Unbroken Chain

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Vedoran left him to regain his strength, and when Ashok awoke again, he didn’t remember dreaming. Nor did he know the day; he heard no bells tolling, and the room was empty.

Ashok sat up. There were fresh clothes lying at the foot of his bed. He checked his armor to make certain the parchment sheets hadn’t been found. As he was donning the bone scales, there came a tentative knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

A dark one entered the room with a trencher of bread and meat and a cup of water. He handed Ashok the food.

Ashok thanked the creature and bit into a chunk of bread. The bland crust tasted amazing. He couldn’t remember when he’d eaten last. He scooped up the pink meat and juices with his crust and ate it all while the dark one waited.

The little humanoid shifted from foot to foot, his right hand clutching the knuckles of his left. He was a bit shorter than Darnae, but he walked in a stooped manner, his shoulders, arms, and knees curling inward toward his stomach. His eyes were dark and watery in a pudgy face.

When Ashok had finished the food, the dark one said in a low voice, “Lord Uwan instructs me to give you a message.”

“What is it?” Ashok asked.

“I’m to say that if you’re feeling up to the task, you should come to Lord Uwan’s chamber. For a private meeting.”

The food settled heavily in Ashok’s stomach. “I’ll come now,” he replied. “Do you know what it’s about?”

The dark one’s expression turned sly. “I wasn’t to say,” he said.

“But you do know,” said Ashok.

The creature’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Perhaps,” he replied.

Ashok thought of pressing the point, then decided against it. He already knew what the meeting was about-of course he did. He was being summoned to answer for his actions in the training yard. Better he hear it from Uwan himself instead of the creature.

The dark one led Ashok out, and they climbed the winding steps. The walk seemed to take forever. When at last they stood before Uwan’s door, the dark one left Ashok. He knocked on the door and immediately heard Uwan’s voice beckoning him inside.

Ashok saw the painting first, the beautiful cityscape above the long rectangular table. He was surprised to see most of the chairs at the table filled, and even more shocked to see the occupants.

Uwan sat at the head, of course, but Vedoran, Chanoch, Cree, and Skagi all occupied places down the table. At Uwan’s right hand sat Natan. There was an empty chair next to the cleric that Vedoran, seated on the other side of him, pulled out and indicated for Ashok.

“The time has come for you to decide your future, Ashok,” Uwan said. “Sit down. We have much to discuss.”

Uwan leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table top. In the middle of the table, spread out, was a map of the Shadowfell plain. Ashok recognized the Aloran Tor and several other landmarks. By their locations, he could tell his own enclave was about a six day journey to the north.

“I’ve summoned you here,” Uwan said, glancing at Ashok and his companions, “because you’ve all proven yourselves to be exceptional warriors. I’ve watched you train, seen your strengths, your weaknesses and your faith.

“I have a journey that should you undertake it will require all of your efforts working in concert. I am not ordering you to complete this task. Every shadar-kai in this room who volunteers for this mission will do so of his own free will.” Uwan glanced meaningfully at Ashok. “Will you consider the mission I propose?”

“Yes, Lord Uwan,” Chanoch said at once, and Skagi and Cree were quick to add their assent.

“I will consider it,” Vedoran said.

Ashok looked at Uwan. He had not expected such a proposal at all. He felt off balance, as if everyone in the room knew more than he did. A journey outside Ikemmu? He’d not been outside the city’s walls since the day he’d tried to escape.

“Will you consider this mission, Ashok?” Uwan repeated, when the silence stretched.

“Yes,” Ashok said uncertainly. He didn’t know what to think.

“Thank you,” Uwan said. He addressed Natan. “Will you tell them, my friend?”

The cleric nodded and cleared his throat. “Thank you for agreeing to hear Uwan’s request,” he said. “My own tale is a simple one. I am a servant of Tempus, and I have been blessed with the gift of Sight. The warrior god has chosen to grant me visions of what will come to pass in Ikemmu’s future.”

He paused. Ashok felt Vedoran stiffen beside him. He stared down at the table, his black gaze boring holes in the map.

“Several nights ago, Natan received such a vision,” Uwan said. “Tempus showed him that Negala has returned to the plain.”

