Fall of Light (81 page)

‘I knew few details,’ Dathenar said in a low voice, ‘but I sensed well something unbreakable within her. Faror Hend, we would burden her further.’

‘Sirs—’

‘This legion wears and wields madness,’ Prazek said. ‘It will need its own spine. Neither Hust’s history, nor its fame, nor even its infamy, will suffice this rebirth. The weapons and armour laugh, but the timbre of that voice betrays helplessness. So, we cannot look even to the fever of magic iron.’

‘We have prisoners,’ Dathenar said, his gaze hard upon her. ‘This is our lot. Up from pits and holes carved down through rock and earth. Up from where we put them. No outside authority will reach them, for their habits long ago rejected that authority. There is a vast difference between kneeling and being forced to kneel. Galar Baras was right in plunging into their midst. Now it falls to us to take their stock, to see what we can use.’

‘But Rance’s inner torment?’

‘We will be cruel, yes.’

‘She does not scrub her hands raw out of some manic need to cleanse unseen stains, Dathenar. If either of you think the symbol so crass as that—’

‘No, Faror, we heard you well enough.’

Prazek nodded. ‘A ritual intended to awaken pain, because the pain keeps her here, keeps her conscious. Keeps her alive.’

‘Nothing of that can belong to the Legion, sirs.’

In answer, Prazek drew his new sword. The reflected flames licked down its length with a lurid red tongue. A dull muttering sound rose from the blade, breaking then into a low, dreadful laugh. ‘This attends us all, Faror Hend. Every edge, however, promises pain, yes? Prisoners – by the title alone we see their plight. All was taken from them. For each, some past incident has been made into a shrine of hurts, betrayals, losses and sour violence. Like penitents they can but circle this unholy moment, whipping their backs to keep it alive. They will speak of forgetting what they have done. Some will even claim to have done so. Others will protect their shrine, believing it a place of righteous justice, thus absolving themselves of all responsibility. But all this – all these pronouncements, these evasions, these pathetic defiances – they are helpless and hopeless. Each man, each woman, up from the pit, is burdened with what they must live with.’

Dathenar added, ‘Loss of freedom delivers its own pain. This is an army that ritually scalds itself every dawn. The soldiers fill their days with talk of freedom – some even seek to run away – but now, at last, they begin to see. There will be no freedom, neither here nor there – out beyond the campfires, beyond the pickets. No freedom at all, Faror Hend.’

‘We must make of the Hust Legion,’ said Prazek, sheathing the weapon once more, ‘a promise. To each prisoner, each soldier. Wake with pain? March with pain? Eat with it? Sleep with it? Breathe it with every breath drawn in, every breath loosed? Oh yes, my friends. And here is the Hust Legion, an answer to you all.’

‘The Hust Legion builds the fire in the crisp light of the sun’s rise,’ said Dathenar. ‘Sets the cauldron upon the coals, and calls the soldiers into line. Hands into the scalding water, thus beginning the pain of a new day.’

‘We will make this legion their home,’ Prazek said. ‘A familiar temple to house their familiar, personal, shrines of pain. The iron now laughs, in proof of its imprisonment, its helplessness. When we are done with our soldiers, we shall make the iron weep.’

Faror Hend stared at the two men, their harsh visages lit in flames.
Abyss below, I face two monsters … and find myself blessing their every word.

  *   *   *

Tent walls made for flimsy barriers, and through the entirety of Wareth’s short career as a soldier of the Hust Legion he had felt neither safe nor protected by them. The waxed canvas even failed in disguising an occupant’s presence come the night, with oil lamps or lanterns painting silhouettes upon the walls. When, as he prepared for sleep, the scratching came upon the front flap, followed a moment later by the tap of a knife pommel on the ridge pole, he considered for a long moment the prospect of not responding. Yet there had been no hiding his presence, and to pretend otherwise seemed both puerile and petty.

