Unbroken Chain: The Darker Road

by Jaleigh Johnson

  “Is that what you want, Ilvani?” Ashok said seriously. “Do you still want to go to Rashemen? If you do, I’ll take you there and back home again, but if you don’t, we can turn and walk in the opposite direction tomorrow. You only need to choose the road, and we’ll follow it.”

  She searched his face. Did she doubt his word? He wanted to tell her that he was not afraid of the darker road. In the end, she said only, “I’m cold.”

  “Let’s go back to camp,” Ashok said. “You don’t have to make the choice tonight. The mountains still lie between the caravan and Rashemen. We have time.”

  They got back into camp well before dawn. Ashok knew he had missed his watch shift, but Skagi and Cree didn’t question him until Ilvani was asleep in the back of the wagon. Then Ashok led them out of camp and into the trees for sparring. Skagi had scouted a clearing that would serve them. On the way, Ashok told them what he and Ilvani had seen.

  When he’d finished, Cree looked agitated. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. This place …” He drew his katars. The sound of steel leaving its sheath echoed loudly in the stillness. The snow-covered trees made a windbreak, though it was still bitterly cold. “On our watch shifts, sometimes I hear things, or I feel as if one of you is coming up behind me on my blind side, but then I turn and there’s nothing.” He hesitated. “There’s nothing, and yet I feel a presence so strongly, I can almost smell it.”

  “I won’t pretend this place sits well with me, either,” Skagi said, “but we can talk ghosts while we train.” He spat and watched the spittle freeze in the snow. “This cold’s starting to make me feel like one of those poor dead bastards you described.”

  They fanned out in a circle. Ashok drew his chain. “You two come at me first—”

  “No,” said Cree, “this time I want both of you to come at me.”

  Ashok and Skagi shared a glance. “Are you sure?” Ashok said.

  “I can make up for the vision loss,” Cree said. Ashok saw it cost him to say the words. “But it’s not just my speed that suffers. My balance is off, and I can’t compensate in a fight. I have to relearn.”

  Ashok nodded. “We’ll start slow, then. Skagi, exploit his blind side and—”

  Cree slapped Ashok’s chain with the flat of his blade. “If you plan the attack in front of me, there’s no purpose to this,” he growled. “Either we do this as if we stood in the training yard at Athanon or not at all.”

  Before Ashok could speak, he heard movement in the trees. They turned to see Kaibeth and three of the other sellswords step into the clearing.

  “I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Kaibeth said. “We saw you leave camp and thought something was amiss. Now that we see you’re planning some sport”—she glanced at Cree—“I’ll fight you in earnest, Guardian, with pleasure.” She drew her weapon, a single katar, and held it loosely in front of her. “You know your friends’ movements, but with me you can pretend I’m really the enemy.” She smiled. Ashok didn’t like the expression.

  Her companions carried daggers and scimitars. Ashok remembered they’d fought well on horseback against the brigands. He’d watched Kaibeth ride by an enemy’s horse and slice its rider’s hand off with her blade.

  Cree held up his own weapons. “I’ll fight you,” he said.

  Standing beside Ashok, Skagi made a restless movement, as if he meant to argue, but Cree shot him a look that kept him quiet. Ashok moved back to give the combatants room, and after a breath Skagi joined him. Grinning, the other sellswords came to stand with them to watch the match. One of the men moved with deceptive casualness to stand behind Ashok. Ashok pivoted and looped his chain behind the man’s head. He pulled the spikes taut and let them nip the back of the warrior’s neck.

  “You’ll want to find another place to stand,” Ashok said, rattling the spikes. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt by these.”

  The sellsword glared at Ashok. “If you think those little needles scare me—”

  “Arveck!” Kaibeth snapped. “You’ll have your turn. Be patient.”

  The sellsword didn’t take his gaze from Ashok. “I have been patient,” he said softly. “Tempus’s emissary—I’ve been waiting a long time to see if you’re as special as everyone claims. What do you think? Do you think you’re special?”

  Ashok let one end of the chain fall. He flicked his wrist, and the spikes hissed past Arveck’s head just inches from his ear. Ashok caught the chain. The sellsword flinched in spite of himself. The look he gave Ashok when he realized his slip was one of hatred. It reminded Ashok very much of the expression he’d once seen in Vedoran’s eyes.

