“Nothing,” Ashok said. He pulled her closer in imitation of the Martucks.
As the dance continued, Ashok found himself analyzing the experience to see how it affected him. There was no danger, of course, no pain-the pleasure came in holding his partner, sharing the ritual as they moved in tandem. The mutual pleasure fed off itself and heightened Ashok’s awareness of Mareyn. Her nearness brought him her scent, and he felt the ridges of her muscled shoulders under his hands. She let him explore the angles and curves up and down her arms and back as they danced, while her fingers toyed with the scars on his neck.
Daruk’s song and their slow, rhythmic swaying had a lulling effect on Ashok’s mind, but he was not afraid. His body understood the purpose of the ritual. The purpose is not peace, Ashok thought, but prelude. The dance was a joining, though not in the same way his people experienced it in the fire circles. He recognized the connection between him and his partner, though it had been a long time since he’d felt it. He waited for her to guide him, and she did.
Daruk’s melody carried on for some minutes, but Mareyn led Ashok away from the firelight and deeper into the ruins. He followed, his hand held lightly in hers.
Ilvani watched Ashok and Mareyn disappear among the battered stones. The music tapered off, and the dancers headed off to sleep. She noticed Kaibeth and most of her sellswords had sought out partners-some human, some shadar-kai-for their own liaisons. Kaibeth led Cree to her bedroll, and Skagi moved off with one of the human guards. None of them would risk fading again, not tonight.
Ilvani felt eyes on her and looked up to see Daruk coming toward her. The bard sat down in the spot Ashok had vacated and nodded to where he and Mareyn had disappeared.
“See that? Somebody appreciates my music,” he said. He looked at her narrowly. “Or perhaps you didn’t want the song to end that way? If so, my deepest apologies.” He put his hand, fingers spread, over his heart in a gesture that was anything but sincere.
“I wasn’t listening to the song,” Ilvani said.
He laughed. “Of course you weren’t. You truly don’t care that he’s with her, do you? I thought I had it all sorted out between the two of you, the way he watches you all the time. It’s strange. If you were human-”
“I’m not,” Ilvani said. “Neither is he.”
“You’re both a bit odd, on top of that. Which one is the more broken, I wonder?” Daruk said idly.
At that, a small, wicked smile lit Ilvani’s face. “You are,” she said. “The rest of us are at least trying to mend ourselves, but you revel in being broken, Daruk, exiled bard of Netheril. Daruk, beloved of Shar.”
The amusement died out of his eyes, but his voice remained serene. “Did Tatigan tell you that?”
Ilvani shook her head. “I’m a collector, too, but I don’t want most of the secrets I hear on the wind.”
“You’re a prophet, just like your brother was,” the bard said. “Does Tempus whisper the future in your ear?”
“No, I hear only insects buzzing, insects and bards,” she said.
His good humor restored, he laughed. “My apologies again. I wasn’t paying proper attention to you before, but I will, starting now. You’re going to be a player in this game of mine, aren’t you?”
“Whether I choose to or not,” Ilvani said. She glanced toward the stones where Ashok and Mareyn had disappeared. “That’s the way it’s going to be.”
Later, Daruk sat with Tatigan before one of the smaller fires. The flames were slowly dying, though Tatigan poked the embers valiantly with a stick. Giving up, he took out a bottle of Theskian wine and filled two goblets. Daruk took his and drained it in a couple of swallows. Tatigan sighed at the waste of a good vintage.
“I recognize that look on your face,” Daruk said dryly. “I’ve done something to disappoint you again. Gods, how I hate to fail you, Tatigan. What is it this time?”
“You shouldn’t provoke them,” Tatigan scolded the bard, “not out here in the wilderness. They’re not playing a game. All they see is you insulting their gods, and for that offense, the less disciplined among them could turn on you in a heartbeat. They are ruled by passions you obviously cannot comprehend.”
Daruk lay down on his bedroll with his hands clasped behind his head and one leg thrown over his knee. He closed his eyes, but a wide smile split his dark face. “Are you honestly suggesting I should be afraid of Ikemmu’s shadar-kai?” The distaste was thick in his voice.
“You’re a long way from home,” Tatigan pointed out. “If you’re going to dwell in Ikemmu, you’d do worse than to make a few friends among its warriors.”
Daruk sighed. “I tried with Ashok, but I don’t think he likes me, which is a shame. I could compose songs about that one, battle anthems that might fill the hole in my poor heart.”
“You think Ashok will fill the void left by Netheril?” Tatigan shook his head. “No man can replace an empire.”
“He’s the only warrior in Ikemmu whose skill and taste for blood rival that of the shadar-kai of Netheril,” Daruk said. “If he’d been raised in the empire, I’d already be writing songs about him.”
“But he wasn’t and you’re not,” Tatigan said. “Instead, you’re on the run from the same people you hold in such reverence. If they found you, they’d happily tear you to pieces.”
He poured more wine for them both. “The shadar-kai of the Shadowfell, especially Ashok, won’t be the domesticated creatures of the Shades. I’ve made a study of both peoples. They have a different destiny than their forebears. Whether it’s to destroy themselves or make a civilization in Ikemmu, I honestly couldn’t say.”
Darnae always talked about her great hope for the race, Tatigan thought, but at heart, she was overly romantic. Ashok has no illusions about the nature of his race.
“Well, I’m not going to try to predict the outcome either way,” Daruk said. “But I think Ashok will surprise you by how much a part of the darkness he really is. He might relish a taste of true power. Ah, now that’s an interesting notion. Perhaps I will pursue it.”
“Do nothing foolish,” Tatigan said, a threat implicit in his tone. “Not on my caravan.”
“Of course not, my friend,” Daruk said. “I will do nothing to the detriment of you or your people. You have my word.”
Tatigan wondered what such a gift was worth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ilvani dreamed, and in her dreams, the rashemi witch stood over her as she lay in the middle of a vast battlefield. Tuigan corpses lay strewn about in their death poses. Their faces all turned toward her, accusing. Blood soaked the ground.
“It’s coming,” the dead witch told Ilvani. “I hope you’re pleased.”
“What?” Ilvani tried to stand up, but the wind blew in fierce gusts that bore shards of glass. The pain knocked her off her feet. “We have to run!”
“Yes, run,” the woman said mockingly, “before it’s too late. Run, run. You said you’d help me!”
Blood poured from a wound in the woman’s stomach. Ilvani saw the blood eat up the ground and come toward her like a living creature. Behind the witch, in the distance, the storm approached.
Ilvani got to her feet and stumbled away, but she knew she couldn’t outrun the vicious wind. It sliced open her arms, legs, cheeks, and hands, until she couldn’t see her own skin for the blood.
Ilvani screamed until her throat was hoarse. She screamed until she woke herself and realized that the rest of the camp was screaming too.
It was still dark, but fires moved among the ruins-the guards and drovers ran about, swinging torches in the air. She caught a glimpse of Kaibeth, shouting orders to some of the others, her face and hair bloodied.
“Keep the fire on them!” she yelled, and disappeared again into the darkness.
Ilvani stood up. Smoke poured from a mass of gray-black flesh on the ground not far from where she’d slept. The putrid stench of its burning filled Ilvani’s nose, and she gagged. Unwillingly, she started toward it to see what it was, but then in the smoke and darkness, she saw three large lumbering shapes just out of reach of the torchlight. Then came the sound of a great impact, bones crushed, and a body flew out of the darkness and landed at her feet.
