Unbroken Chain: The Darker Road (single books)

by Jaleigh Johnson

  It was very possible they would destroy each other.

  For the second time that day, Ashok came through the Shadowfell portal at a dead run. Sounds assaulted him-the roar of the constant wind and, above that, a distant, keening scream he knew well. He couldn’t see the nightmare for the clouds of dust drifting on the wind, but he knew the beast was close by. The portal guards stood at their posts, but they fidgeted nervously, their eyes fixed on the horizon. They were all warriors of Tempus-a threat to their city should have made their hearts beat with wild anticipation, for to them there was no greater glory than dying in defense of Ikemmu and Uwan, the Watching Blade.

  The nightmare’s scream changed all that. It had the unearthly power to foster terror in the hearts of the shadar-kai, preying upon the fear that haunted them the most. To succumb to the nightmare’s scream was to believe that their souls were fading, becoming one with the essence of the Shadowfell, lost even to Tempus’s power. The Guardians heard the scream and feared that fate, but they kept to their posts.

  “Where is she?” Ashok shouted.

  One of the Guardians pointed, and when the dust clouds broke up, Ashok saw Ilvani standing alone on the plain. She was barefoot and wore no cloak, but this wasn’t unusual. What struck Ashok was her swaying stance and the knife she held in her hand.

  The scream echoed again, closer, and the Guardians bared weapons. Instinctively, Ashok reached for his spiked chain. His hand clutched his empty belt. Cursing violently, Ashok remembered he’d left the weapon at the blacksmith forge. He thought of asking one of the Guardians for a dagger, but he realized it would be less than useless against the nightmare if the beast went mad and attacked them in earnest.

  First he would find Ilvani; then he would deal with the nightmare.

  He approached her cautiously, coming in well within her periphery so as not to surprise her. His stance was eerily like the first time he’d approached the nightmare in the training paddock. He had absolutely no idea what to expect.

  “Ilvani,” he called.

  She didn’t answer. She continued to stare into the dust clouds and listened to the nightmare’s screams. Cold wind gusted across the plain and blew grit into Ashok’s eyes.

  “Come back to the city with me. Whatever’s happening, we’ll help you, I promise.”

  “I couldn’t get them out. My fault,” she said. Ashok saw her clearly now, and what he saw shocked him more than Cree’s vacant eye socket.

  She’d slashed the long sleeves of her dress. Blood-caked scraps dangled from her elbows. Dozens of ugly cuts covered her forearms. Ashok seized her wrist-she dropped the bloody knife-to see how deep the wounds went. Luckily, most were superficial, except for a particularly nasty slash on the back of her hand.

  “Ilvani, what have you done to yourself?”

  “The stains-I couldn’t get them out, so I had to tear the dress,” she said, sounding contrite. She bent to retrieve the knife. “I’ll try some more.”

  “No!” Ashok kicked the weapon away. “Ilvani, why did you do this? I’ve never seen you cut yourself before.”

  “You’ve never seen me at all.” Contrition turned to irritation. Her mood shifts, at least, were familiar.

  Ashok ripped off a piece of his own sleeve and wound it around her right arm. “We need to get out of here,” he said. “Give me your other arm.”

  He expected her to ignore him, but she held her arm up without complaint. Ashok knew then that something was terribly wrong. Ilvani hated to be touched.

  “You should cut them off,” she said. “They’re not worth anything.”

  “If I did that, you’d regret it, especially when it came time to-”

  Suddenly he stopped wrapping the bandage. The shallower cuts on her left arm-she hadn’t made them at random. Ashok saw symbols, repetitive patterns, but they were nothing he could decipher. He started to ask her about them, but a loud scream shattered the air and made Ashok spin. He grabbed again for a weapon that wasn’t on his belt.

  The nightmare was almost on top of them.

  Ashok shoved Ilvani out of the way and dived aside as the stallion charged past them, fiery hooves striking sparks off the ground. A wall of heat came in his wake, hot enough to make Ashok’s eyes water. He’d forgotten the speed, the raw elemental force that surrounded the beast.

