There were scattered chuckles and groans from the crew.
“Knows he’s got an audience,” someone muttered.
“Tonight, in honor of fallen friends, I’ll sing you a story about the mighty shadar-kai and their illustrious city of Ikemmu,” Daruk said. He glanced at Ashok, then at Kaibeth and her sellswords. The brothers sat with Ilvani across from the main fire. Skagi caught Ashok’s eye and shrugged. Who knew what the bard intended?
“A child’s song—just the one or two verses, and we’ll see how much worse it gets from there.”
Daruk circled the dancing flames. The firelight reflected in his dark eyes made them look almost black, like a shadar-kai’s. He spoke a phrase and made a sudden gesture that thickened the smoke and shaped it into two figures, male and female.
“Once there were two gods: the mighty Tempus,” Daruk shouted with exaggerated movements, thrusting his arms to the sky, “and Beshaba, the Lady of Misfortune. They liked to throw the dice, this pair, and bicker and pick, pick and bicker. Their dice were gray cubes with small black eyes—wild, weary skin-cutters, the shadar-kai.” He bowed to Ashok and his companions. “They threw the dice and never made nice with this race that was a prize to each.
“Then one day, Shar came to play.” He gestured again, and a third, larger smoke figure joined the game. It hovered between Tempus and Beshaba, undulating in the air.
“Poor Tempus, poor Beshaba,” Daruk said loudly, over the jeers of both the brothers and the sellswords. “They didn’t like to play with Shar. Her toys were bigger than theirs—floating cities in the air. Her shadar-kai were bigger too, but she still wanted more. She made nice with the war god and the sad god.” The smoky figure of Shar offered Beshaba a bracelet of wispy vapor and gave to Tempus a gray, finely formed dagger.
Ashok watched the apparitions of Tempus and Beshaba clutch their new toys jealously while Shar looked on. Daruk walked up to the fire, and Shar put out her hand to caress his face. He undulated to match her movements, then broke away from the dance to stand before the brothers and Ilvani.
“Everyone was happy, but then one day Shar came back to the game, and she said just this: ‘Foolish sister, you never did know that band I gave you was a snake, and brother Tempus’s sword is clay. I played the game with loaded dice, and now you pay the price, for the shadar-kai are mine.’ ”
Daruk waved a hand and the figures vanished, wreathing him briefly in a cloak of smoky vapor. He bowed and stayed bent so he was at eye level with Ilvani. “What do you think of this story, witch?”
Ashok sat tense, but Ilvani just stared at him with a detached curiosity, the way she often scrutinized the trees or bushes. “You talk a child’s truth,” she said blandly, “black and white, the colors are right. I can make a rhyme, but it doesn’t make it true.”
Skagi burst out laughing, and there were even chuckles among the sellswords. Daruk smiled, exposing rows of white teeth. He bowed deeper to the witch and went back to his place by the fire. He started singing a low-voiced melody that eased the tension in the air. The humans talked among themselves, and the Martucks got up to dance to the slow music. After a while, a few of the others—all humans—joined them.
Ashok and Mareyn moved to the main fire to sit with Ilvani, who watched the humans and their gentle movements.
“Well, that was a waste of time,” Skagi grumbled. “What did he mean with all that godsdamned smoke?”
“A shadow puppet show with the gods—I didn’t think Daruk was quite that arrogant,” Mareyn said.
“Or foolish, to taunt the shadar-kai like that,” Cree said.
“Doesn’t matter—Ilvani put him in his place, didn’t you, witch?” Skagi said.
Ilvani didn’t appear to be listening. “Dancing isn’t a punishment,” she said.
Ashok followed her gaze to the Martucks, who danced close together in each other’s arms. “Not the way they do it,” he agreed.
“Is that why none of the shadar-kai are dancing?” Mareyn said. “I know your people dance. I’ve seen the fire circles.” She grabbed Ashok’s hand. Reluctantly, Ashok let her pull him to his feet.
They walked to the fire and joined the rhythm of the dance. At first, Ashok remained distracted by Daruk’s performance. Cree was right. The bard had done it deliberately to provoke the shadar-kai. Was it just a ploy to stoke their anger and stimulate their souls, or was there a deeper meaning?
