

Cadvan looked comically incensed. "Forgive me my open heart."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," Maerad sighed, flopping down on the couch beside Cadvan. "You flutter around like a nervous butterfly."

"I've good reason to."

Maerad couldn't deny this, but she sensed that Nelac wanted to keep the mood light. "In Dagra, you cannot be too careful, but I think when it comes to drinking tea, there is little chance Nelac will drown." She squeezed his hand and Cadvan smiled sheepishly.

"And how do the studies come?" Nelac asked softly. His eyes moved to the table in the corner where Cadvan had piled a few books.

Cadvan's lip curled. "They absolutely do not."

"Cadvan, I do not wish to push you here, but," he looked away awkwardly, "there is a lot riding on your performance."

A painful look passed his eyes. "I know."

"I realize it is difficult, and I do not blame you," Nelac said quickly. "But this isn't something you can ignore."

"After we try to recall your memories," Cadvan said tightly.

"I cannot imagine it will help," Nelac said seriously. "It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

"More like a needle, in a stack of…," Maerad waved vaguely, "needles."

"Eloquent," Cadvan said dryly and Maerad flashed a narrow smile at him.

A knock at the door indicated the arrival of Saliman and Hem, and Maerad went to greet them. Saliman smiled brightly and gestured to the cup of tea in Nelac's hand. "More tea? You will soon be more leaf than man if Cadvan keeps filling you up."

"Why am I constantly being attacked for my caregiving?" Cadvan demanded in mock hurt.

"Because you give care like a new recruit," Hem supplied easily. He set to work with Nelac, testing the joints in his hand for weakness, then checking his arms and shoulders. He hummed as he worked which seemed to indicate he was not concerned overmuch about Nelac's bones. He switched his attention to Nelac's eyes, checking his pupils, making the older Bard follow his finger from side to side. "You seem in your right mind," Hem said after a moment.

"I am in my right mind, it's just part of that mind is missing," he said with a crooked smile. He glanced around at the other Bards, "Well, shall we try again?"

Cadvan rubbed his hands uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Cadvan, I am not brain-addled, I had a memory stolen. Now, will you help me figure out what he took?"

He looked unhappy with it, but Cadvan nodded slowly and looked around at the other Bards. "Well, whatever memory the Nameless One took, it doesn't include me, Maerad, Saliman, Hem."

"What about the First Bards and their Circles?" Maerad asked sharply. "Malgorn and Silvia?"

"Malgorn and Silvia, Indik and Kelia," he said and then rattled off the names of all the First Bards and their Circles.

"Second Circles?" Saliman guessed a little half-heartedly.

Nelac obliged him easily.

"Your parents?" Hem tried next.

Nelac breezed through them quickly.

"Perhaps a friend from School?" Cadvan guessed.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Maerad groused, frustrated. "The Nameless One would only take a memory of person who was important to you. If it's not important what is the value in it?"

"Perhaps it was random?" Cadvan suggested. "Or perhaps not a person at all? Maybe an event you remember fondly?"

"We cannot go through every memory of his life," Saliman said unhappily.

"We could scry him?" Cadvan said next. "Whether or not we see the memory, we will see the touch of the Nameless One in his mind."

Nelac looked between the Bards. "Can either of you scry someone with your powers as they are?"

Saliman and Cadvan shifted uneasily. "I don't think so," Saliman admitted.

Nelac's eyes moved to Maerad and Hem. "Are either of you familiar with the process?"

Hem blanched. His last scrying had uncovered painful memories of his parent's death, his kidnapping, his harsh childhood at the orphanage. "I'm not sure I can."

Maerad flinched away. The last time she had scried someone, she had seen Cadvan murder his lover Ceredin. It had been intensely intimate contact, and she still remembered it with something akin to anxiety. "I could."

"Perhaps it is the only way forward." Nelac ruminated on it. He sensed that Maerad was hesitant and understood her trepidation. "It is no small thing, looking into souls."

"No," agreed Maerad seriously, "but it's no small thing to leave you like this."

Nelac nodded. "We can wait, if you want time to gather yourself."

"No, it's better now," Maerad said quickly. "Better to do it sooner than later."

Maerad gave herself a little shake and stood, waving Nelac over. He stood across from her, his startlingly blue eyes penetrating her soul. She had the sudden urge to look away. How could she possibly scry Nelac? He was the most Gifted Bard she had ever met, the most powerful, the most wise. She was just a girl…

"Don't be scared of an old man's memories," he said suddenly, sensing her discomfort. "I'm missing part of them, leastways," he chuckled.

Maerad smiled despite her nerves and met his soft gaze with a new determination. She murmured a string of words and felt herself lurch forward, falling into Nelac's bright eyes. Memories flooded past in no order, and Maerad had to press down the urge to pull away. She wanted to respect Nelac's privacy as much as possible.

Then do this, and do it well, she told herself. The faster this is done, the sooner you can leave him to his thoughts.

Maerad focused her attention on the string of memories that seemed to focus on his time in Lirigon. She saw him teaching his students, tending flowers after a rain, reading, stirring a pot of stew. Something caught her attention, a blackness, like the dark that comes right before a person slips into unconsciousness. She followed it, but suddenly she was back in a memory of Lirigon, watching Nelac walk down the street. She noticed he seemed younger, his hair was light brown, dappled blond. Maerad saw him walk into a tavern.

The Black Swan.

He entered and the memory went completely black. When Maerad pressed more, young Nelac was sitting a table, sipping a mug of ale. There was an empty glass across from him, a plate of half-eaten food. When Maerad tried to explore the memory fully, her vision went black.

Maerad suddenly snapped back into the room, recoiling from the memory. She stumbled back and Cadvan caught her. "Well done, Maerad. Very well done."

"There's darkness in your mind," Maerad said without preamble, sinking onto the couch. She was still clutching Cadvan's hand tightly enough to bruise, but he didn't complain. "It's not darkness like Sharma, though. It's confusion, it's like you're falling asleep."

Nelac had settled back on the couch and looked perplexed. "It must be the damage the Nameless One did when he took the memories. Where were you when you saw these shadows?"

"Lirigon, you were younger, your hair was still brown," she said with a faint smile. Cadvan glanced up, his eyes bright with some memory. "You were a teacher, or a student? A young teacher?"

Nelac nodded. "I went to Lirigon as a student and I stayed after when I took my own students."

"You were in a pub," Maerad said suddenly. "The Black Swan. It went dark as soon as you entered, and then you were sitting at a table alone, but there was a glass…" Maerad shook her head. "You were meeting someone there."

Nelac put his face in his hands. "The Black Swan wasn't a popular haunt of Bards in my day. Whoever I met there wasn't a Bard, then."