  The nightmare made a wide circle and came at them again. The stallion’s eyes were full of swelling hatred, but as he got closer, Ashok saw the beast leaping and bucking, his neck muscles straining as if against an invisible goad. Foam dripped from his mouth, and his eyes glazed over-the hatred was there, but with an undercurrent of desperation Ashok had never seen before. The nightmare, usually a creature of deadly grace, at that moment behaved like a tormented animal.

  He’s trying to resist the madness, but he’s not in control, Ashok thought. The nightmare was far more intelligent than the panthers or shadow snakes, yet something about Ilvani’s presence drove them all into a killing frenzy.

  Ilvani stood up. Ashok tried to put his body in front of her, but she shoved at him. “Let it take me!” she yelled.

  Ashok grabbed for her again, but she dodged, tripped, and fell directly in the path of the nightmare’s deadly hooves. He couldn’t get to her in time.

  “Tempus!” The name ripped from Ashok’s throat.

  Sparks flew as the nightmare skidded and reared a breath from caving in Ilvani’s skull. For an age, he stayed suspended in the air, his fire drifting over them. Lying on her back, Ilvani watched the flames. They reflected in her black eyes like stars.

  Finally, the stallion came down and retreated, but he tossed his head and snorted in furious agitation. His entire body shuddered. Ashok came toward him, but the nightmare let out a short, sharp screech and struck the ground with his hooves.

  “It’s your own fault,” Ashok said with black humor. “You wouldn’t leave me alone. How does it feel to have your power turned back at you, a force that gnaws at your mind?”

  The nightmare snorted a breath of foul steam on the air. Hands raised, Ashok tried again to approach the stallion. Red eyes, huge and rolling, followed his movements, but the nightmare didn’t retreat this time. The flames coursing through his mane slowly dimmed to a deep blue line. Ashok put his hand against the nightmare’s flank and felt the heat so intense, it bordered on pain.

  The promise of pain, the constant threat of oblivion. Ashok had almost forgotten how the nightmare’s presence affected him. A part of his soul reviled the beast, but another part felt as though it were coming home.

  The nightmare felt it too. Slowly, the stallion stopped his restless pacing and pawing. His fetlocks cooled to a deep black color. Under Ashok’s stroking fingers, he became almost as docile as a pet.

  Ashok heard Ilvani get to her feet and come to stand behind him. The nightmare followed her every movement. His nostrils flared as if the beast scented something terrible in the air.

  “Easy,” Ashok said, moving his hand up the nightmare’s neck. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to master you.” He turned his head to meet Ilvani’s gaze. “You’re both stronger than that.”

  It was a lie. Ilvani didn’t look strong. She looked frail, desperate, and utterly alone.

  “Natan,” she said.

  The way she said her brother’s name pierced Ashok’s heart. “He’s not here, Ilvani.”

  She put bloody hands against her face. Her shoulders heaved with abrupt, violent sobs. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” she cried. “Let the fire burn, let it pound me into the ground. Natan, it hurts. I can see them all, but not you. Not you.”

  Ashok didn’t know what to do. He stood between the two wild creatures and knew he couldn’t control either of them. But he kept his hands on the nightmare. The only person Ilvani was in danger of hurting was herself.

  “Ilvani, look at me.”

  When she looked up, she wore a vacant expression. Ashok wondered if she saw him at all. Bloody fingerprints covered her face, and there was dirt
on her cheek from her fall. I should take her to Makthar, Ashok thought. Her wounds weren’t life-threatening, but if left alone, they would soon be infected and cause her more pain. Of course, if they did, she would hardly notice. Ilvani’s entire world was one degree of suffering or another.

  “Ilvani,” Ashok said. “You know what’s happening, don’t you-why the shadow beasts are going mad when you come near them? Does it have to do with those symbols on your arms?”

  The witch blinked and focused on him. She watched his hand rhythmically stroking the nightmare’s flank, so close to the low blue flame. “The telthors are angry,” she said, “restless. Their hands are all over me. They leave black marks, grabbing, pulling, wanting. The mountain wants, the river wants, the trees want. I can’t listen to them if they’re everywhere.”

  Ashok sighed. He should have known better than to expect coherency from her. “Let’s get back to the city,” he said. “We need to find Neimal.”