“What’s wrong?” Mareyn asked, drawing his attention back to the dance.
“Nothing,” Ashok said. He pulled her closer in imitation of the Martucks.
As the dance continued, Ashok found himself analyzing the experience to see how it affected him. There was no danger, of course, no pain—the pleasure came in holding his partner, sharing the ritual as they moved in tandem. The mutual pleasure fed off itself and heightened Ashok’s awareness of Mareyn. Her nearness brought him her scent, and he felt the ridges of her muscled shoulders under his hands. She let him explore the angles and curves up and down her arms and back as they danced, while her fingers toyed with the scars on his neck.
Daruk’s song and their slow, rhythmic swaying had a lulling effect on Ashok’s mind, but he was not afraid. His body understood the purpose of the ritual. The purpose is not peace, Ashok thought, but prelude. The dance was a joining, though not in the same way his people experienced it in the fire circles. He recognized the connection between him and his partner, though it had been a long time since he’d felt it. He waited for her to guide him, and she did.
Daruk’s melody carried on for some minutes, but Mareyn led Ashok away from the firelight and deeper into the ruins. He followed, his hand held lightly in hers.
Ilvani watched Ashok and Mareyn disappear among the battered stones. The music tapered off, and the dancers headed off to sleep. She noticed Kaibeth and most of her sellswords had sought out partners—some human, some shadar-kai—for their own liaisons. Kaibeth led Cree to her bedroll, and Skagi moved off with one of the human guards. None of them would risk fading again, not tonight.
Ilvani felt eyes on her and looked up to see Daruk coming toward her. The bard sat down in the spot Ashok had vacated and nodded to where he and Mareyn had disappeared.
“See that? Somebody appreciates my music,” he said. He looked at her narrowly. “Or perhaps you didn’t want the song to end that way? If so, my deepest apologies.” He put his hand, fingers spread, over his heart in a gesture that was anything but sincere.
“I wasn’t listening to the song,” Ilvani said.
He laughed. “Of course you weren’t. You truly don’t care that he’s with her, do you? I thought I had it all sorted out between the two of you, the way he watches you all the time. It’s strange. If you were human—”
“I’m not,” Ilvani said. “Neither is he.”
“You’re both a bit odd, on top of that. Which one is the more broken, I wonder?” Daruk said idly.
At that, a small, wicked smile lit Ilvani’s face. “You are,” she said. “The rest of us are at least trying to mend ourselves, but you revel in being broken, Daruk, exiled bard of Netheril. Daruk, beloved of Shar.”
The amusement died out of his eyes, but his voice remained serene. “Did Tatigan tell you that?”
Ilvani shook her head. “I’m a collector, too, but I don’t want most of the secrets I hear on the wind.”
“You’re a prophet, just like your brother was,” the bard said. “Does Tempus whisper the future in your ear?”
“No, I hear only insects buzzing, insects and bards,” she said.
His good humor restored, he laughed. “My apologies again. I wasn’t paying proper attention to you before, but I will, starting now. You’re going to be a player in this game of mine, aren’t you?”
“Whether I choose to or not,” Ilvani said. She glanced toward the stones where Ashok and Mareyn had disappeared. “That’s the way it’s going to be.”
Later, Daruk sat with Tatigan before one of the smaller fires. The flames were slowly
dying, though Tatigan poked the embers valiantly with a stick. Giving up, he took out a bottle of Theskian wine and filled two goblets. Daruk took his and drained it in a couple of swallows. Tatigan sighed at the waste of a good vintage.
“I recognize that look on your face,” Daruk said dryly. “I’ve done something to disappoint you again. Gods, how I hate to fail you, Tatigan. What is it this time?”
“You shouldn’t provoke them,” Tatigan scolded the bard, “not out here in the wilderness. They’re not playing a game. All they see is you insulting their gods, and for that offense, the less disciplined among them could turn on you in a heartbeat. They are ruled by passions you obviously cannot comprehend.”
Daruk lay down on his bedroll with his hands clasped behind his head and one leg thrown over his knee. He closed his eyes, but a wide smile split his dark face. “Are you honestly suggesting I should be afraid of Ikemmu’s shadar-kai?” The distaste was thick in his voice.
