Fall of Light (142 page)

‘Then what do you want of us?’ Lanear demanded.

‘You could have stopped thinking like children who need to be told what’s right and what’s wrong. You damned well know what’s right and what’s wrong. It’s pretty simple, really. It’s all about harm. It’s about hurting, and not just physical, either. You want a statement for your faith in me? You wish me to offer you the words you claim to need, the rules by which you are to live your lives? Very well, but I should warn you, every deity worthy of worship will offer you the same prescription. Here it is, then. Don’t hurt other people. In fact, don’t hurt anything capable of suffering. Don’t hurt the world you live in, either, or its myriad creatures. If gods and goddesses are to have any purpose at all, let us be the ones you must face for the crimes of your life. Let us be the answer to every unfeeling, callous, cruel act you committed, every hateful word you uttered, and every spiteful wound you delivered.’

‘At last!’ cried Emral Lanear.

‘You didn’t need me for that rule.’

‘No, Mother, we didn’t. We don’t. But now, at least, we have you to tell us that doing the right thing is actually
worth
something. Abyss knows, this mortal world rarely rewards such generosity of spirit!’

‘Doesn’t it? Well, if you believe that wealth and power are rewards, then yes, you would be right. Alas, they’re not.’

‘But those who have neither will suffer, often at the hands of those who do.’

‘Alas, the wealthiest among us are also the most childish of us, in their acquisitiveness, their selfishness, their stubborn denial of the obvious truth that it is better to share than to hoard, for hoarding breeds resentment, and resentment will, in the end, get you killed. The face of the one sitting atop a hoard is a child’s face, obstinate and stubborn. Is it any wonder such people would twist and distort any and every faith that preaches love?’

‘Love?’

Mother Dark was silent for a long moment, and then she leaned back. ‘Oh, Emral Lanear. Even when I but showed it, when I refused to give it a word, see how quickly it was poisoned by all who looked upon it. None of you could abide it, could you? It is yet to occur to any of you, I think, that in naming you all children, I was not being complimentary.’

‘Then I deem you presumptuous.’

‘As you will. As you will.’

‘So, Mother, is that all? Our realm is now divided in its faith. You can expect Syntara to have taken her religion into that place of prescription and prohibition. She will have made her list, her rules.’

‘Father Light shall prove more than just a title,’ Mother Dark replied. ‘As Syntara shall soon discover. I know Vatha Urusander. I admire him, and respect him. Syntara’s present freedom shall not last. If I can give Urusander very little, I will at least awaken him to his newfound power. Beyond that, let there be justice.’

The promise chilled the heart of Emral Lanear.

  *   *   *

Heavy with mud and spattered gore, Captain Kellaras turned his head, blinking blood from his eyes as he scanned the heaps of dead and dying men and women. He could see where Ivis had gone down, ringed in the corpses of those who’d fought at his side, and those Legion soldiers who had surrounded them. Perhaps Draconus was among them, yet one more cold body leaking into the mud. But he doubted it. There had been strange blooms of impenetrable darkness, stains in the air. There had been a hoarse cry, filled with grief and rage, dwindling as if the one voicing that cry had retreated, fleeing, or had been somehow devoured by the darkness itself.

His dulled gaze now caught the scene he had been searching for. Lord Anomander, alone, stood watching the slow approach of Lord Urusander flanked by a dozen guards. The standard had been toppled, with nothing left but bitter formalities.
Alone at the last. Not even Caladan Brood remaining. Or did you send him away, milord? Yes, I think you would have.

Kellaras sheathed his sword, its notched edge catching as he slid it into the scabbard, a thick welling of congealed blood rising up to gather below the hilt. Among Anomander’s Houseblades, but a handful remained. Of the Houseblades of House Dracons, he saw none standing.

Ah, Ivis. I did not see you fall, forced to turn away at the last moment. The wonder of your charge finds glory in its failure – we can look to little else, we of the Andii, when seeking solace from this day.
Draconus and Ivis had led their forces deep into the enemy facing them. Their company had killed easily twice its number, and even the frantic flanking attacks from Urusander’s mounted cavalry had done little to slow its advance.

In the end, alas, they were too few, even when joined by Anomander’s own Houseblades.

Ivis, did your lord abandon you at the end? I fear he did.

