Unbroken Chain: The Darker Road

CHAPTER FIVE

THE VILLAGE OF TINNIR, RASHEMEN

"Look here, Elina.” Sree led the child up to the pebbled stretch of shoreline and pointed to a cold-water minnow school swimming in the shallows. No bigger than the child’s fingers, they bobbed the surface of the gray water, mouths open in search of food.

The little girl obediently went down on her knees to look at the darting fish, but it seemed to Sree that, as with everything else the child did, she was only acting to please the adults around her. She had barely spoken since her mother’s death and ate only what Sree put in front of her. Whenever Sree left the child to sit quietly by herself, Elina would stay there, unmoving, until the hathran came to find her again.

Lake Tirulag scrolled away from them in the distance, its surface broken by a light, cold wind, and the dozens of boats that fished the lake for trout and crayfish. Dim sunshine shone through the stringy cloudbanks over the hills, but it was not a warm light. Ice patches had already formed in these shallow areas, trapping grass, dirt, and the unfortunate minnow or two, but Sree steered the child away from these sights and directed her gaze toward living things.

Sunlight touched them, and the hathran crouched next to the child. “Do you see our reflections, Elina?” She pointed to the child’s face staring back at them impassively from the water. Above her shoulder hovered the hathran’s mask. The dark image made the symbols carved upon it indistinct. Sree couldn’t make out the leaping flames of the hearth or the mountain peaks that also symbolized the stone roofs of the homes here in Tinnir. Hearth and home, fire and mountain-all were a part of her; all were one.

But did Elina see it that way? Reflected in the gray lake, the child saw a mask with a stranger’s eyes staring out. Elina knew, as did all Rashemi, that the witches were the trusted caretakers of the people, but did that include letting a stranger take the place of her mother? Sree could hardly expect Elina to trust her completely, not yet.

Sree drew back, so that only Elina’s reflection was visible in the lake. “We must move on now,” she said. “Not far from here, a young woman is about to become a mother twice over. I must go to her and ask for Bhalla’s blessing upon the birth. Would you like to come and watch this miracle?”

Elina nodded once and reached for Sree’s hand, but again the hathran saw no spark of emotion, no interest whatsoever in the world that continued to move while the child stood still. Sree led the child on by the lake, but in her heart, she prayed for guidance:

Mother Bhalla, grant me patience, strength, and the will to be gentle with this child. As we wychlaran have been set apart from others, so too will this child be set apart from us. If she is destined to be an othlor, she will need your guidance.

Sree ended the prayer with her traditional blessing, words she often spoke or sung, but this time recited in silence:

Hearth and fire, home and mountain

Path of those who came before

Guard my spirit as I walk alone

And I will watch for thee

Sree felt a sense of peace and purpose settle over her. It will be all right, she thought. In time, all will be well.

Then she heard the scream.

The hut had whitewashed walls, a small garden dormant in preparation for winter, and a sheep paddock in back against the low-rising hills. The smell of damp wool and wood fire smoke filled the air. A dozen sheep clustered together at the back of the paddock, as far away from the screams as they could get.

Sree didn’t stop to knock at the weather-beaten door-she flung it open and pulled Elina inside with her. With a brief glance she took in the hearth fire hung with a kettle of boiling water; the blood-soaked rags hastily discarded in a corner; the offerings to Bhalla and the lake spirits placed on the bedroom threshold. All of this was as it should be for the birthing, but the woman’s screams were screams of panic and terror, not the determined cries of a mother about to meet her children for the first time.

Amid the screams, voices from the bedroom-including the village healer’s-tried to soothe and cajole the young woman to breathe, but Sree heard the carefully concealed desperation in the words.

She found a stool near the fire and sat Elina upon it. No need to tell the child to stay put-Sree knew she would be there waiting when the ordeal was finished. She found soap and clean rags on a table in the corner and dipped one in the boiling water. After she’d washed her hands thoroughly, she went into the bedroom.

Elina sat on the stool and watched the fire. The heat felt good on her cold nose, but the air in the house was too thick, and it smelled rotten. She would rather be back at home in her own bed.