“The bog witch?” Skagi said. “Close to Ikemmu?”

Uwan shook his head. “Many miles distant,” he replied. “The city is in no immediate danger.”

“Who is Negala?” Chanoch asked.

“That’s right, you’re probably too young to know her,” Skagi said, which made Chanoch’s face flush with embarrassment. “She’s a hag, a creature twisted by the shadows.”

“She’s like the nightmare, in human form,” Ashok said quietly. He remembered his father telling him a tale of encountering the witch. Her bog was merely an illusion, a part of her mind she could alter at will.

Uwan looked at him sharply. “You know Negala?” he said.

“No,” Ashok said. “But I know what she is. She moves her swamp around the Shadowfell according to her whim. She’s an annoyance, nothing more.”

“Bog may be an annoyance, but you can still die in it,” Skagi said.

“Agreed,” Uwan said. “She must not be underestimated, as this mission will take you straight across her domain.”

“Why?” Vedoran spoke up.

“Shall I tell them?” Uwan said, speaking to Natan.

The cleric shook his head. “If you please, my Lord, I’ll do it,” he said. Natan leaned back in his chair, and the lines on his face made him look ancient, though Ashok guessed he couldn’t be much older than himself.

“A little over a month ago,” Natan said, “a decision was made that instead of dispatching an entire caravan to search the Shadowfell for beasts to capture and train, it was more feasible to send out a smaller scouting force to search for hunting grounds, watering holes, anyplace the shadow beasts might be likely to gather. Such a force could range farther than a caravan and be able to return to the city faster with its intelligence.

“We sent out a band of ten shadar-kai,” Natan said. “Our best scouts. One of them was my sister, Ilvani. Their party disappeared. They never returned to the city.”

Natan paused as if to gather himself. Uwan continued in his stead. “We dispatched patrols to search, but their trails went cold. No bodies were ever found. I believe, and Tempus has confirmed it in Natan’s vision, that some or all of the party are still alive. They were taken prisoner.”

“You believe Negala has them?” Vedoran asked.

“No,” Natan said. “I saw the hag’s lands in my vision, but Tempus pointed me beyond them. Somewhere on the other side of the bog is where we will find our people.”

“We’ve had wizards watching with farseeing spells, waiting to see any sign of Negala’s bog,” Uwan said. “Patrols have been ranging far out from the city, and a few days ago, they saw the bog had appeared.”

“Where?” Skagi asked.

“Five or six days journey north,” Uwan said, indicating the map. “We don’t know how large Negala’s domain is-it could be a stone’s throw or miles of treacherous land. Your mission, then, is twofold: go to the surface and cross Negala’s domain in safety, and once on the other side, find the missing party and return them to Ikemmu.”

Uwan fell silent, waiting for their response. Gradually, Ashok heard Chanoch, Skagi, Cree, and Vedoran accept the mission one by one, but Ashok didn’t speak. He was staring at the map, comparing the landmarks in his mind with the journey north to Negala’s bog.

The Aloran Tor. But he’d been running from the hounds long before he’d stopped in the mountain’s shadow. They’d chased him away from the enclave and his father’s confrontation with the party that had been approaching the caves.

Hemmed in from both sides. The hounds … and Ikemmu’s scouts.

“Ashok,” said Uwan.

Dazed, Ashok looked up. The leader regarded him half in expectation, half hope.

“Natan hasn’t told you the rest of his vision,” Uwan said. “Perhaps that will influence your decision. Natan?”

“Yes,” Natan said. Ashok thought he spoke with reluctance. “Before you came to the city, Ashok, Tempus showed me a vision of your face. I knew you, before you came here.”

“I don’t understand,” Ashok said. But he was beginning to, and it frightened him more than anything ever had.

Uwan said, “Tempus foretold your coming, Ashok. We believe He sent you to us to find our people. He’s chosen you to aid us.”

“But I am not his servant,” Ashok said, aware of Vedoran’s tense posture beside him. He could feel the heat of the shadar-kai’s gaze.

“It doesn’t matter,” Uwan said. “Tempus has chosen to work through you. Will you answer His call?”

The silence in the chamber was unendurable as everyone waited for Ashok to form an answer. How could they expect so much, when Ashok couldn’t find a coherent thought?

