Fall of Light (120 page)

‘She scuttles out from the ruin, Telorast! The web trembles as our power challenges it! See the terrible strain on her face?’

‘That would be the Vitr,’ said Telorast. ‘But that in itself is telling, isn’t it? Even the Azathanai are not immune.’

‘The Vitr will eat holes in this realm, Ardata,’ said Curdle, leaning forward slightly and settling a soft hand on Osserc’s thigh. ‘Do you comprehend this? Holes, gnawed through. Starvald Demelain was only the first.’ The hand squeezed. ‘There is sorcery flooding this world. There will be pressure. Wounds will burst open. The Vitr is the Great Devourer, the Hunger Never Appeased—’

‘Ooh, I like that one,’ Telorast said in a murmur, her own hand stealing over his other thigh to sidle into his crotch.

Osserc drew a sharp breath as he felt his cock answer to the light touch.

Ardata crossed her arms, but it seemed her attention was fixed solely upon Curdle. ‘Tell me more,’ she said.

‘Do we bargain now?’ Curdle smiled, her own hand stealing down, and when it found Telorast’s hand already there, fingers curling alongside his cock, it tried to pull away its rival.

Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and quickly stepped clear of both women. Wheeling round, he glared down at two suddenly pouting faces. ‘I am past being a thing to be used,’ he said in a snarl.

‘That’s all right,’ said Telorast, ‘you’ll come back to it, eventually.’

Curdle nodded. ‘It’s in his nature. You saw that too, my love? My, we’re clever, aren’t we?’ She turned her attention back to Ardata. ‘Well?’

‘What do you wish?’

‘Oh, this man here for one,’ Curdle replied. ‘But also, a thing for the future. When the Grey Shore rises, and the way in is unopposed, you will ensnare Kilmandaros. Oh, not for ever, of course. Even you couldn’t manage that. But for a time.’

Telorast added, ‘Enough for my sister and me to fly to the heart unopposed, and to claim what awaits us there.’

Ardata scowled. ‘The Throne of Shadow.’

‘It belongs to us!’ Telorast shrieked.

After a moment, Ardata shrugged. ‘You spoke of holes.’

‘Wounds, gates, one for each aspect of sorcery,’ said Curdle. ‘The Vitr’s hunger for power is endless. It will make a space within itself for each aspect. Caverns, tunnels.’

‘Whence came this Vitr, Curdle?’

‘Starvald Demelain has always … leaked,’ Curdle replied. ‘In our home realm, we have sailed over silver seas, nested upon rotting crags jutting from the chaos. We have rushed above its wild torrent in the times when it has thundered through other realms—’

‘All realms,’ whispered Telorast. ‘Even the Suzerain’s.’

‘Then the Queen of Dreams—’

‘Swallowed by one such wound,’ Telorast replied, leaning back. ‘A modest one, a fissure leaking out from this very gate here, from Starvald Demelain. We who patrolled from the other side took note, and rode the sudden rush. Out! Out into this new world, hah!’

‘And her fate?’ Ardata asked in a cold tone.

Telorast glanced at Curdle, who shrugged but said nothing. Sighing, Telorast continued, ‘The Vitr steals memories – or, rather, it blinds the mind to the memories it holds. Made witless, one is reborn, and must make a new life.’

‘Where is she then?’

Telorast smiled. ‘You need to extend your web far, Ardata, to feel her telltale tremble. But it is my thought that the strange Azathanai who found herself among the Tiste, who held within her the gate of Light, of Liosan, and then flung it from herself as if discarding a burdensome cloak, why, that might well have once been your Queen of Dreams.’

Ardata stared at Telorast for a long moment before saying, ‘When was this?’

Curdle giggled. ‘Silly woman – look to the Tiste who came upon you and your Thel Akai lover! So brightly burnished by the indifferent gift of Light! How long was the journey? There is your answer.’

‘But recall, Ardata,’ chimed in Telorast, ‘she remembers you not.’

‘Your love has lost its tether,’ Curdle said, giggling again. ‘Poor Ardata.’

When Ardata started to turn away, Curdle jumped up. ‘A moment, Azathanai! We made a bargain!’

Osserc saw Ardata glance at him, and then she shrugged. ‘I own him not.’

‘But you do! A dying man resurrected!’

‘Oh, very well. Take him then, but leave him alive.’

‘Of course,’ Telorast said, smirking. ‘We apprehend your need for him.’

