Fall of Light (86 page)

‘It was the main doors. I don’t think anyone’s left in the house.’

‘They wouldn’t do that. Why would they do that? We’ve got a hostage!’

‘He’s nothing. Worthless.’

‘If he was yours, Spite, you wouldn’t be saying that. But he’s mine. My slave. My first one, and you can’t have him. I’m ahead of you now and that’s what you hate the most, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll kill him before I let you take him as your slave!’

‘Too late!’

Envy scrambled upright to stand on Wreneck’s chest. She weighed almost nothing. Suddenly angry, Wreneck reached up and grasped Envy’s ankles. He lifted and then pushed her up and over his head. Her shriek was cut short as she collided with her sister. The two fell to fighting again.

Rolling on to his side and then on to his stomach, Wreneck drew his hands and knees under him and pushed himself upright, twisting round to watch the sisters beating at each other with fists and knees.

The girls suddenly ceased their thrashing. Both glared up at him.

‘Kill him now,’ said Spite. ‘If you don’t, I will.’

‘No you won’t. He’s mine.’

‘Just kill him, Envy!’

‘Fine, I will, then.’

At that instant, it seemed that the entire house lurched to one side. Groaning, the stones of the walls spat out grit and dust. Howling filled Wreneck’s skull and he clutched the sides of his head.

Spite’s eyes were suddenly wide. ‘What was that?’

Wreneck forced words past his clenched jaw. ‘The Azathanai,’ he said, finally making out the inchoate screaming of the dying gods. ‘The High Mason, who built this house. And made the Sealed Chamber, though he didn’t know what Draconus wanted it for. Someone’s been feeding what’s been trapped inside that room. Feeding it with bad thoughts, making it stronger. But now the wards are collapsing, and it’s trying to get out.’

Spite loosed a terrified squeal, pulling away from Envy. ‘We have to get out of here!’

She fled up the narrow passage. A moment later, with a final glare back at Wreneck, Envy followed her.

The roar of voices dropped off, leaving only moaning echoes draining like water through Wreneck’s thoughts. Nauseous, one shoulder rubbing against the stone wall, he set off in the direction opposite that taken by the sisters.

The Azathanai was the only person in the house barring Wreneck, Envy and Spite. Everyone else was gone. The dying gods began muttering again, urging him onward. He reached a junction in the passageway and saw thin lines of light on the wall opposite. A moment’s fumbling in the gloom found the latch. With a click the door opened, grating on stone ball-joints, revealing a room beyond that Wreneck was unfamiliar with. He stumbled in, letting the door swing back.

Still dazed, he looked round. A low, long table dominated the centre of the chamber, hewn from a single block of wood, with gutters carved down the length of its long sides. Small buckets hung from hooks at the corners. Along one wall were a half-dozen rows of pegs, from which depended small iron tools – small-bladed knives, gouges, wood-handled saws, clamps and awls.

The air smelled of something bitter.

A faint shriek sounded, but it seemed far away, so he decided to ignore it. He crossed the room until he stood before the tools. He selected one of the small knives. The blade was surprisingly sharp, and Wreneck wondered what this room was for, with the strange table and its buckets.

A proper door opened out on to a corridor. It told him little – he was not even sure what floor he was on. Choosing a direction at random, he set off, the dying gods gibbering in his head.

  *   *   *

They were gathered in the barracks. The alarms had roused the Houseblades and Ivis was pleased to find them mostly dressed and properly kitted when he led his group into the main dining hall, and now the hearth blazed with fresh wood and the bitter cold was being driven back.

Lord Anomander remained near the door, as if still of a mind to set out into the fangs of the storm, seeking his audience with the impaled goddess. Sandalath, accompanied by Yalad and Surgeon Prok, had taken a chair closer to the hearth. Ivis eyed the trio as he was joined by his lieutenant.

‘Orders, sir?’

‘What? No. Yes. Have your soldiers preparing kits – enough to support us should we need to evacuate the grounds.’

‘Sir? Are we under attack?’

‘Unknown,’ Ivis replied. ‘Possibly. I know, it’s a beastly storm out there, but we can find shelter in the wood if need be. Go on, Marak. Food, water, winter clothes, blankets, tents and cookware.’ Without awaiting a reply, he walked over to the hearth.

