Chapter Twenty-Two

The first vibrations of the rebellion reached the tower before the Nameless One got around to breaking Nerili's mind. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb fondly, admiring the warm tone of her skin. "You will make for a lovely addition to my court," he murmured so low only she could hear. "We will have to find a place suited for your beauty."

Nerili's grey eyes narrowed. "I should be with my people."

"That would be a waste." The Nameless One bit his lip, but it didn't hide the smile. "I have an idea. A place that would suit us both-"

"My lord, there is a problem."

A frown creased the Nameless One's face. "I will deal with it in a moment."

"My lord, please, this cannot wait a moment."

"It can wait. And if you interrupt me again, I will have you whipped." The Nameless One didn't turn away from Nerili, this was too exciting.

"It's the Bards."

Nerili saw the Nameless One's eyes flicker to the side. She swallowed.

"What have your people done, Nerili?" he whispered, turning away from her furiously.

There was a man standing nervously in the entrance. His armor gleamed beneath his cloak, but closer inspection showed brown stains where blood had dried. One hand was wrapped firmly around the grip on his blade: it gave the impression of severity, but anyone who understood the effect of the Nameless One knew the solider did it to hide his shaking. When the Nameless One turned on him, the soldier bowed low.

"My lord, the Bards have risen up in rebellion."

A long silence followed this statement and the Nameless One stared blankly. "How is that possible?"

"It started in Turbansk."

The Nameless One held up his hand, a finger pointed up. He spun slowly on the spot to look questioningly at Saliman. His finger pointed at him. "Your people?"

Saliman swallowed tightly. "I'm sure there is a misunderstanding, master."

"Absolutely not!" the soldier said stoutly, glaring at Saliman. "The Turbansk Bards broke the barrier between their quarter and Busk. They have weapons, my lord. They are even now attempting to overwhelm our soldiers."

The Nameless One raised one eyebrow at Saliman. "That does not sound like a misunderstanding, Saliman. That sounds like insurrection."

"Perhaps they are being led." He held the Nameless One's gaze, hoping to prevent him from looking at the Ernani.

"They are doing the leading. All around the ghetto, the Bards are rising up."

"And they have weapons?" The Nameless One turned away, shaking his head slowly. "Someone is arming the masses, someone is assisting in this rebellion. Someone is a traitor." The Bards were deathly still. They all knew that a traitor was the one thing the Nameless One would not suffer, the one thing he would punish most severely.

"Please, my lord, we need help-"

"Go down to the ghettos," the Nameless One said softly to the Hulls. "All of you. Get the Bards under control. Release the dogsoliders, the curs, the wights, whatever you must to stop them. Seal them in their dorms under penalty of death, then burn one in each district."

The Bards in the room looked up, some, like Saliman or Indik looked ready to argue. "The rest of you will stay completely and utterly silent." Like a sudden stream of icy water down their backs, the Bards felt a chill creep over them, through them, and they were frozen in place.

"Go now," the Nameless One said again to the Hulls. "Do as you please, teach them to understand the virtue of obedience." The Hulls filed out while the Nameless One stared expressionlessly at the Bards. "Ir-Ytan, Rikesh, take your families and return to your chambers. You are not safe here."

Ir-Ytan glanced sharply at Saliman, but the Bard couldn't move. The Ernani touched his brother on shoulder, herding him away, before taking Hema by the hand and hurrying her from the room. Despite his mixed feelings to her, if the Nameless One was ordering him away, he doubted Hema was any better off.

The Nameless One watched the small royal family leave. It was a while before he spoke, and when he did, it was soft but not cloying. The Bards knew what that tone meant. "How could you do this to me?"

They couldn't answer, but their eyes showed their terror.

"I have honored you, held nothing in my kingdom back, and this is how you repay me? You set you people on my servants like rabid dogs?" The Nameless One clenched his fists and the sound of metal rang out in the silence: his rings grinding together. "You have betrayed me!"

The force of his yell made their chairs screech back.

"You understand I will have to punish you. All of you. I know some of you were involved in this plot, and until I have the names of each and every one of those conspirators, I will have to question you. Severely."

The Nameless One walked slowly back to his throne, pausing to press on Nerili's shoulders. She sank to her knees. When he took his throne, he gestured for Saliman, and the Bard's head snapped around to face him. The Nameless One took his chin in his hand and squeezed.

"Your people are insubordinate. I have always detested Turbansk, I should not have taken them into my empire. The Turbansk Bards should have been slaughtered. Every last man, woman and child. When this done, I will have to think of something particularly nasty for you and your people."

Saliman felt his jaw unlock. "Please, master, I think there must be a mistake."

"No, I see the truth even now. I see your people hefting their weapons, murdering my Hulls with White Fire. They are a plague on this world, and I shall wipe them from the face of it. I'll make you watch."

Saliman looked helpless. "Please, they are misled. I am their First Bard, allow me to speak with them. I can convince them-"

"I think not, Saliman. The flock has long since strayed from the shepherd. Now they face a wolf." The Nameless One's lip curled. "Tell me, Saliman, are you the one who passed the weapons to the Bards?"

"No, master," he whispered.

"Did you know what the Bards were planning?"

"No, master."

"Are you attempting to depose me?"

"No, no I swear I'm not." Saliman couldn't move but his face showed his desperation. "You can see into me as clearly as you might your own mind. You know I have not betrayed you. I am loyal to you as always."

"You were always a petty, angry man. I think it would suit you well to see the Bards rise up in arms against me."

"It would not suit me, my lord. I am content in the role you saw fit to give me." Saliman was keenly aware of Hekibel beside him.