  The witch might know what the symbols on Ilvani’s arms meant. If they could solve that puzzle, it might lead to an explanation for the rampant madness.

  “You stay here,” he said to the nightmare, “unless you’d like to go back in your cage?”

  The nightmare snorted and shied away, but he didn’t go far. The message was clear: I’ll be waiting for you.

  The guards sent word ahead to Neimal, and the witch waited for them on the other side of the portal. When she saw Ilvani’s arms, she said to Ashok, “You must tell Uwan what’s happened. He’ll want to know that Ilvani is hurt.”

  Ilvani was an important symbol in Ikemmu, a mystical link between the shadar-kai and Tempus. She had become even more precious since they’d lost Natan and his visions from the warrior god. Unfortunately, it also meant the city saw her less as a person and more as a prophet. Having been in a similar position, Ashok knew that wasn’t the kind of regard Ilvani needed right now.

  “I have to talk to you, but I don’t want to involve Uwan in this yet,” Ashok said.

  Neimal’s eyes widened. “That’s not for us to decide. You must-”

  “Do you see these symbols?” Ashok showed her Ilvani’s unbandaged arm. “Do you know what they are?”

  Neimal gently traced the symbols with the pad of her thumb. Ilvani’s gaze drifted back and forth between the two of them. Silent tears continued to drip down her cheeks, leaving watery tracks in the blood and dirt. The witch’s gaze darkened. Seeing her expression, Ashok couldn’t tell whether Ilvani’s wounds or her tears disturbed Neimal more.

  “You’ve never seen her this bad before, have you?” he said.

  Neimal looked at him. “Never.” She let go of Ilvani’s arm. “She came to me earlier, raving about spirits of the forest, mountains, and water. She hadn’t cut herself. Ilvani never cuts herself.”

  It confirmed what Ashok suspected; that Ilvani had never before been tempted to hurt herself for stimulation. She’d never needed to-her mind was forever active, strange, and deep. Peace and apathy were unknown concepts to her.

  “What about the symbols?” he asked.

  “I don’t recognize them,” Neimal said. “They’re in no language I know, and they’re nothing arcane. For all we know, she made them up in her head.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Ashok said. “You said yourself Ilvani never puts the knife to her flesh.” Many shadar-kai of the Shadowfell used self-inflicted pain to keep themselves from fading, but in Ikemmu, such an act was defilement and strictly forbidden. “If she wanted a canvas, she could have drawn on the walls of her chamber. Yet I was just up there and found nothing like this. These symbols mean something.”

  “Then their origin must be another plane or the mirror world, Faerun,” Neimal said. “They’re outside my knowledge.”

  “Faerun,” Ashok said. The mirror world was outside his knowledge as well, but he knew at least one person who was familiar with it and with sending and receiving messages. Perhaps she would be able to decipher whatever message Ilvani was trying to send them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ashok led Ilvani past the stone dwellings of the trade market while the Trimmer bell sounded at the top of Tower Makthar. She trailed a little behind him and stopped every now and then to examine one of the outdoor stalls. Her tears had ceased, but she still walked like a person asleep. Ashok wondered what was in her thoughts.

  He was surprised she’d agreed to go with him at all. Ilvani avoided loud places and crowds, any situation where she might have to put her back to another person. Ashok recognized the tense set of her shoulders, the readiness of a body expecting to be hit. It had been the same for him, in his former enclave.

  They turned a corner, and Ashok stopped short. Tethered to one of the merchant wagons was a large hound. Its owner probably kept the animal as a guard for his wares. Ashok tried to turn Ilvani aside, but she avoided his reach and walked right up to the wagon. She didn’t see the dog.

  Ashok cursed and sprang forward, intending to grab the dog’s tether before it went mad and attacked the witch. The dog cocked its head and growled at him when he reached for its rope, but Ashok saw no sign of madness in the animal’s eyes. Ilvani passed by the wagon and kept walking. The dog paid no attention to her.

  Bewildered, he hurried to catch up to Ilvani and kept a close watch as they walked through the market. They passed a pair of horses led by a dwarf. Ashok watched for a reaction from the animals, waited for them to buck and rear as the nightmare had done, but they didn’t so much as flinch at the witch’s presence.

