“And no one is watching the wall,” he said.
The brothers turned as one, but Ashok whipped his chain above his head and vanished, his wild laugh echoing in the air.
He teleported to the top of the wall, reappearing in his wraith form, half walking, half flying. The wall was eight feet thick at its widest point, just before the gate. Beyond lay the portal to the Shadowfell and freedom.
For a breath, Ashok’s ghostly presence went unnoticed by the guards, whose attention was fixed on the caravan.
As substance returned to his flesh, Ashok began to run along the wall. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Cree and Skagi appear simultaneously behind him. The hunt was on, and he reveled in the danger.
“Alarm, alarm!” Skagi cried. “The wall is breached!”
Instantly, the warriors on the wall fell into formation, a single line of impenetrable shadows facing Ashok that were bow and spearmen, sword bearers and scouts, led by the bald witch with the flaming sword. She turned with a furious expression to see who had dared breach her line.
The witch’s gaze fell on Ashok. Her lips pulled back over her teeth in a wicked smile as she pointed the flaming sword at him. He thought he could feel the arcane heat.
“Take him,” she said, a command that carried up and down the line.
The warriors nearest Ashok surrounded him in a half circle, giving him no room to run except back into the city. Ashok struck out with his chain, tangling it with a warrior’s blade. He jerked the man forward and punched him in the face. The warrior went down on his knees, exposed, but Ashok had no interest in killing him. He was focused on the hole the man had left behind. Other warriors tried to close the gap, but Ashok freed his chain and whipped again-two quick attacks that slashed across armor, ringing sparks and distracting them just enough for Ashok to plunge through the gap.
He had nowhere to go but the open air.
Behind him, one of the warriors grabbed the loose end of his chain, intending to snap him back, Ashok thought, like an animal on a tether. He dropped his end of the chain, drew his curved dagger, and jumped. He teleported in midair, aiming for the caravan and its horses.
Ashok landed beside one of the wagons. He had only a few breaths before his wraith form solidified. At that point, he could expect arrows to rain down from the wall and pin his corpse to the ground. If he could get to a horse first, use it as cover, or find a hostage …
A scream tore through the air. The sound, at once deep and shrill, the scream of a dying warrior, pierced the veil that held Ashok’s spirit form. His ears rang, and a wave of terror rolled across him. The cry froze Ashok, scattering his thoughts like ashes.
He pivoted to stare at an iron cage tied to the lead wagon. Behind the bars a black, equine shape towered over him, its hooves striking bronze sparks against the metal. But there were no shoes on the beast to make the fire. Its flame came from within.
The nightmare swiveled its head in the confined space to stare at Ashok through slitted, crimson lights-eyes that had no whites, no room for emotion. But its presence, the aura of terror that bled from the creature conveyed enough. Steam clouds rose from its nostrils, and within the dark cage, fire ran up thick strands of mane, turning them to gold, the horse hair swallowed by embers.
Ashok, caught by the crimson-eyed menace, didn’t realize that his form had solidified. He raised his hands, his fingers flexing, when he realized the truth. He looked up at the wall. The shadar-kai archers had their bows trained on him, as he’d expected. But they didn’t fire. The witch was among them, coldly furious, but she held a hand in the air, staying the attack.
Skagi and Cree appeared in front of him. Insubstantial, they caged him with the nightmare at his back. Ashok backed up a step and halted, aware of the nightmare’s presence like a blade out of reach. Steam kissed the tender flesh between his shoulder blades.
“You won’t kill me,” he said to their spirit forms. He could hardly believe it himself as he looked up at the line of death on the wall, the witch with her flaming sword and barely contained wrath, ready to send the fire down and smite him. He thrilled to the moment, how close he’d driven them to the kill, and his heart pounded with exhilaration. “You’ve been ordered not to kill me-by Uwan,” he realized. “Why?”
The wraiths became flesh, and Skagi raised his falchion. “You don’t know what you’re doing, little Blite. Come with us now, if you don’t want-”
“It to hurt?” Ashok said as he opened his arms and stared down the warriors. “Come ahead. Come ahead!”
Cree was on him from the side. Ashok dodged the first katar and looked for the second, but it wasn’t in Cree’s hand. Ashok twisted, trying to find an opening to get around the man, but Skagi darted in from the left and grabbed him by the throat. With his empty hand, Cree got him by the right forearm. Together they drove him back against the cage bars.
Iron bit into Ashok’s flesh, sending numbing waves down his spine. His skull sang with pain, and cloying ash filled his nostrils. The nightmare whinnied its terrible shriek again, but Skagi and Cree did nothing more than wince. Ashok let his knees buckle as the dark horse reared, striking its hooves against the cage bars inches from Ashok’s head.
“No you don’t,” Skagi said, not loosening his grip. “It’ll take more screams than that to break you, I’ll bet any sum.”
Cree grabbed Ashok’s shoulder, and with Skagi’s hand still at his throat they turned him to face the nightmare.
Blood crusted its withers, and the fetlocks kicked up ash when the creature stamped its feet. Forced to face the menace, Ashok clicked his tongue, as he might to a riding horse.
“Well met, slave,” he said, his lips cracking in the dry, hot air. “They caught you too, eh?”
Steam hissed, making his eyes water. Sound rumbled in the nightmare’s chest. It paced forward, bones clanging against iron, and Ashok was lost in the crimson radiance of its eyes. The light fed the fires in its mane, burning but never destroying.
“He should be unconscious by now,” Skagi said. His voice was barely audible for the roaring in Ashok’s ears. He fought the palpable terror emanating from the nightmare’s body.
It is an unreasoning fear, he told himself. It doesn’t come from you. Don’t let it infect the flesh …
Straining against the hand at his throat, Ashok threw his weight backward into Skagi’s body. Caught by surprise, the man stumbled. Ashok jerked his neck free and sucked in air, but the respite didn’t stop the roaring. The nightmare filled every corner of his vision. He couldn’t find his feet to run.
There was a sharp rap on the back of his skull-a katar hilt, Ashok thought: the young one was too fast. Ashok fell on his side on the hard ground. He looked up, a sliding glance filled with shadar-kai warriors, Neimal the witch, and the nightmare watching the scene from its cage.
So close. He’d been so close to freedom, only to have it snatched away by that creature. He knew of the nightmares, had heard them screaming on the Shadowfell plain. He had even seen one running down its prey from a distance. But nothing had prepared him for the feeling of hopelessness and terror.
Ikemmu. City of towers. Beacon in the Shadowdark. Home of nightmares. What was this place? he thought, as he slid towards unconsciousness.
The nightmare’s crimson eyes were the last thing he saw.
CHAPTER FOUR
In the dream, he slept on the ground next to the dregs of a fire and breathed the leftover greasy stink of cooked game. They weren’t supposed to light fires so deep in the caves, because the ventilation was poor. Ashok knew he’d be punished for it, but his muscles, weak from fighting, had craved the fresh meat to nourish him.
Ashok opened his eyes in the dark. He heard footsteps coming down the passage.