She sat on the stool, not moving, until her legs started to cramp from dangling just above the floor. She slid off and stumbled, scraping her knee against the floor. The scratches were red when she looked at them, and a drop of blood welled up. Elina watched it slide down the back of her leg.

In the bedroom, the woman’s screams got louder. Elina put her hands over her ears to drown them out, but it didn’t help. The smell got worse too-it made her nose itch, and she knew she remembered it from somewhere. She tried to find something in the room to look at, but there was only the pile of red rags and the windows filmed over with dirt.

“Bhalla, aid me!” The scream from the bedroom made Elina cower. She put her arms over her head and ran out of the house. She didn’t even realize what her feet had done until she stood in the dooryard, blinking in the watery sunlight.

There was no relief outside. Sheep ran around their paddock, wailing, crying, and frantically pushing one another to escape the screams from inside the house. Elina felt sorry for them, but she was frightened too. She saw a sheep chewing a fence post where the wood met the ground. It chewed and chewed until blood and spit dripped from its mouth. The animal’s eyes looked strange, as if they were blind.

A ewe slammed its head into the fence post nearest Elina. She screamed, the ewe screamed, and Elina ran. She bolted around the side of the house, but the paddock and the sheep were everywhere. Against the side of the house was a tall woodpile. Elina found a slender gap between the stacked wood and the wall and crawled into it.

The air smelled better here, earthy and moist. Wetness soaked through her wool skirt, but Elina hardly noticed. She lay down on the ground and covered her ears against the sheep cries. She could see through gaps in the woodpile their frantic, scuffling movements. Could they see her back here? What if that was why they were trying to get out of the paddock-to come after her? She wanted to close her eyes, but she was afraid they would get her when she wasn’t looking, so she pressed her face to a gap in the wood and watched.

A single eye gazed back at her from the other side of the gap.

Elina screamed and covered the hole with her hands. She pushed herself back and hit her head against the side of the house. Pain made her vision go dark for a minute. When she came back to herself, she felt gentle hands cradling her head and fingers stroking her hair.

Sree, Elina thought. She came to find me.

When she raised her head, it wasn’t Sree looking back at her, but a small figure with spindly arms and legs.

Elina felt a new surge of fear. She breathed very fast, but the small creature shook its head and laid its hands-so much smaller and thinner compared to her own-on her arm in a soothing gesture. It was then Elina realized the creature was made of wood. The hands that touched her curved and were sharp like twigs snapped off a sapling. The creature’s hair was green and brown, alive with rare white heather blossoms, dirt, and earthworms. As Elina watched, more of the small flowers sprang up at different places on its body. The tiny thing both fascinated and repelled her, for it was unlike any creature she’d ever seen.

“Are you … the tree people?” she whispered. Her mother had often spoken to her of the spirits of the forest, especially those that lived in the pinewoods around Tinnir.

Green eyes sparkled, and the grains of wood in the creature’s face warped in what could have been a smile. The spirit reached up and touched the back of the woodpile. Suddenly, the sheep cries melted away, and the cut wood grew vines and flowers to fill in the gaps in the pile.

Elina watched, speechless. She felt the air grow comfortably warm, and the grass beneath her wet skirt turned soft and thick. Never had she felt so warm and safe out of doors.

Her mother used to warn her about what could happen if she went to the wild places alone, but this wild forest pocket drew protectively close around her, and the spirit sat beside her as if to keep watch.

Suddenly Elina realized how sleepy she was. She covered a yawn with her hand. Seeing this, the spirit beckoned her to the grass, and Elina laid her head down on the soft green pallet. The white blossoms hovering near her nose smelled like honey, and the last thing she thought of before she drifted off to sleep were the thick honey rolls her mother used to bake on the bitterest winter mornings. She’d bring them out steaming on a warm plate, and, the two of them, wrapped in the thickest blankets they owned, would eat them in front of the fire.

“Don’t waste a drop,” her mother would say, and then she would run her tongue in a circle over her lips to catch any forgotten stickiness. Elina imitated her now, her small tongue touching the white blossoms.

She awoke to someone furiously shaking her.

