There was a circular bar on each level, but no food to be had. How could there be, Ashok thought, when the room was filled to capacity with kegs and bottles of more varieties of drink than he would have thought existed in the world.
Cree went to the bar for drinks while Ashok and the others sought a table on the third level. When they were seated, Ashok took the opportunity to examine his new tattoo. Green-inked flames encircled his right forearm from elbow to wrist. The fire appeared surprisingly fluid and gave the illusion that in the right light the flames might dance like a true blaze. The inker, a human female with a shop in the open market, had done an impressive job.
Ashok liked the design, but he still thought the others were being premature by insisting he mark his status as a Camborr-in-training. He’d done nothing to break the nightmare yet, and it might be that the flame tattoo would end up decorating his corpse if he failed.
Music drifted down to them from a small dais on the third level. Distracted from his thoughts, Ashok looked up and saw the only non-shadar-kai patron in the room. He recognized Darnae at once. She was playing some kind of instrument, her small voice curled around a song in a language Ashok didn’t recognize. It must have been her native tongue, he thought.
Ashok had heard music, sometimes, carried by the wind through the caves of his enclave. He had never known where it came from. Those caves were strange entities that collected sounds from miles across the plains, or perhaps from the world that mirrored the Shadowfell.
But he’d never heard music like Darnae’s, so close and warm and somehow personal. The mournful strains of the song filled the darkened room and made Ashok’s chest ache with unexplainable emotion. Was there a spell in the words, to make him react this way? he wondered.
Skagi snapped his fingers in front of Ashok’s face. “We can’t be losing you already, you’ve tasted no drink!” he said.
Vedoran handed Ashok a tankard of something that smelled like almonds. “Start with that,” he said. “If you prove yourself worthy, we’ll move you up to something finer.”
Ashok found it hard to draw his mind away from the song. He sniffed his drink and risked a swallow. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Too sweet,” he said.
“I told you he wouldn’t like the zzar,” Vedoran said.
“He’s a pup, doesn’t know what he likes,” Skagi said, reaching across the table. He took Ashok’s drink and poured the contents into his own tankard, which was already half empty. “Share your brew with him then, if you can pry your fingers away.”
Vedoran handed Ashok a goblet of red liquid. Ashok sniffed. The aroma was sharper, not sweet at all. He took a drink and felt all the moisture leave his tongue. He coughed.
“Doesn’t like that one much either,” Chanoch observed, but Ashok shook his head.
“No, I like it,” he said. He sipped again to confirm his first impression. “What is it?”
“A Cormyrian wine,” Vedoran said. “Highly acidic. Tatigan brings a few bottles in for the tavern twice a year.”
“Charges a pretty price for it too,” Skagi added.
“Who is Tatigan?” Ashok asked.
“He’s a merchant. Human, like most of them, but he deals in rarer goods,” Skagi said. “Exotic wines, but weapons too, and poisons. Whatever you need, he can find it. Rumor is the Watching Blade himself buys from Tatigan.”
“You’ll know him when you see him,” Cree said. “He wears spectacles with green lenses in them. He says it’s because he doesn’t like the colors here.”
“He’s a strange one,” Skagi agreed. He touched his tankard to Ashok’s goblet. “Drink. Vedoran can get himself another.”
“My thanks,” Vedoran said sarcastically. Ashok tried to hand him his goblet back, but he waved it aside. “Finish it,” he said. “It’s a welcome change to find someone who doesn’t enjoy piss and almonds.”
Cree and Chanoch laughed. Skagi made a rude gesture but laughed as well. Vedoran headed to the bar.
When he’d gone, Chanoch elbowed Skagi. “You’re holding your temper,” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t set him down for that.”
“That’s because he knows Vedoran would be the one putting him on the floor,” Cree said, snickering.
Skagi choked on his zzar. “Put me on the floor, eh? It’s not too late to turn on you, brother,” he said.
“If you can catch me,” Cree said.
Skagi opened his mouth to retort, but then his face fell. “Got a point,” he said. “You are too godsdamn fast for your own good.”
