"How did you even know?" Merrin questioned, eyes locked on the strange musician. There was something about him—about that odd smile of his. About the countless questions that swirled now in mentation.
How did he return to the mines if he was already a Nightsailer? There was no answer. Did they know about me before everything that happened? Like Yoid?
That was an undesired scenario, one that called up a deep terror, the nakedness of it all.
A breath flowed out from his lips, Hozier ever present with that sneer on his face, followed next by a soft chuckle that echoed through the room. "I see," he muttered. "My apologies. It wasn't that I was specifically looking for you or anything of the sort."
"What?"
The bard fiddled with his oud, exhaling. "When you saw me, I was there for Catelyn, of course. She did not fit the category for the identity that was required, but she did..." He smirked. "...have talents."
"Talents?"
"However, then there was you." His eyes widened. "Imagine my surprise, seeing an Ashman in the mines. Your people are notoriously too stubborn for something like that. But again, not many know of this particular notoriety."
The caster within stirred with the provided data. Something within something, producing only one viable conclusion. Is he talking about the supposed battle between the Ashmen and the Church?
Hozier continued. "In any case, you were quite strange. Wild-casting, and most of all, you were dual CONTAINED!"
The words rumbled, drowning quickly into the silence of the vast blackened room. Just another piece of information these people had pried off him. Not that he, in truth, understood the significance of it. If anything, most likely, the double force came as an effect of the Greyworld.
Now, that information—the greyness—was one that should NEVER, EVER be known to these people. Hozier edged closer. "It was truly something. An Ashman that builds himself a religion."
"That's not what I'm doing."
He froze for a moment, then waved. "Please don't mistake things; I truly do not care for any of that."
"And also understand that you could only do that because caster knowledge is so restricted from DarkCrowns," Shae interjected. "But again..." She grinned. "...we do not care."
"So why?" What a futile question, Merrin felt, as the words escaped his lungs.
Hozier pulled closer. "We needed the perfect veilCounsel."
"How?" That seemed important, produced by the endless swirling of information. Surely, escaping the camps wasn't that easy. He felt that it was. "How did you get into the mines?"
A frown creased the bard's brow. "Such a bootless thing to ask." He sighed. "But I suppose a mountain dweller would not understand. You see, quite a number of BrightCrowns have no idea that casters could be born from DarkCrowns."
"Those people, Merrin, rule with the belief that the whiteness of hair determines power," Stannis added.
"So what now?" Merrin countered. "Are you people trying to bring down the BrightCrowns or something?"
"Lords above!" Stannis jerked, Hozier bursting into deep laughter. "My apologies," He said, "but it's so easy to guide your path of thought."
"What?"
"Nothing," he chimed. "Just understand this: for the simple reason that I am a DarkCrown, the casters, the Excubitors—none of them see a point to establishing something like an anti-field."
Merrin knew that word. Somewhere…He had heard it during his dream with Este. Supposedly, it was a thing created to stop or prevent casting in certain areas. One of many inventions the now-dead Orvalen had made.
Did they know about that, too?
"Now, that's interesting."
Shae glanced at the bard. "What?"
"He knows about anti-fields," he said, head cocked.
Before Merrin could answer, Stannis cleared his throat, said, "Perhaps he was simply pondering it."
"No." The bard swerved his oud to his back. "You seem to have some prior knowledge about it, but again... we don't care for that. And in relation to your question, it's exactly that: I basically strolled out of the camps, found myself a skyship heading to the mines, and voila! I was inside one of the supposedly secured places in Nightfell."
"And that's where you found me."
"That's where I found you," Hozier confirmed. "But if it's any consolation, I do plan on us having some time between us and…others. It's going to be FUN."
"I refuse."
"Except you can't." He curled his arm around Merrin's neck. "Think of it as a delightful time before you begin the truly grueling work. I mean, impersonating a dead BrightCrown is no easy task. If discovered, you would almost certainly be killed, along with those ones you call your people."
There was a threat hidden in those words: Do well, or you lose everything. A truly dangerous thing to hide so expertly. That said something…revealed a singular truth: He was yet again bound by another secret.
One was the secret to be revealed by the DarkEyes; two was the sureness that he was the sunBringer, worshipped in the Nightfell mines; and third, this newness. To become another, to act the actions of another. Fail, and the consequences of all three would descend as one.
It was a trigon-shaped prison, one he sensed would soon enclose him. Lies. Lies and more lies never led to rightful outcomes.
The Black Sun reveals some relevant data to the means of attack used by the Fermen: When reduced to three, they must flee. This, I sense, can become a strategic means against those desert dwellers—An unknown loremaster from the common era.
The Highstorm Inn was a square structure resting deep within the camps. Walls grey with red flora creeping across them. The sky above remained in that constant blackness, sparked only by the recursive lightning. A dim place to be—that is, because the pool lamps were a bit further down the road. Simply put, the High Inn was perched on a cliff, constantly battered by the ever-rain.
Who would even come this far?
"Isn't it amazing?" Hozier sang, ringing a chord on his oud, the tune drowned out with the birth of thunder. "In there lies the glorious Red Thing, the one that beds the fewest of men."
Wait? Merrin turned slowly to the man. "Did you bring me here to—"
"Of course." He pointed at the sky with a smile. "Before a gruesome task like yours, you might as well enjoy the pleasures of this world."
"I don't want to."
"Unacceptable." He rounded to Merrin's back. "You might truly die a horrendous death like the late Chula."
The image of the naked girl flashed into memory. Chilling.
"So why suppress all that?"
"I am Ashman."
He tapped him on the shoulders. "Please, you haven't been an Ashman in a long time."
And a kick slapped into his back, sending him hurtling toward the doors of the inn. Not this again; memory imposed the moment of the mines tavern onto this. By the lords above, this should be nothing like that.
He crashed into the door, the thing parting, slapping his face into the slightly wet floor. Disgusting was the first thought that came into his mind. The second was the stench, sweeping into his mind like a corrosion of sorts. Too much, it was. Far greater than the one at Madam Bun's place.
This was coupled with the smell of bodies, fluids, lips, thighs. It was a collection of humanity; every single scent produced by the body filled this singular room.
What in the mist is this place? He looked up, stunned quickly by the sight before him. Vast was the space, stretching further than he believed from the exterior shape. There were chairs, square tables, white orbs floating around, and countless pink servs swarming through. And then, there were the people.
One was present on a round platform, a pole piped in the center. Male, and dancing with another…A female. She was dressed in...
?
NOTHING!
Merrin swirled around. I CAN'T BE HERE!
Hozier stopped him at the door. "Oh, please, don't even try without at least enjoying the night."
How could he say that? Merrin wondered. Even outside the nature of things, the Church frowned on such matters. None was allowed to do such things. Especially not him. Yes, he was a sinner in spoken words, his actions nothing but the highest blasphemy to the Almighty... but this one. This was a thing he could not do. A thing he must not do.
It was a matter of identity.
The religious side had long died to his sin, and the Ashman slowly faded as the days passed. But this—this was something else. He could not become... this.
Merrin closed his eyes. "I cannot BE HERE." Heart pounding, the endless scent an assault upon his senses.
"Why not?" Hozier grinned. "What's the worst that can happen?"
A voice flowed into the room, snapping into his ears. Two words it said—two words revealed in the softest, most melodious voice he had ever heard.
"A'SHAI, MUGEN!"