“Get up,” Sree hissed. She was too big to fit behind the woodpile, but Elina could see through bleary eyes the hathran’s masked face staring in at her. Evening had come, and as she sat up, Elina realized the tree spirit had gone. The woodpile was back to being a woodpile, all sticks and wet earth. The rotten smell was back, assailing Elina’s nostrils more strongly than ever, but at least the sheep had stopped crying.

Still reluctant to leave her nest, Elina sat up slowly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Sree was not so patient. She seized Elina by the arm and all but dragged her out from behind the woodpile.

“Turn toward me,” the hathran commanded, and put her body between Elina and the fence. “You worried me to death, Elina, running off like that. I called and called, but you didn’t answer. You must never hide from me again, do you understand?”

Sree picked her up and forced her face down against her shoulder. Elina’s cheek pressed uncomfortably against Sree’s collarbone. The witch’s skin was sticky and smelled like sweat. Elina didn’t like being carried like this. She couldn’t see anything.

“Stop struggling. What’s come over you?” Sree held her head immobile. Elina caught a glimpse of the open door to the house and heard a baby wailing within.

A single baby’s voice-but Sree said there were going to be two.…

“Thank Bhalla that at least one babe could be saved,” Sree murmured under her breath. Elina felt the vibration of the words in the hathran’s throat, and she heard the grief as well. “Close your eyes now, child. Go back to sleep if you can.”

Sree moved quickly away from the house. She sounded frightened, and that scared Elina. But as she stepped over a fallen tree branch from one of the nearby pines, her stride faltered and so did her grip on Elina’s head. Elina peaked over the witch’s shoulder.

Behind the fence, a dozen sheep lay in a pile so densely packed it was hard to tell where one body ended and another began. Their eyes bulged in a fixed, dumb stare, tongues lolling out the side of their mouths. Every one of the animals had had its skull crushed. Elina saw the red splashed on the fence posts where the sheep had driven their skulls into the wood over and over again.

Elina ducked her head against Sree’s neck, but she couldn’t control her trembling. The witch stopped suddenly and set her on the ground. Elina looked down at her skirt and realized she’d soiled herself. She trembled, cried, and turned red with the shame of it.

“Look at me, child.” Sree took Elina’s chin in her hand and tilted her head up to look into the masked woman’s eyes. “You need never feel shame before me. Fear is not shameful. A wise witch knows how to use her fear to make herself strong.” She picked Elina up again and cradled her close. “I am afraid too, Elina. The sheep are a bad omen, but we must trust in Bhalla and the spirits. They will not lead us astray.”

Sree walked on, and Elina thought about telling the hathran what she’d seen behind the woodpile. No, she thought, that was her secret, a private, precious thing between her and the spirit.

As precious as when her dead mother visited Elina in her dreams.

IKEMMU, THE SHADOWDARK

7 MARPENOTH, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)

The day after Olra’s death, Ashok and Skagi went to Tower Makthar to visit Cree and tell him about the mission.

He sat up in bed when they came into the sickroom. His face split in a grin when he saw them. Except for the missing eye, he looked like himself.

“At last,” he said. “I was beginning to think I’d have to break out of here myself, half-naked and with no weapons, but now that you two are here, I’ll have company.”

Skagi laughed. “I’ll wager the clerics all wish you’d lost your tongue and not the eye,” he said.

Ashok winced, but Cree joined in his brother’s laughter. “As soon as my jailers turn me loose, I’m going to the inker,” Cree said. “Uwan said I needed prettying up after that battle.”

Skagi nodded approvingly. “But you were always too pretty for your own good anyway.”

Cree looked at Ashok. “What do you think, Ashok?” He traced his eyebrow down to his nose and across his cheekbone. “The snake marked me, so I’ll put its mark right here.”

Ashok swallowed. “Whatever you wish,” he said.

The brothers shared a look, and Cree’s smile dimmed. “Olra was a fine warrior, the best Camborr leader we’ve ever had,” he said.

“That she was.”

He thinks that’s why I’m silent, Ashok thought. He doesn’t blame me at all. But it didn’t matter. Ashok had only to look at Cree’s face to remind himself of his failure.

“We bring news from the Watching Blade,” Skagi said when the silence became uncomfortable. “Wouldn’t you know it, Ashok and the witch plan to drag us off on another adventure?”

