Unbroken Chain

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

All the warriors of Ikemmu gathered at the base of Tower Makthar to watch Chanoch receive his sentence.

Ashok stood with Skagi and Cree at the front of the crowd. They gazed up at the tower summit, where four obsidian spikes rose like a crown. Purple lightning played between the spikes and arced up to scatter the shadows of the cavern ceiling.

Four figures stood at the top of the tower among the stone spikes and arcane light. Uwan led the way, with Chanoch standing behind him flanked by two guards. Chanoch had been stripped to the waist. His hair blew wildly in the wind, but Ashok could see nothing of his face.

“Why are they having this ceremony?” Ashok said. “We already know the outcome.”

“Tower Makthar is also the tower of Judgment,” Cree said, his manner subdued. There were deep shadows under his eyes. As far as Ashok knew, he hadn’t slept in days. Cree had known Chanoch best and would feel the loss more than any of them.

“Twenty years ago, when the second ruler of Ikemmu died, Uwan stood up there and accepted the trial to take his place,” Skagi said. “You stand among the spikes, and if the lightning doesn’t strike you dead, you’re deemed worthy to rule. Clean. Simple.”

“But who makes the judgments?” Ashok asked.

“The gods,” Skagi said, but he sounded uncertain. “According to the first shadar-kai who came to the city, the tower was used for that purpose by those who held the city last.”

“Tempus’s angels,” Ashok said, remembering the carvings on the tower, the single eye gazing down from Tower Athanon that saw all of Ikemmu. “Or something else.”

“Uwan’s preparing to speak,” Cree said, looking up at the tower.

“Will the lightning kill Chanoch?” Ashok asked.

Skagi shook his head and spat. “No, he’ll be banished to the caves, to the chambers above where they keep the animals,” he said. “They’ll chain him to a wall in the dark and wait for him to fade.”

“What?” Ashok said, recoiling. “He’ll go mad.”

Cree shook his head. “They call it a quiet death. It’s not painful,” he said faintly, “or so I’ve heard.”

“Send him to the shadows,” Ashok said, horrified. “What of his soul?”

Skagi shot Ashok a warning look as Cree flinched. “He’s a strong one, and his faith in Tempus has never wavered,” Skagi said. He put a hand on Cree’s shoulder and shook him. “The warrior god will take him home, eh brother?”

“That He will,” Cree said, but Ashok heard no conviction in the words.

“Godsdamn Vedoran for his vile tongue,” Skagi murmured. His expression was grave as he watched the proceedings at the top of the tower.

Uwan was addressing the crowd, but Ashok didn’t want to listen to the words. He didn’t want to hear Tempus’s name shouted above the wind. He turned and left the yard, heading for Tower Pyton and Hevalor. He needed to be away, and there was only one person’s company he thought he could stand.

It was late when Ashok arrived at Darnae’s shop. He half-expected her to be gone to her rest. He knew the humans and other races kept a different routine from the rest of the city. It seemed they required more rest than two shadar-kai put together, and they savored the tranquility that came with sleep in a way Ashok could not comprehend.

The other races did not bear the burden of rest and calm potentially turning into a battle against the shadows, Ashok thought. He knew that, yet he felt a powerful, gnawing envy when he considered Darnae in that light, and he thought he understood a little better the enmity the shadar-kai bore for the other races.

The candles were lit as usual when he entered, but Ashok was surprised to find that Darnae was not alone in the shop. A human man sat at her counter with a glass of wine in one hand and a quill tucked in the other. The quill he held over a sheet of parchment while Darnae looked on from the other side of the counter. Neither of them noticed his entrance.

“That’s an interesting list you’ve got this time, Tatigan,” Darnae said.

The name rang familiar to Ashok. Then he remembered. Skagi and Cree had mentioned the exotic goods merchant, the one responsible for bringing the Cormyrian wine to Ikemmu. Tatigan, the merchant who wore spectacles with green lenses. Ashok saw them, glinting darkly in the candlelight. They obscured the human’s eyes.

Tatigan had a finely trimmed black beard with streaks of gray running through it. His hands as they moved over the parchment were graceful, steady.

“You have company, Darnae,” Tatigan said without glancing up from his writing. He spoke in a clipped, lightly accented voice. “You should pay better attention.”

Darnae looked up, and her eyes lit up with pleasure. “Well, and you’re right, Tatigan, I’ve no manners at all. Come, look up from your list and meet my friend Ashok.”

“Ashok?” Tatigan said. He raised his quill and looked at Ashok with interest. “I’m hearing that name spoken all over the city. Does it belong to you?”

Uncomfortable, Ashok nodded. He hadn’t wanted such attention. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said to Darnae. “I’ll come back another time.”

“Nonsense,” Darnae said. She came forward and reached for his arm. He put his hands at his sides so she could grasp one and pull him over to the counter. “I haven’t seen you since you returned from your journey,” she said. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” he replied. He hoped she wouldn’t ask him for stories about where he’d gone or what he’d done on that journey. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he could never tell her about riding the nightmare down the tunnel, about the trampled bodies in his wake. He could never tell her any of that. “Are you well, Darnae?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Tatigan, Ashok is the one I was telling you about-that night at Hevalor. You remember?”

“Hmm,” Tatigan said, seeming to want to go back to his list. “I do remember. You and the rest of Ikemmu are all in an uproar over this one. Uproar, especially when it involves a war god, is rarely a good thing for business.”

“Tatigan,” Darnae said. “Be polite.”

