Fall of Light (61 page)

She moved further into the tent, and once again Sagander marvelled at the natural grace that came with the young. ‘But things will be made fair, tutor, and soon. And perhaps, among the new practitioners of Denul, you will find an unexpected salvation.’

He eyed her, silent as she settled herself upon a heap of cushions beside his cot, and then he said, ‘In the meantime, dear innocence, I have need of you.’

The smile she offered him looked genuine enough, but something in it – in the eyes, possibly, which seemed to softly fulminate, as if the surface was slowly melting in the heat – troubled Sagander.
Too much like Arathan, this child. But unlike my failures with that bastard, I will make this creature pure again. For all the abuses her mother has inflicted upon her, I have her salvation to achieve, and achieve it I shall.
‘Can you sense it, child? This ghost of mine?’

‘I can,’ she replied. ‘Always. And still I wonder, tutor …’

He tilted his head. ‘You wonder what, beloved?’

‘Why its skin remains so black.’

Sagander held his smile, but with difficulty. It was one thing to indulge her wilful imaginings, to invite from her those strange, but hopeless, efforts at comforting his invisible pain, but this!
This is the sorcery at work. It seethes through us all, a plague’s breath of unnatural power.

‘Tutor? Is something wrong? Come, lie here upon your cot, and invite again my caress. Your ghost limb desires it still, yes?’

But I feel nothing. It was a game. It brought you close, within reach of my hand. And I could touch what I dare not desire. It was enough, my own small need, and each night you spend here, with me, is another night away from your whore of a mother, from her endless vengeance upon her own daughter. Nothing cruel in this bargain – but now …
‘It is difficult this night,’ he said, his voice thin and weak, sounding piteous even to his own ears. ‘The ghost is insensate to all but its own pain.’

‘We shall see,’ Sheltatha said.

After a moment, Sagander brought his lone leg under him and used a single crutch to push himself upright. He hobbled the two steps over to his cot, twisted and slumped down upon the canvas, making the legs creak. ‘Well then,’ he gasped. ‘Here I am—’

The tent flap was suddenly yanked aside, and an armoured figure ducked in, straightening with a harsh sigh.

Infayen Menand. Heavy and indolent where Sheltatha was supple and sweet; harsh and cold where Tathe’s daughter was kind and warm.

Sagander scowled. ‘What are you doing here, unannounced, uninvited? Leave us, captain, unless Tathe now owns you as well—’

‘Tathe doesn’t even own herself,’ Infayen said, her eyes flat as they fixed upon Sheltatha Lore, who returned the stare with a closed expression belonging to a much older woman. ‘I have come at the command of Mortal Sword Hunn Raal. The child Sheltatha Lore is to be escorted to the keep. Her care is now the responsibility of the Temple of Light. Get off those cushions, girl.’

‘I am her tutor—’

‘As you please,’ Infayen cut in. ‘If the temple deems lessons proper, they will undertake them from now on. Of course,’ she added, finally levelling her gaze on Sagander, ‘you may well find for yourself a role in that, but you will teach your lessons at the temple, not here in your tent.’

After a moment, Sagander nodded sharply. ‘Yes, of course. In fact, I believe that I approve.’

‘Well, that relieves us all. On your feet, Sheltatha.’

Sagander set a hand upon the girl’s shoulder and said, ‘Go on. It is indeed for the best.’

In silence, Sheltatha Lore stood. At a gesture from Infayen, the girl strode from the tent. As Infayen moved to follow, she paused at the tent entrance and glanced back at Sagander. ‘It may be,’ she said, ‘that you do not number among those who have damaged her. I saw not enough here to decide either way. But I will nonetheless insist upon an end to privacy when it comes to your tutoring the girl.’

‘You impugn my honour!’

‘How often that proclamation from those who have none.’

‘Said the woman who has slaughtered children in the forest!’

She said nothing for a long moment, her flat eyes fixed upon him, and for an instant Sagander believed he saw what those children and elders must have seen, even as the sword swung down to take their lives. Suddenly chilled by terror, he stared up at the captain.

‘In the name of duty,’ Infayen said, ‘one must, at times, set honour aside. Were you not once tutor to a bastard whelp?’