  “I’m not special,” Ashok said, “and you know I have no allegiance to Tempus. If you want to fight, then we’ll fight. I don’t need a reason.”

  He met Arveck’s stare. Unexpectedly, the sellsword smiled. “Good, emissary. In that case, I can wait a little longer. Go ahead, Kaibeth, play with the crippled one.”

  Ashok glanced at Cree, but the warrior ignored the taunt. He and Kaibeth circled each other, their katars testing the air. Arveck and his two companions backed away from Ashok and turned their attentions to the fight.

  Skagi leaned in and whispered to Ashok. “Are you going to kill him?”

  Ashok shook his head. “Much as I hate to admit it, we need him—all the caravan guards. You know we haven’t seen the last of the brigands.”

  “Can I kill him?”

  Ashok smiled. “Not today.”

  Cree and Kaibeth came together in a skittering clash of steel. The short reach of the katars brought the warriors into an intimate stance, their breaths mingling as they fought. The blades whirled so close to the skin that Ashok soon found his hands quivering from the tension. Then Cree nicked Kaibeth in the arm—the sellsword turned aside from the blow, but a thin stream of blood ran down her arm and stained the katar hilt.

  “You get the first sting,” she said, taking a moment to catch her breath. “You’re faster than I thought.”

  “You should have seen me a month ago,” Cree said. He darted in again, but she was ready for him this time. She flicked aside his blades and brought her knee up into Cree’s stomach. The warrior coughed and gagged but kept his blades ready to punch against a follow-up attack. He teleported back a few feet, and Kaibeth broke off the attack to wipe her hands on her breeches.

  She hasn’t tried to exploit Cree’s missing eye yet, Ashok thought. If he were in Kaibeth’s place, he would try to take advantage of Cree’s slowed reaction time to wear him down. Maybe she was trying to lull the warrior into a false confidence before she advanced on him from that side. Ashok didn’t think Cree would fall into that trap, unless Arveck’s words had affected him more than he’d thought.

  When his form solidified, Cree came in again, low this time, and Ashok saw the warrior was trying to make up for his loss of speed with finesse. He worked his blades steadily and conserved energy, a discipline he hadn’t shown before. It was working too. As Kaibeth tired, she slowed until they appeared evenly matched in speed, and then Cree surpassed her. When that happened, the warrior’s katars became a blur of motion, and he sliced through her armor at the flank. Again she pulled away, giving ground, but this time Cree didn’t let her retreat. He came at her hard. He put her purely on the defensive, and Ashok noticed her companions fidgeting and fingering their blades.

  “Get ready,” Ashok said to Skagi.

  “I see them,” Skagi replied. “We’ll get to them before they make a move.” He held his falchion at his side.

  Kaibeth teleported behind Cree—to buy time, Ashok thought, but she had to know she was beaten. Ashok calculated how many blade swings she had left before Cree got past her defense. She became solid, blocked another strike, and spun, putting her body directly in Cree’s blind spot. Cree saw the move coming and tried to compensate, but the sellsword pivoted in a burst of speed that shouldn’t have been possible, given her weariness. She put her katar to the back of his neck and pressed down lightly.
Cree flinched when he felt the blade kiss his neck, and a trickle of blood slid down his throat.

  “You’re dead,” she said.

  “So I am.” Cree sheathed his weapons and wiped the blood from his throat. He seemed disgusted with himself. Kaibeth, instead of gasping for breath, as she had been a moment ago, appeared barely winded from the fight.

  It had been an act, all of it. Even her companions hadn’t seen it coming. Or had they? Maybe they had worked in tandem to create the illusion that the battle had turned. If so, Ashok had to admit he was impressed. The sellswords had obviously fought together for months or years to know one another so well.

  “You would have beaten me, but you were too worried about your eye,” Kaibeth said.

  Cree nodded. “I forgot all the other rules.” He held out a hand. “My thanks for the reminder.”

  She clasped his hand and turned to Arveck. “Well?”

  Arveck looked at Ashok. “Whenever the emissary is ready,” he said in a tone of mock formality.