Saliman and Cadvan exchanged looks. "You were ever a friend of non-Bard folk. But who would you meet there that couldn't come to the School?"

"I don't know," Nelac said and he sounded exhausted. "Whoever they were, they were not associated with any of you, with the School, with the Light."

"Then why take the memory?" Cadvan wondered aloud.

Maerad glanced at Cadvan with a sardonic look. "Is everything important in your life to do with Barding and the Light?"

Cadvan made a wide gesture to the room around him. "Pretty damn near."

Saliman was frowning. "I did not know you in your youth, perhaps we need to ask someone who did?"

"Oslar?" Hem asked tentatively. "He'd be your age."

Saliman ruffled Hem's hair through his laughter. "You suggest we just question all the white-haired men and women?"

Hem flushed. "Not like that! Just, Oslar said you studied with him before you went to Nelac. Did you and Oslar speak often?"

Nelac looked apologetic. "He never left the Suderain, I'm afraid."

Cadvan glanced around unhappily. "Enkir?"

Everyone looked affronted. "He's a pig, and besides, he in Noloch," Maerad said venomously.

"I have no love of the man, it was just a thought," Cadvan shrugged.

"Regardless," Nelac said thoughtfully. "It is likely no Bard, just someone important to me I knew in Lirigon." He frowned. "It is an uncomfortable thought that I have lost someone so dear, and yet nothing in my life has changed. Are my passions so shallow?"

Cadvan looked up and took his hand, and said earnestly, "No, Nelac. Whatever else, you have always been a man true to your heart."

Nelac summoned a smile and had the sudden urge to embrace Cadvan. Perhaps I harbor a fondness for him that is more than that of a teacher to student. He didn't like the idea that the Nameless One could understand his heart.

"Well, we've made some progress," said Saliman with a heavy sigh. "This alone is a better conclusion than my most recent meeting."

The Bards looked to him curiously and Hem cleared his throat. "The Ernani's brother survived, but he is being sent to Zimek. Ir-Ytan expected his brother to come with him, and he didn't take the news well."

"Sending the young prince to Zimek? What is the value of that?" Cadvan demanded sharply.

"To punish Ir-Ytan," Saliman said tiredly. "That Grin, Rikesh, just wants to check his power."

Maerad reached out and took Hem's hand, tugging him gently so he came to stand beside her. "I do not blame him for his anger. It is a terrible punishment to force families apart."

Saliman rubbed his face. "I worry for Ir-Ytan. He has the temper of a young man-Light's sake, he is a young man-and these men will be quick to punish him for it."

"Could this be used to our advantage?" Cadvan asked after a moment. "Rikesh is a petty man, and in his desire to see Ir-Ytan hurt, he may spread the power of the Suderain thin."

"We could be so lucky," Saliman muttered, "but I doubt it. Of course, Har-Ltan will be mostly unwatched. No one expects a boy his age to cause any problems."

Saliman let the end of his sentence wander off meaningfully. An ally of the Light, all but ignored by the powers of the Dark. "Then the Ernani and his happy little wife leave soon?" Maerad asked blandly.

"The Nameless One wants them to stay a bit longer," Saliman sighed. "Apparently, he expects another great celebration and wants an audience."

"What more could there possibly be?" Maerad said exasperated. She caught Cadvan's dark gaze and frowned. "Busk must be close."

"What happy news," Cadvan spat. "Shall we all take a wine to celebrate?"

"No one said it was good, only that it must be the last celebration feast left," Hem said in a low voice. He rarely disagreed with Cadvan, so intimidating was the man that Hem often felt cowed by him. But in this case, he was in no mood for harsh words.

"Then, he'll have everything he needs," Maerad whispered. "To destroy the Speech, I mean."

Her words were met with a blank, horrified silence. It always seemed like a distant threat, never a reality. But now, on the cusp of such a momentous occasion, the Bards could find no words to address it, and instead stared down at their hands, sick in their hearts.

---

Nerili tugged habitually on the ropes that bound her to her horse, watching Likud closely. The Hull was speaking to another of its fellows and the two laughed at something. Nerili wondered what depraved things could possibly make a Hull laugh.

Their departure from the School and Enkir had been swift and without much pomp. After the Nameless One had ceased to inhabit Enkir, the Bard had collapsed and needed to be taken to a room to recover. With Enkir gone, Likud became the first in command, and ordered the Busk Bards to begin the long trek to Dagra. The First Circle had stayed the night in the School, and they'd had the time to restore Kebeka, but early the next morning, they were forced onto horses and off.

They'd been riding for days and Nerili had taken the opportunity to familiarize herself with the Hulls escorting them. During the conquest of Thorold, Ignalt had given the impression that it was a Hull of extraordinary importance, however, Nerili had begun to suspect that within the Nameless One's circles, it had not risen to prominence. It deferred at all times to Likud, and did not ride alongside the leader. Ignalt, it seemed, was of lower rank. Likud, of course, was a different story entirely. Nerili recognized the name, but it wasn't until their third evening riding together that the Hull called for her to join it in its tent and share a jug of wine.

"How now, Nerili?" Likud asked when she entered the tent. A warm fire burned in a pit but the flames were brilliant green and turned her skin sickly pale. Likud gestured her to the table where it was pouring wine. "Please, share some wine with me."

Nerili hesitated, but there was no point fighting such a small battle when a greater enemy awaited. She approached the table with her face raised proudly. "After our dinner, I thought you had decided against my company."

Likud bared rotting teeth. "Enkir dislikes women, but he is a dry, old stick, isn't he? His pettiness makes him blind to greater powers than his own. And greater beauty."

"You flatter me," Nerili said dryly. Likud handed her a glass of wine and directed her to a chair. She sat uncomfortably, studying the Hull closely. "I did not know a Hull could like anything."

"We have our hobbies, like any other person," Likud chuckled. "Perhaps our tastes are rather…eclectic. But that does not mean we are without appetites."

A brief image of her nightmare of the Nameless One crawling over here flashed through her mind. She shifted uneasily. "And what are yours?"

"Various." The Hull tasted the wine. "I prefer to make people my hobbies. It keeps things interesting."

"I'm sure the objects of your interest would disagree."

Likud snorted into the wine. "Your paramour, Cadvan, would probably agree. He makes such a fuss whenever he's in my company. If I didn't have such a fondness for the young man, I would have cast him aside long ago."

Nerili almost spit back out her wine. That Likud knew Cadvan was shocking enough, but that he also knew they had been lovers was almost impossible to believe. She covered up her shock by saying simply, "I don't know who you've spoken to, but Cadvan and I are not lovers. We were once, he left, now we are friends."