For a moment, Ashok wondered if he was still locked in a strange and terrible dream and just didn’t know it. They were asking him to seek out and rescue a party of shadar-kai that had likely been attacked and slaughtered by his father, his brothers and other warriors who’d once fought beside Ashok.

His enclave relied on secrecy to protect their domain. They didn’t take prisoners. Yet Natan insisted that some or all of them were still alive, so something must have changed in Ashok’s absence.

But if he told them the truth, if he revealed that he’d led shadow hounds away from his enclave so its warriors could more easily capture and kill Ikemmu’s citizens … he was as good as dead.

All those thoughts converged in his mind, and Ashok felt lost. The silence dragged on. They were all staring at him, he could feel it.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. “May we speak in private?” he asked Uwan.

The leader must have seen the desperation in Ashok’s eyes. He nodded at once. “Of course,” he said. “Would the rest of you excuse us, with my thanks?”

Chairs scraped back as Natan and Ashok’s companions left the table. Vedoran was the last to leave. He got up stiffly and headed for the door.

“Vedoran,” Uwan called to him.

“Yes, my Lord?” Vedoran answered. His tone came off unmistakably cold, though Uwan didn’t appear to notice.

“You will lead the party,” Uwan said.

“My Lord?” Vedoran replied.

Ashok raised his head. Vedoran’s face was like a mask that had cracked at the edges. He’d never seen the shadar-kai look so shocked.

“You’re an exceptional warrior,” Uwan said. “The others are skilled, but they lack your discipline and grace. I trust you to guide them on this journey.”

Vedoran bowed at the waist. “I will, my Lord. My thanks,” he said fervently.

When he’d gone, Uwan put his palms flat against the tabletop. He studied Ashok’s face. Ashok couldn’t imagine what he read there, but after a breath, Uwan smiled slightly.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

Ashok swallowed. The emotions he was experiencing were unlike anything he’d ever dealt with before. His heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest. He was in no danger of fading, yet he felt as if he was. That was the best way he could describe his fear. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” Uwan answered. “It’s humbling, and it should be, to see the gods at work in our lives.”

“How do you know I’m Tempus’s agent?” Ashok asked. “I told you I’ve never followed the warrior god. What if Natan is wrong?”

“He’s never been wrong before,” Uwan said.

“I tried to kill one of your people,” Ashok said. “You have no reason to trust me.”

“Don’t I?” Uwan said. He stood, restless, and began pacing the room. He stopped before the portrait of the city. “I’ve been the Watching Blade in Ikemmu for twenty years. During that time, I’ve executed countless warriors for crimes against our people. Disobey orders, endanger the lives of your fellow shadar-kai, betray our people-these are the highest crimes in Ikemmu. Discipline is paramount to the survival of this city, to say nothing of our race. The shadar-kai are built for self-destruction. It is how we were made, but it doesn’t have to be who we are.”

“It’s the only way I know,” Ashok said.

“I don’t believe that,” Uwan said. “When you ran across that field and attacked Skagi, what was in your mind?”

Ashok remembered Lakesh’s face, the blade in his hand. Another brother dead.

“I thought he was going to kill Cree,” Ashok said.

“And you were trying to prevent that, at the cost of your own life,” Uwan said. “What higher service could you render to Ikemmu than to give your life for one of its warriors?”

Ashok didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell Uwan the truth, to unburden himself of the awful knowledge of the leader’s misplaced faith. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak. He remembered what it was like, waking up in the dark cave with his father, when he’d thought that Ikemmu was only a dream-a hope conjured by his desperate imagination.

The enclave was his nightmare. He couldn’t go back to it. There was only one thing he could do.

“I accept your mission,” he said. His voice became stronger with his conviction. “Whatever it takes, I’ll find your missing people.”

He couldn’t meet Uwan’s gaze. He felt the leader’s hands come down on his shoulders and squeeze.

“Thank you,” Uwan said. “Tempus guide and go with you.”

Tempus guide me? Ashok thought bitterly. Tempus had known who he was all along. Ashok might be able to deceive Uwan and the rest, but the god was sending the perfect person to rescue the missing party, the person who knew the enemy’s strengths and weaknesses best.

Uwan released him, and Ashok started for the door.

