Unbroken Chain

CHAPTER SIX

Ashok thought he had seen wondrous sights enough in Ikemmu, but when they approached Tower Pyton, he had new cause to gape at his surroundings. The scent got him first.

“Brace yourself,” Skagi said, laughing when he saw Ashok’s wide-eyed countenance. “It’s a drug the first time.”

And it was. Pyton, Hevalor, and everything on the ground between the towers made up the trading district, and it was a teeming mass of many races, more than Ashok had seen near the wall. His curiosity overcame him, and he pointed and asked Cree to tell him their names. The group laughed at his ignorance, but Ashok didn’t care. He wanted names to put to all the strange faces, and he remembered each one as Cree spoke.

At the base of the towers, an open-air market had been set up among the stone buildings. Wagons loaded down with every imaginable good were parked in front of the buildings, and human, halfling, and dwarven merchants hawked food: carts full of strange fruit, the colors so vivid they hurt Ashok’s eyes. He’d never seen colors like that. Steaming meat on spits whirled past him clutched in dwarven fists. The stout men and women pushed the savories at the group. Skagi tossed them coin, and the group each took a haunch of boar.

Ashok bit into the meat and felt the juices slide down his chin. He was used to meat that had been long preserved in stores, hard biscuits, and water from a silt stream deep in the underground. The flavors of the hot, spiced boar assaulted his tongue and made him light-headed. He was shocked to feel his heartbeat speed up slightly. The intense spices stimulated not just his tongue, but his whole body, the way a wound sharpened him. He could hardly believe what he was feeling.

And it wasn’t just the food. There were wagons filled with tools for building, fire-making, and weapon repair. Finely tailored clothing hung from iron bars suspended between the shops, breezes making crimson skirts billow like enflamed clouds. Ashok reached out in wonder to touch the fabric.

“Wipe the grease off before you touch!” a voice said as a hand slapped his hand away.

Ashok looked up at a tawny-skinned human man with flushed cheeks and thick brown sideburns. His eyes-brown and white and black-were hypnotic to Ashok with their circles of color.

“Eh, what are you lookin’ at?” the merchant demanded.

“Your eyes,” Ashok said.

“My eyes?” the merchant repeated, looking Ashok over curiously. “Haven’t seen you before. What’s your rank?”

“I don’t have one,” Ashok said.

“Nice armor you got though,” the merchant said, passing his hand over the bone scales, poking and prodding. Ashok resisted the urge to snap the human’s wrist. “Good color, the charcoal and white,” the merchant continued. “Not white, though, more tooth-shaded. Bit muddled crimson too-I got a good eye for color. ‘S not one of mine. Where’d you buy it?”

“I made it,” Ashok said.

“Made it!” the merchant said, laughing loudly. His breath reeked of strong herbs and liquor. “A fine jester you are too. No, truly, where’d you get it?”

Ashok didn’t reply. He started to turn away.

The merchant clamped a hand on his shoulder.

Ashok dropped his meat, pivoted, and batted the merchant’s hand aside. He drew his dagger with his left hand, brandishing the weapon between his body and the human’s.

“Ashok,” Skagi said, appearing suddenly beside them. “Gaina, what’s going on here?”

Cree, Chanoch, and Vedoran trailed behind Skagi. The merchant had broken into a sweat when he saw Ashok’s drawn dagger.

“I was just askin’ where he got the goods,” the merchant said, pointing to Ashok’s armor. “Said he made it-”

“And you called him a liar,” Skagi said. “I heard you.”

“Well he didn’t hafta pull the blade on me,” Gaina grumbled. “How’d you make it then?” he said to Ashok.

“From a boneclaw corpse,” Ashok said flatly. “An undead. I killed it, skinned it, and re-fitted the bones.”

For a breath, the merchant didn’t speak. He opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed his jaw. “Now I know you’re jestin’. You’re havin’ fun at me. You can’t make a suit of pretties; can’t do nothin’ for yourselves.”

