Jaleigh Johnson - Unbroken Chain - The Darker Road

Some of the caravan crew gasped and scooted back from the flames, but others acted as if they’d seen the spectacle before. Mareyn and the Martucks, except for the boy, whooped and applauded. The dwarf, Thorm, didn’t even look up from his meal.

Daruk spread his hands, and the fire split at the top and widened like a chalice in the air. “It’s all about theatricality, my friends. What is life without dramatics or scale? The fire is not a fire-it won’t burn you.”

“Tell that to my singed cloak,” one of the guards grumbled.

Daruk ignored him. “The fire is the field of battle, and if you look closer, you’ll see-”

Ashok saw. Rising up out of the flames were riders, tiny figures made of fire that rode in ordered lines. Daruk’s illusion made it look as if there were dozens, hundreds that rode off into the distance until they became smoke clouds.

From across the camp, Tatigan laughed and applauded. “The Tuigan at last, Daruk? I thought you’d never tell that tale.”

“Everything in its time, green-eyed man,” Daruk said. “It’s been more than a hundred years, but true warriors and their quest for glory will never be forgotten. Though their conquest ended in tragedy, some of their spirits are still here. Those of us who’ve walked this road before have seen them wandering the wastes, waiting for a battle that was lost a long time ago. The nomad warriors of the plains rode out of their country with dreams of conquest in their hearts. Their leader, Yamun Khahan, took his armies into the west and fell to a Cormyrian king. But no one told the ghosts.”

Sparks fell from the fire and hissed as they hit the snow. Behind a curtain of steam, Daruk stared up at the fiery riders and began to sing.

“I hear the echoes

Of these fallen flames

I speak with their voices

These tombs of the dead.”

Ashok listened to the melody created by the bard’s voice. He sang unaccompanied, but the flames and their phantom story amplified his presence. Ashok had to admit, he’d never heard music like this. Daruk’s song had none of the wavering qualities of Darnae’s music. He sang with the assurance of a master. The music did stir him. Ashok felt the restlessness in his blood, the need to hold his weapon in his hands. When he glanced over at Skagi and Cree, he saw them similarly affected, despite Skagi’s efforts to ignore the song and the fire.

Near their smaller fire, Ilvani had her eyes open. She listened to the bard’s song, but she was not as enraptured as the others were. She closed her eyes again and pulled Ashok’s cloak up over her ears.

The sparks fell like glittering jewels, each a fallen warrior. Daruk sang for them, and Ashok lost himself in the music. His breathing quickened. He remembered riding in his own fire upon the nightmare’s back across the plains.

Suddenly, he had a vision of himself alongside the warriors of the steppes, men clutching their shortbows and guiding their horses with their legs as they fired on the armies of Faerun. He looked at the warriors on either side of him, friends whose faces he’d never seen.

“If we’re meant to die today,” one said, and stretched out his hand to Ashok, “then I am more blessed than any other, to have you fight at my side.”

“Yes.” Ashok had never heard the warrior’s language before, but somehow he understood the words. He reached for the warrior’s hand. His vision blurred, and he was back at the camp, listening to Daruk’s song end. The flame column dwindled until it was a simple cookfire again.

Panting, caught between the dream and reality, Ashok looked around. The crew and passengers prepared to sleep, and the watches had already set out from the camp. He felt light-headed and strange, as if his skin were too taut for his body. It must be the inactivity. His need for stimulation was manifesting in half dreams.

He settled down with his bedroll and tried to sleep. The watches changed shift twice before he was able to drift off into oblivion.

Ilvani stood at the edge of the camp and scanned the darkness for signs of movement. She saw none, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there. Daruk’s song still echoed in the air like a summons.

The fool, Ilvani thought. He should know better than to whisper to old ghosts.

She walked back to the camp and noticed Ashok tossing fitfully in his sleep. He shivered as if in the throes of a fever. Slipping his cloak from her shoulders, Ilvani covered him and stepped back.

“You feel it too,” she whispered. “But you have no name for it.” She sighed. The night wasn’t over yet. Something was coming.

Ashok awoke to find Ilvani crouched at his side. She watched him intently, her brow furrowed in consternation.

“Do you know yourself?” she asked.

He looked around. The camp slept on peacefully. The fires burned steadily, fed by the watch guards.

“I dreamed that I was … not myself,” he said. “Someone called to me-”

“He’s waiting,” Ilvani said. “We have to go.”

“Where?” Ashok stood up, fastened his cloak, and checked his weapons. Ilvani was already walking north out of the camp. She removed a crystal sphere from her pouch, spoke a word, and shook it. Reddish gold light filled the sphere and illuminated the night. Ashok untied the nightmare’s reins and led the stallion after her.

“The flock is short one blade,” the witch said. “Always alone, always left behind. Not tonight and not ever again. Maybe Daruk’s song did serve a purpose.”

“Daruk’s song? Stop-Ilvani, wait. What am I walking into?”

She looked back at him over her shoulder. “A ride you’ll never forget,” she said. “Are you afraid?”

He shook his head.

She scowled. “Then stop making sounds. Come with me, so we can all be at peace tonight.”

He followed her without another word, but he unlooped his chain from his belt and held it taut between his hands. The wind wafted snow crystals across the open ground and into their faces. Soon Ashok’s exposed skin was numb from the cold.

This lack of feeling unnerved him and made him feel displaced from his flesh. They couldn’t be away from the fire too long. The cold was becoming dangerous out here on the deep open plain, and Tuva was right about the snow blindness. A more violent wind could make a seasoned tracker lose his way and freeze to death.

They reached a dip in the land-the remnants of a dry streambed. Boulders and dead brush had filled the streambed long ago. Ilvani went down on her knees and moved aside one of the lighter stones.

“This is the hard part,” she said. “It may not work.”

“What won’t work?” Ashok kneeled beside her. “If we stay in the snow like this for very long, we won’t be able to walk back to camp.”

Ilvani closed her eyes. She seemed to be concentrating on something very hard. She set the sphere in the snow and removed the glove from her left hand. She held her hand up in the air between them.

At first, Ashok didn’t comprehend what she meant by the gesture, but then she looked down at his hands. He let go of his chain and took his gloves off. He raised his right hand but hesitated with his palm an inch from hers.

With a quick, striking movement, she grabbed his hand. Only then did Ashok realize her other hand rested on the stones, the remnants of what looked like a funeral cairn.

Energy pulsed through his body. Ashok’s heart stuttered, but he kept hold of her hand. The blowing snow froze in her hair, making stiff rods around her face. Her lips were blue as she spoke the words of a chant. The pulse came again, and Ashok had to close his eyes against the force of it even as he reveled in the awakening. The sensation was like plunging his frozen body into scalding water. He came alive again. He opened his eyes and tilted his face to the sky to savor the moment, though he did not understand its purpose.