Unbroken Chain (single books)

by Jaleigh Johnson

  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.

  Skagi, walking easily, shrugged. “Don’t know what you mean. Gaina and I are old friends. It’s not a good day unless we go about cutting each other down.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s a fat coward who’s made a fortune in this market, and everyone up the avenue knows it. He needs to be reminded every so often who brings his food to the table.”

  Ashok felt a hand fall on his shoulder. The impulse to lash out, to cut with the dagger still in his hand was almost overwhelming, but then he saw Cree fall into step beside him. The young one moved like a ghost.

  He must know he could kill me, Ashok thought. All he needs is an instant of distraction. Why doesn’t he try? Why don’t any of them take advantage?

  Cree slapped him on the back. “A boneclaw?” he said.

  “Yes?” Ashok said uncertainly.

  Cree shook his head and grinned. “Outstanding,” he said. “You’ll tell me the tale someday.”

  Ashok could only nod. “What was that about?” he asked, changing the subject. “Between Skagi and the human?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Cree said, waving a hand vaguely. “It’s just … the way things are. Everyone has a role to play to make the city work, but some people’s roles are more important than others.”

  “And the human’s role is to clothe you?” Ashok said.

  “Not just him,” Cree said. “All the merchants have their place in the trade district. They keep the coin flowing in and out of the city, but none of them would have a safe place to do business if the shadar-kai weren’t here to protect Ikemmu from outside threats.”

  They walked on through the crowd and up into Tower Pyton. Ashok noticed that the farther they climbed up the winding stair through the tower, the less he saw of the other races. The upper levels were dominated by shadar-kai, and they were dressed in finery equal to that hanging from Gaina’s wagon, and greater.

  There were shops in the tower: weapon dealers and brewers, wine makers and jewelers. They passed levels with locked, heavily guarded doors. The shadar-kai who came out of those mysterious rooms carried padlocked boxes, often inscribed with faintly glowing runes.

  Ashok passed a slender, hooded figure carrying an iron-shod staff with shadowy tentacles winding up the shaft. As they passed each other, almost touching, Ashok breathed in and smelled sulfur. He looked up into the face of the tiefling, and she smiled at him. The shadow fingers reached up from the staff and plucked at her hood. She swirled the staff in her hand, and they quieted. Then she was by him, and he was forced to keep walking up the stairs.

  Vedoran halted them on a crowded level with many doors, open as those on the previous levels had not been. The doors gave the room an airy feel and revealed many open portals cut into stone down the hallways. They looked out on the city and the Shadowdark in every direction. Ashok went to one while Vedoran approached a shadar-kai seated at a long table across the room.

  Guards stood at the portals holding their weapons and the red and black banners Ashok had seen from below. They stood on narrow ledges jutting out from the tower, watching the city below while strong winds threatened to pluck them off their perches. None of them seemed afraid to fall.

  Ashok went back into the main chamber to look around. The room was finely appointed and centered about the table, which was heaped in food and wine. Soft-cushioned furniture was everywhere, and several shadar-kai lounged on them, drinking wine and eating off platters.

  A man took a handful of wrinkled fruit Ashok didn’t recognize off a plate and fed it piece by piece to the woman sitting across from him. Across the room, another man stood on his toes, blindfolded, his arms tied in front of him, while a woman drew a dagger blade lightly across his bare back and buttocks. The blade looked so sharp that if the man so much as twitched he would be sliced open.

  All the shadar-kai were nude, with the exception of the man Vedoran was speaking to, who wore a pair of breeches and a sword tied with a sash to his waist.

  Ashok turned slowly about the room, unable to credit his eyes with what he saw. The nakedness shocked him, although the shadar-kai were not over-burdened by modesty. Rather it was the complete lack of defense that disturbed Ashok. The men and women wore no armor, and he saw no weapons-save the woman’s dagger-ready to hand in case an encounter turned into an attack. The utter trust of the communal atmosphere staggered him.

  There were other doors off the chamber-ones that did not lead to the open air but to more private spaces. Those curtained off rooms held other couples. Ashok watched their nude outlines through the thin curtains and could hear them speaking in low, intimate tones to each other.

  “That’s Vedoran’s master,” Cree said, breaking into Ashok’s thoughts. He pointed to the man seated at the table. “Karthan-good warrior, fair trader. They’re not bad for Blites.”

  “Blites?” Ashok said. “Skagi called me that before.”

  For a breath Cree seemed taken aback. “That’s right,” he said. “I’d forgotten. But it’s nothing to you, is it? I’m talking about the sellswords. But don’t let any of them hear you call them Blites-they’ll make you pay for it.”

  “Why are they called that?” Ashok asked.

  “Blites don’t worship Tempus,” Cree said. “That’s why Vedoran’s only ‘guesting’ with us. He can’t hold rank, can’t serve the city in any official way.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ashok said. “Your leader claimed you would be rewarded for fighting for Ikemmu.”

