“Go on ahead,” Ashok said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Cree nodded and left to follow his brother. The guards gathered up the caravan debris. Absently, Ashok picked up a dusty wheel and threw it into the back of one of the few intact wagons. Blood covered the ground where Ashok stood, but he couldn’t tell if it was shadar-kai or panther blood. Luckily, Cree and Skagi had appeared unscathed after the battle. The panther claws hadn’t penetrated their armor.
Their accusations cut Ashok deeper than he wanted to admit.
Ashok had admittedly gotten caught up in the fighting frenzy, but that wasn’t unusual for his race. Over the last few months, as he adjusted to his role as a Guardian, he’d cultivated restraint in his fighting and adapted to working his deadly chain with allies nearby. He hadn’t intended to leave Cree and Skagi behind. He’d focused on the battle in front of him, and he’d known, when he ran after the big panther, that his companions would come through their battle. That, not his own safety, had been his prevailing thought.
A high-pitched cry from the plain distracted Ashok from his thoughts. More survivors. He sprinted north in the direction of the sound. He ran until the wreckage ended and there was only the open plain scrolling away in broken ridges to the horizon. A line of dim gray clouds riding low overhead reinforced the perpetual twilight of the Shadowfell. Earth and sky were dismal mirrors of each other. No kindling trees or scrub grass grew on this stretch of land. The unbroken sameness blurred his vision and made him squint, disoriented, into the distance.
The wind whistled sharply, and Ashok thought he might have imagined the cry for help. He was about to turn back when the sound came again, echoing like death’s shriek on the wind. The cry shuddered through Ashok’s body, and he stumbled and fell.
He knew that sound.
Ashok staggered to his feet. He absorbed the shooting pain in his leg where the panther had wounded him, and he used it to lengthen his stride back toward the portal. He wanted to lose himself in the pain, to block out the piercing, malignant summons that issued from somewhere deep in the Shadowfell.
The nightmare was calling to him.
After eight months of peace, the beast sought Ashok again. It had followed the inexplicable connection between them back to the city where once they’d both been prisoners.
It craved blood. Ashok wondered if the nightmare had found the corpse of the she-panther out on the plain. Did it smell Ashok’s hand in the killing?
He tried to ignore the cry. The nightmare’s shriek, the smell of blood permeating the caravan wreckage, all of it took him back to that terrible hole in the ground—his former home.
Ashok had come from an enclave of shadar-kai that, to keep their souls from fading, had lost them in the process. They kidnapped a caravan party from Ikemmu, then tortured and killed most of its members. Only the witch Ilvani survived, rescued by Ashok and his companions. Ashok had betrayed his enclave that day, but he’d reclaimed his soul.
To escape from that place, Ashok and the nightmare had forged a path of destruction through the caves that had obliterated a good portion of his enclave. He didn’t regret what they’d saved that day—the lives of Skagi and Cree, Chanoch, Vedoran, and Ilvani—but Ashok would never forget the screams of his people as they died. He heard them now in the nightmare’s scream.
There had been so many lives saved, but so many more lost. Chanoch and Vedoran—those comrades were gone now—one to the shadows, the other dead by Ashok’s hand.
Ashok went through the portal without speaking to anyone. When he came out into the Shadowdark, the nightmare’s scream finally ceased. Ashok stood for a moment in the silence and waited for the memories and the smell of blood to fade. His own wound distracted him, and Ashok knew he would have to seek healing at Tower Makthar before he could present himself to Uwan.
He passed through the gate, which was open to admit what was left of the caravan. His eyes sought Neimal up on the wall, but when he found her, Ashok was surprised to see not one witch but two—Ilvani stood talking with Neimal near the gate.
He tried to catch her eye, but she was absorbed in conversation with Neimal. She’d been like a ghost these past few months—he’d never seen her except from a distance, as now, and she hadn’t sought him out.
Just as well. Ilvani had her own nightmares to haunt her, more painful and terrifying than Ashok’s beast. His presence would only remind her of them.
Ashok risked another glance up at the two witches. By chance, Ilvani’s attention wandered, and she turned and caught Ashok’s gaze.