  Ashok wondered if Arveck’s ineptitude was all an act as well. He would find out soon enough. Ashok didn’t hesitate but whipped his chain out at Arveck’s head. The sellsword dodged the blow only by throwing himself backward. He lost his footing and went down on one knee in the snow.

  “I’m ready,” Ashok said.

  Arveck let out a furious cry and jumped to his feet. He lunged in with his scimitar. Ashok teleported back a step, then charged forward onto the blade and passed right through Arveck’s body. The sellsword spun around and half lunged again before he remembered that his blade couldn’t hurt Ashok.

  “There’s no training in this,” Cree said. “Finish him, Ashok, and be done. He’s too hotheaded.”

  “Agreed,” Kaibeth said. Arveck shot her a hateful glare, but the woman just laughed. “You’re not ready for this fight. Accept it, and you won’t be humiliated.”

  Ashok felt his body start to take on substance. He timed the strike, counting the breaths as the shadows coalesced into flesh. He struck out with the chain underhand. When Arveck blocked, the spikes wrapped around his weapon and his sword arm, tangling his curved blade and burying the spikes in the back of his hand.

  Arveck snarled and clawed at the spikes with his other hand. Ashok didn’t try to pull the chain taut. He just held the other end and watched Arveck struggle until he freed himself. In a blind fury, he charged Ashok.

  Ashok readied his chain again, but Kaibeth stepped between them.

  “Enough!” She absorbed Arveck’s charge against her body and shoved him back. “This is done for today. The sun will rise soon, and I’ll not have you riding unconscious, Arveck.”

  But Arveck was too enraged to listen. He made as if to charge again when Skagi stepped forward and thumped him on the back with his falchion hilt. Arveck went down on his knees again, but this time he stayed there, panting. Slowly, reason seemed to return, and he nodded at Ashok.

  “Your battle,” he said. “Enjoy the victory, whore of Tempus.”

  Kaibeth helped Arveck to his feet, and without a word, the sellswords left the clearing.

  When they were alone, Skagi sheathed his falchion and sighed loudly. “Everyone gets to play but me.”

  “It was a humbling game,” Cree said. He touched the katar cut on his neck. “She was right about the eye. I wasn’t thinking of anything else.”

  “We’ve all made that mistake,” Ashok said. “Fight as you’ve always done, with your speed and instincts, but don’t discount the success you had with the slower, sustained approach. Skagi and I will watch your blind side. We should have been doing it before.”

  “We couldn’t keep up with him before,” Skagi muttered.

  “That was a mistake too,” Ashok said. “Kaibeth’s warriors fought as one, even when they weren’t in the battle together. That’s what we need to become.”

  Cree shook his head. “And you a chainfighter. I never thought I’d hear you say such things.”

  “Neither did I,” Ashok admitted. “I have things to relearn, as well. I’ll teach my arm where to strike and keep the chain from stinging you two.”

  “Good to hear,” Skagi said. “I don’t need any more scars on my pretty visage,” he said, his crooked lip warping in a smile.

  “We had to relearn how to fight together, Brother,” Cree said, turning serious. “You remember that?”

  His humor faded, and Skagi looked away into the trees. “You don’t have to remind me of it.”

  “I was as much at fault. Skagi and I didn’t always fight as we do now,” Cree said to Ashok. “In fact, we used to hate each other more than any shadar-kai.”

  Ashok couldn’t fathom it. He knew well the hatred that could exist between brothers, but he couldn’t imagine such emotions between Skagi and Cree.

  “We were born to two of Ikemmu’s Sworn,” Skagi said tersely. “That’s what caused it, but the hatred’s forgotten.” He redrew his falchion and toyed with the end of Ashok’s chain. “Damn you, will someone fight me now? You promised me a sparring match, and I’ll get one.”

  Ashok glanced at Cree and brought his chain up, holding it in both hands. Cree drew his katars. “Will the both of us be enough for you, Brother?” Cree said.

  Skagi snorted. “If not, I’ll go and fetch Arveck.”