  “That’s true,” Cree said. “And the sellswords are paid well for their work. But Uwan wants something greater for Ikemmu’s military. He thinks the defenders of the city should be united by a strong god, and who better to understand the inner battles of the shadar-kai than the warrior god?�
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  Vedoran and the man finished speaking. Vedoran bowed and came over to them. A man came through one of the curtained doorways and nodded when he saw Cree. Cree grinned and went to greet the man. The two of them spoke for a breath or two, then Cree followed the man behind the curtain.

  “We may as well go on,” Vedoran said. “They’ve already found their amusements.”

  Ashok saw that Skagi and Chanoch had found partners, too, and were so engrossed in their own conversations, it was as if Ashok and Vedoran didn’t exist.

  “What of you?” Ashok asked.

  Vedoran shrugged. “I seek other enjoyments,” he said, his eyes glinting. “And I promised to show you the Span.”

  Curious, Ashok nodded to the stair. “Lead on,” he said.

  “Not that way,” Vedoran said. “We’ll take the shorter route.”

  He led them past the curtained doorways-Ashok caught hints of scented oils in the fabrics-and turned down one of the short corridors ending in an open archway. Vedoran nodded to the guard that stood at the entry and walked out on the ledge.

  At a hundred feet up, the wind whipped their cloaks. Ashok walked to the edge of the ledge and looked down. He could see the market, the people, and the colors swirling together like a spilled stew. They stood adjacent to the canyon wall, a jagged slope that curved above them, blocking out most of the light. Somewhere behind them unseen, the waterfall spilled behind Tower Makthar. The wind carried the damp across the space into their faces. Twin lanterns hung from poles near the archway, and the light reflecting off the cavern wall cast eldritch shadows all around them. But for the wind, there was silence.

  For a long breath, neither of them spoke. Ashok stood at the edge of the abyss, an observer, a part of the throng below and yet removed from them.

  “You feel in control now, don’t you?” Vedoran said from behind him.

  Ashok glanced back at the shadar-kai. Beyond him, the guard stood silent, watching them.

  Vedoran followed his gaze. He lowered his voice. “Ask him to step back into the tower,” he said.

  Confused, Ashok said nothing. He thought the man was playing with him, but the shadar-kai’s face was an unreadable mask. He stared past Ashok into the abyss, waiting.

  Was it another challenge? Ashok wondered. He took a step toward the guard and nodded in greeting. The guard returned the gesture.

  “Would you leave us for a time?” he asked, in a tone of respect.

  Without speaking, the guard turned and went back inside the tower.

  Alone on the ledge, Vedoran motioned Ashok to join him at the edge. “Well done,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you ask him?” Ashok said.

  “Because he knows I’m a Blite,” Vedoran said. A lazy smile spread across his face, but his eyes were hard. “He believes his god Tempus is better than any other, and that makes him think he’s better than me. Knowing that, I’ll be damned if I’m going to ask him for any favors. But he doesn’t know what your rank is yet, so I thought I could use you to my advantage. I was right. It feels good though, doesn’t it?”

  “What?” asked Ashok.

  “Being in control again,” replied Vedoran, He stood with the toes of his boots over the ledge, dipped his head back, and closed his eyes. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “That to feel this centered, you have to stand on the edge of falling.”

  His body swayed from side to side. Watching him, Ashok’s palms began to sweat. The vicarious fear beat a pulse in his blood. Vedoran seemed completely in control and at ease, yet he must know that Ashok could step forward in a breath and push him from the ledge. Ashok’s breath quickened. He stepped up to the ledge beside Vedoran, tipping his head forward instead of back. He didn’t close his eyes but stared down the canyon, the water beads brushing his face.

  If he listened closely, he could hear the soft babble of voices drifting up on the wind. By the time they reached his ears they were too insubstantial to be words, but the murmur itself was rhythmic and soothing. The vibration hummed against his skin.

  “Is this the Span?” Ashok asked.

  “The bridges,” Vedoran said, “between Pyton and Hevalor. There are three of them. The highest is ten feet below us.”

  Ashok looked, and he remembered the portrait in Uwan’s chamber. But he didn’t see the bridges.

  “They were built of the same material as the tower, but altered to blend in with the canyon wall,” Vedoran said.

  “If enemies penetrated one tower,” Ashok said, “they wouldn’t have immediate access to the other.”

  “Precisely,” Vedoran said. “We often teleport from level to level via these archways, but the towers are too far apart to teleport between them.”

  Everything about the city had been planned for defense, Ashok thought. Besieging Ikemmu would be a nightmare for any attacking force.

  “Are you ready?” Vedoran asked.

  Ashok looked at him. “For what?” he replied, though he thought he knew.