“One more thing,” Uwan called after him. “I think you should take the nightmare with you. He would be a presence to be reckoned with, should you encounter trouble along your journey.”

“Is that wise?” Ashok said. The last time he’d ridden the beast, he’d thought he was in control, yet the nightmare had ridden his mind into near madness.

“The fire will burn a path through the witch’s domain,” Uwan said. When Ashok only stared at him, Uwan laughed. “Never mind,” he said. “Go and join your companions.”

Ashok nodded and left the chamber.

When he stepped out into the hall, he found Vedoran and the others waiting for him. Natan was not among them. For a breath, nobody spoke.

“Well, chosen of Tempus?” Vedoran said. Ashok heard the edge beneath the words. “Are you with us or not?”

“I’m with you,” Ashok said.

“Excellent,” Chanoch said, and grinned.

“Told you,” Cree said, nudging his brother, but Skagi was stone-faced, his deformed lip curled in disgust. He said nothing.

Tempus’s clerics had healed the marks on his face. There were no scars, but Skagi obviously hadn’t forgotten their last encounter.

Ashok inclined his head to the warrior. “I apologize for my actions,” he said. “I was arrogant in dealing with the nightmare. I thought it couldn’t affect me. I was wrong.”

He held out his hand. After a long breath, Skagi clasped Ashok’s forearm. His menacing gaze softened.

Suddenly, Skagi’s grip tightened. He pulled Ashok forward a step and punched him in the face with his free hand.

Ashok stumbled. Skagi released him so he could stem the flow of blood gushing from his broken nose. Ashok raised his arm to ward off the next blow, but Skagi was grinning, his hands on his hips. His expression looked cheerful.

“Forgiven,” he said.

Despite everything, Ashok felt himself laughing, along with the others. He looked at Vedoran. “Do we have a plan?” he asked. He spat blood on the stone floor.

“We won’t speak of it here,” Vedoran said. “Meet downstairs, in our chamber.”

Ashok nodded. The brothers and Chanoch went down, but Vedoran lingered.

“It isn’t what you think,” Ashok said when the others were out of hearing.

“Doesn’t matter,” Vedoran said. “All that matters is what he thinks.” He nodded to Uwan’s door. “The hope I had when I looked at you-”

“Was misplaced,” Ashok agreed. “You should have been looking to yourself. Now Vedoran has his chance. Uwan has made you leader. Prove yourself worthy, without Tempus’s aid.”

“So I will,” Vedoran said.

He started to move past Ashok but paused when Ashok said, “What about Natan? Do you believe his visions?”

“With that cleric and his sister, I don’t know what to believe,” Vedoran said. “What I know is that those two-their lineage at least-is valued in Ikemmu.”

“Why?” Ashok asked.

“Their family was here when Ikemmu was founded,” Vedoran said. “They were the first shadar-kai to inhabit the city.”

“I see,” said Ashok. So brother and sister were a piece of the shadar-kai’s history in Ikemmu, he thought. If possible, it added even more weight to their mission. It would be a blow to the city to lose one of its links to the past.

“You should know this,” Vedoran said. He looked Ashok in the eyes. “No matter what Natan’s visions say, I don’t believe it is Tempus who will save Ilvani and the others. We, the shadar-kai, will dictate success or failure. The gods have no part in this mission. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Ashok said. “I would have it no other way.”

The next several days were a blur of training and preparation for the journey north. Vedoran seized his leadership role with ferocity, making Ashok and the others train during all their free time, with no rest but for the time they ate or slept. He allowed Ashok time to train with the nightmare when he learned of Uwan’s concession with regards to the beast, but he kept a wary eye on Ashok the entire time, to make sure the beast didn’t get the best of him again.

But the nightmare, for his part, must have sensed that something was about to happen, for the beast obliged Ashok’s commands without a fight, and though Ashok continued to dream of the caves, his brothers, and his father, the visions did not follow him into his waking hours. He was able to separate his past from his current reality.

Not for long, Ashok thought. Soon his past would come to claim him. He refused to think about what he would have to do when that time came, and concentrated instead on preparing himself physically for what lay ahead.

