Fall of Light Read online

  ‘With eyes closed and yearning for sleep,’ Urusander growled, ‘I see it still.’

  ‘Milord, you are named Father Light.’

  ‘Syntara, I am named Vatha Urusander, and the only title I hold is that of commander to my legion. What makes you believe I desire a union with Mother Dark? What,’ he continued, his tone growing harsher, ‘in my history, invites you – and Hunn Raal – into the belief that I desire her as my wife?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Syntara replied, ‘except your legacy of honouring duty.’

  ‘Duty? And who proclaims it so? Not Mother Dark. Nor the highborn, for that matter. You crowd me with your expectations, High Priestess, but the voices that roar through my skull deafen but one ear. From the other, why, blessed silence.’

  ‘No longer,’ Syntara replied, and at last Renarr noted a glimmer of something like triumph in her mien. ‘I am now engaged in conversation with High Priestess Emral Lanear, and no, it was not I who initiated the contact. Milord, she acknowledges the necessity of balance, a redress in the name of justice. She recognizes, indeed, that there must be a union between Father Light and Mother Dark. Milord, if she does not speak on behalf of her goddess, then she can hardly lay claim to her title of High Priestess, can she? This,’ she said, taking a step closer, ‘is the overture we were seeking.’

  ‘By marriage arranged,’ Urusander said with a bitter smile, ‘the state wins peace. By choices removed, we are to be content with one path.’

  ‘Mother Dark concedes,’ Syntara said. ‘Is this not victory?’

  ‘And yet the Hust Legion readies for war.’

  The High Priestess made a dismissive gesture. ‘It but restores itself, milord. How could it do otherwise?’

  ‘Better to bury those cursed weapons,’ Urusander said. ‘Or melt them down. Hust Henarald took his arts too far, into mysteries better left untouched. I decry Hunn Raal’s treachery, while a part of me understands his reason. But do inform this Mortal Sword, Syntara, that holy title or not, he will be made to answer for his crimes.’

  Her brows lifted. ‘Milord, he does not acknowledge my authority over him, despite my overtures. When I first heard of the title he had invented for himself I sought out the Old Language, seeking an alternative that would properly belong within the temple hierarchy. I found the title of “Destriant”, signifying the position of Chosen Priest – yet a priest belonging to no temple. Rather, a destriant’s demesne is all that lies beyond sacred ground.’ She paused, and then shrugged. ‘He refused it. If Hunn Raal is to answer for his crimes, it must be Father Light who will stand in judgement.’

  ‘Not his commander?’

  There was a sardonic hint to Syntara’s reply. ‘I await your endeavour’s account, milord. I believe he has since dispensed with the rank of captain.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Returned to the Legion camp, I understand. There is the matter of the companies out tracking Sharenas Ankhadu.’

  The mention of Sharenas’s name elicited a frown from Urusander, and he turned away to face the window again, and this was to Renarr the only sign of his dismay.

  Syntara stood as if awaiting his regard once more. He had, after all, voiced no dismissal. After a moment, her gaze slipped to Renarr, who was seated on a chair near the lord’s desk. The High Priestess cleared her throat. ‘Blessings upon you, Renarr – I apologize for not taking note of your presence earlier. Are you well?’

  Inconsequential enough to escape notice? Hardly. ‘Discomfited, to be honest,’ Renarr replied, ‘as I ponder just how your pet historian will alter the portents of this meeting in whatever account he records for posterity. I assume his presence is deemed necessary, given the need for a Holy Writ of some sort, a recounting of Light’s glorious birth, or some such thing.’ She smiled. ‘If I could be bothered, I might match him with a scroll or two. How odd the birth of a new religion if it does not quickly fracture into sects. Is it not a proper task to plant the seeds of schism as early on as possible? The Book of Sagander, and the contrary Book of Renarr, Adopted Daughter to Father Light. Imagine the holy wars to come of that, with the tree so eagerly shaken before its roots even set.’

  Syntara’s blink was languid. ‘Cynicism, Renarr, is a stain upon a soul. Its reflection is bitter, even to you, I imagine. Come to the Chamber of Light. With prayer and service, you can be cleansed of what troubles you.’