Grunting an invitation, he sat upon the cot to await yet another messenger with still more bad news, as it seemed the litany was unending, and when enough people were gathered anywhere the train of news never paused. It was no wonder that most officers stumbled between exhaustion and incompetence, as each fed the other. That history recounted the tales of battles gone awry, filled with appalling errors in judgement, a cascade of fatal decisions and the pointless slaughter of hundreds, if not thousands of misled soldiers, no longer surprised Wareth.

Logistics could gnaw like termites through the base of a tree—

Sergeant Rance stepped through the tent entrance.

‘What now?’ Wareth asked.

She flinched at his tone, and half turned as if to leave again – and in that instant Wareth comprehended that nothing official had brought her into his company. Silently cursing, he raised a staying hand and said, ‘No, wait. Do come in, Rance. Take that bench there – someone delivered it for reasons unknown to me. Perhaps the seating of guests? That seems reasonable.’

‘It’s nothing, sir,’ she said. ‘I saw the light, and motion, and wondered at your being awake this late.’

‘Well,’ he said, watching her tentatively settle on to the bench, ‘there is some good timing in all this, Rance. I found myself drawn short by a thought. Tell me, what do you know about the habits of termites? I recall seeing mounds – nay, towers – in the drylands to the south, constructed of mud. But here in Kurald Galain we mostly know of them as delivering ruination to wood. I have in my mind an image of a large tree riven through by the insects – did I see some such thing as a child? I must have.’

She studied him with an odd expression, and then said, ‘I recall a house that collapsed, in the village where I lived. The beams were found to have been eaten through from the inside. Their cores were dust. Or so I heard, sir. I do remember seeing the wreckage. It had more or less fallen in from each side. The weight of the roof timbers, I suppose.’

‘Logistics,’ Wareth said. ‘The line of messengers, busy messengers, with busy words. Even as this army sleeps, problems spread like some plague – or an infestation.’

‘It’s been three nights since the last murder.’

‘We’re all armed now, Rance. I’d imagine that those men fearing retribution for past crimes have taken to sleeping in their armour. More to the point, a sword left out of its scabbard will betray the arrival of a stranger.’

‘It will?’

Wareth nodded. ‘I suppose I should have explained that, but I imagine that the soldiers will make their own discoveries. Indeed, for all I know, the armour will do the same. A Hust camp needs no watchdogs, no geese. A Hust soldier standing on guard cannot be sneaked up on if he or she keeps a blade bared. But now, why, the armour could well suffice.’ He paused, and then cocked his head. ‘Hardly a sound defence against intrigue or treachery, however. Nothing in Henarald’s iron can sniff out poisoned wine, after all.’

‘They said it was a curse,’ Rance said.

‘What was?’

‘The termite infestation, sir. A curse upon the family, and the father in particular. Careless with his cock.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘The rooster in his yard, sir. It used to escape, terrorizing the younger children.’

‘Ah. Well then, was there something specific you wished to discuss?’

She glanced away, and then shrugged. ‘I am to report to Captain Prazek and Captain Dathenar on the morrow, immediately following the seventh bell.’

‘You are?’

She nodded, and then frowned. ‘You knew nothing of it? Oh. Then I wonder what they might want of me.’ A moment later she straightened her back, and then slowly slumped – though whether in defeat or relief, Wareth could not tell. ‘I am to be dismissed. That’s it. Well, I’m surprised it took this long.’

‘Rance, I’m not aware of anything like that. They would have spoken to me first, I assure you. No, they have some other purpose for wishing to speak to you. And, to be honest, I’m glad you’ve told me. I will accompany you tomorrow.’

‘Sir, there’s no reason—’

‘I selected you, remember? In fact, you are my responsibility.’ Still something uncertain flickered in her gaze. Wareth considered for a moment, and then he said, ‘A coward upon the field of battle is driven by an overwhelming need to survive, to escape from all threat, all risk. But upon the day to day matters away from that field of battle, a coward can well display virtues, such as loyalty. And on occasion, both fortitude and integrity might rear their pale heads into day’s light. Said virtues might even assemble all at once, in a single moment.’ He offered her a wry smile. ‘I am too easily painted in a single hue, Rance.’

