tattoo of a sword stretched from Natan’s shoulder blades to the small of his back. Uwan’s back bore a similar marking. He noticed with dismay how Natan’s gray flesh looked sickly even in the candles’ glow. The cleric’s cheekbones and the lines of his jaw were sharply defined.
“How long has he been here?” Uwan asked the guard.
“Since the Pendron bell, my Lord,” the guard said. He stayed at rigid attention, with his eyes fixed unflinchingly on Uwan.
“I see.” replied Uwan. “Stand outside the door, if you would.”
When the guard had left, Uwan crossed the room in a straight line toward Natan. There were no benches in the temple to impede movement-services were conducted with the crowd standing, their collective gazes focused on Tempus’s sword.
Uwan stopped a few feet away from his friend. “Have you slept?” he asked.
Natan raised his bald head stiffly. He shifted to look at Uwan but stayed on his knees. “I was dreaming about hounds,” he said. His eyes were black like Uwan’s own.
Uwan nodded. “I hear them too sometimes.” he replied. “The echoes from the caverns-”
“No,” Natan said. “My Lord, I saw something.”
Uwan felt a surge of excitement in his blood. “Tempus has spoken to you?” he exclaimed.
“At last,” Natan replied.
A soft breeze stirred the candle flames. Uwan told himself it was the natural air currents moving through the tower, but the sword carving glowed in the sudden movement of the candles’ light.
My Lord, I feel you, Uwan thought as he swallowed. “What was the vision?” he asked.
“A person, my Lord,” Natan said, “a shadar-kai, but not of this city.”
“You’re certain?”
“He has never touched Ikemmu’s soil.”
Uwan nodded. “One of Tempus’s agents, then,” he said. “What of him?”
“An ephemeral image,” Natan said. “Not enough to tell whom he serves.”
“What is your feeling-fair or foul?” Uwan asked.
“I don’t know. My Lord, I urge you to be cautious,” Natan said as he rose up on his knees with his head bowed to lay his hand on Uwan’s gauntlet. Uwan got on his own knees, impatient with such gestures.
“My Lord!” Natan exclaimed.
“Tell me,” Uwan hissed as he clutched the cleric’s thin shoulders. He was strong; his arms were thick and encased in shadowmail and a greatsword was strapped to his side. His white hair hung past his shoulders, the strands so thin and pale as to be colorless against his gray skin.
Natan’s eyes lost focus as he recalled his vision. “The baying of hounds,” he said, “I saw shadow ravens wheeling high above an open plain. They looked down on a circle of flame, my Lord. This shadar-kai was standing in the fire. He held the flames in his hands, wielded them like a weapon.”
“A sword,” Uwan said. “The sword of Tempus. He is sent by our god, Natan. He must be.”
“My Lord, there is more,” Natan said. “The fire … It was the city. Ikemmu was burning. There is danger here.”
“From what threat?” Uwan demanded. Who would
“Tempus would not tell me.”
“No, of course he wouldn’t,” Uwan said. Defending the city was his task. “Anything else?”
“No, my Lord,” Natan said. Sorrow deepened the hollows of his face. It pained Uwan to see his friend in such a state.
“Natan, you must take hope from this vision,” Uwan said. His heart beat rapidly, though he tried to assert control. It was difficult for Uwan to contain his emotions when his god spoke to him, as He did through Natan. “Don’t you see? This is the sign we have been waiting for. This shadar-kai will bring the blessing we have sought. I am sure of it.”
“I do have hope, my Lord. But still I beg you be wary,” Natan said. “We know nothing of this shadar-kai. If he comes here, he comes from the Shadowfell.”
“You mean that he will not be like us,” Uwan said, nodding. “I understand you. We will take precautions.”
“Not only that, my Lord,” Natan said. “Remember, when this shadar-kai comes, he will bring the fire. I have seen it.”
“Perhaps,” Uwan said. “Perhaps not. Trust Tempus, Natan. He will not lead us astray. Now, tell me this shadar-kai’s face-draw it if you must. I’ll send out patrols before Exeden chimes. We’ll find him.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Natan answered.
“Blessed be Tempus’s sword,” Uwan said, touching his chest.
Natan mirrored the gesture. “Blessed be us all,” he replied.
The shadar-kai patrol traveled across the plain of the Shadowfell above for a day and a night before they came upon the Aloran Tor and the kindling tree. Four shadow hound corpses lay sprawled beneath the needle branches like rotting fruit. Among them lay the body of a young shadar-kai man.
Cree moved swiftly from hound to hound, prodding with his katars to make certain they were all dead. Had he been his brother, Skagi, he would simply have chopped off their heads with his falchion. Blunt, Cree thought, and unnecessary.
When the patrol had secured the area, Cree sheathed his weapons. “Is he dead?” Cree asked Skagi, who was kneeling next to the prone shadar-kai.
Skagi bent over and looked for the rise and fall of the shadar-kai’s breath. “He breathes,” Skagi said, his gaze roving over the bites covering the shadar-kai’s body. “I don’t know how, but he lives.”
Cree came up beside him. “That’s him,” he said. “See the scars on his neck? Three claw marks under the jaw, and part of the left earlobe missing too, exactly like Uwan said.”
Skagi nodded. His muscular arms were relaxed at his sides, but his hands never strayed far from his falchion. He went bare-chested to show off a field of dark green tattoos covering the left half of his body like a shroud. He wore black breeches and unlike Cree, his head was shaved. His lower lip was slightly deformed from a dagger slash, the flesh crooked and jutting as if he had something lodged in his teeth.
“He’s been out on the plain for days,” Skagi said. “No telling how long he’s been unconscious.”
The shadar-kai’s lips were cracked, and his face was swollen and chapped by the vicious winds. Thick braids of long gray hair were blood-matted. Cree thought the man looked about Skagi’s age, not yet cresting his twenty-fifth winter.
Skagi picked up the shadar-kai’s chain lying beside him. “He carries a reaping weapon. Looks like he cut the hounds up fine with it.”
“Where do you think he came from?” Cree asked.
“Not our concern,” Skagi said. “Make a litter,” he added, instructing the rest of the patrol, and pointing at Cree. “Help me clog this bleeding. Our only job now is to get him back to Ikemmu alive. Uwan can deal with him.”
“The Watching Blade sees all,” Cree agreed, and they set to work.
CHAPTER TWO
Awareness returned slowly to Ashok’s mind. With his eyes closed, he thought he was still lying on the open plain, but everything about his body felt wrong. His chest rose and fell without impediment-the hound no longer held him down with its putrid weight-and there was no fire in his breath, no pain eating up his lungs.
He spread his fingers against the ground and felt softness, cloth brushing against his bare skin. He had almost forgotten what “soft” felt like.
Not the earth then, or tree needles, but something else entirely, something he’d never felt before. Ashok’s thoughts drifted-was it death? His flesh in the mouths of the hounds? But there was no pain.