Curdle now turned to Osserc and smiled. ‘Your time is short, mortal. Reach now for all that may give you pleasure. There is no sweeter intensity than your final days.’

Frowning, Osserc took a step towards Ardata. ‘What is she talking about? What have you planned for me, Ardata?’

‘We need a soul,’ she replied. ‘To seal the gate.’

‘A soul? Mine?’

Her eyes were level. ‘It is a worthy end, Osserc. One other thing to consider: it is not permanent – nothing is. Sooner or later, you will be spat out, to find yourself unchanged from the day of your imprisonment. Ages might well have past. You may find yourself standing on a world you do not even recognize, an entire realm to explore. More than that, Son of Liosan, you will possess power such as you would never have known before. Even within the maw of a gate and in the midst of agony, power is exchanged.’

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Agony? To be spat out from centuries of that – I would be a madman!’ He looked quickly to Curdle and Telorast, and then back to Ardata. ‘Find another! Use Kanyn Thrall!’

She slowly shook her head. ‘I value him more than I do you, Tiste. Besides, Curdle spoke true. I own your life, for it was I who returned it to you.’ She turned to Curdle and Telorast. ‘Eleint, give him pleasure, enough delights to sustain him for a time. But be quick about it – I have a lover to find.’

  *   *   *

There were three Jhelarkan. They had veered two days past, loping to keep pace as Scabandari pushed his exhausted horse onward, northward, well away from the caustic fumes of the Vitr Sea to the east.

At midday of this third day, his horse stumbled, and in an instant the three shaggy, black-furred giant wolves closed in. Even as his mount righted itself, he brought his lance around to meet the leap of the wolf on his right. The point drove into the beast’s chest with a ripping, snapping sound, the heavy iron blade breaking ribs as it sank deep.

The impact yanked the lance’s shaft from his grip, but the leather butt on the saddle held – long enough to pull the entire saddle on to the horse’s flank, taking the warrior with it. He heard the shaft splinter beneath the bowing weight of the dying wolf.

In that time, a second wolf closed its massive jaws around the left hindquarter of the horse, using its own weight to drag the animal down. The third and last Jheleck hunter lunged under the horse’s neck, snapping up to tear open the beast’s throat. Screaming, the horse collapsed beneath the onslaught.

Scabandari threw himself clear of his toppling, thrashing mount, his ears filling with its mortal screams. Rolling, he regained his feet, dragging free his sword even as the third wolf spun round to launch itself at him.

His backhand swing caught the creature on its right shoulder, enough to push its momentum to one side – the jaws snapped empty air a hand’s breadth from his face, hot blood and warm spit spraying against his right cheek. Stepping further round, he plunged the sword’s point behind the Jheleck’s shoulder blade, pushing hard to reach the heart.

Coughing, the Jheleck fell on to its side, the motion nearly pulling the sword from Scabandari’s grip. Regaining his hold – frantically unaware of where the last wolf was – he tugged the weapon free and staggered back.

Growling, the last wolf crouched over the dead horse.

The Tiste cursed under his breath. ‘Content with that, are you? Well, I’m not.’ He advanced.

The wolf held its ground until the last moment, only to suddenly wheel and dart away, ten or twelve long strides, before spinning round again.

Cursing a second time, Scabandari approached his dead mount. With one eye on the circling wolf, he retrieved what he could of his supplies, including the last two water-skins strapped to the saddle. Neither had burst with the animal’s fall – the one source of satisfaction in this whole travail thus far.

Finally, with the skins over one shoulder, his bedroll, blanket and the remnants of dried foodstuffs in a pack slung over the other shoulder, he slowly backed away, sword held at the ready.

When he had moved some distance from the kill-site, he saw the wolf close in to feed on the horse carcass.

A true wolf would linger here for days, gorging itself on meat. But this Jheleck would desire vengeance for the slaying of its two kin. It would resume tracking him before too long. The next attack, the warrior guessed, would come at night.

He trudged on, ever northward. The trail he had been following was more or less gone, but it had been unrelenting in its northerly push, and so he felt confident that he remained on Osserc’s heels.

Close to dusk, he came upon Osserc’s dead horse, untouched by scavengers and only now bloating in the chill, dry winter air. Wayward winds from the east brought with them the biting acid of the Vitr – the shoreline had drawn closer here.

He made a cursory examination of the carcass. Osserc had taken no meat from the beast, which seemed an odd oversight, but he had collected up the saddle and tack, which was downright bizarre. Shaking his head, he continued on.