  My troubles? Oh, woman, what you call a stain is my coat of arms. It lies emblazoned upon my soul, and the promise of redress belongs not to you, nor Light, nor any temple of your making. ‘Thank you for the offer, High Priestess, and do not doubt that I appreciate the sentiment behind your desire.’

  Sagander pointed at Renarr and said, in a half-snarl, ‘You are no daughter by blood, whore. Beware your presumption!’

  At that, Urusander swung round. ‘Get that wretched scholar from my chamber, Syntara. As for recording this meeting, why, my hand does not tremble at the prospect. Sagander, your writings are well known to me, inasmuch as they mangle every notion of justice imaginable. Your mind was never equal to the task of your heart’s desire, and clearly nothing has accrued to you in the years since, barring layers of spite. Both of you, get out.’

  Bridling, Syntara drew herself taller. ‘Milord, Mother Dark expects a formal reply from us.’

  ‘Mother Dark, or Emral Lanear?’

  ‘Would you have Mother Dark address you in person? She speaks through her High Priestess. No other interpretation is possible.’

  ‘Truly? None? And do you speak for me? Or is it Hunn Raal who claims that right? How many voices shall I possess? How many faces in my visage can this precious Light behold?’

  ‘Hunn Raal is indeed an archmage,’ Syntara snapped, making the title one of derision. ‘He makes mockery of the sorcery he now explores. Even so, it is born of Light. The power we now possess cannot be denied, milord.’

  ‘I argued against our irrelevance,’ Urusander retorted. ‘That and nothing more.’ Now there was anger visible in the commander, reverberating through his entire body. ‘An utterance of bitterness, a plea for something like a just reward for all that we sacrificed for our realm. I voiced it to the highborn, seeking the release of land as recompense, and was rebuffed. This, High Priestess, was the seed of my complaint. And now, as you and countless others ride the back of my dismay, we find ourselves charging into death and destruction. Where, in all of this, is my justice?’

  Renarr had to credit Syntara’s self-possession, in that she neither stepped back nor flinched from Urusander’s anger. ‘You will find it meted out, milord, by your hand, from a position of equality – from the Throne of Light, which will stand beside the Throne of Dark. This is why the highborn will gather against you. It is why they will fight your ascension. But you, Urusander, and Mother Dark – only the two of you, bound together, can stop this. From that throne, you will force from the highborn every concession you desire—’

  ‘It is not for me that I desire anything!’

  ‘For your soldiers, then. Your loyal soldiers who, as you have said, deserve to be rewarded.’

  A few moments passed, in which no one spoke or moved. Then Urusander waved dismissively. ‘Bring to me this note from High Priestess Emral Lanear. I will read it for myself.’

  ‘Milord, I can recount it for you word for word—’

  ‘My reading skills will suffice, Syntara, unless you also desire the title of my secretary?’

  Renarr snorted.

  ‘Very well, then,’ Syntara said. ‘As you wish, milord.’

  Their departure was marked by the hollow thumps of the historian’s crutches. As the doors closed, Renarr said, ‘You’ll never see it, you know.’

  He shot her a searching look.

  ‘It will have been transcribed,’ Renarr went on. ‘There will be a notation from Syntara attached, explaining that the original was in High Script, or some arcane temple code. They are not done with playing you, Father. But now, after today, there will be a new diligence to the
ir scheming.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it seems that you have awakened to this moment, and your place in it.’

  He sighed. ‘I miss Sharenas Ankhadu.’

  ‘The one who set about murdering your captains?’

  ‘I gave her cause. No. They gave her cause. Slayers of innocents, leaders of a misguided pogrom. She was the sword in my hand.’

  ‘The true instigator of that pogrom still lives,’ Renarr said. ‘He bears the new title of Mortal Sword. And now he wields sorcery. Would that Sharenas had begun with him.’

  He was now studying her. ‘Will you now stand in her place, Renarr? Are you to be my confidante?’

  The question arrived somewhere between hope and a plea. ‘Father, when I last departed this keep, you sent a squad to escort me back. Now, here I am, no longer a plaything for your soldiers. Required to remain in your presence or, by your leave, in an adjoining room. Will you now make me your reluctant conscience? If so, best not chain me.’

  ‘I need no conscience but my own, Renarr. But … you saw through the subterfuge of this meeting. You swiftly and truly gleaned the purpose of that miserable scholar. You grasp – instinctively, I believe – the needs of this new religion, its raw hunger and brutal pragmatism. And she accused you of cynicism! In any case, Syntara had not planned for you. She left her flank exposed, and Sagander served as a poor excuse in its defence.’