On the day before they were to depart, Uwan, against Vedoran’s wishes perhaps, gave them all leave to have the day to themselves to do whatever they wished. Ashok went to see Darnae. He wasn’t sure why he did it. He hadn’t seen the halfling since the night at the tavern.

When he stepped into her shop, Darnae was standing at the top of a high stool, brushing cobwebs off the ceiling with a damp cloth.

“There’s a face to wilt a lesser man-or a shadar-kai,” she said with a grin. “I didn’t know if I would see you again.”

Ashok lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “I came to see … how you are?” he asked uncertainly.

“Very well-practicing hard for my next performance at Hevalor. There’s a reason I’m only a messenger,” she said, and winked at him.

“To me it sounded like a dream,” Ashok said earnestly. “I’ve never heard music like that before.”

“You should hear the truly great bards sing,” Darnae said. She flicked a strand of spider silk off her sleeve. “Or hear the elves when they perform in the native tongue. You would weep.”

“I came to tell you that I’m leaving,” Ashok said. “But I hope … I think I’ll be back, in a tenday, or a little more.”

Darnae nodded as if she wasn’t surprised. “Since we met, I’ve heard folk talk about you in the trade districts,” she said, “and not just because of what happened at the tavern. You have my thanks for that-I should have mentioned it before.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ashok said.

“But I did, and it’s done,” Darnae said. She draped the cloth over her shoulder and sat on the top of the stool, which put her almost at eye-level with Ashok. “I haven’t heard where you’re going and why, but folk who whisper about you say you’re a messenger from Tempus.”

Ashok shook his head. “Don’t believe the things you hear,” he said.

“So you’re not?” Darnae asked, looking speculative. “But you are something different, aren’t you?”

“Why do you say that?” Ashok asked.

Darnae swung her short legs back and forth, curling them beneath the stool rung. Her feet were bare, and bore a fine coating of dirt. “No one else in that tavern would have done what you did,” she said. “They wouldn’t have considered it. Not because they’re cruel or heartless, but the hierarchy is well established here.”

“They see you as beneath them,” Ashok said.

Darnae nodded. She worked the rag in her hands. “It isn’t easy for them to have to rely so much on the labor and trade of other races,” she said. “They are proud of their accomplishments as warriors and of the grip they have upon their souls. But the truth is they slip, sometimes-you’ve seen it for yourself. They are not always as in control as they would like others to think.”

“You speak bluntly,” Ashok said. “You weren’t like this the last time I came here.”

“You’re right,” Darnae said. “I have to keep up polite appearances for the sake of my business. But as I said, something about you seems different. It makes me feel as if I can speak, that you will understand and not be threatened by the truth.”

“I do understand,” Ashok said, waiting while Darnae climbed down the stool. “I should go.”

“I wish you a fair journey, Ashok,” Darnae said. “Come to see me again, when you return.”

“Are you saying that for appearance’s sake?” Ashok asked.

Darnae smiled at him. “What do you think?” she replied.

Ashok smiled back, a tentative expression. “I think I will look forward to seeing you,” he said.

Ashok went back to the tower and lay down to rest before the Exeden bell. He felt himself drifting on the edges of sleep when he heard the sound.

Ashok opened his eyes in the darkness and listened. He heard nothing, and thought he must have imagined it, but when he reached automatically for the weapons at his belt, his hand grazed the wall, and he felt the vibration through the stone.

Sitting up, Ashok put his ear to the tower wall. Low, rhythmic beats, so deep that they passed through the stone into his skin.

He pulled on his boots and left the tower room. Down the stairs the beats got louder, until they shook the dust off the walls. Ashok could see it drifting in the air. There were voices too, a host of men and women shouting in time to the beats.

Ashok threw open the tower door and strode out into the training yard. What he saw stopped the breath in his chest and sent a wave of fear and awe through his soul.

Hundreds of shadar-kai had gathered in the yard. Ashok recognized warriors in training, Guardians, all ranks of the military including Neimal, and the other Sworn. Their feet pounded the ground in a dance even as their voices rose to the shadows above. It was not a song they sang; there were no words, only shouts of triumph and pain as over and over they lifted their legs and drove their feet into the ground in a punishing rhythm that echoed throughout the city.