"Left you for a younger woman," Likud pressed, searching her face for signs of distress. "Doesn't that bother you? He fled your School like it was on fire, but for little Maerad he'll walk the length of the continent. You were just a passing fancy, she was the love of his life."

Though Nerili had reflected on this briefly, it didn't engender resentment in her. "You are mistaken if you wish to turn me against him or Maerad. I am not jealous. If you understood the Ways of the Heart, you would know that love comes and goes, it is as simple as the waxing and waning of the moon."

"Maerad took him from you."

Nerili manage to laugh around her wine. "Maerad is not responsible for Cadvan's feelings. Did you really bring me here to taunt me over something as small as this?" Nerili was pleased her voice was so steady despite her nearness to the Hull.

Likud stared at her grimly. "I called you here because tomorrow we will reach Dagra, and I thought to do you the kindness of preparing you for that."

"You summoned me here to torment me with that knowledge, not help me," Nerili said simply.

"Maybe," agreed Likud, a slight sneer curling his lip. "The truth is, tomorrow you will go before the Dark Lord, and I want you to fully understand what will become of you then."

"I already know," she said firmly. "You cannot frighten me with tales of torture."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, torment in the dungeons of the Nameless One is not the future that awaits you." The Hull waited for Nerili to urge him on, but she stared passively. Annoyed, he tapped the table loudly. "You go before the throne to make your pledge of allegiance to our lord."

"He will have to utterly undo me if that is what he wants." Of this, Nerili was certain. She would not bend to him.

"I believe that is precisely his plan." Likud chuckled. "At the end of this road, there is only one fate left. A broken mind and a bent will."

Nerili was a truthteller, and she knew that the Hull spoke no falsehood. Her breath escaped her in a sharp gasp. "Then if that is my fate, so be it."

"So brave," Likud murmured. "I am utterly confused as to why Cadvan set you aside. Maerad went on and on, begging and weeping. Such a small, weak thing."

"You can stop these attempts whenever you like," Nerili spat. "I hold no ill will against Maerad or Cadvan. If it is your hope to sew discord among the Bards, it will not work."

Likud drummed its fingers on the rim of its wine glass before breaking into a sharp, toothy grin. "Can't blame me for trying, can you?" The Hull glanced at the fire. "Ignalt led the assault on Busk, captured you, and awaits a glorious return to Dagra. This does not sit well with me."

Nerili looked curiously at the Hull. "Problems in paradise?"

"I am the lieutenant of the Dark Lord, and I will not have some small magician running around under foot. Of all the servants of the Nameless One, I come first, I command the most respect and I command the most rewards." Its red eyes moved over her face. "You will make sure to impress upon the Dark Lord that Ignalt utterly failed to capture your School in timely or practical matter. Do this, and I will see you rewarded."

Nerili stared, utterly nonplussed. She knew the Hulls often fought amongst themselves, but to hear such dislike and mistrust between them was surprising. "And what could you possibly give me?"

"A place of power in the new world order. Or, perhaps, closer to privilege, is better the word." He made a vague gesture in the direction of Dagra. "You see, our master believes that Bards like yourself, the great Readers, can serve as assistants to the Hulls during our charm work. You do this thing for me, and I will petition to have you appointed my personal assistant."

"And why would I want to aid you in anything?" Nerili asked derisively.

"There are worse fates for women then sitting around a cell," Likud pointed out. "And, more importantly, if you are in service to me, you will enjoy some homely comforts."

Something didn't seem right from this request. "No, I've no desire to serve you in any capacity."

"Don't be so quick to turn me away. It's not just you who would reap the benefits of such a position. You have an elderly uncle to support, you have friends to defend. I could offer you much in this way."

"You'd as soon sell me my own shirt," Nerili said cynically. "Whatever protection you would offer me must be won through the Nameless One. I'll take my demands to him myself."

"Who is he more likely to listen to, you or me?" Likud returned sharply.

"I'm not sure it's you," Nerili said in a low voice.

A look of black anger crossed Likud's face and he slammed his hand down on the table with enough force to disturb the wine. "You think because he has spared you thus far, you are important to him, and that he will raise you up above his loyal servants? Think again, Nerili. Perhaps you heard stories of Bards going before our master and being spared death. That does not mean they have been given places of honor or prestige in the new world order. You will see soon how low your people have fallen."

Nerili swallowed tightly. She knew her fellow Bards had been made slaves, but a small part of her had hoped that part of their preservation was their safety and wellbeing. "If that is my fate, nothing you say will stay it."

Likud stared at her a moment, sensing her perseverance and taking it as an affront to himself. Her sullen pride, her bright eyes, the cut of her jaw set against him engendered an old anger in him. She wasn't as bad as the likes of Cadvan and Maerad, but she was horribly calm and he hated her for it.

Likud lunged across the table with a snarl, grabbing her by the hair on top of her head. "You stupid bitch! I'll gut you, I'll pull out your entrails and splash around in them like a bath, I'll-"

Nerili didn't hear the rest of his words because she managed to strike him hard across the face. His head snapped back but his grip on her hair didn't loosen. He dragged her froward, upending the table, and pulled her toward the crackling fire.

"I shall teach you to mind your betters," he snarled. He threw her to the floor, searching for the fire poker. Nerili rolled just as he brought it up above his head. "A broken knee will do nicely."

She jerked out of the way as the fire stick was rammed into the dirt where her knee had been seconds before. "The Nameless One wants me whole," Nerili spat, managing to avoid another blow. "You'll not win his favor if you bring him damaged goods."

"Your mind, you stupid girl," Likud hissed, "he needs your mind undamaged. Your body is another thing entirely." His swing missed her cheek by inches and Nerili scrabbled for the table, for the wine bottle.

He lifted the poker up, his face alright with demonic pleasure, and Nerili threw the bottle with unerring aim into his face. The glass shattered and Likud howled in fury, scratching at his mouth and eyes where the glass shards dug in. Nerili swung around, heading for the tent flap and the camp: if the choice was between Likud or the Hulls outside, she'd take the Hulls outside. But Likud swung the fire poker wide, and the knobby end connected with her right ankle. Nerili felt the blow up and down her body, and for a moment, her entire leg went numb like he'd torn the nerves. But then she crashed down the ground, crying out as pain suddenly raced up her leg. When she looked down, she saw the foot was twisted in the wrong direction, her ankle bleeding profusely.

"You Bard bitch!" Likud screamed, rubbing the wine from his eyes. When he finally cleared enough glass away to see, he found her lying to the ground, clutching at her ankle and whining in pain. "You deserved that."

Nerili rolled on her back, moaning.