“Oh?” Cree said. “Is that why they’ve insisted on keeping me abed for this long?”

“More likely you were lazing about.” Skagi dodged Cree’s elbow.

Ashok nodded. “They want your strength back and the poison completely out of you. We’re taking Ilvani to Rashemen, in Faerun.”

Cree’s remaining eye widened. He leaned forward eagerly as Ashok and Skagi told him about Ilvani’s dreams and her connection to the mad shadow beasts. Ashok also shared what he’d learned of Rashemen from Darnae.

“I’ve been to the Underdark and to the surface,” Cree said, “but I’ve never traveled that far in the mirror world.”

“Neither have I,” Skagi said, “but the caravans go back and forth all the time. They send the cargo through a portal to the surface, so raiding parties won’t get at it. Usually there are a fair number of guards-shadar-kai, humans, maybe some dwarves. Even the well-traveled trade routes are dangerous, so there’s good coin for that sort of work. Well, you remember how Vedoran used to talk about it.”

Ashok remembered. Vedoran had been well regarded as a sellsword, though everything inside him detested the work he’d been relegated to because of his beliefs. Ashok wondered if there were any shadar-kai sellswords left now that they were allowed to serve in Ikemmu’s military.

“Even with the experienced guards, that doesn’t change the fact that none of us three have the knowledge of Faerun we need. We won’t know what to expect once we’re out of the Shadowfell,” Ashok said.

“We should talk to Tatigan,” Cree said. “Judging from the goods he’s brought back, he knows every trade route and merchant in Faerun. He’ll be able to tell us what we’re in for.”

“That’s a good idea,” Ashok said. He stood, and Skagi moved to join him at the door. Cree started to follow them.

“Oh now, where do you think you’re going?” Skagi said. He crossed his arms and blocked the door.

Cree looked at him incredulously. “You can’t mean me to stay here? I’ll eat through the walls or fade away if I don’t get out of this damned circular cage.”

“The clerics want to make sure there’s no lasting damage from the poison or anything in the snake’s blood that might have affected you,” Ashok said.

“He doesn’t want you spitting foam like a mad dog on the caravan journey.” Skagi snickered.

Cursing, Cree trudged back to his bed. “I’ll make you pay for every bit of enjoyment you’re getting out of this, Brother,” he warned Skagi.

“Looking forward to it,” Skagi said.

Ashok watched Cree climb back into his bed. His elbow bumped the bedside table and knocked over a cup of water sitting there. The liquid made a dark stain on the stone floor. Though he tried to hide it, Cree stiffened, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. He turned, moving more slowly than Ashok had ever seen him, and picked up the empty cup.

Ashok left the room before Cree noticed that he’d lingered.

When they were outside the tower, Skagi said, “He’ll come back from it, you know. Just needs time to adapt. He might not be as fast as he was before, but he’ll still be able to outpace the rest of us.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ashok said.

“But you look at him like he won’t,” Skagi muttered. “Makes it harder on him.”

Ashok stopped. “I didn’t realize.”

“We’re all Guardians,” Skagi said, “ready to pay the price to protect Ikemmu, even if Uwan asks for a limb.” He looked at Ashok with a strange, unreadable expression. “Did you forget we’re all willing to give it?”

“I didn’t forget,” Ashok said.

He hadn’t forgotten, he told himself stubbornly. He’d just never thought it would be necessary. If he could keep them safe, that sacrifice would never be needed.

Ashok considered going to Darnae to ask the halfling where to find Tatigan, but it took only a few minutes of asking around the trade market to locate the merchant. He kept chambers in Tower Pyton near the topmost span, one of the bridges that connected the tower to its sister Hevalor.

The door stood ajar when he and Skagi arrived. They could see the merchant pacing back and forth in front of the door. During one pass, he saw them and beckoned.

The room was smaller than Ashok expected from the merchant, who dealt in some of the most exotic goods in Ikemmu. Tatigan had a reputation for catering specifically to the needs of the shadar-kai and their constant search for new experiences and pleasures. His own quarters were simple, but what furnishings he owned appeared to be of the finest quality, even to Ashok’s uneducated eyes.