Cree flicked his nail playfully against Ashok’s brandished dagger blade. “Except use one of these-can you say as much, Gaina?”

The merchant glared at Cree. “Fine, then. But tell your friend not to be touchin’ the goods ‘less he got cleaner hands,” Gaina said.

“Now you’re calling us dirty?” Skagi said, spreading his hands under the merchant’s nose. “These turn your stomach?” He took some silver coins from his neck pouch. “What about now, Gaina? How about when they’re silver, or when they bleed to make you safe as you squat in your bed at night-they aren’t clean enough for you?”

The merchant shoved Skagi’s hands away and sneered. “Don’t smell that good either. Have your fun, then. But these hands”-he raised his thick fingers, beringed with silver and platinum bands-“hold the needles you’re too good to touch. You don’t mind wearin’ the frippery, do you? But you won’t stoop to makin’ it with those cut-up digits. You remember that next time you come at me with the grease on your hands.”

Vedoran cleared his throat.

Skagi looked up when the graceful shadar-kai stepped forward. “Our apologies,” Vedoran said to the merchant. “Ashok, put the dagger away. Skagi, we have business,” he said pointedly.

Skagi sniffed. He turned away and let Vedoran lead him on through the crowds.

Ashok fell into step behind them, listening. “If I’d known you were looking for a fight I wouldn’t have asked you to come,” he heard Vedoran whisper to Skagi.

Skagi, walking easily, shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean. Gaina and I are old friends. It’s not a good day unless we go about cutting each other down.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s a fat coward who’s made a fortune in this market, and everyone up the avenue knows it. He needs to be reminded every so often who brings his food to the table.”

Ashok felt a hand fall on his shoulder. The impulse to lash out, to cut with the dagger still in his hand was almost overwhelming, but then he saw Cree fall into step beside him. The young one moved like a ghost.

He must know he could kill me, Ashok thought. All he needs is an instant of distraction. Why doesn’t he try? Why don’t any of them take advantage?

Cree slapped him on the back. “A boneclaw?” he said.

“Yes?” Ashok said uncertainly.

Cree shook his head and grinned. “Outstanding,” he said. “You’ll tell me the tale someday.”

Ashok could only nod. “What was that about?” he asked, changing the subject. “Between Skagi and the human?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cree said, waving a hand vaguely. “It’s just … the way things are. Everyone has a role to play to make the city work, but some people’s roles are more important than others.”

“And the human’s role is to clothe you?” Ashok said.

“Not just him,” Cree said. “All the merchants have their place in the trade district. They keep the coin flowing in and out of the city, but none of them would have a safe place to do business if the shadar-kai weren’t here to protect Ikemmu from outside threats.”

They walked on through the crowd and up into Tower Pyton. Ashok noticed that the farther they climbed up the winding stair through the tower, the less he saw of the other races. The upper levels were dominated by shadar-kai, and they were dressed in finery equal to that hanging from Gaina’s wagon, and greater.

There were shops in the tower: weapon dealers and brewers, wine makers and jewelers. They passed levels with locked, heavily guarded doors. The shadar-kai who came out of those mysterious rooms carried padlocked boxes, often inscribed with faintly glowing runes.

Ashok passed a slender, hooded figure carrying an iron-shod staff with shadowy tentacles winding up the shaft. As they passed each other, almost touching, Ashok breathed in and smelled sulfur. He looked up into the face of the tiefling, and she smiled at him. The shadow fingers reached up from the staff and plucked at her hood. She swirled the staff in her hand, and they quieted. Then she was by him, and he was forced to keep walking up the stairs.

Vedoran halted them on a crowded level with many doors, open as those on the previous levels had not been. The doors gave the room an airy feel and revealed many open portals cut into stone down the hallways. They looked out on the city and the Shadowdark in every direction. Ashok went to one while Vedoran approached a shadar-kai seated at a long table across the room.