‘Milady, Caladan Brood will find Wreneck. You can be sure of that.’

‘What makes you so certain?’ Sandalath asked. ‘He forced us out into the cold, Ivis. He warned us against destruction – my child is in there! I do not trust these Azathanai. Their hearts are cold, their eyes like stone. Oh, where is Lord Draconus? This is all his fault!’

Yalad stood. ‘Master Ivis, I would like to volunteer to return to the main house. It may be that the High Mason has his hands full with those two witches. Wreneck could well find himself trapped between warring magicks – who will consider the worth of such a small life?’

Ivis twisted round, saw that Anomander was now watching them.

After a moment, the lord strode over. ‘Sand,’ he said, moving to crouch opposite and taking one of her hands in both of his. ‘There is indeed something cruel in this new age of sorcery. But I have travelled with Brood for some time now. When we first found Wreneck, the lad was near death. It was Caladan who prepared a reviving broth for the child. Not the act of a heartless man.’

Sandalath leaned forward. ‘Milord, you know my trust in you is absolute. If you assure me, then I must be satisfied.’

Yalad said, ‘Master Ivis—’

‘Attend to Lady Sandalath, gate sergeant.’

‘Yes sir.’

Thunder shook the building, eliciting shouts of surprise. Anomander moved quickly back to the door that faced on to the parade ground. A sudden flash of actinic light lanced through the shutters, followed by a second eruption that sent shards of stone hailing down on the barracks roof. Soldiers cursed, reaching for their weapons.

‘Lieutenant Marak! Take four squads to the stables and start saddling the horses – Horse Master Venth, prepare to take the mounts out to the summer drill-ground. If we have to, we’ll see them sheltered in amongst the trees.’

Ivis watched as the Houseblades steadied themselves, with Marak moving among them, and then he joined Anomander at the door. ‘Milord, your friend did not exaggerate, did he?’

The First Son had pushed open the door, enough to look out. Snow spun in around him with something like anger, as if the wind itself was outraged. ‘An outer wall has buckled,’ he said quietly. ‘The roof above it simply exploded. But now … nothing.’

‘Milord—’

Anomander punched a fist against the wooden frame of the door. ‘Abyss take this sorcery, Ivis! I feel helpless against such powers. What city can stand against such a thing? What throne is safe, when the air itself can be made to burn? Is this what Urusander will deliver to the battlefield?’

‘If he does, milord, then we must answer in kind.’

‘And who among us can?’

Ivis had no answer. He could see, in the courtyard beyond, a scatter of broken stone and shattered roof tiles on the snow. To the right of the main entrance, the wall was no longer vertical. Massive stones now bulged outward.
The guest antechamber.
Where the low peaked roof had been was now a gaping space, jutting roof beams lifting splintered fists into the spinning snow.

‘That tower, there, Ivis, to the left—’

Ivis shifted his gaze, and then blinked. Steam or smoke was pouring from its sides, through countless fissures between the stones, but there was no hint of flames or any other source of light. He shook his head. ‘That tower, milord … there is a chamber there, a locked door. All are forbidden to enter.’

Anomander half drew his sword, and then let it slide home again. ‘Does my courage falter here, Ivis?’

‘Milord, wisdom alone keeps you here. When you can do nothing against such forces, what point in sacrificing your life?’

Anomander barked a bitter laugh. ‘Ah, yes, this wise lesson here. If you would hold your enemy at bay, trapped into helplessness, chained to what cannot be known, only feared … why, I begin to comprehend a tactical value to sorcery, beyond its actual manifestation. The question remains, alas: how does one answer it? How does one defeat it? Pray, Ivis, offer me a soldier’s answer.’

‘How have we ever answered such impossible risks, milord? We march forward, under whatever hail awaits us. We bare teeth at the enemy, even as they damn us for our temerity. A true soldier, milord, will never bow to sorcery – this I now believe.’

Anomander grunted. ‘I can almost hear Scara Bandaris, in his manner of laughing when nothing works. I remember, the day we faced the last Jhelarkan horde … “War?” he cried. “Why, another name for shit, my friends. So now, keep your heads above the flood and swim for your fucking lives!”’

‘Then, milord,’ said Ivis, ‘if you’ll step to one side and give me leave, I have a boy to find.’

The gaze of the First Son was suddenly bright, even as he moved aside. ‘Do not tarry overlong, my friend, lest you force me to come and get you.’