A large bed covered in thick blankets and furs took up one side of the room; a dark wood table with two chairs matched a large desk at the far side of the room. The smoothly polished wood grain followed a beautiful pattern like falling rain. Maps of Ikemmu, the Underdark, and various parts of Faerun covered the walls. Next to them hung a single painting of a green landscape-a vast forest as seen from a distance through pale mist. A path veered through the wood, and on the path were riders wearing a livery Ashok didn’t recognize.

“That’s Cormyr,” Tatigan said, following Ashok’s gaze. “I’m told the painting once belonged to Azoun IV, a former king, though I’ve never had it verified.”

“How go your studies of Ikemmu?” Ashok asked. He nodded to the stacks of parchment on the merchant’s desk, a strange mixture of account keeping and research notes written in spidery shorthand.

“Well enough. I don’t have as much time for them as I’d like, but now that you’re here, maybe I’ll make some progress,” Tatigan said. He had on loose-fitting trousers and a silk shirt overlaid with a vest of light gray fur. As was his custom, he wore spectacles with dark green lenses, even in the dimness of the lantern-lit room.

“What makes you say that?” Ashok said.

“Oh, that reminds me, I have something I think you’ll want to try, Skagi.” Ignoring Ashok’s question, the merchant went to the table, pulled out both chairs for them, and took down a decanter of wine and two glasses from a shelf above his head. He poured a taste into one of the glasses and handed it to Skagi.

“Don’t need to be so stingy,” Skagi said, eyeing the tiny amount. “I wasn’t going to drink it all.”

Tatigan chuckled. “You’ll want to take this vintage slowly, my friend. It hits you when you least expect it.”

Skagi sniffed the drink, then drained the glass in one swallow despite the merchant’s warning. Tatigan poured a slightly greater amount into the second glass and offered it to Ashok.

Ashok took the glass, but he hesitated before putting it to his mouth. “What did you mean when you said you’d make progress with me here?”

“Godsdamn, this is the stuff!”

Ashok turned to see Skagi half out of his chair, his hands pressed against the floor as if for balance. When he looked up, Ashok saw he was sweating, his eyes feverish, but he grinned at both of them.

“More?” Tatigan asked politely.

Skagi made a grab for his glass, missed, but picked it up on the second try. He waved it in the air.

“You can’t be drunk already?” Ashok said. “I’ve seen you drain four flagons that were each larger than this decanter without losing your wits.”

“Yes, but his body isn’t used to the jhuild,” Tatigan said. “Rashemi firewine.”

Ashok looked at Tatigan sharply. “This is from Rashemen?”

“Oh yes, I understand you’ll be making a journey there,” the merchant said with feigned nonchalance. “Did you know the Rashemi are the only people in Faerun who make the jhuild? One decanter is worth more than the pair of you, so a trickle is all you get. Enjoy.”

His curiosity aroused, Ashok drained his glass. Immediately he felt the wine’s warmth in his blood, as potent as if he’d drunk half a bottle. The drink left a strange aftertaste on his tongue, making it feel thick and awkward in his mouth. He took a step forward and back to test his balance, but his reflexes didn’t seem to be as impaired as Skagi’s were. Yet when he lifted his hands, for a breath, his vision blurred and a tremor went through his hands. His heartbeat quickened, and a burning sensation spread through his chest, slowly at first, but then so fast he broke into a sweat. He couldn’t control his heartbeat.

“This isn’t wine,” he snarled. He braced a hand against the wall to keep from falling. “You poisoned us.”

“Of course I did.” Tatigan took Ashok’s glass and refilled it. Instead of handing it back to him, the merchant took a drink. “That’s what jhuild is-wine so potent it attacks your body. It won’t kill you, but your system fights with it, so you have to monitor your limits. But if you can find the right balance between kill and cure-and isn’t that the essence of liquor? — the jhuild will make you stronger. The berserkers drink it among the Rashemi.”

He was right. Ashok’s body slowly adapted to the effects of the drink. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The Rashemi obviously didn’t brew the jhuild for flavor, at least not in the way other wines were carefully bottled and aged to bring out their subtleties. This brew dominated the senses-the firewine masters me until my body masters it-then came the experience of flavors. Gods, he never knew there was such a thing as a battle with wine.