Among them, humans and dwarves carried bundles of wood, flint, and steel. They arranged the wood in three large circles in the yard and lit fires from them.

At first the small golden blazes were lost amid all the dancing gray bodies, but then Neimal swept forward in her gray and black robes. She climbed into the back of a wagon near the iron fence so she could see over the crowd. She opened her arms and uttered words that were lost over the rush of shadar-kai cheers. Her lips moved, the crowd’s shouts built into a roar, and Ashok felt the heat rising in the air as the flames climbed and turned from orange to brilliant white.

Everywhere there was light. It was painful to look at, but it drove back the shadows in a way Ashok had never seen light do in the dismal Shadowfell.

The other races skittered back from the fire circles, but the shadar-kai formed their own rings around the blazes. Ashok stepped into the yard. The shadar-kai’s stomping feet and shouts invaded his mind, and Ashok found himself joining the crowd. The shadar-kai enfolded him-strangers he’d never seen before that night-until he could not tell his own body from the others.

The crowd moved in a slow circle, and Ashok found himself swept along with them. His feet joined the rhythmic pounding. Every stamp against the ground was a roar and sent a shudder of pain through his bones. As one, they could crack the earth, split it open, and expose another world, or so it felt to Ashok.

Fire surged before Ashok’s eyes, and his face became slick with sweat. He tried to pull back from the circles, but the crowd guided him inexorably forward, closer to the enchanted flames. There were hands on his shoulders, his hands were on other shoulders, and suddenly they were all running forward, one body, one mind, and jumping.

They passed through the flames and landed in the heart of the fire rings. Ashok could hear the triumphant cries from the other circles and see shadar-kai shadows dancing in the light. The men and women within his own circle bounded up and threw their heads back, screaming to the world above. Their clothing fire-blackened, the shadar-kai shed their garments and continued to dance naked, their feet always pounding the ground.

Ashok felt hands draw him up and into the dance. Bodies pressed together, slick with sweat, the heat unbearable but vital. They were in the heart of a forge.

Ashok let the shadar-kai pull his shirt over his head, strip away his armor until he was completely naked. The fire surged. Ashok shouted and danced with his people. They could be burned to ash, their skin seared off their bodies, but he’d never felt so utterly whole. He wasn’t being torn apart or cut to shreds with a blade.

He was Ashok. No: he was shadar-kai.

When the flames burned low enough, they leaped over the fire and collapsed upon each other, screaming, laughing like wild children.

Ashok fell on his back and closed his eyes. He could hold no thoughts in his head, had no room for doubts or pain or fear. There were too many of them. His flesh touched that of another, and another, with nothing to distinguish him from the whole. No one could see him; nothing could hurt him. For all his arrogance, he’d never been stronger than he was there, at that breath in time.

He could see the others shouting to each other, kissing, dancing. He sat up, wanting to take it all in, to remember this feeling always.

A hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see Chanoch kneeling on the grass, naked, his eyes shining with tears.

“I came to tell you,” Chanoch said. Ashok could barely hear him. “I wanted you to see.” The young one’s voice broke. He pitched forward on his hands, exposing his back to Ashok. “I’ve been given the mark. Praise Tempus!”

Ashok saw the black blade, the symbol of Tempus tattooed down Chanoch’s spine. His surrounding skin was deep red and raw from the work, but Chanoch’s body quivered with rapture.

Praise be, Ashok wanted to say, but he stopped before the words reached his lips. He touched Chanoch’s shoulder instead. He could hear the young one weeping.

Skagi and Cree found them sometime later. They were similarly adorned with the black swords, and though they did not weep as Chanoch had, both brothers wore the rapture on their faces. Ashok could feel the power radiating from them, the wholeness.

Ashok caught his breath. All around him, he saw the black tattoos, the warriors in training who had taken their oaths, the final steps that would bind them completely into service of Ikemmu and their leader. The swords were everywhere, yet Ashok’s skin bore no mark except the flames of the nightmare. He stood out from the rest, a pale blemish among the joyous celebration. No one spoke of it. They accepted him as one of their own, but suddenly, Ashok felt cold. The fire couldn’t touch him. He was a creature apart.

