Fall of Light (58 page)

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?’

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.’

She staggered to her feet, fear undisguised in her expression now as she regarded him.

Hunn Raal nodded. ‘Send Sheltatha Lore to the keep. Assuming we get past Syntara and her temple cronies, we shall make this a poignant charge, in setting the child’s care at the feet of Lord Urusander’s adopted daughter.’

‘As you command, Mortal Sword.’

‘Now,’ he continued as he relented his magic, the dome of light beyond the tent immediately vanishing, ‘be on your way. Inform the guards beyond that all is well, but that my tent is in need of repair.’

Saluting, Tathe Lorat departed.

A short time later, Hunn Raal drained his goblet of wine and rose, pleased at the grace that accompanied the effort. The sorcery within him flowed easily through the alcohol, lending an acuity that defied his habit. There were times, of course, when the clarity frustrated him. Particularly in the depths of night, when the longing for oblivion commanded his soul. But like the Holy Light’s refusal of night’s gift of darkness, Hunn Raal was denied his escape.

It was folly to expect that such blessings of magic would not come with a toll. He was already learning to hide his sobriety when it suited him. He was well served by the assumptions of others, as they watched him dip into his cups and believed his wits dulled.

Hunn Raal departed the command tent.

Outside, he saw a work crew approaching with new poles, guides, and a mallet to aid any new placement of stakes that might be required. To the ruined furniture within the tent, Hunn Raal was indifferent. Better, in some ways, if the reminders of his power remained. If fear added to his authority, bolstering his new title, then it was all to the good.

He walked through the camp, unmindful of the soldiers, their cookfires and their muted conversations. The bitter cold of the air barely reached him. There was enough power within him, at this moment, to thaw the ground beneath the entire camp. Yielding to a kind of laziness, he let the sorcery bleed into his vision, altering the landscape around him. Refulgent light devoured details on all sides, while the cookfires seethed like knotted fists of flame. Figures in the avenues between tents revealed a preternatural ambience, sometimes flickering, sometimes fiercely bright. Nearby, a soldier sat with his sword bared in his lap, working a stone along its edge. Seeing the iron blade feeding upon the ethereal light made Hunn Raal pause, frowning.

The iron’s thirst seemed unquenchable. Bemused, but insufficiently so to pursue his own unease, Hunn Raal continued on.

A few moments later he was drawn to a cookfire, sensing from its virulent flames something like defiance. As he approached, the soldiers who had been gathered round the firepit rose and then backed away. Ignoring them, the Mortal Sword stared down into the hearth.

There is something … something there. I …

He could not pull his gaze from the flames as that unknown force reached out, plucking at his will, mocking the sorcery within him.

What is that? A face? A woman’s face?

He heard laughter not his own, rustling in his skull like autumn leaves. And then a woman’s voice spoke in his mind, and its power was such that he felt like a newborn pup, helpless on the ground as something vast reached out to prod and poke it. The realization further weakened him, and he felt his soul suddenly cowering.

‘Thyrllan itha setarallan. New child, born to the flames, I see your helplessness. Bethok t’ralan Draconus, does he even comprehend? See these measures of love, every span meted in desperation. She strides the Eternal Expanse of Essential Night, seeking what? Power is not born of love, except among the wise, for whom surrender is strength. Alas, wisdom is the rarest wine, and even among those who partake of it, there are few who will know its flavour. But you, O Mortal Sword of Light, walking preened with pride and drunk on nothing but self-satisfaction – your ignorance makes your power deadly, untempered. I felt you, was drawn to you.

‘Discipline your subjects as you will, but understand this: power draws power, extremity invites extremity. Indulge in foolish displays, and there are those, more than your equal in strength, but wiser in its use, who will crush you into dust. Dislike of temerity is commonplace. Affront at misuse rarer, but potent nonetheless.’

‘Who – who speaks? Name yourself!’

‘Petty demands from a petty mind. Listen well, as I do not often offer advice unbidden, unpaid for. His first gift to her was a sceptre. Bloodwood and Hust iron. You must forge an answer. Find your most trusted blacksmith, an artisan of metals. The crowns can wait, while the orbs … destined for another place, another time. This night, build for me a fire, out beyond your civil strictures. Make it large, and feed it well. I will return to the flames then, and guide you and your blacksmith to the First Forge.

‘Balance, Mortal Sword. Each gesture answered. Each deed matched.’

‘If no payment is asked,’ Hunn Raal said, ‘then why do this for me?’

‘You? Do you think arrogance charms? I am a woman, not a half-grown girl with fresh blood on the grass. I do nothing for you, Hunn Raal. But you will learn temperance. That cannot be helped and so I make no claim to its gift. Light must face Dark as an equal—’

‘It is no equal,’ Hunn Raal snapped. ‘Darkness kneels to Light. It falters, fails, retreats.’

Her rattling laughter returned.
‘You heed too few of my words. Kneels? Falters? Look to the night sky, foolish man, and gauge the victor in the contest between Dark and Light. Drink yourself insensate, and discover whether oblivion greets you with light or darkness. In eternity’s span, Light must ever fail. Waning, flickering, dying. But Dark abides, upon either side of life.

‘Tell all this to your High Priestess. Puncture her bloated presumption, Mortal Sword. If you seek domination in your absurd war, you will fail.’

‘Mother Dark has already yielded to our demands. If a battle awaits us, our enemy will fall, and there will be no one to oppose our march into Kharkanas. In that, woman, I care nothing for Light or Dark. I will win for the Legion the justice they have earned, and if this makes the highborn kneel, then I will attend their humiliation with pleasure.’

‘Build me a fire.’

Scowling, Hunn Raal said, ‘I will think on it.’

‘Build me a fire.’

‘Did you not hear me? I will think on it.’

‘Thyrllan itha setarallan.’
She seemed to reach into him then, grasping not his heart, nor his throat, but his cock. Sudden heat engorged it, and an instant later he spurted savagely, saw his seed devoured by flames. She laughed.
‘Build me a fire.’

She released him. He staggered back, blinking awake to the mundane surroundings of the camp, the abandoned hearth before him, the dozen or so soldiers gathered round to witness.

Hunn Raal looked down. He had been standing amidst the flames during his conversation with the demon. His boots had burned away, his leather riding trousers were blackened and curled, revealing his burnished white, now hairless, legs. His cock hung out from what remained of his breeches, still dripping.