Quickly, Ashok jerked the chain back and grabbed the other handgrip out of the air. Vedoran took out a small belt dagger, threw it, and missed. The cloaker angled out of reach beneath the bridge.
“Which way is it coming up?” Ashok demanded.
“I don’t know. Stop looking down,” Vedoran told him. “You’ll get dizzy.”
He was right. Ashok swayed on his feet. He stepped back and felt his heel go off the edge. Jerking in a breath, he righted himself. So close to the edge, but he kept his balance. He was in control. Ashok’s heart raced in exhilaration.
The cloaker appeared again from the opposite side of the bridge, spread its wings, and covered Vedoran like a curtain. To his great credit, the shadar-kai didn’t struggle. Such an action would have certainly sent him off the bridge. Instead, he dropped to his knees, then to his stomach, pinning the cloaker under his weight. Surprised by the move, the creature came loose, its flesh folds hanging over the side of the bridge.
Vedoran skidded back, his boots kicking the thing away as it tried to grab for him. The cloaker folded in on itself and dropped over the side of the bridge before Ashok could get to it.
“Are you all right?” Ashok called to Vedoran. They were over twenty feet apart on the bridge.
Vedoran jerked a nod. “This isn’t done,” he said. “It’ll come back for another pass.”
Judging by his expression, Ashok knew retreat wasn’t an option for Vedoran either. He held his chain, thinking.
“Can you hold my weight?” he said finally, coming forward.
Vedoran looked him over. Ashok knew what he saw: an underfed body, wiry muscle, and bone. But he was tall, and the tension would be incredible.
“I can,” Vedoran said. “Do you trust me?”
Ashok smiled and shook his head.
Vedoran held out a hand. “Do it,” he said.
Ashok threw the chain.
The cloaker unfolded beneath them, caught an updraft, and flew straight at Vedoran. When he saw it coming, Ashok sprinted across the bridge, closed the distance between himself and Vedoran, and jumped over the side just before he would have plowed into the shadar-kai.
His momentum carried him headfirst over the cloaker’s body, out of reach of its bony claws. He held the other end of the chain in both hands as the inertia pulled him down.
The cloaker, its attention fixed on Ashok’s plummeting form, didn’t notice the chain unfurling above it.
Ashok angled his body, trying to turn his fall into a swing to lessen the impact. It didn’t help. When the chain jerked taut, the jarring pain traveled up his arms and into his shoulders. He heard the crack as his left shoulder dislocated, and felt the brilliant explosion of agony. He ground his teeth, absorbed the pain, and concentrated on his grip. Above him, Vedoran grunted, his boots skidding across stone. But he’d been right-he was strong enough to hold Ashok.
The cloaker was not so fortunate. Barbed spikes descended, tore flesh, and trapped the struggling monster against the bridge with the chain. Vedoran pulled his end toward himself, and together with Ashok’s weight, the barbs cut the cloaker in half.
Two pieces of ichor-dripping mass fell past where Ashok hung. They landed on an invisible platform fifteen feet below: the second bridge.
Ashok looked up at Vedoran. Color suffused the shadar-kai’s powder gray skin. His black eyes glimmered like wet onyx.
“Well done,” Ashok said.
Vedoran nodded. “You as well,” he replied. He looked past Ashok, down to the second bridge. “Are you ready for me to let go?”
Ashok glanced down at the thin strip of bridge below him, invisible but for the cloaker corpse marking how far the drop truly was. The curved stone tusks were everywhere, waiting to impale him if he fell too far to either side of the bridge. Excitement bloomed anew, working right off the fire from the battle.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Ashok dangled from a thread, a thought between life and death, yet he’d never felt more connected to the world. He was aware of everything: the wind pulling him back and forth, the city breathing around him. All of it yanked into focus as if outlined in crystal. He felt everything, yet there was no pain. Even the roaring fire in his shoulder seemed dim compared to what he experienced in that breath.
