Across the paddock, Skagi whistled. “I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” he said in bemused admiration. “Assuming it doesn’t burn you to ashes, you may have made a new friend.”
Ashok allowed himself a smile. Chanoch and Cree applauded, whooping with excited laughter. Vedoran’s expression remained neutral. Ashok knew only half his attention was on the spectacle in the paddock. The other half considered the greater implications of where Ashok sat, of his place as a Camborr.
Suddenly, amid the noise, the nightmare came to life. Ashok gripped handfuls of mane when the beast reared up, pawing the air with fire licking his hooves. He came down hard, throwing Ashok forward against his neck.
“Hold!” Ashok cried as the shadar-kai moved in. The nightmare charged, and Olra’s guards broke the protective ring around Ashok. The beast took the gap and ran for the fence, veered aside at the last breath, and galloped in a wide circle around the paddock.
Ashok held on, half-blinded by the wall of heat rising around him. The nightmare’s fetlocks and tail were fully ablaze. His mane flared pale orange but did not ignite. Ashok could see the blue roots outlining the nightmare’s spine. He was holding back. Ashok couldn’t imagine the restraint it took for the nightmare not to burn his rider alive.
The faces of the watching shadar-kai blurred together as they ran, and Ashok—sweating, fevered, close to burning—almost didn’t see the other figure that stood watching from outside the fence.
Uwan regarded him from a distance, his face unreadable. But as Ashok rode past, the Watching Blade raised his hand to his chest in salute.
Euphoric, Ashok raised his own hand in answer.
“He can’t be trusted with this mission,” Natan said.
Uwan and Natan stood in the empty training yard, waiting for Ashok and the rest of the recruits. The cleric’s face looked dangerously thin in the half-light. It reminded Uwan how little Natan had done except pray in the last month. He ate only what he needed to survive, slept in vision-shrouded dreams, and rarely ventured outside except to come to Athanon to report to him.
“There’s no questioning Ashok’s skill,” Uwan said. “He could best many of the Guardians in open combat, though Jamet still has reservations about his control.”
“You sound as if you’re proud of him,” said Natan.
“I’m proud of them all,” Uwan said. The footprints of the recruits had torn up the ground. They’d sparred amid the distant nightmare screams, never breaking. Warriors, all. Yes, he was proud of them.
“Yet Ashok isn’t one of ours,” Natan reminded him.
“He has acquitted himself well this past month. And he tamed the nightmare,” Uwan said. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the two of them, riding in that paddock, they looked right together.”
“Once he’s outside the city, he’s beyond our control,” Natan said. “We can’t stop him, if he chooses to betray us.”
“That’s when Tempus takes over,” Uwan said. “He will guide Ashok in our stead.”
Natan looked at him. “My Lord, Tempus has already warned us of an imminent threat to our city that will involve Ashok in some form. Now he sends me a vision—” Natan’s voice broke.
Uwan put a hand on the cleric’s shoulder. “I know, my friend,” he said. “He’s showing us the way to find her. We’re very close now.”
“I saw the vast bog,” Natan said. “Fire burned a path through the swamp and pointed the way. I saw her face, my Lord. She is alive.”
“I never doubted it,” Uwan said. “We will bring them all home, Natan. I promise you.”
“But if you send Ashok … If something should go wrong—”
“He will not be alone,” Uwan assured him. “I will surround Ashok with his companions. They are all fine warriors, and I believe they will bind Ashok’s heart to Ikemmu.”
“Forgive me for doubting, my Lord, but you risk much with this plan,” Natan said.
Uwan saw the worry and fear etched on the cleric’s gaunt face. He squeezed Natan’s shoulder. “Be strong,” Uwan said. “It won’t be long now.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
ASHOK DIDN’T HEAR THE MONRIL BELL. HE WAS BURIED IN the dream.
His back was to the cold cave wall, his chain snapping across the fire to warn his brother away. Lakesh had fallen after taking a blow to the face from Ashok’s chain. He hadn’t gotten up yet.
Somewhere in the distance, Ashok heard a scream like a mad horse. He shivered despite the heat of the fire. Where had he heard that sound before?