"I will hold my judgment on you, Saliman." The Nameless One sat back, studying the room. "But you are right in one thing: I do not think you conspired against me. But that merely means we must find the culprit."

The Nameless One look around the room, at the Bards frozen like stone statues. "Let us divine the truth together, shall we?"

A gout of green flame burst through the rain and cloud of steam rose up, obscuring Camphis's view of the street. He ducked to the side and threw up his hand, white flames sprang up from his hands, creating a brief, glowing nebulous around him. The dogsoldier snarled and recoiled from the light, but at soon at the White Fire faded, it lunged forward. Camphis swung the crude blade in his hand, and it made contact with the plate around the dogsoldier's face. But it lodged itself in the plate and when the dogsoldier whipped its head back and forth, it jerked the blade free of Camphis's grip.

Light help me, he thought as it turned its metal face to him. The blade fell free and green, steaming fluid leaked out of the gash.

"Duck, Camphis!" Mara was behind him, a rudimentary crossbow in her arms. A bolt sliced through the air and landed with impressive accuracy in the dogsoldier's eye. It fell back, snarling, scratching at its face. Camphis plucked the blade from ground and swung furiously at the struggling dogsoldier. He landed the blow expertly, the edge of the blade sliding smoothly into the gap between the metal plates at neck and shoulder. The dogsoldier collapsed.

"Where do we go?" Camphis panted, looking haplessly around. It was difficult to see through the rain. "Where are the gates? I don't recognize the streets-I don't-" He drew a sharp breath and swallowed down his panic. "Where is everyone else?"

Mara pursed her lips. The truth was that the rebellion had started brilliantly as they planned, but had turned sour after the dogsoliders had entered the ghetto. Many of the Hulls were up in the tower, attending the Nameless One's celebration, and were easily overwhelmed when thousands of Bards came in force against them. They pushed the Hulls back, and when soldiers streamed in, they found themselves utterly unprepared for the power of Bards. The barriers broke free and soon the growing crowd of Bards were streaming through the streets, overpowering any force arrayed against them.

But word reached the Nameless One before the Bards could reach the final gate into the city, and soon more Hulls had arrived, and with them came the beasts of Den Raven. The dogsoldiers were turned on the Bards mercilessly, spitting their acid with no care for who they hit. The uncreatures were a nightmare in battle, throwing themselves viciously on any person in their path. And though the Bards had White Fire, a deathly cold was creeping through the streets, leeching into their bones and eking out their strength and courage.

The Bards were desperate and they threw themselves with renewed vigor against the massing forces of the Dark, but they splintered and broke off into smaller contingents, anxious to reach the gates and freedom. Camphis had checked Mara closely, running alongside her, as they chased after Ell. He was heading for Turbansk, though, and their leader, Oslar. Camphis hesitated initially, but Mara ran on, and against his better judgment, Camphis had gone too. Now they were somewhere in the Turbansk quarter, farthest from the gates to the city, sprinting through mostly empty streets.

"They must be up ahead." She looked uncertain, though.

"Mara, we need to get out of here," Camphis finally said. "We're going the wrong direction. We'll be trapped in the ghetto if we don't go now."

"We can't leave Ell," she said firmly, stalking forward.

"We've lost Ell." Camphis hurried after her, sending out his hearing for signs of life: Bard or Hull, anything. "He didn't want us following him in the first place. He didn't want us helping at all."

"So, we must abandon him?" Mara snapped around to face him. "Camphis, it's too late to fear now."

"Mara, if we don't turn around and make for the front gates, we'll never escape. We'll never see Innail again. We'll never be able to-" He cut himself short, bit his lip and looked away.

Mara studied him closely. "How can we be together knowing the price of our love was Ell's life?" she asked simply. "How can we be happy knowing how he suffered?"

Camphis swallowed tightly. "We could die."

"Camphis, please." She tightened her grip on her bow. "We said we would help, we cannot turn back now."

I'll regret this, Camphis thought, but hefted his makeshift weapon. "We'll search another few blocks, but then we have to go back."

Mara smiled savagely before turning and sprinting off. They ran through the eerily quiet streets, passing over the corpses of Bards, soldiers, dogsoliders, and the flapping cloaks of dead Hulls. The rain came in a steady pour, drowning out the sound around them. Camphis felt his skin prickle, an overwhelming sense of dread taking hold. They passed a few barracks with shattered windows and broken doors, they passed a Hull outpost on fire. They still saw no one.

"Perhaps Ell turned back?" Camphis ventured. "Maybe he found Oslar and is already gone."

Mara looked uncertainly through the rain. She shivered. "No, he would have crossed our path. This is the main thoroughfare. It leads from the very edges of the ghetto to the city. It's the fastest way out of here."

He could be dead, Camphis thought, but didn't say it. "Just a little more than we should turn back."

Mara was about to argue, but there was a burst of White Fire followed shortly by someone cursing from a street over. Mara sprinted down the road, skidding to a halt on the very edge of an alley. Camphis almost collided into her, but managed to steady himself against a wall. They peered around the edge of a building and saw what appeared to be an intense battle between Ell and Oslar and a small group of Hulls accompanied by a wright.

Mara readied herself to join the fray, but Camphis caught her sharply by the elbow. "It's a wright, Mara. Even Malgorn couldn't defeat one. There's no use getting yourself killed."

"Camphis, they need our help!"

There was another burst of white fire from Ell, who shoved Oslar back toward the city. He paused, though, when he spotted Camphis and Mara in the shadows of the buildings. "Go!" he ordered. "Get out of here! There's no use now!"

Camphis knew that Ell was speaking to them. He dragged Mara back, even though she was shouting in her impotent anger. They stumbled back down the alley, the sounds of the battle ringing in their ears. Camphis was desperate to reach the gates into the city, but even as they ran, the cries of child soldiers echoed through the streets and Camphis knew there was very little time to escape.