  They shared a laugh but never let their guards down. One thing Ashok had always respected about Skagi and Cree was that they appreciated the deadly natures of the sparring matches. There was room for competition and jests, but a single lapse in judgment or control could result in death. Therein lay the challenge and the thrill—to beat the warriors who knew his skills so well and yet never yielded to the battle lust, to the need to kill.

  Cree came at Skagi with his katars, deliberately leaving his left flank exposed. Ashok let his chain fly. The spikes struck the ground and kicked up lumps of wet snow. The move forced Skagi, who’d been trying to move in on Cree’s exposed flank, to retreat and get back on the defensive.

  “Is that why you want to become Uwan’s Sworn,” Ashok asked, “because your father and mother held the rank?”

  “We never knew either of them,” Cree said. He teleported behind Skagi, and Ashok, following his lead, teleported to the space he’d just vacated.

  Skagi turned in a circle, swiping at their shadowy forms, forcing them to keep their distance so they couldn’t rush in and attack him when their forms solidified. “The woman who bore us wanted the pain, nothing else.” He shot his brother a warning look. “Close your mouth, and keep your mind on your blades.”

  Cree ignored him. “Females have the power to bring forth life—new souls—while risking death,” he said. “I’ve heard there’s no experience like childbearing.”

  Ashok remembered there had been women in his own enclave with similar desires. Some kept the children they birthed. Others passed them on to the fathers or to those in the enclave who wanted the experience of raising and training sons and daughters but for whatever reason could not conceive. No matter their parentage, shadar-kai children were often left to fend for themselves at a young age, when their parents grew tired of their roles and sought new experiences.

  “As the children of two Sworn, we were assumed to have great potential,” Cree said. “Skagi was the elder. After he was born, several shadar-kai offered to buy him from our parents.”

  Cree’s form solidified. Skagi came in hard and slapped his brother’s flank with the flat of his blade. “Enough!” He pointed at Ashok. “I told you this was forgotten. If all we’re going to do is flap our tongues, I’m finished here.”

  Cree started to argue, but he fell silent when he saw the anger in his brother’s black eyes. Ashok said nothing. He gathered his chain and let Skagi lead the way back to camp.

  Cree let Skagi get ahead of them, and when they arrived, he pulled Ashok aside. “I shouldn’t have brought up the past,” he said. “Skagi will tell you the tale someday—you might have to drag it from his lips—but he has reasons for his anger.”


  “Whatever his reasons,” Ashok said, “Daruk knows them too. He knew just where to strike at Skagi to bring out his anger.”

  It made Ashok uneasy. Why had the bard made such a point of learning the brothers’ histories? And what might he know about Ashok? Ashok had no more secrets to keep from Ikemmu, but he knew nothing about Daruk or his motives. He thought about asking Tatigan, but the merchant had been absorbed with watching after his cargo for most of the journey, and when he wasn’t doing that, he was deep in conversation with the other merchants.

  “Do you think he could be the traitor, the one who signaled the brigands to attack?” Cree asked. “You heard how furious Tatigan was that he didn’t fight with the caravan against them.”

  “If he is working with them, you’d think he’d try harder to hide it,” Ashok said. “But it’s possible. For now, we’ll just have to watch him. He hasn’t proven himself a threat … yet.”

  Cree nodded, but something in the snow distracted him. He veered off the path abruptly and went into the trees. Curious, Ashok followed him. When they’d gotten several yards into the trees, Ashok saw the tracks in the snow, paw prints bigger than both his fists.

  Cree squatted next to one of the pines. He brushed snow off the trunk to expose gashes in the bark. “Claw marks,” he said, “and I saw droppings just off the trail. A winter wolf—probably more than one.”

  “Are they following the caravan?” Ashok asked. Tuva and Vlahna had warned them about the huge wolves that dwelled in this country, but Ashok hadn’t expected to encounter signs of them until they’d gotten closer to the Sunrise Mountains.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Cree said. “But we’ve invaded their hunting grounds. We’ll have to be cautious.”

  “Let Tuva and Vlahna know what you found,” Ashok said. His gaze lingered on the huge tracks.

  “Thinking about fighting one of them?” Cree said. He grinned. “We could use the sport.”

  Ashok agreed, but he hoped Cree wasn’t tempting the gods by voicing the thought aloud.