“Very well,” Tatigan said. “Darnae called you a hero, Ashok. Now the city calls you Tempus’s emissary.” He lowered his spectacles so he could look at Ashok over the gold rims. “Tell me, which is it?”

“Neither,” Ashok said.

“Then be welcome,” Tatigan replied. “Darnae, get him a drink while I finish this list. Then we’ll talk.”

Darnae poured them wine in small cups and seated Ashok next to Tatigan at the counter. She closed up the shop, lit a few more candles, and rejoined them.

The light made it warm inside the shop, and the wine felt good going down Ashok’s throat. He allowed himself to relax a little in Darnae’s and Tatigan’s company. He even told them, haltingly, about Chanoch and his sentencing. He hadn’t intended to, but once the wine was inside him he couldn’t stop himself from telling the story.

Darnae patted his arm. “I’m sorry for your friend,” she said. “Many shadar-kai revere Uwan like a father, and he has always dealt fairly with the other races. But his law is rigid.”

“It wasn’t always like that,” Tatigan said. “Uwan’s predecessor-”

“Oh, speak not of him, Tatigan,” Darnae said scoldingly. “He was as inflexible in his rule as Uwan, and he had far less compassion.”

“Kelreck is whom we speak of,” Tatigan said for Ashok’s benefit. “Second ruler of Ikemmu. He was assassinated by a mad cleric of Shar, the night goddess. It was believed he acted on his own, but there were rumors that Netheril was trying to plant agents in the city and had planned the assassination for years.”

“Why?” Ashok asked.

Tatigan sipped his wine. “The city had begun to grow,” he said. “Survival in shadar-kai enclaves is one thing; prosperity is quite another. Other races were building a presence in the city. Nothing like it is today, but enough for Netheril to grow concerned. I suspect we haven’t seen the last of their concern either.”

“The stronger Ikemmu gets,” Darnae said, “the more likely it is that more of Netheril’s shadar-kai might wish to defect to the city, start their own lives in service to no master.”

“No master except Tempus,” Tatigan said. “Kelreck’s assassination had more effect than anyone wants to admit.”

“After Kelreck died and Uwan ascended to ruler, things began to change,” Darnae explained. “It started subtly enough-tattoos and carvings on the walls. But then, as Ikemmu swelled in population and grew stronger, Uwan declared it was a sign that the city was favored by the warrior god and marked for greatness. He decreed that only Tempus’s followers could serve in Ikemmu’s military. There was no room for Shar or any other god but the warrior god.”

“The assassination-is that why Uwan is so intent on Tempus being the only religion?” Ashok said. “Because he wants to keep Shar out of Ikemmu?”

“If it were only that, I’d wish him well,” Tatigan said. “Uwan is a shadar-kai of deep faith. But the day he met the cleric, Natan, was not a good day for Ikemmu.”

“The cleric’s visions have given Uwan what he believes are clear directives,” Darnae said. “As long as he has Natan by his side, he believes he’s being guided directly by Tempus.”

“Perhaps he is,” Tatigan said, “but unrest is growing among the other religions. Uwan doesn’t see this.”

“And I’m making it worse,” Ashok said. Vedoran’s bitterness, the people’s fervor … Everything was building to a fever pitch, and Ashok feared something was about to snap. “I should leave the city.”

“Don’t do that,” Darnae said. “If you left, you would be missed, by your companions and by me. Tempus must have something in mind for you to serve this city.”

“Do you have faith in the warrior god, Darnae?” Ashok asked.

Darnae laughed. “I’m a messenger and sometimes I’m a singer,” she said. “These things do not make an army-a poet, perhaps, but not an army. But I see you, Ashok, and I have faith in you.”

“You don’t know everything about me,” Ashok said.

“No, she doesn’t,” Tatigan agreed. He blew on his spectacle lenses and wiped them on his shirt sleeve. “But you can hardly blame her for that. In the span of time, you shadar-kai are such a young race,” he said, “and so much time spent under Netheril’s influence. Now that enough of you have broken with the empire, you’re all scrambling around, trying to survive. You have no time to learn about yourselves.”

“What is there for us to learn?” Ashok said. “We are shadow. We know where we come from, and we know what fate awaits us if we fade.”

“Yes, and that knowledge lessens whatever life you might make for yourselves in between,” Tatigan said. “She’s a singer”-he gestured at Darnae-“but there are no poets among the shadar-kai, no artists, no craftsmen who take such pride in their work as to elevate it to the definition of their race.”

“You’re not being fair, Tatigan,” Darnae said, chiding the merchant. “I know that the shadar-kai forge masters are considered great artists, masters of their craft. What can you say to that?”

Tatigan shook his head. “A small progression,” he replied. “To forge weapons of death in fires that can easily take an eye or a hand … There can be great art in savagery, I grant you, but I was speaking of poets-singers, not battle drums. A battle hymn is different from a love poem.”

“Maybe we’re not capable of poetry,” Ashok said.

Tatigan leaned back in his chair. “Not yet, perhaps,” he said. “You have no rich history to preserve in song or story. But if Ikemmu survives, your race might one day be capable of great works.”

“And if we’re not?” asked Ashok.

“You preserved Darnae’s song,” Tatigan said. “You must have seen some value in it. And anyway, she’s already declared you her hero, so how can you argue?”

“You see?” Darnae said. She grinned and poured more wine.

Ashok drank, and listened while they talked, and for the first time in his life he felt peace without fear. In Darnae’s shop, on the edge of an uncertain fate, he could be himself without fear of losing himself. He only wished the feeling could last.