"We can't leave them!" Mara cried, though by now she too was running.

"It's futile hanging back. Ell said as much when he sent us away. We need get as far away as possible." There was a blinding flash of green light behind them and Camphis wondered if that was the end of Ell. "They're going to overwhelm us, Mara. They're going to stop us."

She tried to find words, but seemed confused by the situation. "They can't."

Camphis dug his heels in, gesturing around at a crumbling buildings, the green flames hissing in the rain. "Oh, they will, and unless we are clever and quick about it, we will be blamed. And I've not intention of facing the wrath of the Nameless One, so let us make for Innail's quarter and get back to our miserable little hovel and try to see this out."

"But-"

"It's over," Camphis said, throwing his blade down. "And if we want to escape with our lives, you'll drop that bow and pretend you never had an inkling of Bards challenging the Dark."

Hem was fidgeting. Or, he would have been fidgeting if he could move. Like the rest of the Bards, Hem was frozen in place, a statue to witness the Nameless One's interrogations. The sun rose slowly and from his vantage point beside the Nameless One's throne, Hem could see the streams of smoke coiling up into the low clouds. He wondered what was going on in the city below, how many of the Bards had lived, if they had lived, what condition were they in. A small part of Hem thought of the child soldiers who had been sent into the city, how many of them had lived?

The Nameless One sat straight-backed and silent, his eyes were closed. Against his better judgement, Hem sent out his Bard senses, a tenuous field of consciousness. Like a magnetic pull, Hem was first and foremost drawn to his sister, he felt her presence like a familiar warmth, a cozy hearth fire. Maerad sensed Hem and a part of her responded: the cognizant equivalent of brushing his face with the knuckles. He widened the scope of his attention and next found Saliman. The older Bard flinched at first, a natural response to the touch of someone on his mind, but then relaxed when he realized it was Hem.

Light's sake, Hem, I thought you were the Nameless One. Be careful with your reach. Saliman paused a minute, some of his nervousness bleeding into amusement. Don't want to go prodding the wrong beehive.

If Hem could have smiled, he would have, but moved on until he felt the momentous presence of the Nameless One. He wasn't sure why-perhaps it was morbid curiosity-but he wanted to know what the Nameless One was doing, how he directed the power of the Song to serve his desire.

At first, there was nothing but a vague mounting pressure and Hem felt his skin prickle. He pressed on and his ears popped. A fission of heat burned down his spine and he felt a sweat break out on his forehead and still the tension was growing, expanding, pushing outward. Hem realized after a moment that the Nameless One was expanding his consciousness, bending his will on the people in the city. It was an impossible, malevolent force, there could be no gainsaying it. Hem recoiled, pulling back into himself and when he did so, found the Nameless One's face turned toward him, a horrible rictus stretched tight across his face.

"Sneaking, boy?" he asked in a clipped tone. Hem couldn't move, couldn't respond. The Nameless One leaned closer, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in. "Are you wondering about the goings on down in the city? Worried about the Bards?"

Hem's heart was pounding in his chest. The belt lashes on his back stung as if the close attention of the Nameless One evoked a memory of the wound. He ached to get away but still he was held in place by the impassive will of the Nameless One.

"Let me slake your curiosity."

The Nameless One waved lazily at the doors to the hall and then swung forward. There was a soldier waiting, holding an older man by his neck and hair. The man was struggling, but when the doors opened and he saw the Nameless One he froze in mute terror. The soldier brought the man forward and up-close Hem recognized him for a Bard. He looked helplessly to the frozen Bards along the wall, Nerili kneeling on the ground and even Hem and Saliman on either side of the Nameless One. When none of the Bards moved, the man gave a sharp terrified cry.

"Stop that," the Nameless One said sharply, and the man fell disconcertingly, suddenly silent. The Nameless One inspected him closely for almost an entire minute before sitting back, an eyebrow raised. "There is rebellion in the streets of my city, Bard. How did that happen?"

The older man shook his head, clutching his hands tightly.

"You don't know?" The Nameless One showed his teeth. "Did they just find weapons scattered about? A coincidence? A bit of good luck? No!" He slammed his hand down. "They had help, and I know it came from this tower. Now, you are a servant in my fastness, yes?"

The Nameless One waited a long moment, indicating an answer was required, and the man shook his head. "Yes, my lord."

"And tell me how much you know of the plotting in the city."

"I don't, my lord," he said earnestly. "I don't know anything. I serve in the stables."

The Nameless One raised his eyebrows. "Ah, but you are so close to the city. You must hear whispers."

The man looked appalled. "No, Light's sake no!" Then he realized he had called on the Light and his face turned bone white. He stared blankly at the Nameless One, whose face split into a wide grin. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," the Nameless One said slowly, his displeasure clear. "But I hardly believe a word you say. Tell me, what did you know of the Bards in the city?"

The man glanced rapidly to the wall, where Vaclal sat, as he was a Bard of Lirigon. "Nothing. I kept your horses. That was all!"

"I think you lie, horse master," the Nameless One said lazily, reaching out with his consciousness. "You will show me what I wish to know."

"Wait, please-" he glanced between the Bards, begging them to intercede, but frozen as they were, they could only watch while the Nameless One pried through his memories. It was a surprisingly quick process given what Hem knew of scrying, but the man was reduced to a stuttering, wild-eyed mess. He mouthed wordlessly, twitching at slight sounds around him.

The Nameless One seemed annoyed at the effect his scrying had. "It seems I handle these Bards a bit too roughly." He looked at the Bard, taking the measure of him as if he were a horse he was thinking of buying. "This one is done for. What do you think, my Bards?"