“Vedoran’s a fine warrior,” Cree said, addressing Chanoch. “I’ve seen Uwan watching him. If he’d only take the oath, swear faith to Tempus, I think he’d be a Guardian by now.”
“Why doesn’t he take it?” Ashok asked.
“Won’t say,” Skagi replied, shrugging. “Ask me, he’s just being stubborn. He’s a warrior—of course he should follow the war god. What else is there to think about?”
Ashok swirled the wine in his goblet. “Maybe he doesn’t see the warrior god as you do.”
Chanoch scoffed. “Uwan follows Him,” he said. “That’s all I need to hear. Tempus’s will, and Uwan’s, be done.”
Cree groaned. “By the Blade, Chanoch,” he said. “Do you ever tire of rutting at Uwan’s leg like a pup?”
Skagi choked on his zzar again. He bellowed with laughter.
Chanoch looked affronted. “You don’t feel the same loyalty?” he said.
“We do. But we’re more graceful about it,” Cree said. He took a long swallow of his own zzar.
Vedoran returned to the table then, and the conversation subsided. Ashok listened to Darnae’s song. She was playing something livelier now—a tune she wasn’t as skilled with, Ashok noted. He felt the rhythm falter at times, but the tune was still beautiful, and she played as if her private enjoyment of the music was more than enough for her.
She hit another sour note—loud enough to make Ashok glance up at the dais. A crash and the sound of glass breaking followed.
“Godsdamn, shut it up!” came a voice from below them on the second level.
A shadar-kai with wild black eyes snatched another glass from the bar and hurled it up at Darnae. The glass shattered against the dais, spraying shards across her stage.
Darnae abandoned her instrument and backed against the wall, shielding her face with her hands.
Ashok stood up.
A human man standing behind the bar reached out to lay a hand across the wild shadar-kai’s wrist before he could grab another glass. “Easy, now. You’ve had too much of the fruit,” he said. The calming gesture poorly masked the anger in the human’s expression. “Leave it alone, friend.”
“Tell it … stop its screechin’ then,” yelled the shadar-kai. He jerked his wrist out of the human’s grip. “And don’ you touch me.”
“Where you going?” Skagi called after Ashok, but he was already on the stairs.
The rest of the bar patrons had gone quiet watching the scene. Ashok saw the uncertainty in their eyes. They didn’t know which side to support, he thought. The barkeep was not one of their people, but the shadar-kai was clearly out of control. Ashok could see the wildness swimming in his eyes, and he knew what the fruit was.
It grew in the dark caves in purplish clusters near the underground rivers. Some of his own enclave mixed the juice into drinks or ate the fruits whole for the giddiness they induced. The lightheaded feeling was the closest many of them could come to relaxing their minds. Physically, the drug sped up the heartbeat, and taking too much could cause reflexes and nerves to become ragged, as he was seeing in the wild shadar-kai.
He walked up to the bar, leaned against it, and motioned to the human with his empty goblet.
“More wine,” he said. “The Cormyrian.”
The silence was loud in the room. The human stared at him, his mouth agape, and didn’t move. Next to Ashok, the wild shadar-kai wore a similar expression, but it quickly shifted to irrit
ation.
“I was ’ere ‘fore you, friend,” he said. He swatted at Ashok as if to push him out of the way.
Ashok grabbed the shadar-kai’s wrist and held the man’s arm extended in the air. With his other hand he calmly slid his wine goblet across the bar. He didn’t look at the shadar-kai; he never took his eyes off the barkeep. “You do have the Cormyrian?” he asked.
The human nodded, glancing between the two men uncertainly. The wild one struggled in Ashok’s grip, his teeth clenched like a furious animal; but his mind was too sluggish to do more than pull ineffectually at the hand that held him captive.
“Then I’d like some more, please,” Ashok said, his tone conversational.
The barkeep pivoted, took a bottle off the floor behind him, and uncorked it. He poured the red liquid into Ashok’s goblet. The aroma wafting from the bottle made the hairs on Ashok’s neck stand up. The wine’s scent conjured the same inexplicable sensations the music had.
