Jaleigh Johnson - Unbroken Chain

“Has there been word from our brother Ashok?” Rhudk asked his brothers.

They answered that there had not been. Ashok, his father’s favorite, was either dead or fled from the enclave. One of the others would take their father’s place. Had Rhudk not been dying, it would have been him. He was the strongest. Had he not been injured, he could have taken on any challenger. They all knew it.

They circled like ravens, waiting for him to die. There was no need for them to take action to help the process along. Killing him in his weakened state would not stimulate them, would not set their hearts racing or bring the fevered light to their eyes. If killing him would not bring them those sensations, it was not worth the effort.

Rhudk smiled and tasted blood in his mouth. His own heart was racing, and the surge in his blood was beyond pleasure. It was almost worth it, trading power for his slow death, a suffering that kept his soul so tightly anchored to his body that he felt immortal.

Their enclave had been too long sequestered in the caves. The longer they stayed in the dark, the faster they were fading. Fighting amongst themselves no longer brought enough pleasure to sustain them. Battles such as this were what they craved. They’d traded their souls for a defensible home.

But there was nothing Rhudk could do about that.

“The patrol,” he said. It was growing difficult to speak. Rhudk breathed through blood. “Find out where they came from. Start with the witch.”

His brothers said they would. Rhudk sent them away to tend to the enclave and lay down on the ground amid the corpses. Staring up at the gray sky, he wondered which one of his brothers would emerge the strongest. He had always thought it would be Ashok. Ashok was the most intelligent and cunning among them. Rhudk was disappointed that the hounds had taken him; he hoped Ashok had given them a good chase. He wished his brother a good death, and closed his eyes to let the wind caress his face.

Ashok thought he had seen wondrous sights enough in Ikemmu, but when they approached Tower Pyton, he had new cause to gape at his surroundings. The scent got him first.

“Brace yourself,” Skagi said, laughing when he saw Ashok’s wide-eyed countenance. “It’s a drug the first time.”

And it was. Pyton, Hevalor, and everything on the ground between the towers made up the trading district, and it was a teeming mass of many races, more than Ashok had seen near the wall. His curiosity overcame him, and he pointed and asked Cree to tell him their names. The group laughed at his ignorance, but Ashok didn’t care. He wanted names to put to all the strange faces, and he remembered each one as Cree spoke.

At the base of the towers, an open-air market had been set up among the stone buildings. Wagons loaded down with every imaginable good were parked in front of the buildings, and human, halfling, and dwarven merchants hawked food: carts full of strange fruit, the colors so vivid they hurt Ashok’s eyes. He’d never seen colors like that. Steaming meat on spits whirled past him clutched in dwarven fists. The stout men and women pushed the savories at the group. Skagi tossed them coin, and the group each took a haunch of boar.

Ashok bit into the meat and felt the juices slide down his chin. He was used to meat that had been long preserved in stores, hard biscuits, and water from a silt stream deep in the underground. The flavors of the hot, spiced boar assaulted his tongue and made him light-headed. He was shocked to feel his heartbeat speed up slightly. The intense spices stimulated not just his tongue, but his whole body, the way a wound sharpened him. He could hardly believe what he was feeling.

And it wasn’t just the food. There were wagons filled with tools for building, fire-making, and weapon repair. Finely tailored clothing hung from iron bars suspended between the shops, breezes making crimson skirts billow like enflamed clouds. Ashok reached out in wonder to touch the fabric.

“Wipe the grease off before you touch!” a voice said as a hand slapped his hand away.

Ashok looked up at a tawny-skinned human man with flushed cheeks and thick brown sideburns. His eyes-brown and white and black-were hypnotic to Ashok with their circles of color.

“Eh, what are you lookin’ at?” the merchant demanded.

“Your eyes,” Ashok said.

“My eyes?” the merchant repeated, looking Ashok over curiously. “Haven’t seen you before. What’s your rank?”

“I don’t have one,” Ashok said.

“Nice armor you got though,” the merchant said, passing his hand over the bone scales, poking and prodding. Ashok resisted the urge to snap the human’s wrist. “Good color, the charcoal and white,” the merchant continued. “Not white, though, more tooth-shaded. Bit muddled crimson too-I got a good eye for color. ‘S not one of mine. Where’d you buy it?”

“I made it,” Ashok said.

“Made it!” the merchant said, laughing loudly. His breath reeked of strong herbs and liquor. “A fine jester you are too. No, truly, where’d you get it?”

Ashok didn’t reply. He started to turn away.

The merchant clamped a hand on his shoulder.

Ashok dropped his meat, pivoted, and batted the merchant’s hand aside. He drew his dagger with his left hand, brandishing the weapon between his body and the human’s.

“Ashok,” Skagi said, appearing suddenly beside them. “Gaina, what’s going on here?”

Cree, Chanoch, and Vedoran trailed behind Skagi. The merchant had broken into a sweat when he saw Ashok’s drawn dagger.

“I was just askin’ where he got the goods,” the merchant said, pointing to Ashok’s armor. “Said he made it-”

“And you called him a liar,” Skagi said. “I heard you.”

“Well he didn’t hafta pull the blade on me,” Gaina grumbled. “How’d you make it then?” he said to Ashok.

“From a boneclaw corpse,” Ashok said flatly. “An undead. I killed it, skinned it, and re-fitted the bones.”

For a breath, the merchant didn’t speak. He opened his mouth, closed it, and rubbed his jaw. “Now I know you’re jestin’. You’re havin’ fun at me. You can’t make a suit of pretties; can’t do nothin’ for yourselves.”

Cree flicked his nail playfully against Ashok’s brandished dagger blade. “Except use one of these-can you say as much, Gaina?”

The merchant glared at Cree. “Fine, then. But tell your friend not to be touchin’ the goods ‘less he got cleaner hands,” Gaina said.

“Now you’re calling us dirty?” Skagi said, spreading his hands under the merchant’s nose. “These turn your stomach?” He took some silver coins from his neck pouch. “What about now, Gaina? How about when they’re silver, or when they bleed to make you safe as you squat in your bed at night-they aren’t clean enough for you?”

The merchant shoved Skagi’s hands away and sneered. “Don’t smell that good either. Have your fun, then. But these hands”-he raised his thick fingers, beringed with silver and platinum bands-“hold the needles you’re too good to touch. You don’t mind wearin’ the frippery, do you? But you won’t stoop to makin’ it with those cut-up digits. You remember that next time you come at me with the grease on your hands.”

Vedoran cleared his throat.

Skagi looked up when the graceful shadar-kai stepped forward. “Our apologies,” Vedoran said to the merchant. “Ashok, put the dagger away. Skagi, we have business,” he said pointedly.

Skagi sniffed. He turned away and let Vedoran lead him on through the crowds.

Ashok fell into step behind them, listening. “If I’d known you were looking for a fight I wouldn’t have asked you to come,” he heard Vedoran whisper to Skagi.