Likud came around her slowly, studying her with a fascinated curiosity. He admired the strain of her muscles in her shoulders and chest, the tautness of her arms as she clung to her ankle, the erratic rise and fall of her chest. He observed her pain like a doctor would a patient, professionally, but not because he wanted to ease it. Only because the brief moments when a person was in unbearable pain did the Hull feel any trace of life. He nudged her with the toe of his boot and she groaned.

"Do you think it wise to turn down my aid now?" Likud debated going and getting the poker again, but what was the point? Too much torment ruined the fun, people simple shut down. "So, I'll say again, tell the Nameless One what an utter failure Ignalt was."

Nerili met Likud's red gaze hotly. "The Light take you."

"Not today," Likud returned brightly. "If you refuse me in this, I'll still have you appointed my assistant, break your other ankle, and make you crawl around like a dog."

When Nerili said nothing, Likud shrugged. "I'll take that as your consent." The Hull left to shout orders at a soldier who came in a hoisted Nerili from the ground like a sack of potatoes. She groaned when the man hefted her over his shoulder and carried her back through the camp to the fire where the First Circle crowded around a fire. When they saw Nerili, Elenxi roared in anger.

"What did you do?" he demanded, but the solider merely dumped Nerili on the ground and turned and left.

"Don't," she said sharply, gasping in pain. "Just help me to the fire and find something to bind my ankle."

Kebeka and Arnamil were staring in blank horror, but at another cry from her, burst into action. Neither one of them was a healer, but Arnamil knew enough of medicine to see the ankle was broken, and the foot needed to be set and bound if she ever hoped to walk normally again. They set to healing her, Elenxi holding her hand and cursing all the while.

"I'll kill that Hull," he said in a low voice while Arnamil rubbed her ankle, feeling for the broken bone. "I swear on the Light, I'm going to kill him."

"No need, uncle," Nerili said softly. "Can you set it?"

Arnamil looked up. "It'll hurt. You need to bite down on something."

Nerili looked around ironically. "If you've something to offer, I'll take it. If not, let's just get it over with."

Arnamil nodded sadly and gripped her ankle tightly. Nerili betrayed herself and looked away, and when Arnamil jerked her ankle she gave a sharp cry. Elenxi hissed at her cry of pain and snarled something at Arnamil for being careless. Nerili silenced him with a firm look.

"It's fine. At least I'll be able to walk," she said, watching him wrap it with a scrap of cloth tightly around it.

"What did Likud want?" Kebeka asked to draw attention from the ankle.

"To make a deal," Nerili said derisively. "If I'm willing to disparage Ignalt, Likud will request the Nameless One make me his personal servant. He promises there will be rewards for my service."

Kebeka looked appalled. "I hope you told the Hull to go die."

"I would have, but he swung a fire poker at me, so that ended the conversation." Nerili made an ironic expression. "As it was, I believe the offer stands."

"And when can we expect to meet with the Nameless One?" Kebeka asked in an even voice.

"Tomorrow, I think," Nerili said, rubbing her ankle. "We must be nearer the city than I thought. I thought we'd have more time to prepare."

"But really, what could we prepare?" Arnamil asked, glancing around. "If it's the Nameless One, it's not as if there's much to do."

Kebeka looked ready to argue, but Nerili gave a half-hearted laugh. "Well, you're not wrong, Arnamil. We will not be fighting a battle against him. We must remember that, just like the battle in Busk, we are fighting to defend our people."

Elenxi glanced at her swiftly. "What more is there is offer?"

"I don't know what he will ask," Nerili responded starkly, "but I know that we can offer him our obedience."

"Obedience to the Nameless One?" Kebeka spat. "I'd rather be dead."

"Death is easy," Elenxi said in a low, threatening voice. "We knew this was how this would end. We have one last duty left."

Kebeka's mouth twisted but Nerili held up a hand. "I am the First Bard and I will take the brunt of his displeasure. But, it may come that he will command something of you. Please, give it."

Elenxi nodded in assent. "We have a School of child Bards to house safely."

Arnamil and Kebeka looked unhappy, but they knew their duty. "Then we will acquiesce to his demands," Arnamil said after a moment. Nerili held his eye a moment, her grey gaze as hard as iron. A reminder that she would hold them to it.

---

"You'll take the stage again, you two perform admirably. But this time, I don't want to hear anymore weepy, wailing music. Play something nice."

Maerad and Cadvan faced the Nameless One's throne, though he was behind them, walking along a line of the other Bards. Cadvan had clasped his hand behind his back to stop his fists from noticeably clenching. Maerad, on the other hand, had clutched her lyre so tightly her fingers were white.

"It seemed appropriate to me," Cadvan said dryly.

"Precisely," the Nameless One said sharply. "It was appropriate to you. But you play for me. And I say that I want something exciting, cheery, and bright. This is a great celebration. This is the end of my conquest." He turned to stare at Maerad and Cadvan, and though they didn't face him, they could feel his eyes on them. "The Great War is over."

"Wonderful," Maerad said through clenched teeth.

"It is," agreed the Nameless One, returning his attention to the Bards. His eyes were on Gahal, whose eyes were hard and fixed on his two sons. "None of you are going to ruin this night, do you understand? I want perfect behavior. If I tell you to speak, you'll speak, if I tell you to dance, you'll dance." His eyes flited away from Gahal to Norrowen, who had taken to holding her mouth in a tight frown to prevent anyone from seeing the gap in her teeth. "If I tell you play, you play. When history remembers tonight, it must remember that the great Bards of Annar and the seven kingdoms bowed to my throne when I ordered it."

Silvia's eyes flashed angrily before she looked down but he saw her. His smile stretched wide over his face at her helpless anger. "You must be happy for me, my Bards. I am your master, my desire is your desire."

"Malgorn?" he asked suddenly, not looking away from Silvia, "are you happy for me?"

"Most happy, my lord," he said automatically.

"What?" the Nameless One asked icily.

"Most happy, master," Malgorn amended, glancing up at him. The Nameless One's eyes moved from Silvia to him and he felt himself go cold in the strange, golden gaze. "I hope you do not doubt my loyalty."

"Do I have reason to doubt it?" He enjoyed teasing Malgorn, the Bard was naturally anxious and his nerves too often got the better of him. "Do you have something to confess to me before I open my doors?"

Malgorn's face froze in an expression of absolute horror. The Nameless One threw his head back laughing and came forward, taking Malgorn's chin his hand. He used his thumb to rub Malgorn's cheek. "Oh, don't worry, Malgorn, I would know if you betrayed me. Even if it were the merest inkling of disloyalty, I would know." He stared into his eyes and Malgorn felt him shifting through his thoughts. "There's nothing there but fear."

