Fall of Light (107 page)

‘In the dining hall. We’ll consider you the last and begin immediately.’

His smile was hard and cruel. ‘If votes are tallied, I will oppose you.’

‘On principle.’

He nodded. ‘Just so.’

‘I will have your company nonetheless, as is my prerogative.’

‘My dogs are now wolves, milady. Consider yourself warned. More to the point,’ he added, ‘I will twist your every order.’

‘Come to my room tonight, Uncle, and I can finish what I started, and to announce my satisfaction I will nail your severed cock above the door.’

He laughed as he tucked the gauntlets into his sword-belt. ‘Drunken appetites had their way with me in my youth, but no longer. As for past regrets, I believe I can continue to rely upon your discretion.’

‘Oh?’

‘If you hadn’t been discreet, surely Gripp Galas would have found me by now. Dagger or sword? The former, I should think, as my prowess with the latter has not diminished with the years.’

‘Nor his.’

Shrugging, Venes moved past her. ‘This house … as cold as ever.’

She followed her uncle into the dining hall.

  *   *   *

Under the baleful glare of Rancept, Sukul Ankhadu collected a goblet and poured some wine; then, nodding to the castellan’s two companions at the kitchen table, she made her way out into the dining hall.

The vast hearth crackled and spat sparks, flames fiercely devouring the split logs of pine. Smaller braziers squatted in the corners and flanked every entranceway leading into the huge chamber. Lamps hung from hooks high on walls and from ceiling rafters, turning the smoky air amber. For an instant Sukul searched among the dozen or so dogs scuffling here and there, seeking Ribs, but then she recalled, with a pang, the animal’s loss.

Not dead, thankfully.
The boy, Orfantal. They’re in the Citadel now. I would have liked him under my wing, that boy. To learn the art of being unseen. It was not so displeasing, too, his obvious adoration of me. There was so much I could have done with that.

And might still. We are sworn to each other, and Orfantal’s not one to cast aside such promises. Future alliances will see sweet fruition, when it is us who stalk the halls of power.

Water-pipes had been set out, adding spice to the bitter woodsmoke and the acrid taint of wine that had been spilled on the table’s wooden surface. Sukul sauntered closer, eyes upon a hunting hound that had accompanied Lord Baesk of House Hellad. The beast looked as old and grey as its master, but its eyes were sharp as they tracked her.

Lady Manalle was speaking, her tone defensive and somewhat despairing. ‘Infayen’s treachery is a family matter, and we should think no better of her daughter – none of us has seen Menandore since Mother Dark’s investiture.’

‘Infayen will see you ousted should the Legion triumph,’ said Lord Trevok of House Misharn in his cracked voice. The scar on his neck, running from beneath his left ear down to the breastbone, was livid, making a track for the sweat that seemed to plague the man even in the cold. ‘Urusander will see us all replaced, by lesser cousins and the like – all those disaffected from our own class who flocked so eagerly to his banner in the wars—’

‘Because,’ cut in Lady Raelle of House Sengara, ‘these waters are far from clear. We must simply accept that this battle will see kin set upon kin. No matter what the outcome, the highborn will lose family members, thus weakening us for generations to come.’

Sukul drew close to the hound, smiled at the slow sweep of its tail.

Vanut Degalla had twisted slightly to regard the woman beside him. ‘Your point, Raelle?’

‘Is this. If we are to be made weaker, our enemies must be made weaker still. Urusander and his legion must be broken. That means ensuring the death of Hunn Raal, Tathe Lorat and Hallyd Bahann. And Infayen Menand, for that matter.’ She leaned her slender frame back, using both hands to sweep away her long hair until it was clear of her shoulders. ‘In such congress, dear Manalle, disloyal highborn cease to be family matters.’

Degalla set down the mouthpiece of his water-pipe and moved his hand to rest upon Raelle’s forearm. ‘My dear, we know how you grieve over the murder of your husband, and this now feeds an obsession to see Hunn Raal dead. In your place, I would feel the same, I assure you. But too much confusion surrounds Ilgast Rend – what he was doing there, how he came to command the Wardens in Calat’s absence, or even why he thought to challenge the Legion without any support. Even a commander can die in battle—’

‘But he didn’t,’ Raelle said in a tight voice, eyes half-lidded as she regarded the man’s hand on her wrist. ‘He didn’t die in the fighting. Raal had him beheaded.’

Glancing over at Vanut Degalla’s wife, Sukul saw a pallid hue to Syl Lebanas’s dark face, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Degalla withdrew his hand, making its departure a caress. He then leaned back, retrieving the mouthpiece. ‘I have heard the same rumours, Raelle.’