They stared back, silent.

"I'll take that at tacit agreement." The Nameless One smirked at the man, raised his hand languidly. There was a brief pulse of energy and the man stopped gasping. He collapsed forward, his eyes staring blankly at the wall of Bards. The Nameless One frown. "Well, I'm going to need a new horse master."

In slow progress, the Nameless One had the many Bards who served in the tower brought forward. Some survived the interrogation, many did not. The Nameless One gathered little information, and it seemed to the Bards that after a while he was interrogating people, not because they had information, but because he enjoyed tormenting them. After the horse master came a laundress who survived but soiled herself, an iron smith who died choking on his vomiting, a young man who kept the fires and cried out for his mother, a cook, a maid. The list went on. Hem felt growing annoyance with the Nameless One because he realized this was a performance. The Nameless One didn't need to question anyone, the rebellion was being put down, and any individuals explicitly involved would be captured.

What are you looking for? Hem asked, but the Nameless One didn't answer.

Hem frowned. There was something he didn't understand going on here, but the thought was pushed from Hem's mind when a soldier entered dragging a bundle of threadbare fabric. It was thrashing back and forth, and the man threw it forward. Horror woke in Hem's mind when he recognized it as the young maid, Iris. She scrambled to her knees, looking desperately around the room. She saw Nerili kneeling closest and jerked toward to her, but Nerili couldn't move and only her eyes showed her sympathy. Trembling, Iris whipped around, coming to her hands and knees, she saw the Bards on the wall and realized they too were strangely still. She didn't want to even look at the Nameless One, and covered her face with her hands. She drew a deep, shuddering breath.

A frantic, stupid heroic thought crossed Hem's mind that he would throw himself between the Nameless One and Iris. Though he couldn't move, the Nameless One must have sensed his fear.

What's this little whelp to you, Cai?

She's a scullion maid. She's innocent in this. When the Nameless One said nothing more, merely shivered with pleasure, Hem's tone turned urgent. She barely says five words in a day! There's no need to question her, send her back to the kitchens.

Iris had noticed Cadvan and Maerad now and reached toward them with a dry sob. Maerad knuckles went white on her lyre. Iris looked so small, so utterly alone, splayed on the black floor in the cavernous throne room. She had no business being here, she belonged tucked away in Maerad's bed chamber or down in the kitchen.

"Girl, look at me." The Nameless One's voice was hard as iron and set Hem's teeth on edge. Iris cringed at the command and sunk into herself. Hem marveled at her, for even though the Nameless One had ordered her to face him, she did not look in his direction. She curled in on herself, trying to make herself as small as possible, but she didn't turn her face to him.

Stubborn girl, the Nameless One said to Hem, amusement coloring his voice.

She's barely in her senses. She'll have no information for you.

I'll decide what she might have for me.

"You will look at your master, girl. Or shall I have your eyes removed?"

It was enough to scare Iris into looking. She didn't lift her face or come up from her knees, but her eyes moved up ever so slightly. She saw Hem standing beside the throne and mouthed wordlessly at him. He wished she would stop. The Nameless One delighted in punishing the people he loved.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"Look there." He pointed to the window, where the glow from the city could be seen. Faint flashes of green sparkled like strange candles. "A great crime has been committed against my throne. The slaves have taken up arms against me and sought to destroy my city. Foolishness, really, for my will is irresistible."

Iris was wringing her hands. "Yes," she squeaked.

The Nameless One watched Iris shake. "Those responsible must be punished, do you agree?"

She nodded her head quickly and muttered something incoherent. Hem heard the word "justice" but little else. She's not responsible, he pressed. She barely has a Gift.

"Tell me, young lady, do you know of anyone who helped the Bards?" He leaned forward, his keen consciousness searching her. She yelped when she felt his presence. It wasn't like the lance of light that sometimes crossed her mind when Maerad or Cadvan caught her eye, it was hot and seared her insides.

"No," she whispered, her throat dry.

"Have you seen anyone engaged in…suspicious behavior?"

Hem saw her swallowing repeatedly, like she was struggling to breathe. Your presence is too much for her bear, he said at once. He wondered if the Nameless One was scrying her. Of course, he'd never heard of anyone dying from a scrying, but he suspected the Nameless One was not gentle in his inspection.

"Tell me, girl, have you seen Bards in the tower breaking the law?" His voice rose in his anger and Iris's nose began to bleed. "Someone gave the Bards weapons, someone told the Bards when to rebel. Someone helped them. Do you know it is?"

Please, this is hurting her. She's not a proper Bard, she doesn't have the protection we do. Hem watched her shaking uncontrollably. You'll break her mind if you push her!

"Speak!" the Nameless One snarled, coming to stand suddenly.

Iris was thrown froward and Hem thought she was trying to break the Nameless One's hold on her, but then he saw her shaking violently. Too violently.

"Girl, tell me if you know anyone who helped in the rebellion?"

"N-n-no-" she stuttered, forced to answer by the will of the Nameless One.

"You work in the kitchen. Who was passing secrets there?"

"N-no-o-one." She managed to spit out. She was looking at Hem, pleading with him to help. He didn't know if his eyes conveyed the depth of his concern for her. She was taking deep breaths to stay her sobbing.

"Do not lie." The Nameless One was leaning toward her like a bending tree.

"N-o-no." She hugged herself to stop the shaking. "I didn't see anyone!"

Hem watched the Nameless One take another step closer. I beg you. Please, I'll give you whatever you want, just please stop this. His smile widened, and Hem thought it was directed at him. I swear on my Name, I'll get you anything.