Seeing her face, Ashok felt a displacement, as if he’d gone back in time. The city spiraled away, and he was seeing Ilvani for the first time, eyes burning out of deep skull sockets, a broken body in a cage. He remembered that look on her face, the same look she wore now. Something was terribly wrong.
“Ilvani,” he called out to her, but she was already backing away from Neimal, retreating. She moved down the wall and abruptly teleported to the ground. Ashok caught up with her while her body was still transparent, a spirit drifting between the burned-out houses near the wall. He reached for her arm, but his hand passed through her.
She jerked away from him as if he had touched her. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she snapped. Shadows swirled around her body. “You look when you’re not supposed to look—that’s how your eyes get burned.”
“I’m sorry.” Ashok forced himself to slow, to keep his distance from her. He’d forgotten that talking to Ilvani was often like groping for a candle in a dark room. He was always running into walls. “I want to know what’s wrong. Can’t you tell me?”
“Can’t I tell you? Can’t I lift you down?” She covered her ears with her hands. “If everyone would stop talking all at the same time, you might hear everything.”
The shadows faded as her body took on substance. Ashok noticed deep circles under her black eyes. Though she wore a light nightdress beneath her cloak, she looked as if she hadn’t slept in a tenday. Blood stained her palms, and thick dust streaked her clothes and hair. The implications of her appearance hit Ashok like a fist.
“Gods, Ilvani, were you out on the plain just now?” he demanded. “In the storm?”
She laughed bitterly. “Now you sound like Uwan. ‘Little raven, don’t wander away.’ ‘Little snow rabbit, you might get hurt.’ ”
“I want to help you.”
Her face softened a bit. “You can’t help everyone,” she said. She gestured to his bleeding leg. “You should look after yourself.”
She walked away from him then, and Ashok knew better than to follow her.
CHAPTER
TWO
AFTER HE’D VISITED TOWER MAKTHAR TO ACCEPT HEALING from the clerics of Tempus, Ashok walked beneath the bridges spanning Pyton and Hevalor. In quick strides, he entered the fenced training yard of Tower Athanon. He nodded to Jamet, one of the warrior trainers, who stood before a large group of shadar-kai—the latest batch of recruits to enter Ikemmu’s military.
Not long ago, Uwan permitted only servants of Tempus to serve the city in this way, but in the last year all that changed. Now there were warriors whose patrons were Tempus, Beshaba, and Loviatar, among others. Ashok noticed that many of the new recruits displayed the markings of their gods openly, either as symbols worn around their necks or tattoos on their arms and faces. A mark of pride, to be sure, but that wasn’t the only reason they wore the symbols in such a way.
They don’t believe things have truly changed, Ashok thought. They’re testing the new order, daring the followers of Tempus to challenge them. As if to confirm this, several of the shadar-kai turned to whisper to one another and shot Ashok cold glances as he walked past.
Ashok met their stares with a neutral expression, but inwardly he cringed. To Ikemmu he was still Tempus’s chosen, a mantle given to him by Uwan, who believed Ashok was a favorite of the war god. Uwan’s blind faith had divided Ikemmu and had almost torn the city apart. A tenuous peace had been restored,
but Ashok was still esteemed by half the city—and hated by the other half.
“There walks the emissary of Tempus,” one of the recruits said. “Don’t stand too close to him, or he’ll make you the war god’s whore too.”
Ashok stopped, then turned slowly to face the gathered shadar-kai. He didn’t know who had spoken, but his hand went to his chain. The urge to strike out was almost too strong. He stared at the recruits, silently daring them to come closer and repeat the taunt. The recruits noticed the change in the air. Some of them surged forward, eager to take on Ashok.
“That’s enough,” Jamet yelled from across the yard. “All of you are mine. If you want to be Guardians, you’ll keep your tongues quiet and prove to me you deserve to stand in this training yard!”
The recruits reluctantly turned their attention to Jamet. Ashok lingered a moment longer in the yard, then he entered the tower. When he was out of sight of the recruits, some of Ashok’s tension eased. He climbed the winding tower stairs to the topmost level and knocked on the door to Uwan’s chamber.
“Come in,” came Uwan’s voice.