“You’re a long way from home,” Tatigan pointed out. “If you’re going to dwell in Ikemmu, you’d do worse than to make a few friends among its warriors.”
Daruk sighed. “I tried with Ashok, but I don’t think he likes me, which is a shame. I could compose songs about that one, battle anthems that might fill the hole in my poor heart.”
“You think Ashok will fill the void left by Netheril?” Tatigan shook his head. “No man can replace an empire.”
“He’s the only warrior in Ikemmu whose skill and taste for blood rival that of the shadar-kai of Netheril,” Daruk said. “If he’d been raised in the empire, I’d already be writing songs about him.”
“But he wasn’t and you’re not,” Tatigan said. “Instead, you’re on the run from the same people you hold in such reverence. If they found you, they’d happily tear you to pieces.”
He poured more wine for them both. “The shadar-kai of the Shadowfell, especially Ashok, won’t be the domesticated creatures of the Shades. I’ve made a study of both peoples. They have a different destiny than their forebears. Whether it’s to destroy themselves or make a civilization in Ikemmu, I honestly couldn’t say.”
Darnae always talked about her great hope for the race, Tatigan thought, but at heart, she was overly romantic. Ashok has no illusions about the nature of his race.
“Well, I’m not going to try to predict the outcome either way,” Daruk said. “But I think Ashok will surprise you by how much a part of the darkness he really is. He might relish a taste of true power. Ah, now that’s an interesting notion. Perhaps I will pursue it.”
“Do nothing foolish,” Tatigan said, a threat implicit in his tone. “Not on my caravan.”
“Of course not, my friend,” Daruk said. “I will do nothing to the detriment of you or your people. You have my word.”
Tatigan wondered what such a gift was worth.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
ILVANI DREAMED, AND IN HER DREAMS, THE RASHEMI WITCH stood over her as she lay in the middle of a vast battlefield. Tuigan corpses lay strewn about in their death poses. Their faces all turned toward her, accusing. Blood soaked the ground.
“It’s coming,” the dead witch told Ilvani. “I hope you’re pleased.”
“What?” Ilvani tried to stand up, but the wind blew in fierce gusts that bore shards of glass. The pain knocked her off her feet. “We have to run!”
“Yes, run,” the woman said mockingly, “before it’s too late. Run, run. You said you’d help me!”
Blood poured from a wound in the woman’s stomach. Ilvani saw the blood eat up the ground and come toward her like a living creature. Behind the witch, in the distance, the storm approached.
Ilvani got to her feet and stumbled away, but she knew she couldn’t outrun the vicious wind. It sliced open her arms, legs, cheeks, and hands, until she couldn’t see her own skin for the blood.
Ilvani screamed until her throat was hoarse. She screamed until she woke herself and realized that the rest of the camp was screaming too.
It was still dark, but fires moved among the ruins—the guards and drovers ran about, swinging torches in the air. She caught a glimpse of Kaibeth, shouting orders to some of the others, her face and hair bloodied.
“Keep the fire on them!” she yelled, and disappeared again into the darkness.
Ilvani stood up. Smoke poured from a mass of gray-black flesh on the ground not far from where she’d slept. The putrid stench of its burning filled Ilvani’s nose, and she gagged. Unwillingly, she started toward it to see what it was, but then in the smoke and darkness, she saw three large lumbering shapes just out of reach of the torchlight. Then came the sound of a great impact, bones crushed, and a body flew out of the darkness and landed at her feet.
She stared at the dead man’s sightless eyes. He had a hole in his skull. Chips of white bone stuck to his forehead. Strangely, his lips and the left side of his face were blue with frost.
Ilvani stretched out her awareness and felt an unnatural aura surrounding the camp. She realized then that the air was much, much colder than it should have been, even for the winter night.
“Fire,” she said. She lifted her right hand and called again in the tongue of magic. Her hand burst into orange flame. Torch in hand, she walked purposefully toward the lumbering shapes. She had to find Ashok and tell him it was time to release the nightmare and its deadly flame.