  Renarr rose from the chair. ‘Forgive me, Father. Best not rely upon me to ward your flank. I am far too capricious in my own amusements. Sagander’s well-known disgust for the common-born and the fallen was the only invitation I required. I baited him out of boredom.’

  He said nothing as she made her way from the chamber.

  Oh, Sagander. Old man, mediocre scholar, an historian rocking on crutches from one scene to the next. Even the blessing of Light but underscores your flaws. Such clarity of vision, as promised by this burgeoning faith, yields no shades to truth, or justice.

  Do you grasp that, Urusander?

  Your High Priestess fears your Mortal Sword. Your historian is maimed by his own bigotry, and feeds fires of hatred behind his eyes. Your first captain dreams of his bloodline restored. And your adopted daughter must turn away from this dance no matter how honest its meaning, or how honourable its desire.

  I see this light, Father, in all that comes. But I will not blink.

  Still, the echo of those crutches lingered in Renarr, reminder of woundings that took away more than limbs or flesh. Scaffolds assembled to take the nails of pain and torment need not be visible to any mortal eye, and if the figure writhing upon the frame remained unseen, still the blood dripped.

  Coat of arms. My banner. My perfect, perfected stain.

  * * *

  Captain Hallyd Bahann slid a hand down from Tathe Lorat’s bared shoulder, brushing the length of her upper arm, and then smiled across at Hunn Raal. ‘I know the risks in leading my company upon her trail, Mortal Sword.’

  Hunn Raal tilted his head to one side. ‘Indeed? Are three hundred soldiers insufficient to guard you from the wrath of Sharenas Ankhadu?’

  The man’s smile broadened. ‘The risk lies not in what I hunt, but in what I leave behind me, here in Neret Sorr.’ He flicked a glance at the woman beside him, but if she took note she showed no sign, content instead with playing with the unsheathed dagger she held in her hands.

  Hunn Raal pondered the man for a moment, bemused by the fragility of his arrogance and narcissism. Then he shrugged. ‘You suggest a most frail union, captain, if in the moment of your absence you imagine Tathe Lorat quickened to infidelity.’

  At that, Tathe Lorat managed a languid smile, though her gaze did not lift. She said, ‘Appetites sing their own song, Mortal Sword, against which I often prove helpless.’

  Grunting, Hunn Raal reached for his goblet of wine. ‘Weakness is a common indulgence. Control, on the other hand, requires strength.’ He studied her as he drank, and then said, ‘But you’ll walk no knife’s edge, will you, Tathe Lorat, with pleasures at hand upon either side?’

  ‘Just my point,’ Hallyd said, struggling to pull the conversation back to him, and only now could Hunn Raal see the brittle need in the man for Raal’s attention, especially at this moment. It would not do, after all, to be dismissed before he even departed the tent. But his next words belied Raal’s suppositions. ‘And so I must ask you, Mortal Sword, will you keep her occupied? Too many young soldiers will catch her eye, weakening the authority of command, but if she shares the furs of the Mortal Sword’s bed, well …’

  Disgust was too kind a word for the antics of these two captains. It was a wonder Urusander had indulged them for as long as he had. But of course the matter was more complex, now. Hunn Raal had lost some vital allies among the captains of the Legion. ‘As you wish. But captain, what of Tathe Lorat’s own desires?’

  ‘You are challenged,’ Tathe Lorat murmured to her husband, still playing with her knife.

  In response to Raal’s question, Hallyd Bahann shrugged.

  Sighing, Hunn Raal looked away. ‘Very well. Tell me, Hallyd, what have your scouts determined?’

  ‘She somehow acquired an extra horse. Avoiding all settlements, she rode westward, into the forest.’

  ‘Where, presumably, she intends to hide.’

  ‘She has little choice. We have all routes south blockaded or patrolled. If Kharkanas was her intent, we will deny it to her. Thus, where else might she seek sanctuary?’

  ‘Dracons Keep.’

  ‘Across the Dorssan Ryl? The ice is notoriously treacherous. We might well drive her to such desperation. Once we reach the forest edge, I intend to advance my company in a pronged formation. We will sweep her up and force her ever westward, until her back is to the river. Mayhap she attempts it, and drowns.’