It seemed suddenly urgent that he protect Iris. He didn't know why a little maid suddenly mattered, but he knew that if something were to happen to her, he would lose his wits. Maybe it was because she had played a part so small this punishment seemed disproportionate, maybe it was because a part of himself Hem hadn't inspected loved her, maybe because it simply wasn't fair, but Hem needed her to live.

I'll be your cup-bearer, I'll be your jester. I'll clean your boots! He ached, trying to break the Nameless One's hold on him. Please, master!

"You need to tell me the truth, girl. You need to tell me what you did." The Nameless One approached Iris. "I'll be merciful if you tell me what you did."

"I didn't do-do anything." She was still watching Hem. Why didn't he help her? Why was he just standing there watching her?

"Liar," he whispered. "You were whispering to the cook."

"I didn't know!" she cried, convulsing. "I didn't know!"

Do you want me beg? Release me and I'll beg in front of everyone! Hem could feel his muscles burning, if the Nameless One released him now he'd probably fling himself across the room in his desperation to reach Iris.

"But you knew you were doing something wrong, didn't you?" The Nameless One now stood before her, delighted with her trembling. "You knew that there was plotting going on, you knew the Bards in this tower were planning an uprising, and you said nothing."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she shrieked. The nearness of the Nameless One was unbearable. "I didn't know!"

The Nameless One chuckled at her cries. "You expect me to believe that? Why should I trust you?"

"Please!" she squealed.

"Perhaps," the Nameless One said slowly, "if I were to see what you know, I would be able to judge you."

Don't! Hem pleaded.

Iris didn't understand what the Nameless One meant, but her silence seemed like acquiescence. The Nameless One bent his will on the girl, but it was like pressing on a beetle with a metal-toed boot. She simply collapsed under the slightest touch. He saw every piece of her being in a moment: her family, her burnt city, Saliman and Cadvan, Maerad, and Hem. Hem featured prominently in the girl's short life.

Oh, Cai, she adores you. Then again, you seem to be rather sweet on her, don't you? the Nameless One chortled, turning his attention back on the girl. "I see no deception in you, girl-"

The Nameless One stopped speaking, cocking an eyebrow at Iris. Hem was horrified to see that she was seizing on the floor, thrashing sharply. Spittle collected at the corner of her mouth and dribbled down her cheek while her back bowed under the pressure of the muscle spasms. Hem knew from looking at her that she needed the quick, expert attention of a healer to ease the muscle spasms before she hurt herself.

"How unpleasant," the Nameless One said casually to the room when she vomited.

She'll choke on it. Please, let me attend her. Hem fought the urge to curse. Surely, this would be just like the case of Maerad and Cadvan? Surely the Nameless One would let him trade her for his Name, or an oath, or his loyalty? Please, it'll kill her.

No, it won't, the Nameless One returned blithely.

And he was right, because just then Iris jerked sharply and her back bent almost double with a sharp crack. A strange, guttural noise escaped her gaping mouth and her eyes rolled back. Her body strained against an unseen force and finally she sunk back onto the ground. Her gasping stopped and the silence that followed consumed them all. Hem felt himself go numb.

Not again, not again. It felt like the earth was opening up, pulling him down. If the Nameless One had not bound him, Hem knew he would have collapsed. Please, by the Light, not again.

The Bards were staring at the little girl, confused. She had barely been a player in this game, and yet here she was, dead at the hands of the Dark. They all watched, utterly baffled, because they were important, they were the Nameless One's enemies, and yet they were allowed to live. How was there any justice?

"That's unfortunate," the Nameless One said carelessly. He bent to look closer at the girl's twisted corpse. "It seems she wasn't suited for service in my fastness. At least she died honestly."

The Nameless One glanced out the window before returning to his throne. He was practically shivering with delight when he sensed Hem's wildly fluctuating emotions. "I think we can end the evening there," he said at length. "You will all be returned to your places, and you will stay there, silent as the grave until I am finished dealing with your folk. Until I saw otherwise, you will see and speak to no one, no words will pass from one to the other. You will be utterly removed from your people until I am sure none of you assisted in this grave betrayal."

There was no doubt in any of the minds of the Bards what the Nameless One meant: people were going to be killed. Of course, their presence here would not stop him, but the Bards had the strange urge to stay and advocate for mercy. The Nameless One, though, just waved them away.

"You will go now," he said, and the spell broke over all of them except Hem. "But you stay, boy."

Maerad had pitched froward when released and only Cadvan's quick hand had stopped her falling. She looked up through her hair at the Nameless One. "Let Hem come back-"

"Silence, girl." Maerad's words caught in her throat. "Your brother will stay. I think he and I have something to discuss."

When Maerad attempted to speak again, the words simply died in her throat. The Nameless One had truly silenced them all. She felt Cadvan's hand on her wrist and he tugged her mutely to his side. Her eyes moved to Hem, still frozen in his place, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the girl. Maerad moved away slowly, unwilling to just leave Hem alone with the Nameless One, but Cadvan's grip on her arm turned vicelike and he pulled her from the room.

When the Bards had filtered away, the Nameless One turned a sympathetic look on Hem. "You know, Cai, it is not my intention to hurt you. You are a servant in my household, my favorite little cup-bearer." He paused, enjoying Hem's bright-eyed stare. "I see this went hard on you." He took Hem's chin and manually turned the young man's face to him. "It's a hard world, this is no place for the weak."

Hem felt the bindings holding him release and he crumpled forward with an helpless cry. He didn't care that he was weeping in front of the Nameless One. His heart was breaking all over again. Iris had died on his watch. Just like-

Zelika. Zelika, I'm so sorry. Hem hugged himself tightly, taking deep breaths as the image of the young girl passed his mind's eye. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

"You should be grateful, Cai, that her death was quick and relatively easy. Had she lived, her life would only have been miserable."

