Nadine looked into the horn. Dark purple liquid rippled. Without giving it a sniff, she tossed the contents back as she would anything else she was offered. If the taste offended her, her host would pay the price. As it hit the back of her tongue, she hesitated.
Damn. That’s good.
A throng of rumbling chuckles rose up from across the common area. Dokiri chuckles.
Her delight must have been written on her face, and the Dokiri must have been watching with avid interest. Her countrymen, on the other hand, looked at her as though she’d just drank poison and would drop dead once the spell had worn off. Indeed, the wine might have been enchanted. She whipped her head toward Magnus and glared at him. “Explain this.”
Magnus bit his lip. He cocked his head back as though he were trying not to burst out laughing. “You Ebronians might hoard every good thing to eat down in that sand trap you call home. But there’s one thing you’ll never live up to.”
From across the cave, one of the Dokiri shoved a sloshing horn of wine up toward the ceiling and shouted. “The best damn wine in the whole of Sestoria!”
The answering Dokiri cheer filled the cave, along with Nadine’s ears. She cringed a bit at the volume of it. In no time, their hosts were rolling out two barrels of what she could only assume was more of the stuff, and enough horns to fill not only their own bellies, but also her men’s. Nadine glanced back at her dinner-mates. The man Magnus had given the wine to stared questioningly at his horn before taking a tentative sip. The others watched in rapt anticipation as incredulity took over his expression. And perhaps a touch of wonder.
Nadine turned her eyes back up to Magnus, who was still beaming. “What’s it made from?”
Magnus bent toward her so the rising volume in the cave wouldn’t eat up his words. “You don’t actually want to know.”
Magnus disappeared into the throng of Dokiri who’d scattered, taking horns of wine to their Ebronian guests. They’d made plenty of excuses about the cuisine with their womenfolk gone and their hunting down to a minimum. It was better than dried trail meat at least and, at any rate, it wasn’t as though Nadine and her company were noblemen used to the fare Magnus and his brothers likely thought. She’d spent more than half of her life living on a soldier’s board, and that was nothing like sitting at the Mushar’s table.
Nadine found herself drinking freely of the wine she’d been given, glad to preserve her fire whiskey, when a musical sound carried through the cave. It was followed almost immediately by the pulsing of drums. Nadine and her company stopped talking and turned toward the noise in an area uncluttered by fires. Some of the Dokiri paired up to stand at either end of the heavy benches and lift them out of the way for . . . something.
The drumming grew louder, and Nadine picked out precisely where it was coming from. Lined up on the pathways that led to the black holes peppering the cave’s high walls stood five men. Four of them had wide drums that they beat upon with bone batons. The fifth man was Magnus, whose drum was twice as large as the others and sat up on its side, the barrel as tall as he. When he struck it, the echoing thud was loud and deep, a vibration Nadine felt in the pit of her stomach. Sitting on the floor below the five men were three others, who laid wooden boxes on their crossed legs and drew bows across tightly pulled strings. The resulting tune was a haunting melody that accompanied the drums in a fevered song.
Clusters of energized Dokiri rose from their meal and entered into an impassioned dance. It was unlike anything Nadine had ever seen, even in her travels to the western jungles. They didn’t just jump about, though there was plenty of that. They also chanted in time with one another and answered the calls of one man whom they seemed to deem the dance master. It was obvious by the way he continued to spin and leap while the others would leap to the ground before him, then spring up in time to their calls and cries. Every one of them was shirtless, and the scars of what Magnus had called his idadi glinted in the firelight on full, savage display. A testament to their wild natures, which were only emphasized by this performance.
Throughout it all, what struck Nadine most wasn’t anything she saw, rather what she chose to look at. While she sensed everything that was happening, she focused almost entirely on what hovered above the dancers than on the dancers themselves.
Magnus the Vast, he’d been named? He was magnificent. His hair flew wildly about him as he rocked his head forward and back in time with his fists, which crashed down upon the great drum. It echoed and boomed throughout the cave like a crack of summer thunder. The muscles of his mountainous body bulged in his arms, his sides, and even along his thighs as he jumped and squatted in time with the dancers below him, as though he couldn’t be content just to make the music that set the rhythm. He must also be moved by it. The puppet along with the puppeteer. And all the while, he laughed, as though he had not a care in the world. As if nothing could touch him.
Something moved to the edge of Nadine’s vision. She looked up. Samar was wiping away some of the purple dribble from his lips. He sniffed. “Captain, we should make the men dance.”
His suggestion almost shocked her off the bench, until she realized what motivated it. Of course. For all Samar’s ire toward the Dokiri, he was a survivalist. They were about to go into the pit of the Earth, potentially never to return. Who knew what horrors awaited them? Had anyone ever gone down? Had anyone ever returned? These were questions they’d all been pondering. They would need a distraction. More than that, a few moments of pleasure before the struggle that was to come.
Nadine stood and nodded. “Let’s go.”
She ignored the collective grunts of resistance and marched toward the area that she supposed passed for a dance floor. Her men filed in after, and she imagined she must have looked like a parade leader as she approached the Dokiri. Like the rest of the Ebronians, Nadine stood in her wool tunic, pants, and a fur coat still tied up around her. Magnus had mocked her for wearing so much in a place he considered “indoors”. Nadine had scoffed at that. With one side of the cave open to the elements? The ground outside covered in snow? Away from the fire, Nadine fought the urge to shiver even now. How these Dokiri danced before her shirtless and sweating was incredible.
The music didn’t stop, but it dampened as the Ebronians waited at the edge of the ring. Most of the Dokiri hesitated at the sight of them. The savages turned raised brows in their direction, as though they were uncertain whether Nadine and her men meant to join in or pose for battle.
A musician stopped playing. Spines raised. Shoulders went back. If Nadine didn’t do something soon, a standoff would ensue. Focusing on the feel of the wine cozying her blood, she began to rock her hips in rhythm with Magnus’s drum. She stomped one boot.
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
She clapped her hands once, and Samar did the same beside her. Back to stomping. This time, she felt the answering stomps from her men behind her. One hundred Ebronian boots, stomping the ground in time.
BUMP.
BUMP.
BUMP.
They all clapped. This quick exchange of clapping and stomping, a nod to the drills every Ebronian soldier was taught at Aluk-Nuril, had evolved into a form of dance all its own, one reserved for nights like these, when Ebronian warriors awaited unknown fates with hearts of courage and stomachs full of spirits. Nadine let the rhythm of the music move her body like the waves of the ocean tossed by the tides of the wind.