“Who are these berserkers?” Ashok said.

“The warriors of Rashemen,” Tatigan explained. “When we get there, you’ll likely meet them. They have fangs-battle groups-to protect every village in the country.”

“We?” Ashok said, surprised. “You’ll be on the caravan with us?”

“Leading the caravan, you mean.” Tatigan couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “For years I’ve attached myself to other crews to peddle my goods, but I’m tired of the small scale. I’ve started a venture with three other merchants, a coster caravan that’ll claim the Golden Way trade route as its own. We leave soon to beat the first snows in the North. Uwan tells me that, by happy coincidence, you have business in Rashemen with the wychlaran and need an escort, which I offered to provide.”

Ashok took back his glass from Tatigan. He swirled the liquid and watched it settle, taking in the color and vibrancy of the wine while he tried to take in Tatigan’s words. Firewine, berserkers, fangs-he wanted to know more about these Rashemi, but first, he needed to know how much Tatigan knew about his own mission into their country. “Did Uwan tell you what our business in Rashemen was?” he asked carefully.

“No, and I didn’t ask. As always, I serve the Watching Blade and the city of Ikemmu,” Tatigan said, offering a whimsical half bow. “Besides, it will be good to have as many skilled warriors as possible along for our first outing. Everyone benefits.”

Ashok took another drink-a sip this time-of the jhuild. He shuddered as the poisoned pleasure hit him. “Warriors that brew this drink could understand the shadar-kai,” he murmured.

Tatigan looked at him over the rim of his spectacles. “See now, that’s why I’m glad you stopped by to see me, Ashok. You always say such interesting things.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Tatigan went to his desk and sat on the edge. He lifted one of the parchment sheets. “I make the same observation here in my research.” He read the text aloud. “ ‘Faerun’s native humans are ill-equipped to confront the driven nature of the shadar-kai, their motivations, and goals. Relationships, particularly trade relations, are by no means impossible-we have daily evidence of success-but the discord in their natures creates a barrier in social and cultural interactions. Of all the human peoples in Faerun, the ones most suited to understand the shadar-kai are the Rashemi.’ ” He set the parchment back down.

“The history of Rashemen is fraught with war and strife,” Tatigan went on. He pointed at the map on the wall. “Even their geography works against them. Look: Their southern neighbors, the Thayans, launched countless invasions over hundreds of years. From the East, the Tuigan horde did the same, to say nothing of the lost empires of Narfell and Raumathar-powers that used Rashemi land as a battleground. Despite all this, their people carve home and glory out of a harsh, isolated environment. They submit utterly to the authority of the wychlaran-witches-and reward their warriors for superior skill and fighting prowess. In battle, frenzy consumes their berserker warriors, a force that rivals the ecstasy of pain and suffering embraced by the children of Netheril, the shadar-kai. The great irony is that the isolated natures of both peoples would never allow one to seek out the other for an alliance.”

“Until now,” Ashok said.

“Precisely.”

“Can we expect a fight from these berserkers?” Skagi said. Like Ashok, he’d regained his composure from the jhuild.

“That all depends,” Tatigan said. “They open their lands for trade caravans, though they never welcome outsiders with open arms. Shadar-kai have walked among them before as sellswords on caravan runs out from Ikemmu, so you’re nothing new to them-a curiosity perhaps, but nothing more.”

“This isn’t a trading mission for us. We’re approaching their people directly for aid,” Ashok said quietly. He took another sip of the red liquid. It burned on his lips. “That changes the game.”

“Indeed,” Tatigan said. “Honestly, I’m looking forward to seeing how all the pieces come together.”

“If our relations are poor, you’ll be in the middle of it,” Skagi pointed out.

“He’s right,” Ashok said. “Does your voice carry any weight among the Rashemi? Could you help us secure an audience with the witches?”

“The wychlaran don’t involve themselves with common trade matters,” Tatigan said. “The most I could do is talk to the local folk on your behalf, but it won’t make you less suspicious. No, in this you’re going to be on your own.”

If Ilvani was dreaming about a Rashemi witch, there had to be a reason for it. “We’ll just have to make them understand our need,” Ashok said.

Skagi held up his empty glass. “And get them to share their firewine.”