I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from the Dark, Hem thought. He didn't know if he was thinking of Zelika or Iris, perhaps it was both. I'm sorry I couldn't make this world safe for you.

It hurt, it hurt so much Hem thought he would be sick. He wanted to curl into a ball and shut his eyes to the world and sleep and sleep until he couldn't remember any of it. It was the first time since coming to Dagra that Hem deeply, truly wished he was dead. He was so tired of all the pain.

And the Nameless One sensed all of this. His smiled stretched across his face. "How many girls must die in your care before you succumb to my power?"

"No." Hem was surprised by the sound of his own voice: the whine of wounded animal.

"First there was Zelika, and for all your struggles you couldn't stop my Hulls putting a knife in her back." The Nameless One hungry gaze roved over Hem's splotched face. "You know she loved you, boy? She did. All she had left in the world was you, and you let her die."

"No, no I didn't. I went to save her-"

"Save her? You chased her brother halfway across the country in some pathetic, vain excuse for a rescue. You think you loved her? What type of man doesn't even recognize his own woman?" Hem was shaking his head frantically, but the Nameless One's voice was irresistible. "I imagine Saliman assuaged your guilt, told you it wasn't your fault. But, he's a liar. That girl died because you were weak and scared and completely, laughably incompetent."

Hem gripped his hair, shaking his head. These were the secret fears he held in his heart: his own failures.

"You know, even as she lay dying, she thought about you? You were a healer, and she thought you would save her in the end." The Nameless One watched him shake madly. "When she realized you weren't coming for her, that's when the fear set in. And she died alone, sobbing in the dark, waiting for you. Waiting for the boy she loved."

"Stop it!" Hem howled.

"I didn't do it!" the Nameless One snarled back. "I wasn't there, Cai! I'm not even responsible for her death. You are! And you know it, and that's why you can't stand to hear it said."

"I tried," Hem whispered. "I tried."

"Oh, you tried?" the Nameless One asked, amazed. "Well, I suppose that sets everything in order then, doesn't it? Because you tried." The Nameless One grabbed Hem by the back of his neck and dragged him down the stairs, tossing him beside the bent corpse of Iris. "And what of her? Did you try to save her?"

Up close, Hem could see the blood and vomit stuck to her mouth, her small pink tongue poking out. "I didn't have a chance."

"You wretched little cur," the Nameless One said, standing above them both. "You watched that poor girl die, screaming and begging for your help. I just don't understand, Cai, how many people have to die for you?"

Hem felt his mouth for dry.

"You mother and father. Zelika. Iris." The Nameless One licked his lips. "Saliman might as well be dead, the state he's in. All because of you."

"No, no I didn't do that," Hem said softly. "It's not my fault-"

"Well, whose is it? Who else is to blame for all this death?" The Nameless One watched him closely. "You know in your heart that you killed them. Loving you is a death sentence."

Hem felt a tear trickle down his cheek. "I didn't mean to."

"Of course, you didn't." The Nameless One pet Hem's hair gently. "It is natural to want love, to want tenderness and closeness from another person. But, Cai, you are a curse on everything you touch. There is not a single person who has not come out worse for loving you." He pulled Hem's head back so the boy's tear stained face was tilted up. "It is your nature to destroy the things you love." He paused a moment, thoughtful and considering. "It is a great darkness in you."

Hem tried to say no, but a coldness was creeping in his veins, winding through his heart and mind. Perhaps the Nameless One was right? Who had Hem ever truly helped? Perhaps Hem really was a curse on the people he loved? He bit his lip until it bled.

"I'm not of the Dark."

"No," agreed the Nameless One consolingly. "But you are not of the Light."

The soldiers herded the Bards back down to their cells but when Malgorn attempted to follow his Circle into the cell, the soldiers tugged him aside. They led him to a separate cell, a small room by comparison, but well equipped compared to the other cells. There was a rough wooden table with a pitcher of water, torches flickered on the walls. Malgorn eyed the room suspiciously.

"Why am I here?" he said, sharper than he intended. Hulls and the Nameless One unnerved him, a common solider he could manage. "Our master ordered me returned to my cell."

"He ordered you interrogated," the soldier answered smartly, and shoved Malgorn forward. He hefted his knife lightly, gesturing at Malgorn. "Take your clothes off." When Malgorn stared blankly, he jabbed sharply. "Those are fine linen, we don't want to get them dirty."

Malgorn glanced down at his shirt. He hardly considered it fine linen, it was barely cloth. But the solider gestured again, this time bringing the tip of his knife dangerously close to Malgorn's belly. He shrugged and shed the shirt and trousers, folded them, and placed them on the table by the pitcher.

"By the wall." The soldier nodded firmly to the side and Malgorn saw there was a hook for chains. Malgorn cringed, he hated the feel of the chains, but his feet moved inexorably to the wall. "Kneel." Malgorn dropped to his knees but the soldier tugged him around so he faced the room. He drew Malgorn's wrists together and chained them behind his back. The strain in his shoulders was instantaneous.

Malgorn shivered. "Who will be doing the interrogation?"

The man didn't answer, but he poured out a glass of water, returned to Malgorn and pressed it against his lips. "No, thank you," Malgorn said politely, but the man titled it and some splashed in his mouth. It was cool, refreshing, washing away the taste of Dark magic and blood. Despite his trepidation, Malgorn greedily swallowed the rest of the glass. After he finished the water, the soldier left.