‘The duty of which saw my honour betrayed,’ Sagander replied shakily. He shook his head. ‘I never abused her trust, captain. Ask her. I sought to save her from her mother.’

‘You would have failed.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Even the temple will fail,’ Infayen said.

‘Then you deem this pointless?’

‘It is not the coin in hand that makes the whore, tutor. It is making a commodity of one’s own body that makes a woman a whore. The flaw lies in the spirit. Sheltatha and her mother are the same in this regard, no different from Renarr. If you believe salvation is possible, then why in the next breath speak against the elevation of us soldiers?’

‘By your argument, captain, you oppose Hunn Raal’s desire, and indeed that of Urusander himself.’ Sagander leaned forward. ‘Is that a wise admission?’

‘In the name of duty one must at times set aside honour,’ Infayen repeated.

A moment later she was gone, the flap settling back down. Much of the brazier’s heat had been lost, and Sagander shivered, reaching for his furs. He settled on to the bed. The ghost moaned out its ache. These soldiers, he was coming to understand, were not all alike. Their uniforms deceived with the illusion of conformity, and as time stretched on – as this miserable winter persisted – the inherent weaknesses of the military system began to show.

Put a sword in every person’s hand, and they discover an edge to their opinions, but such opinions, no matter how inane and ignorant, twist to ambition, until each wielder draws blood upon every side. There can be no congress among the witless and the avaricious. Betrayal waits in the wings, and all that is won must then be carved into pieces, and should inequity appear, the slaying begins anew.

The creation of an army invites poison into the realm. I am well placed to observe this, and I will make it central to the thesis of my last great work. The stations of society are natural creations, governed by natural laws. This civil war, it is nothing but hubris.

Only from the temples will we find salvation. Syntara must be made to understand this. The balance of faiths she espouses must give guidance to the balance of classes in Kurald Galain. A few to rule, and many to follow.

Urusander is useless. But perhaps he will serve as a figurehead. No, we who possess the necessary intelligence, and talents, we shall be the true rulers of this realm. Let the god and goddess drift away into their private worlds. One step down from the dais is where real power is worked, and there is where you will find me.

I must write to Rise Herat. An overture would not be amiss. He surely understands the necessity of our respective roles in what is to come. But I will address him as an equal, to make certain that he understands our new relationship. Meted in wisdom, we shall conspire to save Kurald Galain.

An end to soldiers. The rise of scholars. I see a renaissance in the offing.

The plain woman who fed the brazier now returned, eyes averted, a bucket of dung in each hand.

He watched as she knelt at the iron brazier and began feeding chips into it. An all too modest skill, maintaining such a fire, requiring little more than small measures of brawn, discipline, and a few sparks of wit. It was well that she possessed a task to suit her, he reflected.
This is civilization’s gift. Finding a task to match the capability of each and every citizen of the realm. But make it plain that limits exist, for the good of all. And, if necessary, a mailed fist to prove the point.

The highborn have it right. Houseblades to police their holdings. A city constabulary. An army? Disband it, and put an end to its unruly nest, lest the vermin breed discontent.

‘When you’re done there,’ Sagander croaked to the servant, ‘attend me here. The night is cold, and I have need of your warmth.’

‘Yes sir,’ the woman replied, dusting her hands.

Syntara was generous, and generosity among the powerful was truly a virtue.

  *   *   *

‘She would gather the whores into a single room,’ Renarr said, smiling, ‘and name it a temple of disrepute, no doubt.’

Sheltatha Lore stood before her, still heavily cloaked from her march up from the camp. She seemed neither discomfited nor confused by the new arrangements.

‘So, it was Syntara who sent you to me?’

Shrugging, Sheltatha said, ‘Hunn Raal decided this. Infayen delivered me. Syntara thought to interpose her will, but in the end she rejected me for the temple, noting my misused flesh and so on.’ She paused and looked around. ‘Have you the use of an adjoining room? My needs are modest. Presumably, my clothes and the rest will be sent up from the camp, eventually. I assume the food is better here, to make up for the duller company.’

Renarr held her smile. ‘First, you will need to cultivate your contempt, Sheltatha Lore. If your words would cut, sharpen your guile, and above all be selective in choosing your target. I am not one you can wound.’