Guards stood at the portals holding their weapons and the red and black banners Ashok had seen from below. They stood on narrow ledges jutting out from the tower, watching the city below while strong winds threatened to pluck them off their perches. None of them seemed afraid to fall.

Ashok went back into the main chamber to look around. The room was finely appointed and centered about the table, which was heaped in food and wine. Soft-cushioned furniture was everywhere, and several shadar-kai lounged on them, drinking wine and eating off platters.

A man took a handful of wrinkled fruit Ashok didn’t recognize off a plate and fed it piece by piece to the woman sitting across from him. Across the room, another man stood on his toes, blindfolded, his arms tied in front of him, while a woman drew a dagger blade lightly across his bare back and buttocks. The blade looked so sharp that if the man so much as twitched he would be sliced open.

All the shadar-kai were nude, with the exception of the man Vedoran was speaking to, who wore a pair of breeches and a sword tied with a sash to his waist.

Ashok turned slowly about the room, unable to credit his eyes with what he saw. The nakedness shocked him, although the shadar-kai were not over-burdened by modesty. Rather it was the complete lack of defense that disturbed Ashok. The men and women wore no armor, and he saw no weapons-save the woman’s dagger-ready to hand in case an encounter turned into an attack. The utter trust of the communal atmosphere staggered him.

There were other doors off the chamber-ones that did not lead to the open air but to more private spaces. Those curtained off rooms held other couples. Ashok watched their nude outlines through the thin curtains and could hear them speaking in low, intimate tones to each other.

“That’s Vedoran’s master,” Cree said, breaking into Ashok’s thoughts. He pointed to the man seated at the table. “Karthan-good warrior, fair trader. They’re not bad for Blites.”

“Blites?” Ashok said. “Skagi called me that before.”

For a breath Cree seemed taken aback. “That’s right,” he said. “I’d forgotten. But it’s nothing to you, is it? I’m talking about the sellswords. But don’t let any of them hear you call them Blites-they’ll make you pay for it.”

“Why are they called that?” Ashok asked.

“Blites don’t worship Tempus,” Cree said. “That’s why Vedoran’s only ‘guesting’ with us. He can’t hold rank, can’t serve the city in any official way.”

“I don’t understand,” Ashok said. “Your leader claimed you would be rewarded for fighting for Ikemmu.”

“That’s true,” Cree said. “And the sellswords are paid well for their work. But Uwan wants something greater for Ikemmu’s military. He thinks the defenders of the city should be united by a strong god, and who better to understand the inner battles of the shadar-kai than the warrior god?”

Vedoran and the man finished speaking. Vedoran bowed and came over to them. A man came through one of the curtained doorways and nodded when he saw Cree. Cree grinned and went to greet the man. The two of them spoke for a breath or two, then Cree followed the man behind the curtain.

“We may as well go on,” Vedoran said. “They’ve already found their amusements.”

Ashok saw that Skagi and Chanoch had found partners, too, and were so engrossed in their own conversations, it was as if Ashok and Vedoran didn’t exist.

“What of you?” Ashok asked.

Vedoran shrugged. “I seek other enjoyments,” he said, his eyes glinting. “And I promised to show you the Span.”

Curious, Ashok nodded to the stair. “Lead on,” he said.

“Not that way,” Vedoran said. “We’ll take the shorter route.”

He led them past the curtained doorways-Ashok caught hints of scented oils in the fabrics-and turned down one of the short corridors ending in an open archway. Vedoran nodded to the guard that stood at the entry and walked out on the ledge.

At a hundred feet up, the wind whipped their cloaks. Ashok walked to the edge of the ledge and looked down. He could see the market, the people, and the colors swirling together like a spilled stew. They stood adjacent to the canyon wall, a jagged slope that curved above them, blocking out most of the light. Somewhere behind them unseen, the waterfall spilled behind Tower Makthar. The wind carried the damp across the space into their faces. Twin lanterns hung from poles near the archway, and the light reflecting off the cavern wall cast eldritch shadows all around them. But for the wind, there was silence.