Another shadow moved in the tunnel mouth, and Ashok tensed, his lips curling in a feral snarl. He clutched an arm against his chest. It was wet with his blood and raw from the sword slash Lakesh had given him.
Was it another brother come to challenge him?
“No,” Ashok growled. “No more.”
His father stepped around the fire, his boots crunching gravel. He held a torch and a bucket of water, which he poured onto the flames.
Smoke erupted in the confined space. Ashok’s eyes watered. “What are you doing?” he demanded. Half blind, he couldn’t tell if Lakesh was preparing another attack. Why would his father interfere?
“No fires so deep in the caves. You know the rules,” his father said. He was an imposing figure, with a mane of dirty red hair and beast hide armor. Thick, ropey scars covered his arms and legs. He was the most physically dominant figure in their enclave, but not the most cunning. The cunning had gone to his sons, seven of them.
Once there had been nine.
They’d all been got on different mothers in the enclave, but those were either gone or with other men. The shadar-kai existed as rogues, or in enclaves like wolves, but they did not have that animal’s notion of a pack when it came to mating or raising offspring.
Shadar-kai mated for stimulation first and to produce young second. Offspring were divided up between sire and dam as they saw fit and raised until they could fend for themselves and contribute to the enclave.
“Get out of here,” Ashok said to his father, his chain held crosswise in front of him. It was a flimsy defense against his father’s brute strength.
“Stand at ease,” his father said with narrowed eyes. “Lakesh is dead.”
“What?” said Ashok. He came around the ruined fire and saw that his father spoke the truth. Lakesh lay on his back, his throat slashed open by Ashok’s chain. The blood looked black against his brother’s gray skin.
“Well done,” his father said gravely.
“I didn’t challenge him,” Ashok said. Mechanically, he gathered his chain—the spikes still stained with his brother’s lifeblood—and put it back on his belt. His dagger was somewhere on the ground; he would find it later. “He came to me,” Ashok said.
“Lakesh underestimated you,” his father said. “The others won’t.”
“But they will come for me,” Ashok said. He could still hear the harsh scream echoing in the caves. The sound was coming closer. “What will happen when there are none of us left?” he asked. “Who will defend the enclave?”
“The strongest will find a way to survive,” his father said, unconcerned. “They will dominate the weak.”
“Such a waste,” Ashok said. “All of it.”
“It’s the only way we keep power,” his father replied.
“What benefit to Lakesh?” Ashok asked, his voice rising. “He put food in my mouth when I was a babe. I remember that time. Now you’re pitting us all against each other. You make us weak.”
His father moved fast. His big hand encased Ashok’s throat and drove him back against the cave wall.
“Choose your words well, my son,” he said, bending his face close to Ashok’s.
Ashok choked. The screaming was so loud he could barely hear his father’s voice. “Don’t do this,” he cried.
“Don’t do this?” his father said, his face twisting. With shoulders shaking, he bellowed with uncontrolled laughter that mi
ngled with the scream. “What makes you think we have a choice, child?”
His father was still speaking, his lips moving and his eyes alight with unholy glee as he choked his son. But Ashok could no longer hear the words. When his father spoke, all he could hear was the screaming.
Ashok awoke sitting up, his back pressed against the wall. His first clues that he wasn’t in the cave anymore were the smooth stone and the warmth. He looked around the room and saw the empty beds, the discarded clothing. Even the air smelled different. Torches burned on the walls, but the smoke filtered out through gaps in the stone above his head.
He was alone in the room. Ashok listened for the Monril bell but heard nothing except the echo of the nightmare’s scream in his ears. He’d missed the waking call. The other shadar-kai must already be at morningfeast.
Someone would be coming to look for him soon. Ashok sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and ran trembling hands through his hair.
You expected it, Ashok chided himself. You shouldn’t have let it hit you so hard.
Olra had told him the nightmare would exploit his fears. Planting the dreams was the beast’s greatest power, more terrifying than being burned alive by his fire.
But Ashok had expected to dream about losing his soul.