  Whatever its source, the madness Ilvani inflicted on the shadow beasts didn’t extend to common work animals. Ashok wondered at this distinction, but he didn’t have time to consider the reason for it. They were almost at their destination.

  Ilvani slowed as they approached the halfling Darnae’s shop. Her gaze went immediately to the carvings around the arched brick doorway. She traced one with her fingernail and then turned her hand to look at it, as if she expected the symbol to rub off on her.

  “This is one of the old houses, built before the shadar-kai came here,” Ashok said when she looked at him questioningly. Darnae had told him so when he’d visited before. “Will you come inside with me?”

  She didn’t move. Ashok stepped over the threshold and turned to show her that nothing bad had happened to him. He held out his hand.

  In response, she glared at him.

  She was back to her old self enough that she didn’t want to be touched. He dropped his hand. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or not.

  She came over the threshold. Her eyes took in the room in one swift glance: parchment, quills and ink arranged on cloth-covered tables, the room lit with soft candlelight. The surroundings brought peace to Ashok’s mind.

  Why was it that he always felt so comfortable here, in a place as far from the world he knew as the mirror world was from Ikemmu?

  Maybe it was simply the presence of the woman who stepped out now from the back room of the shop. Darnae had bright, prominently blue eyes and an angular face that lit with pleasure when she saw Ashok.

  “I thought I might see you today, Ashok,” she said. “I opened a bottle of wine that Tatigan brought me. He had you in mind when he got it.…”

  Her voice faded as she stepped around the counter and saw Ilvani. The witch crouched at eye level with a rack of quills, so that when she turned to look at the halfling, the two of them were eye to eye.

  “The birds lost all their feathers,” Ilvani said. “No more owls.”

  To Darnae’s credit, she hesitated only for a breath. Then she nodded thoughtfully, as if Ilvani had pointed out a fact she’d never considered before. She walked over to the rack, picked up a quill, and fitted it to Ilvani’s hand. To Ashok’s surprise, Ilvani didn’t jerk away when the halfling touched her fingers.

  “Ashok.” Darnae addressed him, though she never took her eyes off Ilvani. “Could I ask you to go around the counter to the back room and get my bandages and the water basin, please? The
ceiling slants downward back there, so watch your head.”

  “I don’t think I should leave.”

  “Go,” Ilvani said, surprising him again. “I’m fine.”

  Ashok went to the back room and found the bandages and the basin. He brought them to the middle of the room where Darnae and Ilvani had arranged themselves on the floor. Ilvani was trying to hand Darnae back the quill, but Darnae wouldn’t take it, so Ilvani slipped it into the green bag she had tied at her waist.

  “My thanks, Ashok,” Darnae said. She put the basin on her lap and began unrolling the bandages. “Won’t you sit with us?” she said when Ashok remained standing.

  He sat, his hand automatically moving to shift his weapons. He still hadn’t recovered his chain from the forges. He hadn’t checked on Cree, either, or made his report to Uwan about Olra’s death. Everything that had happened in the past few hours was like an indistinct dream. All he had been able to think about was Ilvani’s safety-no, that wasn’t entirely true. He needed answers, a reason why Olra had died. He needed an explanation to give to Cree for why he had lost his eye.

  But more than anything, he needed to be doing something. If he stopped for a breath to think, the red rage would consume him again.

  He sat in silence while Ilvani let Darnae tend to her wounds. The halfling removed Ashok’s hasty bandage and cleaned the cuts-Ashok saw her pause when she discovered the symbols, but he didn’t say anything, just let her examine the marks-and when she finished bandaging them, she wet a strip of cloth and wiped Ilvani’s face clean. Throughout the ministrations, Ilvani didn’t move or protest. Ashok marveled at the two of them.

  He hated to disturb the scene, especially with Ilvani so tranquil, but finally he had to speak. “Darnae, this is Ilvani. I’ve told you about her before.”

  “You have, and I’m pleased to know you, Ilvani,” Darnae said. Her smile quickly faded, though, and she sat aside the basin of water, now pink with Ilvani’s blood. “What brings you here now and with such wicked wounds?”