He took a sip, aware of his captive growing more and more agitated. His gray face had turned red with rage and humiliation. He clawed at Ashok’s fingers with his free hand, but the fruit had dulled his strength, and Ashok barely felt the stings. The wine held all his attention.
“This is indescribable,” he told the barkeep. He spoke carefully, aware of the rest of the tavern listening. Darnae came down the stairs in small, hesitant steps, watching him. “I never knew … there was so much more,” he said. “It’s not like wielding a blade or taking pain from a dagger cut, but it’s similar enough, isn’t it?”
The barkeep just stared at him.
“Yes,” Ashok continued, talking mostly to himself. “By itself, the wine would do nothing. But taken together … this city … All of it keeps you sane.”
Ashok’s heart pounded. His body hummed with the tension of exquisite restraint, the feeling starting in his chest and funneling out to each of his limbs. The hand that held the struggling shadar-kai could have crushed the man’s wrist, but Ashok held the pressure in check. He wasn’t fighting himself anymore, only enjoying the sensation of control, the suspended time between inaction and action. His body was on fire and yet serene at the same time.
Carefully, he put down the goblet and released the man’s arm. The shadar-kai stumbled back from the bar. He blinked in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe he was free, then his face twisted in rage, and he went for the sword at his belt.
Ashok moved quickly. He crouched, swept the man’s legs out from under him and pulled the sword from his scabbard, disarming the warrior before his back hit the floor. He tossed the weapon to Skagi, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Cree, Chanoch, and Vedoran.
Skagi looked like he was trying not to smile. “I’ve called the Guardians,” he said. “They should be here in a breath or two. Aren’t you glad we decided to celebrate?”
Ashok picked up his wine. “Definitely,” he said.
Vedoran left Hevalor while his companions were still immersed in their celebrations, giving the excuse that he needed to have his blade worked on by the forge masters before the next training session.
When he was outside the tower, he stopped and probed his right flank with his fingertips. Fire licked his ribs. Vedoran savored the painful breath as his chest rose and fell, but he knew the feeling couldn’t last. At least two of his ribs were broken, possibly more. He’d suspected the injury after a particularly hard training session two days before, but he’d done nothing about it, on the chance the bones were merely cracked. He wished he had known better. If he didn’t seek out healing before his next training session, he might start bleeding inside.
Vedoran had had few occasions to seek out the clerics, but when he did he went deep into the trade district market, to a small, well-kept building with a green-painted door. Carved into the stone above the door was the symbol of Beshaba, the lady of misfortune.
Vedoran knocked on the door, then pushed his way inside to a dark, herb-scented chamber. There were three beds arranged along one wall, a fire pit in the corner, and an altar to Beshaba opposite the door.
A curtained doorway near the altar led to an inner room, and from that room Vedoran heard the sound of prayer. When he closed the door behind himself, the chanting ceased, and he heard footsteps.
A shadar-kai cleric pulled back the curtain and came into the room. He wore Beshaba’s vestments and had thin black hair and a scar that half-closed his left eye. There were three such clerics that shared the small temple, but the scarred one tended to Vedoran most often when he came. His name was Traedis.
“Greetings, Vedoran,” the cleric said. “Are you in need of Beshaba’s blessing?”
“I have flesh that needs mending,” Vedoran said gruffly. “Beshaba can give her blessing or not, it makes no difference to me.”
The cleric smiled. “You never change, Vedoran,” he said. “I believe the Lady enjoys this trait in you. Please sit down.”
When Vedoran was seated, the cleric probed his wounds. “You were right to come to me,” he said. “These blows are serious. You must be facing a mighty opponent in your training sessions.”
Vedoran scowled. “Ashok is not so mighty,” he answered. “He’s undisciplined. He fights every sparring match as if he’s going to be killed. But his control improves daily.”
“And a good thing for you that it does,” Traedis said. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer. By the time he had finished speaking, Vedoran’s wounds were healed.