Vedoran let go. The air left Ashok’s lungs, and for the shortest space, he hung in midair. The chain sang, metal against metal. Ashok fell, his eyes closed, trusting the slender thread to hold him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Training for Ashok, Vedoran, and the other recruits, began shortly after the first bell of the day-the Monril bell, Ashok learned. He remembered Cree had said Ikemmu marked six intervals of the day with the bells. He learned them quickly: Monril, Diteen, Trimmer, Tet, Pendron, and Exeden. Sleep, for the shadar-kai, was accomplished in six groups in the time between bells. When Ashok rolled off his cot he felt awake and on edge-he’d rested enough to stay alert, but his muscles had had no chance to become lethargic.
Morningfeast was served in an open, communal hall at the mid-level of the barracks by a team of young humans. Sweat glistened off their pale skin as they ladled a sweet stew into bowls for the lines of shadar-kai that came through the hall. Ashok was still fascinated by the skin of the other races-light or dark, they virtually glowed.
“Ready for some play?” Cree asked Ashok as he was leaving the hall. Cree and Chanoch were practically vibrating as they exited the tower with a cluster of other shadar-kai men and women, all in a similar state of agitation.
They walked out into the training yard and immediately formed up into lines as they had the previous day. Ashok took up a position in the back row next to Skagi and Cree. Vedoran stood two rows ahead of them.
A shadar-kai Ashok didn’t recognize stood in the shadow of the tower next to a weapon rack of spears. When the recruits stood in their lines, he stepped forward. A pair of tattoos in the shape of serpents traced the muscles up each of his long arms.
“I am Jamet,” the shadar-kai said, addressing them. His voice was a soft rasp, as if his throat had been ravaged by thirst. “I am your teacher. I have not the tongue for speeches as the Watching Blade does, but mark me well: what I lack in voice I more than make up for with these.” He took a spear from the rack and held it crosswise above his head. “The spear, the sword, the club,” he continued. “They will be your arms, your nerves-every part of you will defer to their guidance in battle, save one.” He tapped his temple. “Fight with your head,” he said. His hand slid down to cover his chest, his heart. “This belongs to Tempus. He will take care of the rest.”
Jamet walked up and down the lines of men and women, pausing every so often to scrutinize the recruits. On his last pass, he stopped in front of Ashok. He picked up a bit of Ashok’s chain dangling from his belt. Ashok followed his movements but made no reaction.
“Those of you who come to us bearing your own weapons”-Jamet pitched his voice to carry to the rest of the recruits-“prepare to unlearn everything you’ve learned up to this point. I’m going to show you new ways of fighting.” He held a length of chain up in front of Ashok. “These links are loose, rusted,” he said. “They need to be repaired.”
Ashok didn’t disagree. “I have no talent for the forge,” he replied.
“That too you will learn,” Jamet said. He added, “But you would do better to choose a different weapon.”
“Why?” Ashok asked suspiciously.
“This weapon,” Jamet said, feeding the links through his hands, “doesn’t distinguish friend from foe. It will sting your allies in battle.”
“And my enemies,” Ashok said.
Jamet grunted. “How will you avoid striking them in close quarters?” he said, nodding to Cree and Skagi.
“I’ve never had to consider allies in my fighting,” Ashok said.
“You’re a solitary?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“What do you say?” Jamet said, pressing Ashok, his tone mocking. “You don’t care
whether you kill friend or foe in battle?”
Ashok realized, nearly too late, that he was being led. “I meant only that it’s impossible to distinguish friend from foe,” he said levelly.
“So it is,” Jamet said. He let the chain fall to Ashok’s side. “But that was your old life. This city is different.”
Jamet moved on, back to the front lines. “Remember Uwan’s words,” he said. “Your first duty is to Ikemmu, and your second”-he glanced pointedly at Ashok-“is to your allies who help defend it. Fail them, and you fail this city. There is no higher crime.”
He replaced the spear in the weapons rack. “I’m done with speeches,” he said. “Training begins now.”
At that instant, the Diteen bell tolled. Jamet divided the shadar-kai into teams of sparring partners. Ashok found himself grouped with Skagi, Cree, Chanoch, and Vedoran. Jamet instructed them to choose the weapon they knew from the myriad weapon racks, or to choose the weapon they most wanted to learn. Ashok kept his chain. He noticed Cree and Skagi held onto their own weapons, as did Vedoran.