It was every shadar-kai’s worst fear. The shadar-kai welcomed death in battle, for the alternative was to fade, their souls lost to the shadows, doomed to wander a nameless void. To be so alone, all life and feeling denied—Ashok shuddered at the thought of such nothingness.
Ashok had expected to dream of that void, yet he’d dreamed of his father and brothers. Those weren’t nightmares, they were memories. Yet they couldn’t harm him in Ikemmu’s vast stone towers. In Ikemmu he was a different person, safe from the past and a life he barely recognized as belonging to him.
Ashok dressed, armed himself, and went down to the training yard. The shadar-kai were still assembling into lines. No one had missed him yet.
He took his place next to Skagi, Cree, and Chanoch. They nodded to him.
“Interesting dreams?” Cree asked.
Ashok started. The rest of them were eyeing him. “What do you mean?” he said.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Skagi replied. He stretched, cracking his knuckles. “I pity your enemy, I truly do.”
Ashok thought he was jesting, but Skagi looked serious. “It was nothing,” he said.
“It was the nightmare,” Chanoch said. “We knew it would happen.”
“It was one dream,” Ashok said. “I’m still going to work with the beast.”
“Soon as your punishment is finished,” Skagi said, and that time they all chuckled. “How long is Olra making you stay back here, eh?”
“Until she thinks she can trust me,” Ashok said. He worked his chain between his hands, snapping the spikes taut in frustration. “It’s a game, nothing more.”
“She’ll come around,” Skagi said. “She’s just upset you have such good aim with a dagger.”
Ashok shook his head. Vedoran had been right. He’d been stupid and careless to lose his temper. And he was banished to training with the recruits until Olra said otherwise.
Jamet strode down the lines, an unnatural lightness to his step. “Pair off,” he said. “Sparring first, and then, if you do exceptionally well, we will have some sport. Our Lord, the Watching Blade, wants to see how you’re progressing in your training. Are you ready to show him the warriors you’ve become?”
A fierce cry went up among the recruits. Ashok turned to ask Skagi to spar, but the brothers had already paired off.
“I’ve got a few insults to repay you for, little one,” Skagi said as they moved to one of the roped off areas. He tapped his shaved head. “I forget nothing.”
“Was that a hollow sound I heard?” Cree said, and ducked when Skagi grabbed for his ear.
Ashok started to look for someone else and saw Chanoch eyeing him hopefully.
“I’ve gotten better since our last matches,” Chanoch reminded him. He rocked back on his heels, all energy. “I may be a challenge to you now.”
Ashok wanted to say, “Or I may make a corpse of you,” if he forgot himself, as he had that first time they’d sparred. But he didn’t think that would happen. His skills had also improved since that day.
“Ashok,” said a voice from behind him.
Ashok recognized it at once, as did the others in the training yard. Dozens of heads bowed instantly. Ashok was too surprised to make a move.
Uwan motioned the rest of the recruits to continue as they were. He looked Ashok up and down. “Still in one piece I see,” he said. “The nightmare hasn’t gotten the best of you?”
“No,” Ashok said.
“Are you certain?” Uwan said. “The nightmare’s powers affect the mind in ways we can’t comprehend.”
“I’m fine,” Ashok said tightly.
“I see,” Uwan said, smiling. “Well, then.” He grasped the hilt of his greatsword and drew it from its scabbard. “Would you care to spar with me?”
Ashok heard the gasps issue from the other shadar-kai. Jamet even looked surprised, though he tried to conceal it.
“Well, recruit?” Jamet said. “Lord Uwan asked you a question. What do you say to his challenge?”
Cautious, Ashok raised his chain and inclined his head to Uwan. “I accept,” he said.
“The rest of you mind your own partners,” Jamet said when several of the shadar-kai made as if to gather around the combatants.
They faced off near the iron fence. The shadow of Tower Athanon hung over Uwan’s left shoulder. Ashok let his chain hang loosely in an arc at knee-level. Uwan held his greatsword in a two-handed grip.
“Are you prepared?” Uwan asked him.
Ashok nodded.
Uwan came forward. Ashok, acting by reflex rather than plan, snapped the chain up to greet him, one end cutting the air as the nightmare’s teeth had grazed Ashok.