‘My
charges, you and them, milord.
My
responsibility.’

Another detonation shook the grounds, another sudden flash, this time from the east tower. The squat structure wavered, tottered like a drunk on a bridge. Shutters fell away from the narrow windows.

‘Milord, I beg you, do not come after me. If I do not return, take command of the Houseblades.’

‘Best hurry, Ivis. This night seems fraught with grand gestures. I will watch. I will abide, as only a humbled man can.’

Nodding, and without a glance back at Sandalath, Ivis set out across the snow-sculpted, shard-studded compound.

  *   *   *

Envy limped up the dust-filled corridor. She’d hurt the bastard, but there were lessons still to be learned. Standing there, admiring the effects of her ambush, had been a mistake. His retaliation had the feel of a backhanded swing – though he stood across the dining chamber, ten or more paces distant. The power that had struck her had been shocking in its breadth, its vicious might. Perhaps more surprising, however, was that she had survived being flung through a solid stone wall to land amidst rubble in the antechamber. Stunned, staring upward, she had only vaguely comprehended the imminent collapse of the roof – which would surely have buried her. A savage pulse of power had sent the roof up and out. Sudden cold flooded in. Shivering, she had crawled out from the wreckage, one knee throbbing and barely able to take her weight.

The Azathanai had set off after Spite.

You think you finished me? You didn’t. I’m not one to be ignored, fool, as you shall discover!

She edged along the corridor, with fires dancing along her limbs to keep her warm.

Father’s poor house, all ruined. See what neglect gets you?

An eruption of sorcery shook the house again, like a god’s fist, and Envy gasped at her sister’s sudden, terrible shriek.

A moment later, Spite skidded into the corridor ahead. One arm had been shattered, with splinters of bone jutting from torn flesh halfway between elbow and shoulder. The wrist and hand were both twisted round too far, the thumb now on the outside and the palm facing forward. In icy fascination, Envy stared at the mangled limb as Spite staggered towards her.

‘Help me!’

Behind Spite, the Azathanai stepped into view.

Envy lashed out with raging fire, snaking round Spite to engulf the Azathanai.

He was knocked into the wall behind him, but only momentarily. Rolling his shoulders, he leaned forward and pushed through the coruscating magic that now roiled to fill the corridor.

Spite reached Envy, slipped past, and kept running.

Something tore Envy’s serpents of fire into shreds. Squealing, the girl backed away as the Azathanai advanced.

  *   *   *

Sword in hand, Ivis stepped through the doorway. Beyond the cloakroom alcove, the main hall beckoned him forward. At first he saw no movement in the large chamber, although the flames from the hearth threw writhing shadows everywhere, as if a fever had taken the fire.

A moment later, he saw the boy. Wreneck was kneeling before the hearth, feeding wood into it with a strange, mechanical rhythm. Burning wood was piled high, spilling out over the stone surround.

‘Wreneck!’

The boy did not turn, nor give any other indication that he heard his name being called.

Ivis approached, uncanny chills riding his spine.

In the fire’s frantic flames, he saw something like a face. A woman’s, round and soft, with eyes promising everlasting warmth. Ivis felt his legs moving, bringing him closer to the hearth. He barely heard the sword fall from his hand.

She … she is beautiful …

He was beside the boy now, feeling the fierce heat against his face, seductive as a lingering kiss. He saw her hands, reaching out to beckon him still closer.

‘Ivis. I know you. From Raskan’s blessed memories, I know you. Feel the terrible sorcery surrounding us? Seething through this cursed house? It invites, yes? Sweet as a caress. Look to the boy. He wants to join me, but he has protectors – they resist, though we are kin. I tell them, my womb can hold them all. Them, the child, you. I can keep you safe from the little creatures – oh, Draconus, look what we made here! Surely, lover, we can take some ragged pride, but mind the edges!

‘I can keep you all safe. Come now, Ivis. Did you not dream of fire? For this keep? For the girls, prison bars of flame. Cages of cracked stone, rubble, blackened beams, and upon it all – when at last the fury cools – a blessed shroud of snow. Let them dig their way out – it will take months, if not years.

‘Come now, feed the fire, and for that gift I will repay you in turn. My sweetest kiss, my swallowing lips, my red all.’