Sheltatha shrugged off her cloak, leaving it to fall to the floor. ‘The soldiers talked about you,’ she said. ‘You are missed, or, rather, were. A soldier killing himself in your tent has somewhat stained your reputation.’

‘I have high expectations,’ Renarr replied, still seated, still studying the daughter of Tathe Lorat.

Sheltatha’s brows lifted, and then she laughed. ‘This – I know what this is, you know.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes. This is an attack upon my mother. They tell me it’s for my own good, but they never really understood any of it. When she realizes she can no longer abuse me, she will find comfort in my absence. You see, I was better at it than her.’

‘Better at what?’

‘I learned the sensual arts at a very young age. I have not begun to sag, or waste with drink or smoke. My youth was her enemy and she well knew it. She made her own habits her instruments of abuse, and having given them to me, she desired to watch them deliver to me their ruin.’

‘You are perceptive. Do you deem this wisdom? It is not.’

Smiling, Sheltatha Lore raised her hands, and from both white fire suddenly flared into life. ‘The flame purges, as required. My flesh knows no taint. My habits deliver no stain. Well, not for long, anyway.’

‘Clever,’ Renarr said. ‘So, you are now separated from your mother. Tell me, what do you seek for yourself?’

Sheltatha lowered her hands, and the fires dwindled and then vanished. Her eyes scanned the chamber. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘I am surrounded by ambition. It makes every visage ugly to behold.’

‘Ah. Then what of my visage?’

Sheltatha glanced over at Renarr, and after a moment she frowned. ‘No, you remain pretty enough.’

‘And is that something to admire, even aspire to? Shall I teach you the art of my own immunity? You see, I have no need to purge anything from me.’

‘I doubt the fires would find you in any case.’

‘I agree. I therefore elect more mundane means, which might serve you should the sorcery one day fail.’

‘Fail? Why should it fail?’

‘Everything,’ Renarr said, ‘comes with a cost. A debt is already begun, although you do not yet know it, or feel its weight upon you. Be assured, it exists.’

‘How do you know?’

‘You see ugliness in the faces of the ambitious. That is their debt, writ plain enough to your eyes. When I look upon you, here, now, I too see what the magic demands of you.’

Sheltatha cocked her head. ‘What, then? What do you see?’

‘The wasteland in your eyes.’

After a moment, Sheltatha blinked, and then turned away. ‘Which room will be mine, then?’

‘Do you invite my instruction?’

‘Do you name yourself wise?’

‘No. Just more experienced.’

Sheltatha sighed. ‘I had a tutor already. He touched me for pleasure – oh, nothing crass or bold. The very opposite, in fact. A hand upon mine, briefly. A brush of a shoulder, or a tap upon my knee. It was charming in its pathos, to be honest. He too wanted to steal me away from my mother and her ways. But his lessons were worthless. Why should yours be any better?’

‘What did he try to teach you?’

‘I have no idea. Perhaps he was working up to it. Oh, and he had me massage the leg he lost. The ghost, he calls it. But I could see it plain enough. Remnant energy would best describe the emanation. The body sees itself as whole, no matter the reality of its state. That’s curious, is it not?’

‘Do you see this energy upon hale limbs and bodies, Sheltatha?’

‘Yes. It shows strong among some, weak in others. It comes in many hues. Yours, at this moment, is the colour of a clear sky, close to dawn. Blue, with something hinting at slate beneath it. Dawn, or on the edge of dusk. This tells me, Renarr, that you hide a secret.’

‘We can then make this your study, to begin with,’ said Renarr.

‘How so, when you reveal no such talent?’

‘Never mind the sorcery itself. Indulge in your own explorations with that. Rather, work with me upon the proper reading of those emanations. Let’s discover what you can glean from those you meet, or are able to see.’

‘High Priestess Syntara was proof against my abilities.’

‘I’m not surprised. What of Infayen?’

‘She can kill without feeling. But that numbness makes her dull and insensitive. She cannot grasp subtlety and so fears it. When sensing its proximity, her energy darkens with suspicion, hate, and the desire to destroy all that she cannot understand.’

Grunting, Renarr stood. ‘Good. Useful. So long as no one else knows about your hidden talents.’

‘None but you.’

‘Then why reveal yourself to me? We hardly know each other.’