Unbroken Chain

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 attack. 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.

Many of the roofs had been tall and conical-a field of spherical stone to match the imposing towers. But the shapes had become tumbling and crooked. There were no doors on the older structures, only archways outlined in brick.

Ashok passed close enough to one of the shops to see strange carvings embedded in the bricks. He hesitated, tracing a finger in one that was roughly shaped like a bird. Latent heat brushed his fingertips, and a slight electrical shock. He took his hand away, surprised.

“Are you lost, friend?” a voice called.

Ashok looked down to see a diminutive woman step from the shop. She had bright hair stacked in thick braids on top of her head. Her angular face made her blue and white and black eyes look enormous, but they were friendly and curious as they met his.

“Come in,” she beckoned him, when Ashok didn’t reply. She spoke the shadar-kai tongue as well as if she’d been born one of the race.

Curious, Ashok followed her into the shop, which was dimly lit by candles in sconces scattered about the room. Tables covered in red and black cloths filled the floor space, and on them were racks of bottles and quills, stacks of blank parchment, wax, and seals. Ashok smelled the scent of thick ink deeply sunk into the place.

“Sit down,” the woman said, guiding him with a hand at the back of his thigh to a human-fitted chair near the counter. She didn’t seem the least intimidated by his size. “I would have invited you in sooner, but I must admit I was surprised to see you standing out there,” she said.

“Why?” Ashok asked.

The woman looked at him strangely. The corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement. “It’s just I don’t get many shadar-kai visitors here,” she said. “My clients are mostly human, dwarf, or halfling, like me.”

Ashok picked up one of the blank parchment sheets. “What is it you do here?” he asked.

“Messages,” the woman said. “We transcribe them, and a courier delivers them. The shadar-kai don’t often communicate beyond the city.” She added quickly, “That’s not to say I’m denying you, not at all. If you need to send a message …”

Ashok shook his head. “I saw the runes on your doorway,” he replied. “I was curious.”

“Ah, yes,” the woman said, smiling. “I’ve had visitors come to study them, seeking to learn Ikemmu’s history.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Are you interested in such things?”

“I don’t know,” Ashok said. He traced a fingertip across the smooth parchment stacked on the counter.

“Stop, stop!” the woman cried, uttering a startled oath in a language he didn’t recognize. She took his hand in her small one. The blood had almost dried, but the cuts on his knuckles were ugly and inflamed. “You’ve hurt yourself,” she said.

Ashok had acknowledged the continuing sting, but he hadn’t noticed the blood streaks soaking through the parchment sheets. “Forgive me,” he said.

She waved a hand. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Excuse me.” She went through another archway to an adjoining room off the shop. When she returned, she held a roll of bandages.

Ashok reached down to take them from her, but she unrolled the strips herself and wound them over his knuckles. She tied a knot beneath his fingers.

“Done,” she said.

“My thanks,” Ashok said, flexing his fingers around the bandages, making sure he could still maneuver a chain. With regret, he watched the woman remove the blood-soaked parchment sheets and put them behind the counter.

Suddenly, he remembered the soiled bandages with his blood marks on them. He could feel them; they hadn’t been lost in his escape attempt.

“What do you want for it?” he said.

The woman was rolling up the extra bandages. “What did you say?” she asked.

“The parchment,” Ashok said. “Will you trade for the parchment, quill, and ink-including what was damaged?” He spoke without thinking. He had nothing to trade her.

The woman looked at him with the same curious expression she’d used earlier. “Are you new to Ikemmu?” she asked.

He worked his jaw. It was so easy for them to see he was an outsider. “Yes,” he replied.

“Ah, I thought so,” the woman said as she held out her small hand for him to clasp. “In that case, welcome. My name is Darnae. May I know you?”

“Ashok,” Ashok said. He took the small hand in three of his fingers, marveling at her softness, like a child but with hard calluses where the quill had worn her skin.

“Well, Ashok,” Darnae said, smiling. “You may select whatever of my wares you wish. You owe me no coin.”

“Why not?” he asked, on his guard again.

“You’re in training, yes?” she replied. “You came to fight?”

To fight. That was true enough. “Yes,” he said.

“Ikemmu provides for its soldiers,” Darnae explained. “Whatever their needs, we fulfill them. A small price, most of us feel, for the security we enjoy in the city, and the opportunity to trade with so many other races, so many worlds.”

Ashok nodded, but he was remembering the confrontation between Skagi and Gaina. “I have heard … the shadar-kai here can’t do certain things for themselves,” he said.

“Yes,” Darnae agreed. “But not for lack of skill,” she added quickly, looking uncomfortable. “We understand that, as warriors, your first concern is defending Ikemmu. In a trade city such as this … How do I say it? There are many races here with a variety of needs. And there is daily drudgery, mundane tasks created when so many choose to live side by side. These things the shadar-kai were not made to do. You would fade. So the other races fill those roles.” She picked up a stack of parchment sheets, a bottle of ink, and a quill. She started to slide them into a brown leather case, but Ashok waved her off.

“There’s no need,” he said. “I’ll carry them.”

“As you wish,” she replied, handing him the items. “Do you know how to use them?” she asked tentatively.

“I know enough,” Ashok said. “How did the other races come to trade here?”

“Ikemmu is uniquely situated in the Shadowdark,” Darnae said. “We are at a crossroads between the planes. The shadar-kai protect the passage and allow outlanders to establish permanent businesses within the city. Few enclaves are so fortunate, so Ikemmu has grown and prospered.”

Ashok nodded, thinking how his own enclave would never open itself up to outsiders.

“My thanks,” he said. He stood and walked to the archway. Darnae stayed behind the counter, watching him. He paused between the candlelight and the shadows. “Has anyone ever found out what the markings mean?” he said, reaching out to skim the air over the runes. He felt the hovering electrical charge, just out of reach.

“No,” Darnae said. “But they all agree something terrible happened here, long ago.”