Uwan, Skagi, and Cree stood near the long table where Uwan usually met with his Sworn, his closest military advisers. The leader of Ikemmu was not as large or as menacing as Tuva in his shadowmail armor, but he moved with grace and had a bearing of utter calm about him that was rare among the wild shadar-kai. Standing next to him, still faintly affected by battle lust, Skagi and Cree were like dust-covered fiends. Ashok knew he must look the same.
The brothers nodded to him. Their expressions betrayed nothing of the earlier disagreement.
“Ah, Ashok. How’s your leg?” Uwan asked. He saw for himself the healed wound and nodded. “Thank Tempus you’re all right. I’m told Tuva, Vlahna, and the other survivors will recover as well.”
Ashok nodded, but he said nothing. He was grateful for the healing, but after the scene in the training yard, he wasn’t eager to speak of the warrior god.
“Skagi and Cree report that the caravan suffered heavy losses just outside the portal, but they can’t be certain how many were lost in the storm and how many were killed by the shadow beasts that got loose. Is that your assessment as well?”
“Yes,” Ashok said, “but nothing about this slaughter makes sense. I’ve worked with enough of these beasts to know that once they escaped their cages, they should have tried to flee the storm, not stayed in the thick of it to hunt down the caravan crew. Those panthers were mad—they were hunting their own deaths.”
“Found ’em, too,” Skagi murmured, and Cree smiled faintly.
Uwan shook his head. “Not good enough,” he said. “We lost an experienced Camborr and almost an entire caravan when it was nearly home.” He looked at the three of them. “Find out why. Talk to the survivors tomorrow once they’ve recovered and see if they noticed anything strange about the beasts when they captured them. Report to me at the Trimmer bell. That’s all.”
The abrupt dismissal was unlike Uwan. Ashok exchanged a look with Skagi and Cree. The brothers seemed equally taken off guard. They turned to go, but Ashok hesitated at the door.
“I saw Ilvani earlier, on the wall,” he said.
“The wall?” Uwan looked surprised.
“She was talking to Neimal,” Ashok said. “I think she was out on the plain, if not in the storm, then at least on the edge of it.”
The leader wore a grim expression. “She’s been walking the tower at night. I see her sometimes, when I can’t sleep myself. She goes up and down the stairs as if she’s trying to outrun someone.” He looked at Ashok. “I thought, after all this time, she’d be getting better, but clearly, she’s still grieving her brother’s death.”
Ashok noticed that Uwan rarely said Natan’s name. Ilvani wasn’t the only one still mourning the cleric. “What if it’s something else?” he said. “She looked frightened when I saw her. Someone should talk to her, find out what’s going on.”
Uwan shook his head. “Just let her be alone for now. It took me a long time, but I’ve learned not to rush Ilvani. When she’s ready, she’ll tell us what’s troubling her.”
Ashok wasn’t so certain, but he didn’t voice his misgivings to Uwan. The leader seemed distracted, eager for them to be gone. Uwan was never so abrupt. Ashok wondered what it meant.
He left the tower with Skagi and Cree, but as soon as they were out of the training yard, Ashok turned to the brothers. “The Watching Blade has something preying on his mind,” he said.
“He was worse before you came into the room,” Skagi said, “when we told him how many warriors we’d lost.”
“Must be the caravan—old memories,” Cree said. “We haven’t lost one like this since—” He hesitated and glanced at Ashok.
“Since my enclave took Ilvani’s party,” Ashok said. “If that’s what it is, we should talk to the caravan masters as soon as possible and make our report.”
His thoughts lingered on Ilvani. She’d said, “You can’t help everyone.” Maybe that was true, but right now, the idea disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.
After Ashok and the others had gone, Uwan stood staring at the painting of Ikemmu that hung on the wall. Every time he looked at it, he marveled anew at how Ilvani saw the city. She missed nothing, no fire flaw or architectural flourish. How he wished she could interpret her own thoughts with the same clarity. If she could share her pain with someone, it would help her to heal.
The door to his inner chamber opened, and Neimal stepped through.
“I thought I instructed you to wait for me?” he said.