Uwan dodged, but he didn’t flinch or give ground. He came forward again with his greatsword, and again Ashok struck out.
“You have a fine reach with that weapon,” Uwan said.
Ashok said nothing. He would not let himself be distracted.
“What if you were fighting a siege battle and the attackers broke through the wall?” Uwan continued as he lunged, and Ashok dodged rather than try to bring the chain up for a defense. “How would you use the chain to defend when a thousand of your comrades stood around you?”
Jamet had asked him a similar question. “I’ve never had to fight a siege,” Ashok said, and snapped the chain taut in time to parry an overhand strike from the greatsword. The weight of the weapon was astonishing. Ashok’s grip slipped on the wooden chain handles, but he held them until Uwan broke off the attack.
Ashok swung the chain as Uwan raised his blade again, and struck a glancing blow off the leader’s shoulder. Metal rang loudly against Uwan’s armor, but there was no exposed skin to strike. Ashok’s chain fell harmlessly to the ground.
“You’re not used to fighting heavily armored opponents either,” Uwan said. “You’ve only fought those with little or none. Perhaps you should try wielding a blade.”
“So I can defend Ikemmu?” Ashok said, dodging another swing and finding himself with his back to the fence. He sent the chain out, closer to Uwan’s face. Unhelmed, the leader’s skin was flushed with the battle, his hair wet with sweat. He’d been in training already that day, Ashok thought, but he hadn’t lost a step. The leader seemed to have a boundless supply of energy.
“Everyone needs a reason to fight, Ashok, and comrades to stand with him,” Uwan said. Metal screeched on metal as Uwan’s blade ground against Ashok’s chain spikes. “Else you’ll end up alone on the plain, pursued by the hounds.”
“It’s as good a death as any,” Ashok said.
Uwan hesitated, his sword tangled with Ashok’s chain. “You truly believe that?” he asked. “You believe that if attacked, Skagi, Cree, and the
rest would not stand with you in defense of your life?”
Ashok didn’t answer, but an image of the shadar-kai surrounding the paddock while he challenged the nightmare flashed in his mind. On its heels came an image of Lakesh’s slashed throat. Ashok stumbled but managed to free his chain and held it one-handed. With the other he drew his dagger.
“You fight impersonally,” Uwan said. “That’s your mistake. You push the enemy away, and that’s fine, it’ll keep you alive. But you leave no room for allies.”
“Because the ally might plant his own weapon in my back,” Ashok said. He couldn’t get the image of Lakesh’s dead eyes out of his head. He wished Uwan would stop talking, but the leader persisted.
“Not in Ikemmu,” Uwan said. “Here your allies would die for you.” He came in tight at Ashok’s right side. Ashok tried to parry with the dagger, but the greatsword was too much for the weapon. It broke through Ashok’s guard and took a slice at his breastplate. A handful of bone splintered, and Ashok felt the blade open his skin.
They broke apart, and Ashok reached up to feel the wound. His hands came away soaked in blood. “You have me,” he said.
“You still stand,” Uwan pointed out.
“Not on a battlefield, I wouldn’t,” Ashok said. “The challenge goes to you.”
He gathered up his chain and left the field. The other partners were sparring heatedly, probably hoping to impress their leader, Ashok thought.
He wadded up his sleeve and pressed it to the chest wound. It wasn’t deep enough to need healing, but it bled liberally. His shirt stuck to his chest, and the copper scent mixed with the smoke smell drifting over from the forges made his head swim.
Lakesh’s blood had been all over his chamber. He’d smelled it constantly, even when he slept …
“On your knees at last!” called a voice.
Ashok glanced over to see Cree and Skagi nearing the end of their duel. Skagi had disarmed his brother. Cree tried to evade Skagi’s reach, but he stumbled. Skagi raised his falchion.
Blood scent in his nose, and the smell of smoke so close. Suddenly, Ashok was back in the cave, his brother stalking toward him with a sword in his hand. He stared across the training yard and saw him, Lakesh, a falchion in his hands, going for Cree’s throat.
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