As the sun’s southerly light faded, he heard a howl in his wake.

‘Stupid pup. Even with your jaws on my throat, I’ll eviscerate you. It’s an exchange neither of us will win. By this, we proclaim our superior intelligence! Well, come along then, let us meet in the night, and between us raise yet another monument to foolishness.’ He paused in his steps, considering his words, and then nodded to himself. ‘Such delight resides in stating the obvious! As if mere words could tilt the world, sway it from its inevitable path. But then, what are we but the narrators of time’s senseless plunge ahead, with us pilgrims ever eager to raise banners wherever we make a stand. Yes, see me work the knife into this frozen earth …’ His words fell away as he saw, upon a rise ahead, two figures walking side by side, their backs to him.

One had the look of an old man.

The other was twice his companion’s height, serpent-tailed and leather-winged, a projecting, blunt snout making itself visible as the creature looked to left and to right in time with its slightly splayed strides.

Scabandari slowed his steps.

The wolf howled behind him, closer now. Close enough, as it turned out, for the two strangers to hear it, for they both halted and swung round.

Sighing, he resumed his march. The strangers waited for him to catch up.

The pale old man was the first to speak when Scabandari arrived. ‘You confound us,’ he said. ‘Where’s your saddle? I would have thought it majestically valuable, tooled by an artisan, or, perhaps, of leather supple enough to eat – rather than gamy horseflesh, one presumes.’

‘Wrong Tiste.’

‘Ah.’ The old man nodded. ‘Then … you pursue one before you?’

‘Not pursuit as such. More like … retrieval, as of a wayward child who has wandered off, unmindful of whatever modest responsibilities he might possess.’ He struggled to keep his eyes on the old man. The reptilian demon at the stranger’s side was repeatedly yawning, fangs clacking.

‘Well,’ the old man said, ‘children are like that. Now, as for the Soletaken on your trail …’

‘They wanted my horse. Two fell when I objected. The last one – the most witless of the three, I would imagine, but thus far the luckiest, now contemplates revenge.’

‘Not any more,’ the old man said, ‘as this faint breeze wanders south, and the Jheleck catches scent of Skillen Droe. You are safe enough, and since it seems that we walk the same path, you are welcome to accompany us.’

‘If it is not an imposition,’ Scabandari said.

‘Oh no,’ the old man said with a wan smile. ‘I would welcome proper conversation.’

‘Ah. Then your pet does not speak?’

The giant creature now swung its elongated head to the old man and seemed to stare down at him for a long moment, before suddenly snapping open its wings and, with a beating of the cold air, lifting from the ground.

‘Skillen,’ said the old man, ‘concurs with your assessment. The surviving wolf is indeed appallingly stupid. He will chase it off. Failing that, he will rip it to pieces.’

‘Oh, I plead some mercy in that regard,’ Scabandari replied, even as the reptile rose higher into the air above them. ‘The herds are gone, after all. All hunters must hunt, all eaters of meat must eat meat.’

‘Generous of you,’ the old man said, with an expression filled with approval. ‘Skillen hears you and will consider your plea. It is sufficient, you will be relieved to know, to offset that insult about his being my pet.’

‘My apologies for misapprehending, sir.’

‘I am K’rul. My companion and I are Azathanai. And you, Tiste?’

He bowed. ‘Scabandari, once of Urusander’s Legion, but now I suppose I must be considered a deserter.’

‘Yes, that explains your abandonment of Light’s blessing. It seems, Scabandari, that you march to the Grey Shore.’

He was unsure of the meaning of that. ‘I seek to retrieve Urusander’s son, Osserc.’

K’rul shrugged. ‘That may be as it may be, Scabandari, but your soul finds its own path.’

‘I know nothing of this Grey Shore.’

‘Nor should you, since it is yet to arrive.’

Scabandari frowned, and then smiled. ‘I think I shall enjoy our conversations, K’rul.’

‘Then we shall be as two men dying of thirst finding the same wellspring bubbling up from the rock. Too long have I battled my companion’s infernal obduracy.’

‘He speaks, then?’

‘Somewhat.’

Scabandari tilted his head in silent query.

‘With the empathy of a serpent and the largesse of a calculating bird of prey, Skillen Droe strains the value of converse.’

Scabandari nodded. ‘I have heard that Azathanai prefer solitude, by and large, but I shall not enquire as to the exigency that has brought two together, for such an arduous journey.’