"Only fools are fearless. I may have many faults, but I am no fool."

"No, perhaps you are not." His smiled tightened and Malgorn felt a familiar burn of the Nameless One playing with the raw nerves in his mind. But don't ever forget that I own you, Malgorn.

Malgorn flinched. I do not forget.

The Nameless One pushed Malgorn back and he stumbled into Silvia. He moved down the line until he was level with Saliman. "Since Cadvan will be occupied playing, you and your woman will sit on my left side and keep me company."

Saliman mouth was set in a firm line. "I can't imagine we will be good company."

"That is why you will entertain me," the Nameless One said with relish. He looked happily at Hekibel, who, despite her best efforts, shrank back. "I have never spoken with you at length, lady Hekibel, but you have proven to be such an excellent distraction to Saliman, I would like to get to know you."

"Lady Hekibel has not been feeling well, and I was going to ask if she may be excused-"

"Shut up, Saliman," the Nameless One said, annoyed. "I'm not going to suddenly attack her. I've more tact than that. And no, she may not be excused."

Saliman gave a stiff nod. "As you'll have it, master."

"You'll like it, at least you'll be near your dear friend Cai." He turned to look back at his throne where Hem was standing unhappily, holding a pitcher of wine at the ready. He frowned impressively.

"Small mercies," Saliman muttered.

"The rest of you," said the Nameless One, turning on the others with a narrow grin that didn't reach his eyes, "will sit along the wall, silent and smiling. There is a long night ahead of us and I except you to last."

He spun away and stormed to his throne, and it was a sign to the Bards who scattered as if blown by a strong wind. Saliman took Hekibel by the arm and approached the throne. There was a low chair near the throne that Saliman took, and a spare one was brought for Hekibel. Hem looked up hopefully and risked a quick smile at Saliman.

The Nameless One intercepted the glance with a dark look. "Cai! Get wine for my distinguished guests, they must be parched."

Hem fetched two glasses and filled them carefully. "Many thanks, Hem," Saliman said, his fingers brushed Hem's wrist and it sent a warm thrill through the young boy's hand. Hekibel took the wine gratefully with a beautiful smile and Hem blushed before looking away. The last place he wanted to be flustered was near the Nameless One.

The Nameless One seemed to vibrate with excitement, his eyes moving rapidly around the room, flicking over the assembled the Bards, past his Hulls, to the doors. His teeth snapped sharply when Ir-Ytan entered with Hema on his arm, and their respective families following behind. They took the end of the table nearest Maerad and Cadvan, across from the Bards, and Ir-Ytan quickly filled his glass. He caught Saliman's eye ironically.

"Where is the music?" the Nameless One demanded. "Play something!"

Maerad glanced at Cadvan who stared back blankly, and then set to playing one of the terrible hunting songs the Gilman and his men would request during the Springturn. Cadvan looked comically appalled at the music, but by the second verse could accompany her instrumentally.

"Now this is music your people should practice," the Nameless One said, tapping the tune on his throne. "Tell me, where did you ever learn to play like this?"

Maerad finished the song with a flourish. "In Gilman's Cot."

"Ah." The Nameless One looked to the Hulls. "That miserable little dirt farming settlement in the mountains where Enkir sent you and your mother after the sack of Pellinor. You must play these songs more, I want all the Bards to learn them. These are the songs suitable to your talents."

None of the Bards chose to respond and Maerad took up a new song. The Nameless One turned his glowing gaze on Ir-Ytan. "And how is wedded bliss, Ernani?"

Ir-Ytan leaned back, resting his hand thoughtfully on Hema's. She smiled briefly up at him, uncertain whether this was a time for her to speak. "I am utterly besotted. Hemalatha will make an excellent queen consort, the people of Turbansk will love her, I'm sure."

The Nameless One stared and the Bards felt his displeasure. "And are you happy to have your brother with you?"

"I am, and though it seems he will go to Zimek to oversee the southern region, I plan to visit often."

"As often as your rule allows," the Nameless One amended, and Ir-Ytan knew from the laughter in his eyes that he had been well aware of Rikesh's plans to send the boy away. "I hope your council was productive."

"Indeed it was," Saliman cut in, drawing the attention of the Nameless One from the young prince. "There are questions regarding the work force we will need to muster, as well as how we will compensate our workers."

"Compensate?" the Nameless One asked with a laugh. "The Bards are compensated with their lives, which they should be grateful for. Or do you disagree?"

Saliman heard the threat in his voice. "I do not speak of the Bards, my lord. The citizens of Turbansk will want to see their city rebuilt, I've no doubt, but will work doubly hard if they are promised freedom when the job is done."

"A whip would do much the same," the Nameless One observed wryly.

"As our Ernani pointed out, however, a city needs commerce to survive. Once the city is built, who will live there? Who will keep the markets thriving and the businesses running?" Saliman captured the full attention of the Nameless One so he wouldn't look at Rikesh's dark glower.

"I could populate such a city with loyal men and women," pressed the Nameless One.

"But that is a finite population. Not all the grin and their families could keep a city the size Turbansk running."

"Turbanskians are rebels."

"The people need an opportunity to demonstrate their loyalty," Ir-Ytan said loudly. "We've had a thousand years to learn to hate the Dark Throne of Dagra. Give us the chance to learn to like your rule."

"You would have me a loved ruler?" the Nameless One chuckled. "I think you misunderstand what dominion under my rule is."

"Our people will be less likely to make war if we a meaningful relationship to your throne."

The Nameless One showed his teeth. "If they make war, I will crush them."

"I think what the Ernani means is that war is wasteful, and that, if given the chance to live freely under your command, there need not be any further conflict." Saliman's fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass. "The south would not contest your will."

"You sound rather desperate."

Saliman saw no point in lying. "I am."

The Nameless One raised his glass in an ironic salute to him. "Saliman, I applaud your honesty. Perhaps we will try it your way."

Rikesh looked appalled at the idea but Ir-Ytan drew a sharp breath. "I will take this news to my people as soon as you allow, my lord," he said quickly, his relief unbending his pride enough to speak respectfully.

"Yes, you will. Tonight, we will celebrate my final victory, and you will carry this news to your people. You will impress upon them the totality of my triumph." When Ir-Ytan gave a curt, silent nod, the Nameless One turned his sharp grin on Saliman. "You must be so pleased for your people."

Saliman's eyes narrowed in a tight smile. "Whatever it takes to see justice done."

Maerad took up another tune and tried to play louder to drown out Sharma's taunting. The Nameless One frowned a little at her playing, but after a moment, a bright light flashed in his eyes and he turned like a snake to Hem.

"Can you juggle, boy?"

