The shadar-kai reached maturity at various ages, according to their temperaments. The wildest offspring, those unable to focus, might reach thirty winters with their minds not fully developed. Others who were able to better channel their manic tendencies might be fully matured at twenty. Uwan was obviously a case of the latter.
The leader stopped in front of the lines. Above his head, the unblinking white eye shone down on the scene.
“Welcome, my new recruits,” he said, his voice carrying over the crowd of shadar-kai men and women. “You are here this day because you all share a common desire.” He paused, his gaze roving over the gathered throng. Briefly, his eyes passed over Ashok but did not linger. “Do you know what you all have in common?” Uwan asked.
Silence from the gathering.
“None of you?” Uwan asked. With his hand resting on his great-sword’s hilt, he paced up and down the lines. He stopped in front of a young man. “You,” he said. “Tell me why you have come here.”
The young one gazed up at Uwan, wide-eyed and stuck. The intensity of his leader’s gaze numbed him silent.
“Speak!” Uwan cried. “Or if you will not-” With both hands he grasped the man’s shirt and ripped the fabric away. The shirt fell in torn halves around the shadar-kai’s waist.
The man’s pale gray skin shone dully in the half-light. Glistening weevil scars traced crooked lines horizontally and vertically across his back. His bare arms were cut and scarred as well, and from elbow to wrist his skin was mottled by bruises.
Uwan stood back and spread his arms. “This is why you’re here, recruits,” he said.
With all eyes in the crowd upon him, the young man instinctively grabbed for his ruined shirt to cover himself. Uwan grasped his wrists.
“Don’t hide yourself. You are shadar-kai!” He raised the man’s arms above their heads. With their hands joined, Uwan stared into the young one’s eyes. “The battles we have fought leave many scars,” he said. “Never be ashamed of these marks you bear, for they are wrought by the deadliest foe the shadar-kai have ever known.” He dropped his hands to the man’s shoulders. “Tell me, warrior, who inflicted these wounds?”
The man met Uwan’s unwavering stare. His chin rose. “I did, Lord Uwan,” he replied.
Uwan nodded and stepped back. He gazed out over the crowd, but he had them. Nothing else existed except their leader. “Just so,” Uwan said. “To be shadar-kai is to be at war with our very selves! Is it fate that damns us so? The gods? No.
“Our sires and dams were Shadovar. You know their names. They of the empire of Netheril-humans who lived so long in the plane of shadow that their offspring were born of shadowstuff. Our bodies are the vessel, but they are poor sanctuaries, friends, mistake me not. These fleshly constructs cannot hope to contain the shadows that are part of us and that would scatter to the winds were we not vigilant in restraining their flight.”
Drawing a dagger from his belt, Uwan raised his forearm and put the blade against his bare flesh. “This is what you all have in common, and why you have come here today. This war you fight with yourselves every waking moment of your lives.
“To be shadar-kai is to need. Every base instinct, every opportunity for stimulation seized.” He pressed his blade, and a thread of blood ran down his arm. “We crave the pain, anything to heighten our awareness, to bind our souls to this form, while the siren song of the shadow seeks to draw us to oblivion. She sings to us constantly, and our souls hear her. If we grow complacent, friends, we greet our doom.”
A cry of agreement came from somewhere in the crowd and was picked up along the line of warriors until they all shouted in assent.
“Do not despair, friends!” Uwan said, holding up a hand for silence. “Today marks a new beginning in your battle. You are no longer alone in this struggle. I will walk the path with you, but even that will not be enough.”
Cries of protest rose from the crowd. Uwan held up his hands again. “No, friends, listen, listen!” he called. “I too, hear the cry from the shadows. I too, seek the pain, but the blood I shed is in service to a greater master than me.” Uwan pounded his fists against his chest. “This vessel I pledge to Tempus!”
“Tempus!” A deafening swell of noise burst from the assembly. The warriors pounded their own chests and stamped the ground. Ashok thought that had they possessed weapons, they would have struck the air with blades in praise to the warrior god.
Beside him, Cree and Skagi took up the cry. The training yard was alive; the iron fence trembled with the force of shadar-kai devotion. Only Ashok remained silent, but he was not unaffected by the assault.
His heart pounded at the raw power and devotion of the assembled warriors. Ashok could not remember a time when he had been so stimulated and had not been in pain. With his speech, Uwan had every one of the warriors in his thrall. To the shadar-kai, he might have been Tempus embodied.
“In this place,” Uwan said, when the crowd had settled enough for voices to be heard again, “you will train to fight, but you will also learn discipline, trust, and service.” He took off his cloak, went to the scarred man, and threw the cloak around his bare shoulders. The young one looked up at his leader in awe. Uwan smiled at him.
“Your first duty is to protect your city,” Uwan said to the warriors. “You are new recruits, but if you take well the lessons of your teachers, you will rise in the ranks. Some of you may become Camborr, the breakers of beasts; or Guardian, the soldiery that protects our city. You may choose to become teachers yourselves. Some of you may even become my Sworn.”
“What are the Sworn?” Ashok asked Cree.
“His most trusted advisors,” Cree explained in a low voice. “The Watching Blade has a council of advisors, representatives from the trade houses and the other races that dwell here. But the Sworn, like Neimal, are his military advisors.”
“Is that what you aspire to be?” Ashok asked.
“It’s what everyone aspires to be,” Skagi said.
“Remember this, as you begin your training,” Uwan said. “Only those who prove themselves worthy will bear the mark of Tempus. Fight well-against your foes and against yourselves-and you will be rewarded. Your bodies now belong to me. Use them in service to Ikemmu, and I will mark you with Tempus’s sword.” He held up his bloody arm. “Put not the dagger to your flesh, lest you be made weak. Weakness will not serve this city. Weakness will not serve us.”
Uwan drew his sword from its scabbard. The blade glinted silver and black in the half-light. He raised it high.
“May Tempus drive out the weakness from our bodies and silence the siren’s call! Our lives are now His, and with our deaths we go not to the shadowed oblivion, but to His side to fight forevermore.”
“Tempus!”
The cry shook the air. Ashok looked up to see a colony of bats take flight from the tower, wheeling to escape the divine storm. The warriors cried their god’s name and Uwan’s, and before the storm passed, Uwan sheathed his sword and walked back inside the tower.
Ashok found he’d been holding his breath, one hand clutching the iron fence. He let go the air and iron. Skagi was watching him.
“Do you still want to meet him?” he asked. His tone tried for amusement, but his face glowed with the same fervor Ashok felt coursing in his blood.
With an effort, Ashok cleared his head. Despite his excitement, he knew his situation had not changed. He was a prisoner, and if they were truly going to take him to see Uwan, the leader of the enclave, he had to be ready to act. He would find out what his captors wanted from him, or he would die. Since it appeared he could not escape, there could be no other outcome.
“Take me,” Ashok said.
CHAPTER FIVE
When they got inside Tower Athanon, all Ashok saw were shadar-kai warriors. He recognized many of them from the training yard. They stood in groups, talking, arguing, sometimes wrestling their disagreements out on the floor, but Ashok got the impression it was done half in competition, half in jest. There was no violence to their movements, and nobody drew a weapon.