  ‘Not good enough,’ Hunn Raal snapped. ‘I want her captured. Brought back to Neret Sorr. If she drowns in the Dorssan Ryl, she will have won a victory over me. Unacceptable, captain. More to the point, what if she manages to cross?’

  ‘Then I will besiege Dracons Keep.’

  ‘You will do nothing of the sort.’

  ‘We are not Borderswords, sir. We are Legion soldiers.’

  Hunn Raal rubbed at his eyes, and then levelled a hard look upon the man before him. ‘You will not offer up to Ivis the prospect of wiping out one of my companies, Hallyd. Are we clear on this? If Sharenas makes it to Dracons Keep, you are to withdraw. Return here. Her accounting will have to wait.’

  For an instant it seemed that Hallyd would challenge him, but then he shrugged and said, ‘Very well, sir. In any case, I intend to run her down long before she reaches the road, much less the river.’

  ‘That would be preferable, captain.’

  After a moment, Hallyd Bahann cleared his throat and then rose from his seat, adjusting his armour and winter cloak. ‘We depart now, Mortal Sword.’

  ‘Do not take too long,’ Hunn Raal said. ‘I intend to see us on the march in a month’s time.’

  ‘Understood.’

  The captain exited the tent. Leaning back, Hunn Raal studied Tathe Lorat. Eventually, she sheathed her knife and looked up to meet his gaze. ‘Does the challenge in keeping me satisfied excite you, Mortal Sword?’

  ‘Stand up.’

  ‘If you insist.’

  ‘Tell me. Do you wish to remain a captain in Urusander’s Legion, Tathe Lorat?’

  She blinked. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Excellent. Now hearken well, captain. You are not among my indulgences. Not now, and at no time in the future.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Not quite, as I am not yet finished. In your mate’s absence, fuck whom you will. I will of course know about it, no matter how carefully you arrange your trysts. And when the news reaches me, and should your lover be found within the Legion ranks, I will see you stripped and thrown to the dogs. If Hallyd chooses to retrieve you upon his return, well, that is his business. Am I understood, captain?’

&
nbsp; Tathe Lorat stared down at Hunn Raal, expressionless. Then she smiled. ‘Oh dear. The Mortal Sword defines a new opprobrium against which we must now contend, does he? If Mother Dark’s temple whores make a virtue of carnal indulgences, are we to seek the opposite? Abstinence, sir, will yield your faith few followers.’

  ‘You misunderstand, Tathe Lorat. The Legion is frail enough since Captain Sharenas’s betrayal. It will not do to have you invite favours, jealousy, and unbound lust among my soldiers. It is bad enough you pimp out your own daughter – and speaking of which, that must end as well. Immediately. Win your alliances by less despicable means.’

  ‘The ways of my kin are not for you to determine, Mortal Sword.’

  He’d finally stung her awake, he observed, and this led him to consider the hidden fires of Tathe Lorat’s hatred for her own child. The simple fact was, together, Tathe Lorat and Hallyd Bahann posed a potential problem that could present to him, at some future point, an outright rivalry to his ambitions. Although they were for the moment sworn to him, he would be a fool to believe that things wouldn’t change once Kharkanas was in the Legion’s hands.

  ‘You are a Child of Light now, Tathe Lorat,’ he said. ‘But it appears that the significance of that transformation still eludes you. Very well. Consider this.’

  The sorcery that erupted from him flung her from her feet. She struck the tent wall, bowing the canvas and bending the poles on that side. She slid down amidst broken stools and a crumpled cot. From outside came a shout and the rattle of weapons being drawn. In answer to that, Hunn Raal extended his power, creating an impenetrable dome of light around his command tent. Even the soldiers’ cries of alarm could not pierce the barrier.

  Imagining Syntara, in her temple, struck so suddenly by this distant conflagration of power made Hunn Raal smile as he watched Tathe Lorat climb weakly to her knees, her hair hanging in disarray and drifting to unseen currents of energy. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘In matters of kin, why, you are mine. We are all Children of Light now, after all. Our family has grown, but your protector remains one man – the man you see before you. Thus, Tathe Lorat, the title of Mortal Sword. And a sword, as you know, cuts both ways.’