Hem balked. "No," he said derisively.

"Come now, you are a talented young man. Get those fruits there!" He gestured grandly to a table where a bowl of fruits was sat before the Ernani. When Hem hesitated, the Nameless One slammed his hand down and he stumbled back a step. "Do it now!"

Hem walked stiffly to the table, his eyes meeting Ir-Ytan's gaze quickly. He blushed and looked down, focusing intensely on the fruits before him. He carefully selected two and weighed them in his hands before tossing them up in the air in an arc. Hem had lied when he said he couldn't juggle, like most boys in the orphanage he possessed some skill when it came to throwing and catching. However, he didn't enjoy juggling like some mummer.

The Nameless One clapped, grinning widely at Saliman. "What skill! Saliman, your boy is natural, a true performer. You should be proud!"

Hem bit his lip to stop from spitting a curse, but he tossed an apple too high and lost it. The Nameless One slammed his hand down on his arm, snarling. "Idiot boy!"

Hem scrambled after the apple, but it rolled under a table near the Ernani and his wife and he stumbled to a halt. Hema plucked it off the ground and held it out with a small smile. She knew Hem was a witch, but up close he seemed like any other young man, gentler even than the boys she grew up with. He didn't return her smile, though, just stared guardedly at her with his startling green eyes.

"Please, try again." She offered the ball with a renewed smile.

Hem took it and made a curt nod. He turned back to the Nameless One. "I cannot juggle, as you see. Perhaps you will allow me to return to my attention to your wine."

"No," the Nameless One said with a tight smile. "Continue. And if you drop that apple again, I'll break your fingers."

Hem took more care to toss the fruit lower and managed to keep up the charade until a loud knock on the doors announced the arrival of the Busk Bards. Hem snapped up the fruits and stepped aside as the doors opened to admit the Bards.

Nerili came in first, supported by Elenxi, and took in the room with a single, sharp-eyed glance. She saw the Bards on the wall, staring at her in silent appeal with their sunken eyes, the young Ernani beside a pretty girl, Hem standing with two pieces of fruit clutched tightly in his hands, Maerad and Cadvan seated on a dais, clutching instruments tightly to their chests and Saliman and a lovely woman seated beside a large, dark throne. It took her a moment to see the man seated there, or rather, she refused to look for a moment, for it was the Nameless One. She was availed by her nightmares of the dark, spidery man who crawled over her and breathed poison into her ears, and she thought to look upon that thing in real life would undo her. Instead, her eyes landed on Maerad and Cadvan, who were staring back at her with wide eyes.

Oh, Maerad, she caught her eye and saw how exhausted the young woman was. She wondered what had happened that had slumped her shoulders and taken the light from her eyes.

The Nameless One knew Nerili was avoiding looking at him and shivered with anticipation. He had been planning for Nerili's arrival, for their first face-to-face meeting for months, he wanted to savor it.

"Greetings, my Bards," he said triumphantly. "And welcome, Nerili of Busk. I have long awaited your arrival."

Nerili turned her dark gaze on the Nameless One and brought all of her anger to bear. "Myself, I could have gone a bit longer before meeting you."

The Nameless One prickled with annoyance. With the exception of Maerad and Hem, he was not accustomed to anyone flouting his authority. He leaned forward on his throne and the Bards closest to him felt his anger like a burning flame. "I have prepared this feast for you, and you mock me?"

"I did not ask for a feast," she replied icily.

Cadvan flinched at her words. Light's sake, temper yourself.

"The asking is not important, but the giving. In old days, I recall that when a great kindness was done to you, a great kindness was returned. Have the Bards of Annar and the seven kingdoms fallen so low in their time?" His eyes moved from Saliman, to Malgorn, Vaclal and Norrowen in questioning. He considered them each carefully. "Perhaps they have."

Nerili saw Norrowen's mouth for the first time and drew a sharp breath. "Do not speak to me of great kindnesses, I see what your kindness is."

The Nameless One stared at her baldly. "You have no idea what a kindness from me might be," he said simply. His gaze turned to the other Bards of the First Circle, examining them with polite curiosity. "And who do we have here? Arnamil and Kebeka of Busk? Intatha, would you like to join your fellow Gent Bards? They are doing well."

Intatha had seen the small contingent from Gent up on her arrival and quickly took stock of their condition. She had no desire to see them again. "I serve on the First Circle of Busk, I will stay with my fellows."

The Nameless One shrugged. "It matters very little."

Arnamil and Kebeka waited nervously, watching the Nameless One with morbid fascination. He was not what they expected, not the monster whispered about in legends, but a stately, handsome, young king. He smiled blithely and fiddled with the edge of a great golden bracer on his right arm. Kebeka glanced at the Bards sitting to the side and wondered at their sullen silence. How did they suffer his presence?

"And you are Elenxi, the famed warrior and general of Busk. Your expert leadership during the battle for Busk did not go unnoticed. You have an impressive mind for strategy. I shall have to make use of that in the future."

Elenxi looked confused. "For what? There are no more battles to win."

When Sharma smiled he showed all his teeth. "There is a kingdom to manage, and I shall do it with force."

"I can't imagine that will be necessary now," Elenxi said tightly.

"Fortune favors the well-prepared," the Nameless One responded smoothly. His gaze returned to Nerili. She was lovely, not in a soft, cloying way, but striking. Her sharp grey eyes, the firm tilt to her chin, her back straight despite her injuries. He recalled the dreams-her dreams-that he had slipped into like a snake and thought of the delicate contours of her body. His fingers twitched.

"Our experience in Busk seems to indicate otherwise," Nerili said dryly.

"But you are fortunate, lady Nerili," the Nameless One said earnestly. "You are privileged to be my guest tonight, eat from my table, drink from my wine, enjoy my music. You will join the ranks of Bards honored to bear my mark. All throughout the land, you will be recognized as my favorites."

"And what are the benefits of such a position?" Nerili asked, truly curious. She had not failed to notice that though her fellow Bards looked haggard and miserable, they did not look as if they had been subjected to painful torment. Was such a thing possible in Dagra?

"Ah." The Nameless One said, lifting a single finger. "That depends."

When nothing was forthcoming, Nerili pursed her lips into a tight line. "Depends on what?"

"I'm positively parched," the Nameless One said instead, snapping his fingers at Hem. "Some wine, boy."

Hem replaced the fruit on the table near the Ernani and his wife and plucked up a glittering decanter. He served the Nameless One with a careless sort of grace, suddenly aware of the interested gaze of Nerili on him. The Nameless One sensed the change in Hem's demeanor with amusement.

"For our guests, too," the Nameless One said, waving a hand at the Busk Bards.