For a long breath, neither of them spoke. Ashok stood at the edge of the abyss, an observer, a part of the throng below and yet removed from them.

“You feel in control now, don’t you?” Vedoran said from behind him.

Ashok glanced back at the shadar-kai. Beyond him, the guard stood silent, watching them.

Vedoran followed his gaze. He lowered his voice. “Ask him to step back into the tower,” he said.

Confused, Ashok said nothing. He thought the man was playing with him, but the shadar-kai’s face was an unreadable mask. He stared past Ashok into the abyss, waiting.

Was it another challenge? Ashok wondered. He took a step toward the guard and nodded in greeting. The guard returned the gesture.

“Would you leave us for a time?” he asked, in a tone of respect.

Without speaking, the guard turned and went back inside the tower.

Alone on the ledge, Vedoran motioned Ashok to join him at the edge. “Well done,” he said.

“Why didn’t you ask him?” Ashok said.

“Because he knows I’m a Blite,” Vedoran said. A lazy smile spread across his face, but his eyes were hard. “He believes his god Tempus is better than any other, and that makes him think he’s better than me. Knowing that, I’ll be damned if I’m going to ask him for any favors. But he doesn’t know what your rank is yet, so I thought I could use you to my advantage. I was right. It feels good though, doesn’t it?”

“What?” asked Ashok.

“Being in control again,” replied Vedoran, He stood with the toes of his boots over the ledge, dipped his head back, and closed his eyes. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “That to feel this centered, you have to stand on the edge of falling.”

His body swayed from side to side. Watching him, Ashok’s palms began to sweat. The vicarious fear beat a pulse in his blood. Vedoran seemed completely in control and at ease, yet he must know that Ashok could step forward in a breath and push him from the ledge. Ashok’s breath quickened. He stepped up to the ledge beside Vedoran, tipping his head forward instead of back. He didn’t close his eyes but stared down the canyon, the water beads brushing his face.

If he listened closely, he could hear the soft babble of voices drifting up on the wind. By the time they reached his ears they were too insubstantial to be words, but the murmur itself was rhythmic and soothing. The vibration hummed against his skin.

“Is this the Span?” Ashok asked.

“The bridges,” Vedoran said, “between Pyton and Hevalor. There are three of them. The highest is ten feet below us.”

Ashok looked, and he remembered the portrait in Uwan’s chamber. But he didn’t see the bridges.

“They were built of the same material as the tower, but altered to blend in with the canyon wall,” Vedoran said.

“If enemies penetrated one tower,” Ashok said, “they wouldn’t have immediate access to the other.”

“Precisely,” Vedoran said. “We often teleport from level to level via these archways, but the towers are too far apart to teleport between them.”

Everything about the city had been planned for defense, Ashok thought. Besieging Ikemmu would be a nightmare for any attacking force.

“Are you ready?” Vedoran asked.

Ashok looked at him. “For what?” he replied, though he thought he knew.

Instead of answering, Vedoran stepped off the ledge. He dropped, his black cloak billowing behind him, and landed in a crouch ten feet below Ashok. He stood, turned, and looked up at Ashok with that same lazy smile. He walked forward a few steps, seemingly treading on air.

Ashok’s heart beat furiously against his breastbone. His legs quivered, aching for the jump. He took a moment to enjoy the sensations: the vertigo, the heat in his blood, the tense muscles poised for that instant of gratification when he stepped off the edge.

Live or die-it was all up to him.

Ashok opened his arms, caught the wind, and jumped.

The towers sped past him, impossibly fast. The slope of the canyon wall leveled out to a sheer surface, sucking away the darkness and lantern shadows like a spell. He could see the bridges rushing up to meet him, Vedoran’s form coming closer.

