Jaleigh Johnson - Unbroken Chain - The Darker Road

“Oh, I wasn’t offended,” Mareyn said, “and I won’t stop trying-to draw her out, I mean. I still think there’s a purpose to our meeting. She’s different-I can tell. Even among shadar-kai, she’s been hurt more than most, hasn’t she?”

“More than anyone knows,” Ashok said.

“Then she needs Tymora’s aid more than I thought,” Mareyn said. She checked another dead brigand but came up with nothing.

“She already has the favor of Tempus,” Ashok said, “whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s a tricky thing, the gods’ favor,” Mareyn agreed. She wiped her blade on the grass before sheathing it. “They often know our needs better than we do, though we don’t always realize it.”

“If that’s true, Tempus owes Ilvani more than He can ever make up for,” Ashok said. “Her needs have gone unheeded far too long.”

“I’m sorry to hear that-” Mareyn stopped and picked up what looked like a hand whistle from the ground next to one of the brigands. “What have we here? A lucky find?” She grinned at Ashok.

Ashok took the whistle and put it to his lips. He blew a shallow breath and got a high-pitched warbling sound from the whistle. “A fake bird call,” he said. “That’s how they signaled the attack.”

“Who signaled?” Mareyn said. “We scouted the surrounding area all night. Nobody got close enough to see the camp.”

“And yet, as soon as Skagi, Cree, and I left the camp to hunt-reducing the caravan’s numbers-the call went out,” Ashok said. “That’s what scared the deer. They’ve heard it before and know it means violence.”

Mareyn cursed. “So we’ve got a traitor tagging along with us on this trip.”

“Show this to Tuva,” Ashok told her, “but no one else. If the traitor’s not dead or escaped with the brigands, he’s still here. We have a better chance of catching him if he doesn’t know he’s been found out.”

“A good plan, but what if the traitor is you or me?” Mareyn said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Then Tymora’s luck isn’t working very well for one of us,” Ashok said. “We’ll find the traitor-it’s only a matter of time.”

Once they’d tended the wounded, buried the dead, and got the caravan back in order and ready to move on, they’d lost half the morning. Dim sunlight penetrated the restless clouds, and the ground was still wet, but Tuva and Vlahna pushed them at a merciless pace to make up for all the lost time. The normally serene Tatigan wore a black look and snapped at anyone who tried to speak to him.

Tuva must have told him about the traitor. It did nothing for Tatigan’s pride in his new trading venture to have it undermined from within after only a day on the road.

Strangely, however, most of Tatigan’s anger seemed directed at the bard, Daruk, who rode in the same wagon with the merchant. They argued in low voices for more than an hour, until finally Tatigan’s temper erupted for the entire caravan to hear.

“You’re not a minstrel singing for his keep at the village inn,” Tatigan cried.

“You’re right,” Daruk said, his smooth voice rising to match Tatigan’s ire. “I’m much more than that. I don’t rise to meet the challenge of dirt road brigands. It’s beneath me.”

“Beneath you!” Tatigan’s face reddened. “You think you’re putting on a show for-”

“Aren’t I?” Daruk said. “This is my work. I perform on a stage-it might be blood-soaked, but it’s my arena. I decide when I go on and off again. That was our agreement.”

“Gods save me from your tragic romanticism,” Tatigan said irritably. He lowered his voice, but Ashok still heard. “We lost four good men and women today, and many more were hurt.”

“Chances are, I couldn’t have prevented any of those deaths,” Daruk said. He put a hand around Tatigan’s shoulder. The merchant shrugged it off. “You know me, green-eyed man. If you want to appeal to my sentiments, get me a battle worthy of a song. Give me warriors who will dazzle the gods with the fury of their souls. Do that, and I will reach into the darkness and show you what glory means.”

“You expect to find all that on a coster caravan run in the middle of the plains during winter?” Tatigan said dryly. “You’re a fool, Daruk.”

“I certainly haven’t found it here among these shadar-kai,” Daruk said. The way he said “these shadar-kai” made Ashok think the bard wasn’t deriding the entire race, only those associated with the caravan-or maybe with Ikemmu. He couldn’t be sure.

“Many of them are Tempus’s children,” Tatigan said. He’d calmed somewhat, probably because they were now discussing one of the merchant’s favorite topics. “They fight for the glory of the war god-that should appeal to your sensibilities.”

“Hardly.” This time Daruk was being derisive. “Tempus wastes them, so do Beshaba and the rest, as far as I’m concerned. They’ve not even begun to grasp their full potential. But that one”-he turned around and looked straight at Ashok-“has an inkling of what’s inside him. Eh, chainfighter? Do I speak the truth?”

Ashok stared back at the bard. There was no use pretending he hadn’t overheard the conversation. “When I’ve heard you sing,” Ashok said, “I’ll decide if it’s a song worth hearing.”

Tatigan chuckled. “Well said, as always, Ashok. I knew the two of you would make interesting companions.” He seemed in much better spirits. “When we reach the trade route, we’ll have an evening of song as celebration. Then you can judge for yourself whether this one is all wind and poetry.”

You’re different. Can you feel it?”

Sitting beside the lake, Ilvani watched small fish dart back and forth in the shallows, chasing food. The sun blazed down from overhead; she felt warm and drowsy, and a gentle breeze moved her hair. Beside her on a large, flat rock sat the Rashemi witch. They sat close together, not quite touching, and watched the sun-dazzled water.

“I didn’t say you could share this rock,” Ilvani said.

“I saw you sitting here all alone, and I wanted to be with you.”

“That’s a lie,” Ilvani said, but she wasn’t angry. “You still want me to help you.”

“Yes. You like sitting here, don’t you? Where it’s peaceful?”

“You don’t really understand us.” Ilvani smiled faintly. She found herself thinking, abstractly, this is a lethal moment for a shadar-kai. When the sun goes down, when we’re alone in the dark, this peaceful moment grows fangs. The shadows come out to snatch the soul away. But this little snow rabbit doesn’t know that. Ilvani supposed she could forgive her ignorance.

It was beautiful here. She watched the empty boats drift across the lake in a serene procession: one, two, three, and four of them in a line. Symbols carved into their wooden hulls glimmered with silver-blue light. They were the same symbols she’d carved into her arms. She should be afraid of them, but she wasn’t. They were too far away to hurt her. The sky was cloudless, dense blue. No storm would come today.

“Where are they all going?” Ilvani asked, pointing to the boats. “If they’re empty, how do they know when they’ve arrived?”

“None of them are empty,” the snow rabbit said. “Look closer.”

Ilvani stared at the lead boat. The sun blurred her vision, and in the sudden, wavering brightness, she glimpsed the outline of a wolf. Peaked ears and a tapered snout-the telthor was at least six feet long, with thick shoulders and a luxurious tail that swished back and forth.

“He won’t bite you,” the snow rabbit said. “He has other enemies to worry about.”

“Why did you say I was different?” Ilvani asked.