Hem felt a familiar wave an nervousness in is belly when he approached Nerili that had nothing to do with fear. She watched him, openly curious about the presence of a young man in the Nameless One's court. When he looked up at her with striking blue-green eyes, she realized who he was.

"Hem," she said simply. He blinked at her, nonplussed. "You and your sister have the same eyes."

He swallowed. "Our mother's eyes," Hem amended softly. He handed her a glass of wine. "Welcome, Nerili."

She watched the young man serve the rest of her Bards, mildly impressed with him. It was no small thing to serve as cup bearer to the Nameless One. "You were saying that Bards who receive you mark may be granted certain…allowances."

The Nameless One's eyes were following Hem, who had made a wide circle and was serving Saliman. The boy was drawn to the Turbansk Bard like a moth to firelight. How apropos, he thought. Arundulan. The very whisper of the Name sent a shiver down Saliman's spine, and the Nameless One felt the completeness of his power.

"One could argue that you will be allowed to live." The Nameless One gestured to the Bards. "They all deserve slow, painful deaths for their defiance of me, but I have spared them."

"You spared many Bards. I saw that pitiful village down at the base of your tower. You have dorms and dorms of Bards. What makes your marked Bards any different?"

"They serve me personally in many capacities, and as such, they are rewarded. Some of them keep their loved ones safe where otherwise they would be sent away." He gestured to Gahal, who's young, Giftless daughter was seated between himself and Anhil. Then he waved to Malgorn and Silvia. "Others have spared them the worst torments at the hands on my voracious men." The Nameless On shrugged. "But these are small favors for small men. The most loyal of my Bards are kept like princes in my fastness. They have sprawling rooms, food and wine at the ready, servants to run after them, even a pretty girl to keep the bed warm." He looked lazily from Saliman to Cadvan, both of whom were accompanied by beautiful women. "They are denied nothing."

"I've no need of beautiful bed warmers," Nerili said sternly.

The Nameless One chuckled. "No, I suppose you don't. Though you might make for a good one."

Nerili expected that threat, but let is pass. If she really was of use to the Nameless One, he wasn't likely to send her off to the mercy of men she could easily overpower. "I'm afraid my tastes are rather singular. I'd be poor entertainment. But," she paused to taste her wine, "I'm open to a trade. You say that those I love might be spared? I've a love of my people, especially the children. I'd be more than willing to make a trade for their safety."

The Nameless One's eyes widened. "Children? You drive a hard bargain, Nerili. I've a fondness for Bard children. They're so young, so malleable."

"It is the duty of the First Circle to protect its most vulnerable." She glanced at the others who seemed to draw strength from her. "I'm sure myself and my First Circle will bow to your demands if you give me your word that you'll spare the children."

"You trust my word?" the Nameless One seemed surprised.

"Well, I see my fellow Bards accompanied by their loved ones, so I can safely assume you will follow though."

"You make an interesting proposal. I will think on it over our meal," he said slowly. "I invite you to take your ease at my table, enjoy my food. You must have a well-earned hunger." He pointed to a section of table that was empty. "Let us have some music."

Nerili was startled when Maerad and Cadvan suddenly took up a song. It had been months since she had heard music, true, Bard music, and the beauty of it startled her. She found her eyes drawn magnetically to the small stage where Maerad and Cadvan were singing melodically, staring blankly out at the hall. She wondered where they found the gentle emotions necessary to sing in such a horrible place.

Food was brought in due course. It was an extravagant meal: roast quail, basted for hours in herbed butter, boiled, salted vegetables, mashed potatoes, soft bread freshly baked, the hard crust sprinkled with some sort of powdered onions. There was cold, minted water, and strong Turbanskian wine. Afterward, there were various fruited tarts with thick clotted cream.

Through the dinner, Nerili observed the other guests. The Bards seemed to be in various stages of abuse. They picked morosely at their food, sipped their drinks carefully and kept their eyes firmly down. Nerili suspected they had learned to make themselves small, unnoticeable when they were in the presence of the Nameless One. At the high table where the Nameless One sat, Saliman was in soft conversation with the blond woman at his side. Nerili watched him pour her wine, point at pieces of her food and describe the culinary arts that went into it. She noticed one of his hands would occasionally move to her thigh and she wondered how this woman had come to be in Dagra with him. She noticed too that Hem gravitated toward Saliman and there was a look in his eyes that seemed almost desperate.

Finally, she allowed herself to study Maerad and Cadvan. Since she had received the news of their capture, Nerili had schooled herself into avoiding thoughts of Cadvan. She knew there would be a time to mourn his loss, but not so long as her School needed her. Now that they had come to the end of things, now that she was faced with him, she allowed the first feelings of regret and despair to unfurl. She watched Cadvan play and noticed that he kept his eyes down and his face devoid of emotion, and it shocked her. Nerili knew Cadvan was reserved, but he was capable of deep, profound emotions and so see him so blank was startling. She knew he could feel her gaze on him, but he didn't look up. That hurt.

She switched her attention to Maerad. The young woman had been weighing on her mind almost as much as Cadvan, and seeing her now was like a blow to the gut. She was dressed obscenely for a girl her age, looking more like a common doxy than a daughter of the First Circle. She occasionally looked up, her eyes darting about the room, landing on her brother, on the Bards, on the Nameless One, and finally on Cadvan. When her eyes were on him, Cadvan would glance to the side, a ghost of a smile on his face.

They are indeed lovers, Nerili thought.

It didn't hurt the way she thought it would. She only felt pity for them. It could not be easy being in love in the shadow of the Nameless One.

She wondered how Maerad could still be alive. Why did the Nameless One allow her to live? She had tried to destroy him, and yet he let her and her brother live?

"So, we will give our service for the children?" Elenxi had leaned over his plate and was picking through a pile of vegetables. He spoke under his breath, fairly sure the Nameless One could hear him.

"It was what we agreed, yes?" Nerili asked softly. "We knew this was a lost battle. We did not fight to win, we fought to manage the damage."

Elenxi nodded slowly. "Sharma could make some high demands."

"I'm sure he will," Nerili said softly, thinking of her conversation with Likud. "Politicking with the Dark is a complicated business, and we come with a poor hand. Unfortunately, we'll have to bargain."

"I look around…" Elenxi glanced at the Bards across from them. "I like it not."

"Neither do I," Nerili muttered.

The meal commenced quickly with the occasional request for better music or for Hem to juggle or for one of the Bards to recite dramatic readings from memory. The Hulls did not eat, but drank the bright red wine and whispered between themselves. The visiting dignitaries from Suderain kept up lively banter, providing a soft murmur over the music. When the Nameless One threw his napkin down and wiped the juices form the quail away, Nerili straightened to face him.