“My thanks,” Vedoran said. He left a handful of coins on the bed as an offering and rose to leave.
“You say this warrior’s name is Ashok?” Traedis asked. “I’ve heard his name around the city. There are whispers that he is The Watching Blade’s pet.”
Vedoran shrugged. “If he is, it’s nothing to me,” he replied.
“Isn’t it?” Traedis said. “From what I’ve heard, Ashok and Vedoran have much in common. They are both great warriors, though neither one worships Tempus.”
Vedoran stared at the cleric. “And what interest could that hold for anyone?” he said.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Traedis said, his voice deceptively casual. “I make it a point to know who in this city follows the warrior god, and who chooses not to be swept along by Uwan’s will.”
“I see,” Vedoran said carefully. “But those individuals … their numbers can’t be large, can they? It’s no secret that Uwan’s way is the way to power and prominence in Ikemmu. Most choose to follow his path.”
The cleric shook his head. “There are more of us than you think, Vedoran,” he said. Many believe that Uwan has led the shadar-kai according to his—and Tempus’s—whims for too long. Perhaps you and this Ashok should think about your place in this city and your future.”
Vedoran stood with his hand on the door latch. “You speak persuasively,” he said. “But I have a secure place in Ikemmu. I’m not ready to trade that for the word of one Beshaban cleric.” He opened the door and stepped through.
“Come and see me again, Vedoran, when you have need,” Traedis called after him. Vedoran detected amusement in the cleric’s voice. “That day might come sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER
TEN
THE FOLLOWING DAY ASHOK SPOKE TO SKAGI AND VEDORAN after their training session ended. Cree and Chanoch were off sparring with some of the other shadar-kai. After those first two tendays, Jamet had widened their pool of fighting partners to give them experience battling different types of weapons and fighting styles.
Skagi grinned when Ashok told them Olra’s conditions for training the nightmare. “As if we’d miss that spectacle,” he said. “Of course I want to be there when the beast plants you in the dirt. I’ll tell the others.” He moved off.
“The Tet bell,” Ashok called after him.
Vedoran hadn’t spoken, though that was no surprise. The shadar-kai rarely spoke in mixed company, Ashok found, unless it was to trade barbs or jests. He regarded Ashok in a considering silence.
<
br /> “What is it?” Ashok asked, finally growing impatient.
“I must congratulate you,” Vedoran said.
“For what?”
“You are a Camborr now, or soon will be. I didn’t quite believe it before, but there can be no doubt.”
“I was never truly a warrior in training,” Ashok said. “One can’t move up to a rank when he started with none.”
“Even so,” Vedoran said, “Uwan favors you with a great honor.”
“You mean a great honor for a prisoner,” Ashok said.
“More than that,” Vedoran said. “You refuse to wear Tempus’s mark. You reject Ikemmu’s god, yet you’ve earned the city’s favor.”
Though he hadn’t agreed to Ashok’s request, Vedoran started walking in the direction of the Camborr pens and outbuildings. Ashok followed, considering the shadar-kai’s words.
“Does it give you hope?” he asked.
Vedoran glanced at him sidelong. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Ashok chose his words carefully. “Hope that someone of Vedoran’s prowess might hold military rank one day, under the banner of whatever god he chooses,” he said.
“Or no god at all?” Vedoran said.
“Or no god at all,” Ashok replied.
Over their shoulders, the canyon wall cast long shadows. The wind blew cold against Ashok’s face.
“I have worked my sword for the merchant lords these past six years,” Vedoran said. His voice betrayed no emotion, but his black eyes smoldered. “I began with nothing. I had no place but a guard’s standing in front of a store of food crates. But I worked my sword.”
“Now you have the ear of the lord himself,” Ashok said.
“Lord Karthen has rewarded me well for my service,” Vedoran agreed. “But the path I’ve followed, the line behind me, ends at the same place, the same store of food. What is that worth, after all?”
“Everyone in Ikemmu must eat,” Ashok said.
“Yes,” Vedoran said bitterly. “Every animal must take from the trough.”
Unbroken Chain Page 10