Chanoch selected a greatsword from the rack. It wasn’t as finely honed or as impressive as Uwan’s weapon, Ashok thought, but to see Chanoch’s face he knew that hardly mattered. Uwan had taken him over completely. He would wield the sword of his leader.
“Spar with me?” he asked Ashok, all eagerness and energy.
“Careful, Chanoch,” Vedoran said, throwing Ashok a knowing smile. “This one isn’t a newborn.”
The training yard had been roped off into squares. Ashok tested his footing, but the surface was good. He wouldn’t slip.
Chanoch stood before him, his sword held two-handed. Ashok unhooked his chain and let one end fall to the ground.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll cut it in half?” Chanoch asked, a half-smile twisting his features.
“No,” Ashok said. He snapped his arm out from his side. The chain whipped up like an awakened snake. It clipped Chanoch on the jaw before Ashok jerked it back.
Instinctively, Chanoch fell into a crouch, his lips pulled back in a snarl. He tensed for a charge, but Ashok read the move as if Chanoch had spoken his intentions aloud. He snapped the chain again, and that time Chanoch felt the bite at his sword hand. He flinched but to his credit did not drop his weapon.
“Come ahead,” Ashok said, unable to stop the taunt from rising to his lips as his blood pumped. He knew it wasn’t fair. Chanoch was too young. Too easy.
Chanoch charged across the yard, the greatsword thrust viciously before him.
It was a good move, Ashok acknowledged. But Chanoch was not as fast as Cree, not fast enough to take him by surprise. And the greatsword hadn’t the reach to make up for Chanoch’s lack of speed.
Ashok spun out of the way, using the force of the maneuver to bring the chain around swinging. It cut the air with a whistle, nearly taking off Chanoch’s head. The young one ducked to avoid the blow, which drove him almost to his knees.
Ashok brought his boot down, stamping on Chanoch’s blade and forcing it into the ground. Ashok not only had the superior height, but with his weight bearing down on the sword, Chanoch couldn’t get any leverage to free his weapon.
Chanoch realized it too, and skittered back before Ashok could get in any close-range attacks. He gained his feet and stood before Ashok, weaponless but defiant.
It’s over, Ashok thought. I could take him with the chain or cut him with his own sword. The urge to finish the fight and put his enemy down was as natural to Ashok as breathing. He felt the surge in his blood and the need to satisfy it. He stood again on the Span, in the breath between life and death. But the life at stake was not his own. Not an enemy’s. Not his brother’s.
In that breath, Ashok made his decision. Instead of forcing his need into his weapon, he drew it inward. He took a breath to steady his body and channeled all the violence into a different focus. Deliberately lowering his arms to his sides, he did not move to strike. His body trembled with the effort of maintaining control, but he reveled in his success.
“Concede,” Ashok said to Chanoch. “You’re disarmed.”
“Not yet,” Chanoch said.
Ashok heard chuckles from the side of the field. “Give it up, won’t you,” Cree called out. “We want our turn. We’re getting restless.”
“And pained from the sight of Ashok taking you apart,” Skagi added, snickering.
Chanoch’s face reddened. The blood swelling just under the surface of his skin gave his face a sickly appearance. “Not yet,” he said stubbornly.
Then he did something Ashok truly wasn’t expecting. Weaponless, he came at Ashok with his bare hands.
Ashok jerked the chain up defensively, but his reaction was slow-all his focus had been on restraining himself from attacking. The young one was too close. He would peel the skin from Chanoch’s face if he completed the motion with the chain. But Chanoch was still coming at him, with fury in his eyes.
Every instinct in Ashok’s body roared that he should defend himself. He would be killed if he didn’t. His muscles trembled, but something, an impulse almost separate from his body, made him release the chain and absorb the impact as Chanoch hit him.
They went down in a cloud of dirt. Through the grit in his eyes, Ashok managed to get his hands around Chanoch’s throat. He felt the shadar-kai’s blood pulsing erratically through his veins. Of course he knew such excitement well. Ashok had felt it himself, just moments before. It was more than survival; it was the need for the kill. Feeling it, so close, Ashok found himself unable to control his own instinct for self-preservation. He let it come and squeezed, trying to break Chanoch’s windpipe.