Kellaras wiped the grime from his stinging eyes, no longer interested in seeing the official surrender, no longer wanting to witness his lord’s humiliation.
The First Son deserves better than this. I shall look into the eyes of the highborn and await their flinch. But this is scant satisfaction.

What seemed a lifetime ago, he and the Consort had ridden hard upon the road, with a terrible storm breaking over the Valley of Tarns. At the first pounding of thunder, Draconus had cursed, low and heartfelt.

Neither lightning nor thunder. Magic. Unleashed.
Kellaras had expected to come upon a scene of unnatural slaughter. Instead, they had arrived in time to see the last desperate defence of two priests. Light and Dark entwined like serpents, jaws locked upon the other above the valley’s floor. The final detonation that tore them apart sent both priests and even Hunn Raal to the ground.

But it was Hunn Raal who first regained himself.

Kellaras was not entirely certain who the surviving priest was. The man was covered in mud and streaming blood; his clothes were scorched and shredded. The path he made in his belly-crawl to his companion left a smear like the track of a slug. And the other priest …
Cedorpul. None other. And now, that cheerful young man is dead. He must be. No one could survive that assault.

Where he and Draconus had drawn up their horses, Lord Anomander stood ringed in a rough circle of aides, messengers and standard-bearers. Yet these Andii maintained a distance, as if Anomander stood alone upon an island.

Draconus and Kellaras halted. The ground was muddy, their mounts uncertain of their footing. Overhead the sky still convulsed in a miasma of sickly clouds through which shadows flitted.

Eyes fixed upon the valley below, Anomander shook his head. ‘I must go down to that priest—’

‘Leave him for the moment, friend,’ Draconus said, dismounting. ‘Your guards are correct. If Hunn Raal sees you draw within range, he will strike at you with what he has left. On another day, I could have swatted him down. Instead, I am weakened here. Incomplete, if you will.’

Turning, Anomander studied the Consort, and then tilted his head. ‘Incomplete? No matter. Here you are.’

‘You have taken command. What would you have me do, friend?’

‘Do you censure me in her name, Consort?’

‘No. It is said you have named your sword Vengeance. How sure is your rectitude, Anomander? I would think, thus named, the blade will demand from you a purity of purpose. Of course,’ he added with a faint shrug, ‘you will need to surrender everything else.’

‘Will I? Draconus, have our vows gained veracity in this new, sorcerous age?’

‘I should think so, yes.’

‘Vengeance,’ Anomander said in a musing tone, his eyes narrowing upon the enemy forces opposite.

‘I have pondered,’ resumed Draconus, ‘the notion of a righteous blade. Not as would Lord Henarald and his Hust iron. I would value no opinion from my chosen weapon, merely a certain efficacy. Justice, should such a notion exist, must lie in the hand wielding the blade.’

‘And how would you name your new sword?’ Anomander asked.

‘There is something inherently chaotic in any weapon. Do you see this?’

‘If it lacks moral spine, then, yes, I see this well enough.’

Kellaras listened to these two men, their nonsensical, seemingly irrelevant discussion so at odds with the moment, with the ever-growing pressure of two armies about to clash. He wondered, for the first time, if both men were utterly mad.

‘Then,’ Draconus asked, ‘will you this day draw your sword in its name? More to the point,
can you?
I spoke of what must be surrendered, lest your weapon fail you.’

‘Friend,’ said Anomander, ‘your presence here is divisive.’

‘I know.’

‘We will lose the highborn. We will, in turn, lose this battle.’

‘Will you send me away then, Anomander?’

‘I mean to fight for you, Draconus.’

‘Yes, I see that.’

‘But, if you will leave here … take your Houseblades.’

‘How can I?’ Draconus demanded. ‘And how can you, who would stand in my place here, invite such a thing of me?’

Anomander replied, ‘I state what is possible, with no blame in attendance.’

‘Your brother, I think, has little understanding of you,’ observed Draconus. ‘Nor, it seems, of me.’

‘My brother?’

‘It does not matter. We are here, and neither intends to yield. You would fight in my name. I, therefore, shall fight in yours.’

They stood in silence then. Until, after a time, Draconus stirred. ‘I will join Ivis now.’

‘Fare you well, Draconus.’

Climbing astride his horse, Draconus hesitated, and then said, ‘And you, Anomander.’ He rode off to join his Houseblades.