He turned, looking for an open space, a place to breathe and escape the press of bodies, the reek of sweat and dirt. Stumbling, he made it to the shadows of the tower. He fell on his knees and vomited. Pressing his face against a patch of cool ground, he breathed in and out.

Footsteps sounded behind him, barely discernible above the noise of the celebration. Perhaps he heard them because he knew, before he looked up, who would be watching him.

Vedoran stood armed and fully clothed, which made Ashok feel horribly exposed. He stepped forward, his movements graceful, and handed Ashok a bundle that included his bone scale armor and the weapons he’d thoughtlessly discarded during the dance.

Ashok wiped his mouth, took the clothing, and with a nod of thanks began to dress himself. When he’d finished, he turned to face Vedoran, who watched the celebration dispassionately.

“They form the circles on the eve of every long journey undertaken by the shadar-kai,” Vedoran said before Ashok could speak. “The ritual will last until the Monril bell, long after those making the journey have gone to rest.”

“An offering to Tempus?” Ashok said. “To ensure a successful mission?”

“A prayer for success, perhaps,” Vedoran said. “But mostly it’s a method of girding the soul for what lies ahead. We’ll be traveling on the open plain for many days before we reach the bog. Unless we encounter other dangers-and I pray we do-we’ll have no one but each other and the wind for company. The inactivity of a long march … ”

“We risk losing ourselves,” Ashok said. He remembered well his own solitary days on the Shadowfell. He’d sought danger for the same reason.

“The other races, especially the merchants who are used to long, monotonous caravan runs, mock us for creating such ceremony for what they consider an insignificant distance,” Vedoran said. He dipped his head, his lips quirking in some private amusement. “Your halfling friend would say as much.”

“How do you know Darnae?” Ashok said, his eyes narrowing. “Have you been following me?”

Vedoran shrugged. “I’ve been curious about you since we first met. I’ve wondered why you hide yourself away in ruined buildings and scribble on parchment, why you went after that shadar-kai in the tavern,” he said. “At first I thought you confronted him for amusement, but then I began to think it was something more.”

“Are you satisfied now?” Ashok said tersely.

Vedoran met Ashok’s eyes. They held each other’s gazes for a long breath. Neither spoke. Finally, Vedoran smiled again and went back to watching the shadar-kai dance.

Ashok started to walk away, but Vedoran grabbed his shoulder. Ashok resisted the urge to throw off his hand and merely turned to glare at the graceful warrior.

“Always remember exactly what you are and what you are not,” Vedoran said. “Otherwise, that’s where you’ll be left.” He nodded at the vomit-stained ground. “Weak and begging for guidance that will never come.”

Ashok reached up and calmly removed Vedoran’s hand from his shoulder. “May the gods, any and all, grant us success on this journey,” he said. “And may Vedoran lead us safely home again.”

Vedoran nodded. “Sleep well, Ashok,” he said. “Sleep dreamlessly.”

When Vedoran left Ashok he went to the trade district, to the small temple with the green-painted door. Traedis did not look surprised to see him.

“He’s lost to you,” the cleric said when Vedoran had finished telling him of Ashok. “Like so many others before him, he will take Tempus and Uwan into his heart. You must think of yourself now, Vedoran.”

“Uwan put me in charge of the mission,” Vedoran said. “There is still the possibility that I will be rewarded-”

“With what-more coin for the sellsword?” the cleric challenged. “Are you so blind that you truly think Uwan will give you power and esteem you above Ashok, who he believes is sent by the warrior god Himself! You must look beyond Tempus, Vedoran. There are other gods in Ikemmu.”

“And where do your gods live, Traedis,” Vedoran said. “In small temples or secret hideaways? Where is the glory in that?”

“Then help us,” Traedis said. “Join us, and as our numbers swell we will become a force that Uwan can’t afford to ignore. We can change things, Vedoran.”

In his heart, Vedoran knew Traedis spoke wisely. Uwan and Ashok were in each other’s thrall, and Tempus had a stranglehold on the city. But he would not deny his mission, not if it meant he could prove that he was just as capable-no, more so-as Tempus’s faithful. His pride demanded that he show Uwan and the rest that he could succeed without visions and whispers from Tempus to guide his hand.

“We will see,” Vedoran said. “If I return from this mission, and all goes as you say, then we will surely speak again.”