"Shall we commence with discussions?"

The Nameless One looked affronted. "Bit keen, aren't you, Nerili?" He waved around the room. "Did you enjoy the meal? The music? Were you entertained?"

Nerili pressed down her nervousness. She wanted to get it, reach the end, this sitting around and pretending to enjoy each other's company made her ache. "You must have pillaged the wine cellars of Turbansk."

"Not just Turbansk," the Nameless One said cheerily. "Gent and Innail, Busk, too. You Bards make many quaint and useless things, but your wine is true art. For that alone, I would spare your people." He flicked his bright gaze to Malgorn.

"And where did you find the quail?" Nerili asked next. "Certainly they are not indigenous not to Den Raven?"

"No," agreed the Nameless One conversationally. "I believe the birds were imported from Lirigon region and my Grin are attempting to farm them."

"Your tastes are eclectic." Nerili sipped the wine.

The Nameless One stared at her, a bright, hungry light in his eyes. "You have no idea."

"Let us dispense with the preamble. You want our services, I want a promise from you that the children of Busk will be spared whatever torments you subject our people to."

The Nameless One leaned back in his seat. "You think you and your First Circle are worth all the Bard children?"

Nerili raised one eyebrow ironically. "You think we are. That's why you brought us here to parley."

"And what if I order you to do something you don't like?"

"I suspect that my likes and dislikes will be of little consequence by then." She spoke coolly, but beneath the table she was pinching the folds of her tunic tightly to stop her hands shaking and betraying her fear.

"You're right about that." The Nameless One considered her proposal while staring at his wine. He was silent a long while. "A moratorium, then? The children of Busk will go unharmed until they reach adulthood. They will be housed with the other Bard children, but will be otherwise left alone."

The Bards of the other Circles looked up at him curiously. They knew that the children had been taken from their parents and were being kept separately. No one know, however, what the Nameless One had been doing with them. They looked uncomfortably between each other.

"Will that suit you, Nerili?"

"How will they be cared for?" Kebeka asked sharply. "Will you just throw them into some hole and leave them to rot?"

The Nameless One looked scandalized. "They're children! They need a gentle hand." When Kebeka stared at him levelly the Nameless One rolled his eyes. "They will be given beds and food in the dorms with the other children. They will not, however, participate in any activities."

"And what activities are those?" Gahal asked before he could stop himself.

The Nameless One merely smiled. "Various."

"You swear your Hulls will leave the children alone?" Nerili pressed. "It is my experience that your servants have a preference for children."

"I'll give you my word, Nerili." The Nameless One scanned her First Circle, who nodded blankly in consent. The Nameless One smiled wryly. "If you are satisfied with the conditions, I will be having your Names, then."

This was followed with a long, unpleasant silence. Nerili swallowed tightly. "You want our Names?"

"I will settle for nothing less."

His slaves through and through. Nerili glanced at her companions, but they merely stared back. They had put their trust in her, and if she told them to offer up their Names, they would.

"Mine first," Nerili said gravely.

"Are you sure?" the Nameless One asked. "The process can be quite painful, and I must make exceptions for First Bards."

"I ask for not special treatment," Nerili said proudly.

"Oh, not special treatment." The Nameless One stretched his arms, lion-like. "First Bards makes for excellent servants, and I must make careful inspection of your mind."

"If you must," she said stiffly.

The Nameless One stood up and Maerad and Cadvan came to a stop. "I must do. So, come join me here."

---

"There's no point," Mara muttered, pulling her blanket up to cover her head. It was raining hard, obscuring her view of the Hulls herding Busk Bards into the ghettos. "I can't see a thing."

Camphis squinted. If it had been just rain, he probably could managed, but Darga was so dry that the rain caused dust to bloom upward. The distant figures were mere misshapen shadows in the wall of sand of dust that rose up around them. The strange green light the Hulls produced when they cast their charms was muted, but Camphis saw it faintly.

"We don't need to see clearly, just know when they've taken the main road toward the Turbansk quarter." He glanced at Mara. The rain had soaked her blanket through and she was hunched and shivering in the cold. "We should go back in, there's not point catching cold."

"We need to keep a watch," Mara said determinedly.

Camphis silently cursed El and his lot for sending them up on the roof. It seemed a pointless endeavor considering that their spy in Turbansk promised to send word when the time to strike came.

"You're shivering," he said uncertainly. He had the sudden urge to gather her up in his arms and hold her, kiss her, take her back inside to his miserable cot and make love to her before they cast their lot against the Dark. But he didn't. Instead, he took her hand and squeezed it firmly. "Is it the cold, or the battle."

Mara didn't look at Camphis, but after a moment, moved close enough to whisper. "Both, I suppose. The last time we went to war things went poorly for the Light. I wonder if it will be the same tonight."

Camphis was thinking of Innail's desperate battle against the Dark. "Well, it can't go worse."

"We could die," Mara observed coolly. "Though I suppose that might be something of a relief at this point."

"For some," Camphis said. "Myself, I think I have a little more to live for now."

Mara felt the ghost of smile touch her face. It felt strange, foreign. "Once we're free of this place I'll-" she cut off, not sure how to finish that sentence "-by the Light, I've forgotten what it felt like to be free. I don't know what I'll do."

Camphis gave her a brave smile. "We shall just have to figure it out together."

Mara finally looked up at him and he could see a glimmer in her eyes, something more than hope, something like yearning. "Once we're back in Innail, I want you to stay with me."

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

Mara flushed despite the cold. "Well, we have been rather thrown together, haven't we? There was no guarantee that you enjoyed it."

"True. But, I suppose if the choice it between you and a Hull, I'll take you." He smiled wryly and Mara made a sharp gesture to silence him. "So, what is this secret sign we're looking for?"

"Word from Turbansk that we should strike." Mara gestured to the crowd that had disappeared into the darkness of the ghettos. "They are almost settled. We must be receiving word soon." She sounded desperate.

Camphis switched his attention back to the obscure shape that was the Busk Bards. "Give it time. This is a delicate situation."

Almost like Camphis had summoned it, a flash of something white soared overhead. It was difficult to see in the storm, but it darted through the sky like a bolt of lightening before moving on to the next quarter.

Mara gasped sharply. "The white crow!" She stumbled back, dragging Camphis with her toward the gap in the roof.

The dorm was eerily quiet. The Bards had been warned of the coming attack and were either below preparing to join the battle, or in hiding. When they came into the small sitting room, they were greeted by a crowd of grey faces. Nearest the fire was Ell, who was watching flames lazily shimmer up a log.

"We have word?" he asked softly.

Mara grinned fiercely. "We strike now."