‘Not mere rumours, Vanut. I am telling you what happened. All this wringing of hands over Urusander, when it is Hunn Raal we should be concerned about. It’s now said he has come into magic—’

‘This talk of sorcery is a distraction,’ Trevok said in a rasp. ‘Leave Hunn Raal to his conjuries and cantrips. Urusander cannot be allowed to ascend a throne. Lop off the head and the beast dies – Urusander’s death will see Hunn Raal driven in flight from Kharkanas, with all his murderous cronies tucking tail and joining him.’

‘I think not,’ said Drethdenan, his soft voice cutting across the heated words of the others, all of whom now faced him. Clearing his throat, the slight man continued, ‘Hunn Raal is of the Issgin line. With Urusander dead, he will advance his own claim. For the throne. Indeed, he might well be delighted to hear of the bloodlust some of us here now hold for Urusander.’ Drethdenan offered Lord Trevok a sad smile. ‘You, old friend, have never forgiven Urusander’s failure to protect your family in the Summer of Raids. Hunn Raal knows this as well as any of us, and no doubt anticipates and perhaps even relies upon such feelings among us. Not just you, Trevok, but also Manalle and Hedeg Lesser, both of whom blame Urusander for Infayen’s betrayal of the House.’ He waved a hand. ‘Whilst Raelle finds herself virtually alone in recognizing Hunn Raal as the real threat here.’

‘Hardly,’ snapped Manalle. ‘Hunn Raal is a seducer of men and women both, with his whispers of indulgence, his sodden smiles and wild promises. Lord Drethdenan sees well the threat posed by Raal.’

‘I would hazard,’ ventured Hish Tulla from where she sat at the head of the table, ‘none of us is so foolish as to ignore Hunn Raal. By the same measure, we must also recognize the threat presented by High Priestess Syntara, who would see Mother Dark’s pre-eminence ended. Whosoever believes that two sides in opposition achieve a lasting balance that stands superior to a single, undivided loyalty knows nothing of history.’

Degalla hissed out a thick stream of smoke. ‘Lady Hish Tulla, what we seek here is the unity of the highborn. Leave Mother Dark to her own concerns, and with them her precious First Son and House Purake.’

Venes Turayd thumped down his goblet, having just drained it, and said, ‘My niece seeks to make a single bowstring of these precious strands here, to send arrows into the heart of more enemies than we dare count. What value our privileged standing when there are few left to kneel before us?’

Hish Tulla sat back, gaze fixed on Vanut Degalla as she elected to ignore her uncle’s words. ‘Vanut, the matter before us most certainly concerns our position with respect to House Purake and its central role in the defence not just of Mother Dark, but of Kharkanas itself. Urusander will see the highborn reduced, our holdings cut away. Our own blood in his ranks will be elevated into our places at the head of each family.’

‘Then where, in this chamber, is House Purake?’

‘Where it should be, in the Citadel!’

Vanut smiled without much humour and said, ‘Not precisely true, Hish Tulla, as you well know. The First Son? Wandering the forest. Brother Andarist? Hiding in a cave with his grief. No, only Silchas Ruin remains in the Citadel, white-skinned and busy dismantling his brother’s officer corps. Who is left to the Houseblades beyond Silchas himself? Kellaras? Indeed, a fine warrior, but he is only one man who now walks with back bruised by Ruin’s incessant bullying.’ He pulled harshly on his pipe. ‘We all have our spies in the Citadel, after all. None of this should come as any surprise.’

‘White-skinned?’ Hish Tulla said in a deceptively calm tone.

Venes Turayd snorted, reaching for the nearest jug of wine.

Shrugging, Vanut Degalla glanced away. ‘At the very least, proof against Mother Dark’s blessing. Indeed, one might perhaps question Anomander himself, with his hair of white. Only the third and the least of the brothers, it would seem, remains outwardly pure.’ His brows lifted. ‘What are we to make of that?’

There was silence for a time, broken only when Baesk stirred in his seat and said, ‘The question remains before us. Do we gather to defend Kharkanas, and all that we hold dear, or do we yield to Urusander, Hunn Raal, the High Priestess, and three thousand avaricious soldiers?’

‘Too simple,’ Vanut murmured. ‘There is another option.’

‘Oh?’