Malgorn shivered in the cold. Despite the torches on the wall, there was no fire, no warmth. His skin prickled. He shifted a little, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. His mind couldn't settle on a singular thing to worry about, so he worried about all in due course. He wondered if Silvia had been escorted to her own private cell and if she was even now kneeling half naked on the stone floor. He tried not to picture her lovely body exposed to the soldiers. That part was the worst. He chewed over the memory like a dog with a bone until there was nothing left.

His shoulders still ached so he started trying to rock gently from knee to knee, but that just hurt more. He allowed himself to think of his current situation. He was going to be questioned, which he could only assume was going to be a miserable process, but also seemed pointless. The Nameless One could see his mind, he didn't need to question him. Which meant Malgorn was here now for some ulterior reason. Another thing to worry about. He ached and shifted again.

The door to his cell opened and Malgorn started. "Word from our master?"

The soldier ignored Malgorn, poured another glass of water, and poured It down his throat. Malgorn felt some dribble down his chin. He rolled his shoulders. "What does the Nameless One want to know?"

The soldier didn't answer, just forced another glass of water to his mouth, then left.

At first, the treatment seemed utterly confusing: Malgorn knelt, the soldier would come and give him more water, he would ask questions but there would be no answers. It seemed like hours passed alone, before Malgorn felt a faint pain in his bladder.

When the soldier returned with the water, Malgorn shook his head sharply. "No, thank you. I've had enough." The soldier swore at him in the language of Den Raven, then shoved the glass in his throat. Malgorn shook his head, spilling some, and the soldier grabbed a hank of his hair to hold him still and finish tipping the glass up.

Malgorn scowled. "I'm not thirsty, thank you," he said stiffly. "No more water."

If those words meant anything to the soldier, he didn't show it, and an hour later when he returned with the water, Malgorn recoiled.

The soldier jerked Malgorn's face up and the strain in his shoulders increased dramatically. He gasped loudly, tears forming in his eyes. "I don't want water."

After a moment, the soldier smiled narrowly and Malgorn realized there was something wrong with the water. "You must drink. The master had demanded it." Then he forced it down his throat.

They fell into a routine then: Malgorn kneeling and shivering in the cold, and every hour, the soldier returning to force him to drink. After the third visit, Malgorn realized how urgent his need to use the bathroom was.

Behave yourself, Malgorn told himself, pressing down his urge to snap at the man when he entered. Be polite, be docile. He cringed a little at the last thought. He wasn't a dog.

Malgorn tilted his face up and accepted the water without complaint. "Thank you," he said graciously when the man wiped the water on his chin away. "Before you go, perhaps you could release me a moment? I need to…relieve myself." He smiled sheepishly, acting as non-threateningly as possible.

The soldier stared at him a moment. "If you need to piss, go. No one is stopping you."

Malgorn gaped. "I can't."

"You forgot how?" The man cackled. "You're not to move from this place. If you need to relieve yourself you can do it right here." He turned sharply and left, Malgorn staring darkly after him.

It became rather obvious to Malgorn what the Nameless One was playing at now. He wasn't sure what hurt more: his twisted shoulders or his bladder. He couldn't relax, he couldn't rest, all he could do was kneel and hurt. Another cup of water found Malgorn bent over, focusing on his breathing to ignore the aching that had spread from his bladder to his stomach. He spared the soldier no kindness now, glowering so darkly the man looked startled. Afterall, Malgorn was a witch, and his tameness could easily hide dark magic.

"How much longer before the Nameless One comes? I am tired of this game."

The man prodded his enflamed shoulders. "You're not ready to speak to him."

Malgorn cursed in Thoroldian. "And when will I be?"

The man left him without an answer, and Malgorn tried to shift in the vain hope it might distract him from the constant throbbing in his bladder. His shoulders suddenly burst with pain and he gasped. Something warm ran down his leg and Malgorn felt his face burn, mortified.

Brilliant, just brilliant, Malgorn thought, the acrid smell of urine rising up around him.

When the man came back and saw the puddle under Malgorn, he barked out laughter. "Are you some dullard? You soiled yourself!"

Malgorn looked away, annoyed. "I suppose this is what the Nameless One wanted? Go tell your master I'm appropriately humiliated. Will he deign to speak with me now?"

"No," the man said simply, and poured out another serving of water.

Malgorn gawked after the man, utterly bewildered. He thought the Nameless One simply wanted to see him shamed, but he it seemed even that was not sufficient. Malgorn attempted to make himself comfortable, which was made even more difficult by his wet underwear, but his shoulders and knees were burning.

The hours passed at an agonizingly slow pace. He could not sleep for the soreness in his back, nor for the repeated burn in his bladder. The first soldier who had overseen his treatment was replaced by another, and Malgorn knew he had now been a full day in the cell without sleep. He soiled himself again, but this soldier didn't even make comment of it.

Despite the pain radiating out of his back, Malgorn was drowsy, and his eyes sagged. He would have slept kneeling if the soldier hadn't kept coming back to force him to drink. He tried to keep track of the number of visits, but his thoughts were sluggish and he lost count after the thirteenth cup of water. When the third soldier arrived to care for him, Malgorn couldn't remember the face of the first man and struggled to form words.

"Where," he said slowly, licking his lips, "is the Nameless One?"

"You are in no condition to see the master," the man said tersely, sniffing the air vaguely around Malgorn. "You are not worthy of his attention."

Malgorn looked down slowly. He'd urinated an hour or so previous with little thought of it. "Undo my chains and I'll clean myself up." He paused a moment, consider the bare cell, then laughed raucously. "Actually, no, I won't."

The soldier stared, wondering if the man before him had lost his wits. "You'll stay here."

Malgorn smiled lazily. "Perhaps you would offer me a bit of water then? I'm parched." He laughed again, showing too many of his teeth for the soldier's liking. The man left swiftly and Malgorn watched, sinking back down, groaning at the pain between his shoulder blades.

