Jaleigh Johnson - Unbroken Chain - The Darker Road

Ashok saw the bard, Daruk, sitting on a rock before the largest fire. He had his eyes closed in meditation. Ashok wondered if tonight was the night they would finally get to hear the man sing.

Eveningfeast was spitted venison and more trail rations. Ashok took the bowl the cook handed to him and went to sit with Ilvani and the brothers by one of the fires. A few minutes later, Mareyn came over with her own meal and sat down on Ilvani’s other side. She said nothing to the witch, just went about eating. Ashok couldn’t tell if the woman’s presence unsettled Ilvani or not. She’d been unusually coherent in the woods earlier that day. In fact, looking at her now across the fire, Ashok sensed a flicker of vitality in her thin face. Maybe it was just false hope on his part, but Ashok thought that removing Ilvani from the oppressive Shadowfell had brought her some peace.

He wished he could understand her better-see some of the things she saw. He knew too well what it was like to feel isolated and helpless, with shadows all around.

Ilvani turned and said something to Mareyn then that Ashok couldn’t hear. Mareyn gave a delighted laugh and nodded her head. Ashok wanted to move closer so he could hear their conversation, but he noticed the bard, Daruk, coming toward them.

“Well met,” the man said.

His wide smile showed excitement but too many teeth. The expression didn’t look friendly. Ashok and the brothers nodded a greeting. Ilvani and Mareyn were still talking and did not notice the bard.

“I feel I’ve been unspeakably rude for not introducing myself before now, especially since Tatigan has told me so much about all of you,” the bard continued, though his gaze rested on Ashok as he spoke. “I am Daruk the singer, Daruk the rhymer, Daruk the traveler.”

“Lot of names for one human,” Skagi said. He licked meat juice off his fingers. “You get along better having more names than anyone else?”

“It certainly never hurts to have advantages no one else can claim,” Daruk said. “I also call myself Daruk the collector, but only at certain times. I’ve collected tales on many fascinating subjects, Skagi-almost scion of Tareff the Mad, weren’t you? That would have been quite a name, had you been able to claim it.”

Ashok saw Skagi’s gray face go rigid in a heartbeat. By the time Ashok registered a similar reaction in Cree, Skagi was on his feet, bowl thrown aside so he could get his hands on his falchion hilt.

Ashok and Cree sprang up to restrain the big warrior. Skagi said nothing, but the tension in the warrior’s muscles told the extent of his rage. Ashok strained to keep Skagi’s weapon in its sheath.

“Whatever it is, he isn’t worth it,” Ashok hissed.

“Listen to Ashok,” Cree said, speaking low and rapidly. “This is old blood, already spilled and turned to dust. It means nothing, Brother. Nothing .”

Cree caught the side of his brother’s head and forced him to look at his face. Skagi stared into his brother’s remaining eye. Something passed between them-old battles, old memories-and eventually Skagi nodded as if he understood. Tense muscles relaxed, and Ashok let go of Skagi’s arm. The brothers sat back down together, ignoring the quiet stares of the caravan crew who’d seen the altercation.

Ashok remained standing. He faced the bard. “Tatigan needs to keep you on a shorter lead,” he said quietly.

Daruk smiled ruefully. “I’ve made an enemy of you now, haven’t I? Maybe if you heard me sing, you’d feel differently.” He stepped away from the fire, inviting Ashok to follow. Ashok reluctantly left the others and walked away from the camp with him-anything to keep the bard away from Skagi.

“My quarrel is not with Skagi,” Daruk said when they were out of earshot of the brothers. “Though his tale is an interesting one. I’ll tell it, if you’re curious?”

“I’ll hear it from Skagi and no one else,” Ashok said.

Daruk sighed. “Pity. It would help explain why he hates the humans in Ikemmu so much.”

“I’ve never known Skagi to hate anyone other than his enemies,” Ashok said.

“Oh, I see. You know him so well, after less than a year fighting beside him? How well do you really know any of them, Ashok?” Daruk asked. “How well do they know you?”

“They know me better than the brothers who raised me,” Ashok said. He cursed himself. Why had he told the bard that?

But Daruk said nothing about his revelation. He watched the campfires from a distance and wrapped his dark green cloak close around himself. “You’re a mystery to Ikemmu in so many ways, Ashok,” he said. “I’ve heard your name whispered with so much confusion and doubt. The city doesn’t know what to think of you. It sparks my collector’s heart. Your secrets might be worthy of song.”

“Why do you want to sing tales of the shadar-kai?” Ashok said. “As you said, we look down on your people. Where’s the glory in singing for a race that scorns your creations?”

“Not you,” Daruk said. His voice betrayed his excitement. “You keep yourself apart from all those petty grievances. Nothing ties you down-even the gods don’t touch you. The sword of Tempus hasn’t marked your flesh. Do you have any idea what you could do with such freedom?”

“No more or less than I do now,” Ashok said. “I fight for Ikemmu-”

The bard scoffed at that. He waved a dismissive hand. “Ikemmu will not last another generation. Trade is all that keeps the city from dissolving into civil war. Abandon the dreams of idealistic leaders, Ashok, and you’ll sleep better at night.”

“If you’re so certain the city will fall,” Ashok said, “why do you make it your home?”

“There’s enough there to interest me, for now,” Daruk said. He smiled and waved to the camp. “You’d better go back to your friends. I don’t want them thinking I’ve dragged you off into the darkness.” He chuckled as if at some private joke. “But listen to my songs, Ashok, and judge for yourself if they don’t stir something in your blood.”

He walked back to the large fire, and Ashok went to rejoin his friends. Mareyn had gone back to check on the Martucks; Ilvani was asleep by the fire wrapped in Ashok’s cloak; Skagi had retrieved his bowl and ate in silence. Cree leaned over to speak to Ashok.

“What did the bard want?” he asked.

“As far as I could tell, he wanted to hear himself talk,” Ashok said.

Cree nodded. “He looks harmless, but if he knows things about us …” He glanced uneasily at his brother.

“Then he isn’t harmless,” Ashok said. “Don’t worry about him now. Tomorrow, before dawn, we spar-just the three of us.”

“We’ll be there,” Cree said.

Daruk’s voice drifted across the camp. “All right, then, you’ve all had your supper and are no doubt congratulating yourselves on having survived another day of Tuva and Vlahna’s death march, am I right?”

Chuckles and scattered applause met this pronouncement. The caravan leaders made rude gestures at the bard. In response, Daruk bowed.

“As some of you no doubt heard, the inestimable Tatigan Carrlock has recently suggested I earn my keep on this journey.” More laughter. “Friends, I’m here to answer that call. Shall we have a song or a tale?”

“Song!” the Martucks called out. “Something we can dance to.”

There were groans from the other side of the camp. “We’re too damned tired to dance,” someone complained. “Give us a tale, Daruk.”

The crowd went back and forth for a minute or so, until Daruk held up his hands. “My people have spoken”-Ashok detected a hint of disdain in the words-“and so it shall be a tale and a song.”

He turned, raised his hand straight up in the air, and the campfire twisted, shooting toward the sky in a violent cyclone.