Which one was coming?
Ashok sat up, the dying embers illuminating his body. There was no armor to don-he wore the bone scales in his sleep. He kept his chain wrapped around his hand, and his dagger rested nearby.
All ready.
Which one would come?
He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d first gone to sleep, but his body felt stretched thin, un-rested. That was how they intended it, of course, his unknown enemy. The odds were better if Ashok was distracted by fatigue.
Keep sleep elusive, his father had told him. Attrition will win you a battle, and a higher place in the enclave.
But Ashok had eaten the meat. His foe had eaten none.
He heard the footsteps distinctly-a heavy tread and a bulky form filled the tunnel. Lakesh.
“I’m here, brother,” Ashok said. His voice echoed down the tunnel. “Would you speak with me?”
“I would,” Lakesh said, “with steel. I’d rather you’d not woken at all.”
“Then turn and go back to your bed,” Ashok said. Hope danced like a spider through his chest. “Speak with me in the morning, and use words.”
“I can’t do that.”
Ashok released a breath and tightened his chain. His brother stepped into the chamber.
Big. Slow. A waste of flesh.
Instead of a hand, his brother held out a sword. Fever-bright eyes, trembling hands-Ashok recognized all the signs. His brother was ready to move up in the hierarchy, to replace Ashok as their father’s favorite.
“I need this, brother. I’m the eldest.”
Ashok stood. With the smoky fire between them, his brother’s body seemed a mirage in the flickering light.
“I need this,” Lakesh repeated.
Ashok understood that need all too well. The need to earn a higher place in the enclave, the need to please their father, all wrapped up in the constant need to keep their souls from fading.
They were slipping away faster as the years passed. Soon no amount of infighting would keep them anchored to the world. Would the shadows consume them, or would they destroy each other first?
“Come ahead,” Ashok said.
Ashok awoke on the wrong side of Ikemmu’s wall, lying in the middle of a rutted road. Distantly, he heard caravan wheels rattling, but it might have been the gusting wind. All sounds were watery echoes while the nightmare’s scream rang in his ears.
Skagi and Cree stood over him. Ikemmu’s four towers formed a backdrop like bars. Remembering Lakesh, and expecting an attack from the warriors, Ashok went for his weapons-gone again-and tried to spring to his feet. A wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he stumbled.
“Easy!” Skagi barked.
Cree reached toward Ashok. Viciously, Ashok batted his hand away. He came up to his knees, prepared to fight from the ground if he had to.
Cree stepped back and raised his hands. “We’re not going to attack you,” he said.
Breathing hard, Ashok tried to regain his balance. The warriors watched him; Cree looked ready to grab him if he fell again.
Why would they help him up? An image of Lakesh coming for his death while he slept went through Ashok’s mind. Surely it was a trick to slip a katar between his ribs. But the warriors could have done that at any time while he lay unconscious.
Ashok managed to get to his feet, and Skagi again held his weapons out to him.
“You’ll live,” he said. “Sometimes the nightmare’s screams make a body dizzy if he’s not used to them.”
Ashok took his weapons. It took him a breath to orient himself from the dark cave to the open spaces of the city. The dream had been so vivid that the wide expanse put him on edge. He was vulnerable out here in the open.
When Ashok felt steady enough, he turned to Cree and Skagi. “Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked. He remembered the burning sword and the line of guards. The witch had wanted to kill him. He’d seen her barely controlled fury. “What do you want from me?”
“That’s not for us to say,” Cree said.
Ashok clenched his fists in frustration. He almost wished they would attack him, torture him. Those things he understood. But to be held and not harmed, free and not free-it made no sense to him.
“Where is the nightmare?” he asked. The echo of its scream was still in his head, and provided a momentary distraction.
“They’ll take it to the pens for the Camborrs to break,” Skagi said, “though Olra may be taking on more than she can handle this time.”
“You train nightmares?” Ashok said, and a wave of excitement threaded though his muscles.
“We train anything we can break,” Skagi said. “If you’d left any alive, we’d have taken your hound friends.”
“But only those who’ve got the rank of Camborr-that was the name of the shadar-kai who first started taming the beasts-know how to train them without being ripped to pieces,” Cree said.
“Is that what you are?” Ashok asked. “Camborrs?”
Cree shook his head. “We only just entered Tempus’s service. We’re warriors in training. Someday we’ll serve the city in His name.”
“And Uwan is your leader,” Ashok said. He looked over the stone buildings to Tower Athanon in the distance. “I want to see him.”
Ashok knew he would be denied, even expected the warriors to laugh at the request. So he was shocked when Skagi said, “Good-he wants to see you. He knew you’d try to escape. But you got us in the piss and bitter with Neimal for letting you run amok on the wall, so thanks for that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to burn you down when you’re not looking.” Scowling, Skagi drew his falchion and pointed to the tower. “Let’s go,” he said.
The warriors fell in behind him. Ashok noticed Skagi kept his blade in his hand and Cree’s palms rested on his katars’ hilts. But Ashok had no intention of running again.
As they walked, Ashok was aware of the eyes that gazed out from the stone dwellings: shadar-kai, dark ones, and the startling other races that walked with them. Ashok kept his body tense in case of an attack.
When they approached the fence around Tower Athanon, Ashok saw weapon racks leaned against the bars. A hundred or more shadar-kai milled around a training yard, sparring or talking in groups.
Skagi pulled open the gate at the same time Ashok heard the tolling of a massive bell in the distance. He turned and saw the bells at the top of Tower Makthar, half hidden between four stone spikes, a black crown that speared the shadows of the cavern ceiling.
“The Trimmer bell,” Cree explained when Ashok stared at the bell in confusion. “You were unconscious a while.”
“What purpose does it serve?” Ashok asked.
“The bell?” Cree said, looking surprised. “Time. It’s second bell. We mark six intervals of the day. How do you mark time where you come from?”
Ashok didn’t reply. He thought of his chamber deep in the caves of the enclave. He had never marked time, not formally; he functioned according to the needs of his body. When he was hungry, he ate. When he was tired, he slept-when he wasn’t defending himself from being killed in his sleep. His father and the other leaders of his enclave decided when patrols and hunting parties went out. Maybe they had marked the passage of time in some way, but he saw no purpose to it himself.
Hearing the bell, the shadar-kai in the yard formed up in ten lines facing the tower. With shoulders perfectly aligned, they stared straight ahead, unmoving, until the bell stopped tolling.
“Over here,” Cree said as he and Skagi led Ashok to a section of fence off to the side of the formation.
A doorway at the base of the tower opened, and a shadar-kai man stepped out.
“There he is,” Cree said, his tone reverent. “Uwan.”
Unhelmed, Uwan had long, silken white hair and wore a suit of shadowmail and a black cloak. At his hip rode a greatsword. He looked not much older than the shadar-kai who stood at attention before him, yet he had an air of calm that the others did not possess.