Otherwise, the ice trolls would kill them all.
Ashok was far enough away in the ruins that he didn’t hear the screams heralding the first attack. He awoke at the same time as Mareyn. Stiff in his arms, she listened with him to the sounds of frantic movement and shouts from the camp. Then they moved at once, grabbed clothing and weapons, and ran into the darkness.
They were in such a rush that they nearly ran up the back of one of the trolls.
A blast of frigid air assailed Ashok’s limbs. Beside him, Mareyn gasped when she ran into the troll’s aura. She fumbled for her weapon, and Ashok swung his chain above his head. Their movements were sluggish, hampered by the frozen air. Ashok’s breath was a fire in his lungs.
The troll heard them and swung around, its huge maul leading. Mareyn dived out of the way and rolled in the snow. Ashok dodged and let his chain fly over the troll’s weapon. It struck the monster in one of its black, jewel-like eyes. The troll howled in pain and clutched its face. Retreating several paces, it stepped into the light of one of the campfires, and Ashok got a good look at it.
The monster had gray, lumpy skin and a fine coat of frost-rimed hair all over its body but especially around its thick lips. Oversized ears were black at the tips. They drooped almost to the creature’s shoulders. The frost gave its skin an odd, glittering quality like crystal in the light of the campfires.
Mareyn came up in a flurry of snow and steel. She stabbed the troll in the thigh while it was still distracted with its wound. The creature took a blind step toward her and swiped at her with its free hand. Mareyn tried to dodge again, but the cold aura emanating from the creature made her clumsy. Troll claws caught her by the arm and lifted her into the air. She hit the remains of a stone wall and fell on her stomach.
Ashok hollered to get the troll’s attention and let his chain fly again. The troll turned back to face him, and Ashok fumbled the strike when he saw the creature’s face.
The monster’s eye wound had closed. Only the dark blood on its face marked where he’d injured the thing. This rapid healing was bad enough, but the look in its eyes truly gave Ashok pause. Its eyes were feverish, unfocused, almost as if the creature didn’t fully understand where it was or what it was doing.
This was not the attack of an organized party of trolls seeking food. These mad creatures craved blood and violence just like the shadow beasts that Tuva’s caravan had encountered on the plain.
Ilvani’s demons had followed her to the surface of Faerûn.
Mareyn groaned and pulled herself to a sitting position. “Fire,” she said. “We have to burn them.”
Them.
Ashok turned and saw three other shapes silhouetted in the campfire lights. Trolls surrounded the camp.
He heard the distant screams of the horses. They ran free, terrified as they fought to escape the trolls. One of the creatures burst through a partial stone structure and grabbed a fleeing horse by the neck. The poor animal’s scream cut off abruptly as the troll snapped its neck.
Ashok knew at least one of the animals wouldn’t be running.
“I have to find my horse,” Ashok said to Mareyn. He struck the troll with the end of his chain, again drawing blood and a scream from the monster.
“What?” Mareyn cried. “They’re scattered, Ashok.” She got to her feet and came at the troll’s back, slashing with her blade. The creature kept its attention on Ashok and the chain. It held one hand over its face and swung its maul with the other.
Ashok took the blow to his shoulder and went down on his knees. His armor took some of the impact, but he still felt brilliant pain light up the left side of his body. The troll stood over him and raised his maul for an overhand strike that would drive Ashok into the ground. Ashok waited until the last second and teleported out from under the weapon. When he reappeared several feet away, he heard the shuddering impact of the weapon with the ground.
With the troll bent over and off balance, Mareyn came in from its left side and chopped overhand at the creature’s head. The troll scuttled back out of the way with surprising grace, but it wasn’t fast enough. Mareyn’s strike severed its left ear.
Perfect, Ashok thought. The troll held the side of its head and thrashed, spraying blood on the snow. In his shadowy form, Ashok moved to stand in front of the creature. The troll looked up at him and snarled.
Ashok smiled at it.
The troll screamed and dived at him, but it passed through Ashok’s incorporeal body and slid in the snow. Ashok felt his flesh thicken and take on weight. He bent and scooped up the troll’s ear.
Unbroken Chain: The Darker Road Page 18