It was over far too quickly. Ashok’s boots hit stone, and he fell into a crouch to absorb the impact. Dust and rock scattered in his wake, the debris falling into space. With his arms spread, Ashok found balance on the edge of nothingness. Invisible hands held him up; one step backward or forward, and he was gone. But that breath in between was a century. That space was the only space that existed for him.

He looked up and met Vedoran’s half-crazed eyes. Ashok smiled. He couldn’t help it.

Vedoran laughed. The emotion seemed to steal his breath. His chest rose and fell as if he’d been running for miles. “You … You’re alive, after all,” Vedoran said. “I thought you were made of stone.”

Ashok sat down, his legs straddling the bridge. He put his hands on the curved stone tusks rising up around him. The bridge was so narrow. Navigating it with any kind of burden would be an adventure in itself.

Vedoran seemed to read his thoughts. “Only the shadar-kai use these paths,” he said. “The other races are afraid.”

“Has anyone ever fallen?” Ashok asked.

“Yes,” Vedoran said.

Ashok nodded. He lay on his back on the bridge, his arms outstretched in the constant wind. The force of the upswells was almost enough to bear their weight. He stared up at the cavern’s ceiling. Between the distant stalactites were shadows even the city’s lights couldn’t chase away, making him think of the tiefling woman with the staff.

“This city …” He didn’t know how to say it.

In Ashok’s peripheral vision, Vedoran sat with an arm across his knee, the other propped behind him, holding his weight.

“Say it,” he said.

“Is it yours?” Ashok asked. “It feels … old. Did the shadar-kai build it?”

“No one knows who built it,” Vedoran said. “The lore I’ve heard claims the shadar-kai who settled the city were led here by their gods-Tempus, as you can imagine. You’ve seen the carvings on the towers.”

“The winged folk,” Ashok said.

“The clerics say they’re Angels of Battle, Tempus’s emissaries,” Vedoran said.

Ashok caught a tone in Vedoran’s voice, something like the vocal shadow of his lazy smile. “You don’t believe them,” he said.

“Skagi calls me arrogant,” Vedoran said. “And so I am. But I’m not so full of hubris that I think any god would prepare a city just for my folk.” He nodded at the buildings below. “I’ve seen the black scars. Someone burned the angels-if that’s what they were-out of their city. Probably it was the Spellplague, but we’ll never know.”

The Spellplague. Ashok knew it only in stories: the Blue Fire that had raged across the mirror world of Faerun, its tendrils reaching even to the Shadowfell. A force powerful enough to rip apart entire cities-he could well imagine such a thing to have scarred Ikemmu. But to consume an entire people … Ashok shuddered at the thought of extinction through the blue flame.

Above Ashok, a shadow fell from the clouds, spread dark wings, and descended toward the bridge.

Ashok and Vedoran came to their feet at almost the same instant, weapons in their hands. Vedoran pointed. “Cloaker,” he said, as the thing angled toward them.

“Are you sure?” Ashok said.

“Oh yes,” Vedoran said. “The witches say that the cloakers were here when the shadar-kai first came to Ikemmu. They called it Sphur Upra, the Gloaming Home. If you want to know how the city came to be, ask a cloaker.” Vedoran chuckled darkly. “If you can keep it from killing you.”

Ashok braced his feet so he wouldn’t succumb to the vertigo of standing on the near-invisible bridge. He twirled his chain, waiting to see if the cloaker would attack.

It drifted down like its namesake, bone claws curled at the edges of the false fabric. Ashok kept the chain moving, swinging it above their heads and in front of his body. Still the thing floated, falling at a leisurely pace, coasting on the air currents.

“It’s going to pass,” Vedoran said.

“No it’s not,” Ashok said, and just in that breath, the cloaker tucked into itself. In the sudden absence of wind, it plummeted straight at them.

“Duck,” Ashok said, and released one end of the chain. It sailed over Vedoran’s head and snapped taut inches from the cloaker’s flesh.

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.