‘Indeed, Baesk, one which you might well embrace, given your two young children and their uncertain futures. We have the choice of … biding our time. How long before those avaricious soldiers begin squabbling among themselves? How long before certain alliances are sought, tilting a feud’s outcome? Indeed, how long before Hunn Raal petitions for the glorious rebirth of House Issgin?’ He suddenly rose and faced Hish Tulla. ‘Do not misunderstand me, honoured host. I too believe we must indeed assemble our Houseblades on the day of battle, to attend to the defence of Kharkanas if necessary. No, what I suggest here is that we create a contingent plan. That we establish a place and the time in which to regroup, marshal our resources anew, and begin a much longer, far more subtle campaign.’

‘Yield a second throne,’ said Aegis, ‘only to immediately begin gnawing its frail legs.’

Vanut Degalla shrugged. ‘Urusander expects this battle to decide matters. I suggest, should it come to that, we make the peace that follows a bloody one.’

Standing nearby, in the falling off of light between two lamps, Sukul Ankhadu could see the horror slowly descend upon Hish Tulla’s features.

Remorselessly, Vanut continued, ‘Will any House here refuse to attend the battle?’

No one spoke.

‘Will all commit their Houseblades to the fight?’ Drethdenan asked, his placid eyes narrow and fixed on Vanut, as if he sought to read what hid behind the man’s benign expression. ‘And I would think, in this case, silence is no answer.’

Trevok asked, ‘Who will command House Purake – Mother Dark’s very own Houseblades?’

‘Does it matter?’ Vanut retorted. ‘It is tradition that each of us commands our own, yes? As for matters of disposition upon the field, well, the Valley of Tarns offers few opportunities for complicated tactics. No, such fighting as might come will be straightforward.’

‘Lord Anomander will command,’ said Hish Tulla.

‘With Mother Dark’s blessing?’ Manalle asked.

‘She blesses none of this.’

‘Nor the proposed marriage,’ added Hedeg Lesser in a growl.

‘Leave that issue to one side,’ Vanut Degalla said. ‘It has no influence on the battle itself – would you not agree, Hish Tulla? If Anomander commands, he will commit to the battle.’

‘Of course he will,’ said Hish Tulla, her lips strangely pale.

‘You sow confusion, Vanut,’ said Lady Aegis, her brow furrowed. ‘Only to seemingly sweep it all aside.’

Seating himself once more and reaching for his goblet of wine, Vanut sighed and said, ‘Many points of contention needed … airing.’

Sukul noted Lady Manalle’s sudden scowl, and a flash of undisguised hatred in the woman’s eyes as they remained fixed upon Vanut Degalla.

None here could call another friend.

And what they would so desperately defend and preserve is both base and crude. Their own positions, the hierarchy of private privilege. They wage their own perpetual war, here among their own kind, and would keep it so – unsullied by newcomers, with all their crass habits and blunt words.

It is no wonder Mother Dark blesses none of this.

She had forgotten the goblet in her hand, and only now did she drink, watching as most of those at the table did much the same, with similar eagerness.
A decision has been reached. Not a consensus, merely the illusion of one. And this is how they play, these people.
The hunting hound settled down at her feet, chin upon the floor.

I dream of magic in my own hands. I dream of scouring clean the entire world.

Vermin abounds, and oh, how I would love to see it crushed. Not a corner in which to hide, not a hole deep enough.

Draining her goblet, she leaned against the wall and let her eyes fall half closed, imagining conflagrations of some unknown, but eternally promising, future. While, at her feet, the savage hound slept.

  *   *   *

‘I am going to my favourite room,’ said Sandalath Drukorlat, her eyes oddly bright in the gloom of the carriage. ‘In a tower, highest in the Citadel.’

Clutching the heavy baby in his arms and seated opposite its mother, Wreneck nodded and smiled. Broken people so often sounded no different from children, leading him to wonder what it was that had broken inside their heads. Rushing back into childhood was like trying to find something simple in the past, he supposed, but then, he was closer to such memories, and there was little back there that seemed simple to him.

‘I knew a man with only one arm,’ Sandalath continued. ‘He left me stones, in a secret place. He left me stones, and he left me a boy. But you knew that, Wreneck. He was named Orfantal, that boy. I pushed him out all wrapped up in a story I didn’t want anyone to know about. Much good that did me. It’s what women and men do, there in the high grasses.’

Sitting beside Wreneck, the keeper of records, Sorca, cleared her throat and reached for her pipe. ‘Memories best kept to yourself, I think, milady, given the present company.’ She pulled out a button of compacted rustleaf and crumbled and tamped it into the pipe’s blackened bowl.