Choking, Chanoch rolled them, slamming Ashok’s tender shoulder into the ground. Ashok gave an involuntary, strangled cry as his arm went dead. He’d fixed the dislocation himself; he hadn’t sought Tempus’s healers, and he was paying the price. He reached for Chanoch’s face with his good hand, but the young one batted it aside.
Then suddenly, Chanoch eased back. Blinking through the pain and the dirt, Ashok tried to sit up. He saw Chanoch groping to free the dagger at his belt. Ashok remembered his own dagger, but instead of going for it, he brought his knees up and kicked. His feet connected with Chanoch’s midsection. The breath whooshed out of the young man, and he fell back, his head hitting the ground with an audible crack.
Ashok scrambled to his feet, panting, waiting for the next attack, his blood pounding and his old instincts raging. He grabbed his discarded chain and wound the links around his knuckles. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. The next time he charged, the young one was dead.
But Chanoch didn’t attack again. He sat up, touching the back of his head. His fingers came away bloody. The feral excitement had left his eyes, banished by the blow to his head.
Ashok’s awareness was not so affected. He was overcome with the need to finish what he’d started. The desire to kill sang in his blood. He took a step forward. An involuntary growl ripped from his throat, but Chanoch didn’t hear and didn’t recognize the danger.
Suddenly, Vedoran stood beside Ashok. He’d come from nowhere. Ashok snarled and struck out with his chain-wrapped fist. The punch passed right through Vedoran’s insubstantial face and threw Ashok off balance. He righted himself, and when he looked again, Vedoran had come out of his wraith form. He gripped Ashok’s upper arm firmly.
“It’s over,” he said.
And it was. Across the yard, the brothers were helping Chanoch to his feet and examining his head. They were talking and laughing as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Only Vedoran had seen Ashok’s loss of control.
Ashok closed his eyes to try to clear his head. He was dizzy with the release of tension and didn’t speak for several breaths.
Finally, he looked up at Vedoran and nodded. Vedoran released him.
“My thanks,” Ashok said quietly.
Vedoran shrugged. “The battle was already over,” he said. “The young one should never have pressed his a
ttack. You would have been justified teaching him to know his limits.”
“I would have killed him,” Ashok replied.
Vedoran said nothing.
Ashok put his chain back on his belt. He noticed for the first time that the back of his hand was covered in blood. The chain spikes had dug deep furrows into the skin around his knuckles. His inner struggle had eclipsed the pain and the fire in his shoulder.
Jamet walked across the yard toward them. He stopped to examine Chanoch, then moved on to Ashok.
“Well fought,” he said as he examined Ashok’s shoulder and the hand wounds. “You’re done for today. Go to the temple and receive Tempus’s blessing.”
“I’m fine,” Ashok said.
“You’re no use to me with a dead arm,” Jamet said briskly. He pointed to Vedoran and Skagi. “You two take their places,” he said.
Vedoran nodded to Ashok and went to spar with Skagi while Cree and Chanoch looked on.
Left alone, Ashok moved off and wandered the training yard for a time, watching the other sparring matches. The shadar-kai fought well and were far more disciplined than most he’d seen-and they were only warriors in training, the lowest rank in the hierarchy.
Ashok’s arm throbbed, reminding him where he was supposed to be. He turned and walked off the training yard before Jamet saw that he’d lingered.
He passed beyond the iron fence and came to a startling realization. It was the first time he’d been alone since he’d been captured. The shadar-kai in the training yard were absorbed in sparring, Cree and Skagi hadn’t noticed or hadn’t cared when he’d left, and Jamet hadn’t sent anyone with him to the temple.
Ashok’s thoughts hadn’t turned to escape since his adventure with the nightmare. After that first attempt, he knew they would be watching him closely, so he’d focused on learning all he could about Ikemmu and trying to divine what Uwan wanted from him. But his captors’ attention had waned, he thought. How could he take advantage of the lapse?
Ashok walked slowly, crossing the markets, which were just as bustling as they had been the previous day. He saw Gaina, hawking his colorful clothing, and gave the human a wide berth. The circuitous route took him down a quieter avenue of shops. The buildings here were older, showing only light fire damage, so Ashok could see shadows of their former beauty.
Unbroken Chain (single books) Page 7