“Forgive me, my lord, but we must discuss a plan of action as soon as possible.” The witch came to stand beside him. Her bald head showed off a claw tattoo running up the back of her neck. “We no longer have Natan’s gift of prophecy to root out threats to the city. We’re on our own.”
“Tempus wills it so,” Uwan said. “We’ve grown to rely on Him too much. We must look to ourselves now and accept His test.”
“Did you tell Ashok about the threat?” Neimal asked.
“No,” Uwan said, “and I ask that you not tell him, either, not yet. He’s only now growing comfortable in his role as Guardian. He feels that he has a place here, and I don’t want to jeopardize that.”
“Even at the risk of his life?” Neimal said. When Uwan turned to look at her, she dropped her gaze and said, “I spoke rashly, my lord. I know you would never do anything to endanger him.”
“Or anyone else in this city,” Uwan said, “if I can prevent it. I’ve been down this road before, Neimal. Until we know the nature of the threat, I will assume nothing. For now, I want you to watch and listen, as you have been doing, to the leaders of the other religions in the city. Find out if this is all bluster or if it has teeth. Once you know for certain, I will act, I promise you.”
“As you say, my lord.” Neimal bowed and left the room by the door to the tower stairs, leaving Uwan alone with his thoughts.
Tempus watch over him, Uwan prayed silently. He needs You, whether he’ll admit it or not.
The following day, Ashok, Skagi, and Cree headed back to Makthar, the temple home, to find the caravan masters. Clerics busily tended to wounded shadar-kai newly returned from a raid on the Underdark the previous night. Ashok caught Vlahna coming down the stairs.
“If you’re looking for Tuva”—she hesitated as an angry bellow echoed from two levels above them; she pointed upward and flashed them a crooked smile—“I’m sure he’s aching to have visitors.”
“Can you take us to him?” Ashok said. “We’d like to talk to both of you.”
She led them up the spiral stair to a recovery chamber similar to the one Ashok remembered from his first day in Ikemmu. Beds filled the room, all of them empty now except for the one occupied by Tuva. The far wall displayed an illuminated carving of Tempus’s sword.
A cleric wearing the same symbol bent over Tuva’s bed—or, more accurately, Tuva had grabbed the cleric’s tabard in his fist and dr
agged the cleric’s face as close to his own as possible.
“How many times did I tell you I wanted the wound stitched up instead of prayer-healed?” he shouted. He pulled down his shirt to expose the smooth, unblemished flesh of his neck. “I lose consciousness for a night, and you do this! There’s not a mark here now!”
The cleric, apparently used to this abuse, let himself be manhandled but shouted in his turn, “And I told you that by the time I’d found thread and a needle big enough to get through your thick neck, you would have bled to death all over my sickroom!”
“Bah! You damned lazy clerics forget what your hands are for. Bother Tempus with prayers to fix a scratch? Gods, it’s all I can do not to rip this flesh open and—”
“Tuva,” Vlahna said, waving her arms to get the warrior’s attention. “Wait a breath before you rip anything open. These Guardians want to talk to us.”
Tuva released the cleric, who straightened his tabard and walked away stiffly. “You all fought well out on the plain,” he said. “My thanks for the aid.”
“Shame you didn’t get to keep your scar,” Cree said, grinning.
“ ‘Shame’ is truly the word.” Tuva shot another withering glance in the cleric’s direction.
“Uwan asked us to speak with you both about the caravan,” Ashok said. “He wants to know what happened out there with the shadow beasts.”
Tuva sobered, though an angry flush still stained his face. “We’ve led caravan runs on the Shadowfell for five years now, and before that I worked as a guard. In all that time, I’ve never seen anything like what happened out there today.”
“Risic was our Camborr,” Vlahna explained. “He rode alongside the wagons to keep an eye on the beasts during the journey. We were in sight of the portal when the storm came on us. Tuva gave the order to halt, and Risic covered the cages with tarps to protect the beasts.
“Everything was fine, when all of a sudden the cages rattled and the beasts hollered like I’ve never heard before. The noise was so loud, we heard it over the storm. Risic went and lifted one of the tarps, and a panther clipped him on the shoulder. The wound wasn’t bad, but the beasts were all acting crazy.”
Unbroken Chain: The Darker Road Page 3