  Instead of answering, Vedoran stepped off the ledge. He dropped, his black cloak billowing behind him, and landed in a crouch ten feet below Ashok. He stood, turned, and looked up at Ashok with that same lazy smile. He walked forward a few steps, seemingly treading on air.

  Ashok’s heart beat furiously against his breastbone. His legs quivered, aching for the jump. He took a moment to enjoy the sensations: the vertigo, the heat in his blood, the tense muscles poised for that instant of gratification when he stepped off the edge.

  Live or die-it was all up to him.

  Ashok opened his arms, caught the wind, and jumped.

  The towers sped past him, impossibly fast. The slope of the canyon wall leveled out to a sheer surface, sucking away the darkness and lantern shadows like a spell. He could see the bridges rushing up to meet him, Vedoran’s form coming closer.

  It was over far too quickly. Ashok’s boots hit stone, and he fell into a crouch to absorb the impact. Dust and rock scattered in his wake, the debris falling into space. With his arms spread, Ashok found balance on the edge of nothingness. Invisible hands held him up; one step backward or forward, and he was gone. But that breath in between was a century. That space was the only space that existed for him.

  He looked up and met Vedoran’s half-crazed eyes. Ashok smiled. He couldn’t help it.

  Vedoran laughed. The emotion seemed to steal his breath. His chest rose and fell as if he’d been running for miles. “You … You’re alive, after all,” Vedoran said. “I thought you were made of stone.”

  Ashok sat down, his legs straddling the bridge. He put his hands on the curved stone tusks rising up around him. The bridge was so narrow. Navigating it with any kind of burden would be an adventure in itself.

  Vedoran seemed to read his thoughts. “Only the shadar-kai use these paths,” he said. “The other races are afraid.”

  “Has anyone ever fallen?” Ashok asked.

  “Yes,” Vedoran said.

  Ashok nodded. He lay on his back on the bridge, his arms outstretched in the constant wind. The force of the upswells was almost enough to bear their weight. He stared up at the cavern’s ceiling. Between the distant stalactites were shadows even the city’s lights couldn’t chase away, making him think of the tiefling woman with the staff.

  “This city …” He didn’t know how to say it.

  In Ashok’s peripheral vision, Vedoran sat with an arm across his knee, the other propped behind him, holding his weight.

  “Say it,” he said.

  “Is it yours?” Ashok asked. “It feels … old. Did the shadar-kai build it?”

  “No one knows who built it,” Vedoran said. “The lore I’ve heard claims the shadar-kai who settled the city were led here by their gods-Tempus, as you can imagine. You’ve seen the carvings on the towers.”

  “The winged folk,” Ashok said.

  “The clerics say they’re Angels of Battle, Tempus’s emissaries,” Vedoran said.

  Ashok caught a tone in Vedoran’s voice, something l
ike the vocal shadow of his lazy smile. “You don’t believe them,” he said.

  “Skagi calls me arrogant,” Vedoran said. “And so I am. But I’m not so full of hubris that I think any god would prepare a city just for my folk.” He nodded at the buildings below. “I’ve seen the black scars. Someone burned the angels-if that’s what they were-out of their city. Probably it was the Spellplague, but we’ll never know.”

  The Spellplague. Ashok knew it only in stories: the Blue Fire that had raged across the mirror world of Faerun, its tendrils reaching even to the Shadowfell. A force powerful enough to rip apart entire cities-he could well imagine such a thing to have scarred Ikemmu. But to consume an entire people … Ashok shuddered at the thought of extinction through the blue flame.

  Above Ashok, a shadow fell from the clouds, spread dark wings, and descended toward the bridge.

  Ashok and Vedoran came to their feet at almost the same instant, weapons in their hands. Vedoran pointed. “Cloaker,” he said, as the thing angled toward them.

  “Are you sure?” Ashok said.

  “Oh yes,” Vedoran said. “The witches say that the cloakers were here when the shadar-kai first came to Ikemmu. They called it Sphur Upra, the Gloaming Home. If you want to know how the city came to be, ask a cloaker.” Vedoran chuckled darkly. “If you can keep it from killing you.”

  Ashok braced his feet so he wouldn’t succumb to the vertigo of standing on the near-invisible bridge. He twirled his chain, waiting to see if the cloaker would attack.

  It drifted down like its namesake, bone claws curled at the edges of the false fabric. Ashok kept the chain moving, swinging it above their heads and in front of his body. Still the thing floated, falling at a leisurely pace, coasting on the air currents.

  “It’s going to pass,” Vedoran said.

  “No it’s not,” Ashok said, and just in that breath, the cloaker tucked into itself. In the sudden absence of wind, it plummeted straight at them.

  “Duck,” Ashok said, and released one end of the chain. It sailed over Vedoran’s head and snapped taut inches from the cloaker’s flesh.