The First Son fixed his attention once more on Urusander’s Legion. Soldiers had descended to help a staggering Hunn Raal make his way up the slope. ‘Kellaras.’

Startled, Kellaras dismounted and joined Anomander. ‘Milord.’

‘What did my brother do?’

‘He spoke to Draconus.’

‘And?’

‘He convinced him to flee.’

‘Flee?’

‘Draconus agreed. He understood the necessity, milord. But he would take his Houseblades into exile with him.’

‘Only to discover that they rode with me.’

‘Yes, milord.’

‘So, he would flee.’

‘In the name of love, milord, yes.’

‘To force upon him that choice, Kellaras, was unconscionable.’

‘Sir, we were desperate.’

Anomander turned sharply to Kellaras. ‘You were party to this? You added your weight to my brother’s entreaty?’

‘Milord, I was witness. That, and nothing more. Your brother has little interest in my counsel.’

‘Yet … ah, I see. Silchas led me here, after all.’ He studied Kellaras for a moment longer, and then faced the valley once more. ‘Very well.’

Very well? That and nothing more?
‘Milord? Shall I return to Lord Silchas Ruin? What message shall I convey to him?’

Anomander now faced the left flank, watching as Draconus reined in close to Silchas. Once there, an argument began, but they were too distant, their voices too low, for anything to be heard. Despite that, Kellaras could see Ruin’s shock and then dismay. An instant later, Anomander’s brother was on his horse and riding fast – not towards Anomander, but angling behind the assembled ranks. He was, Kellaras realized, riding for the highborn.

He’ll not get there in time. They have seen Draconus. They have seen what has happened.

‘No message,’ Anomander replied. ‘Join my Houseblades, captain. You will be needed to act in my brother’s stead.’

‘Yes, milord.’

‘Oh, and Kellaras.’

‘Milord?’

‘Place yourself and my Houseblades under the command of Lord Draconus.’

‘Sir?’

‘My friend is here in the name of love, captain. In the absence of anything else, is that not a worthy cause? No, let us take his side.’

Kellaras glanced to the far right flank. ‘Milord, the highborn will not be so sentimental—’

‘Sentimental, am I? Is love so paltry a thing, to be plucked and dropped to the ground at the first breath of contempt? Man or woman, disparaging love is a crime of the soul, for which the future will turn away its face.’

‘I doubt they fear such a fate, milord.’

‘They will learn to, captain. This I swear.’

Sensing a new presence, Kellaras twisted round and saw, a few paces behind them, the Azathanai, Caladan Brood. The huge figure was motionless, his expression revealing nothing. Following his gaze, Anomander grunted and said, ‘I have begun to wonder where you were, Caladan.’

The Azathanai made to speak, but then lifted his face to the sky. A moment later he scowled. ‘Lord Anomander,’ he said, as if exasperated, ‘there will be no more magic from the enemy on this day.’

‘Indeed?’ Anomander snapped. ‘Then should I walk down now, to that brave priest below—’

‘Send soldiers down to collect him.’

‘Their lives are of less worth?’

‘No. But you will be needed here, for the battle is about to begin.’

‘Do you vouch for their safety?’

‘In collecting the poor priest? Yes. In the battle to come, alas, no such thing is possible.’

‘No,’ Anomander replied. ‘I imagine not. Unless, of course, you choose to awaken what is within you, as you did at Dracons Keep.’

‘Milord, shall I slaughter your enemy then?’

‘Can you?’

Caladan Brood nodded.

‘And kill thousands. You would take that burden?’

Baring his teeth, Caladan Brood said, ‘It would not be mine, would it?’

Kellaras sat frozen in place, unable to pull away from the conversation. On the far right flank, the mass of Houseblade companies had begun tearing apart, and among the highborn nobles there was chaos – into which Silchas Ruin now rode.

In answer to Caladan Brood’s question, Anomander said, ‘No, I suppose not.’

The Azathanai glanced again at the heavy clouds overhead. ‘But I would advise you decide on the instant, First Son.’

‘A single word from me can win this battle, and with it, the entire war.’

‘It can,’ Caladan replied.

‘Returning Draconus to his love’s side. Ending this incursion of Liosan into our realm. Saving even the precious possessions of the highborn.’

‘Just so.’