When the man returned, he did not speak to Malgorn, as he was quite nervous to be near a manic witch. Malgorn blinked up at him, his gaze bleary and unfocused. He flinched a little when the man pressed the water to his lips, but his reflexes were sluggish and he spilled it all over himself. The man cursed and pulled his hand back to slap him. Malgorn cowered, sending lines of fires down his back.

"That isn't necessary," said a voice gently. "Poor Malgorn is not in his right mind. Striking him will only serve to addle his mind even more."

The soldier froze, his face going pale. Malgorn swayed, his vision blurry, but he knew that voice. He knew the chill that froze his blood. He turned to the door and saw the vague shape of the Nameless One.

"My lord-"

"Leave us. I will speak to Malgorn alone." Malgorn blinked, trying to clear his vision, but his exhaustion was like a fog about his mind. He heard the soft hiss of silk dragging along the uneven ground of the cell, the slap of his bare feet.

The soldier went and Malgorn shook himself a little. "Forgive me my poor manners, master, but I'm afraid I cannot offer you a seat."

"I'm glad to see that your treatment has not injured your sense of humor," the Nameless One said, inspecting Malgorn closely. The Bard could sense his attention focused on him, but the severe lack of sleep had disoriented him and he felt the lance of the Nameless One's consciousness only dully. "By all means, do not stand on my account."

Malgorn smiled blithely. "You are generous, master."

The Nameless One came to Malgorn's side and pressed two fingers into the space between his shoulder blades. Malgorn howled like a wounded animal, twisting away from his touch. The Nameless One smiled, studying the contours of Malgorn's back. He ran his forefinger down one of the whiplash scars and Malgorn whined.

"You would think a man with so many scars would have learned not to quip so lightly with his master."

Malgorn shook his head. "I'm not in my right mind, master."

The Nameless One knelt down so his face was directly across from Malgorn's. He looked into his unfocused eyes. "That much is obvious." He reached down between Malgorn's legs and dipped his finger in the small puddle of urine. He held his fingers under Malgorn's nose. "Only an imbecile soils himself."

Even in his confused state Malgorn had the sense to be ashamed. "My apologies."

"Light's sake, but you are a pathetic servant, Malgorn. If I've said it before, I've said it a hundred times: if I didn't need you to help be destroy the Speech, I would have destroyed you the moment you entered my fastness. How is it that an incompetent dolt such as yourself is named First Bard?" Malgorn blinked at him tiredly. "I'm surrounded by idiots," he sighed.

"Perhaps you would permit me to return to my cell, master? I am, as you've rightly said, useless."

"Not yet, Malgorn. I have a few questions for you." The Nameless One wiped his finger on Malgorn's cheek. "Someone helped the Bards in the ghettos mount their attack against me. Someone passed them information and weapons."

Malgorn shook his head urgently. "It wasn't me, or any of mine-"

"I know that, you dullard." The Nameless One stood and lifted Malgorn's chin up, straining his back even more. "Perhaps some of the slaves working in the kitchen passed knives or information, but this scale of conspiracy…I suspect they had the help of one of my Hulls."

Malgorn's mouth hung open. A Hull betraying the Nameless One? "That's not possible."

"I assure you, Malgorn, that it is." The Nameless One frowned. "So, you will tell me, what you know of it."

Malgorn looked affronted. "I know nothing."

"A truer statement was never spoken," said the Nameless One dryly. "Come now, Malgorn. You rub elbows with my Hulls occasionally. They come here to play with you and yours. What have you heard?"

Malgorn struggled to put thoughts to words. Not only was the question so absurd, three days of no sleep had left Malgorn ineloquent and inarticulate. "I don't understand."

"Malgorn." The Nameless One placed his hands on Malgorn's shoulders and squeezed. Malgorn gave another sharp cry. "Tell me: have you heard any of my Hulls discussing insurrection? Have they expressed discontent in my rule?"

Malgorn felt hot tears on his face. "No! Please, please, it hurts!" He drew a shuddering breath but the Nameless One dug his nails in. "I haven't heard anything! I swear on my Name, I haven't heard anything."

The Nameless One peered at Malgorn. "I've been betrayed. If you know anything you will tell me."

"I-I-" He was stuttering again, his mind numb with the pain. "P-please-"

"Answer me, Malgorn!" the Nameless One snarled. He felt Malgorn's twisted shoulders under his grip. Just a little more pressure and the muscles would tear, his arms would be useless.

"Nothing!" Malgorn was sure the muscles in his back would rip. He was shaking, his blood pounding erratically in his ears. He thought he would seize if the Nameless One didn't release him.

"Bastard!" the Nameless One snarled when a thin stream of urine leaked down Malgorn's leg. "You vile little rat. Have you no shame?"

Malgorn gasped in relief. "Please, I don't know anything."

The Nameless One bared his teeth. "You're disgusting."

Malgorn looked down. "Yes. But, please believe me, I know nothing."

"Ah, Malgorn." He came forward, pet his hair down. "You certainly make a sorry slave, don't you?" He brushed his robe off. "I'll have to returned to your cell now."

Malgorn looked up, shock coloring his voice. "I don't understand. You could have asked me days ago. You could have simply looked into my mind. Why do this?"

The Nameless One smiled widely. "Why did I have you tortured for three days? Why, because I could. Because you have gone too long without a reminder of my power."

Malgorn gaped. His arms ached, his shoulders and back burned. He couldn't stop shivering from the cold. He could barely think for lack of sleep and he was covered in his own urine. "Next time, my lord, you could simply ask me if I remember."

"But this amused me."