‘I know that,’ she replied. ‘In that single colour you can hide other things about you. Few will see. Few will bother. Even the title itself – coward – can be used to hide behind, if you’re clever enough.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not, alas.’

She snorted. ‘And here I thought you lied well, as cowards should be able to do.’

‘Titles have that way, Rance. Coward. Murderer.’ Seeing her blanch, he shook his head and added, ‘You misunderstand. I can claim both, you see. On the day we were freed, I killed a man with a shovel—’

‘I know.’

He blinked. ‘You know of that?’

‘Every woman does, sir. The men were about to attack them – the cats of your pit so roughly awoken, pushed out into the morning light. You broke open the first bastard’s skull, dropped him dead, and that stopped the others long enough for you to send Rebble to the sheds. Gave the cats time to arm themselves. You saved lives that day, sir. Stopped rapes.’

Wareth looked away. ‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t think it all through, that’s all. Never liked the one I killed either.’

She shrugged. ‘Real cowards always think it through, all the way through, sir.’

‘Not if they see their chance at getting rid of a tormentor, which I did. I simply forgot about his friends.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘now at last I see the fear in you, sir. You’re frightened by the thought that you did the right thing, a brave thing. It doesn’t fit with who you think you are.’

‘If not for Rebble and Listar, I would have run,’ Wareth said. ‘Don’t let that tale live on in the camp, not among the cats, Rance. It wasn’t the way you’ve just told it.’

‘You first, and then Rebble and then Listar, sir. Us cats set you apart, sir. The three of you. You didn’t know it – not until now, I suppose – but you had the cats of your pit with you from that moment. Now, every pit’s cats know it, and they’re with you, too.’

‘You’re heading for disappointment, Rance. Warn them. Warn them all.’

‘We know you’re clever, sir.’

‘How? How do you know that?’

She studied him for a long moment, and then offered him a most peculiar and baffling smile, before rising to her feet. ‘I just thought I should let you know, sir, about them wanting to see me tomorrow. You see, I know they’re clever, far too clever, I suppose. Like you, only not like you. They see no value in wasting time. In any case, sir, you now have some time to think on finding a new sergeant to replace me. That’s what I was here to say, sir.’

He watched her leave the tent.
What was all that? They’re not dismissing her. They wouldn’t do it that way. They have something else in mind. I’ll find out when she does, in the morning.

In the meantime, why didn’t I swing that conversation back to the careless cock?

This was what came of being exhausted. A dulled wit was blind to nuance, even the hint of possible innuendo, when it offered that narrow trail between empty charm and crass invitation. But then, how many years had it been since he’d last played such games? And what of Rance?
Dreams of intimacy might feel deadly to a woman who took love into her hands, then drowned it. Abyss take me, these are venal thoughts. That I dare imagine her and me together – that I dare upend the world’s rightful order, to believe that either of us deserves such a thing.

Murderer and coward upon the one hand, child-slayer upon the other. Not for them tender moments, nor soft laughter, nor sweet pleasures. Not for them anything like love, or the wanting of happiness, and how deep the outrage, should they seek contentment.

No, these are the privileges of the innocent.

For surely they must be innocent, to desire for themselves such privileges, and then claim them as their right.

But for us who are guilty, the desire itself is a crime. That we should dare such things for ourselves, for whatever wrecked remnant is left in our lives.

Forget Rance. Forget anything playful. Eschew every soft thought, Wareth. Not for you and not for her. Not, indeed, for the new Hust Legion.

The weapons and armour can laugh for us, since they exist without guilt, and know nothing of blame.

His gaze strayed across to where his scabbarded sword hung from a peg in the centre pole.
Barring you, of course. You know me too well. You delight in our reunion, if only to anticipate and then witness my final fall. How you will delight in orchestrating your vengeance. I know it is coming, old friend. And for all that I betrayed in you, why, I welcome it.

It was time to douse the lamps, and make of these walls something opaque and impenetrable. If there was one trait he did not share with other cowards, it was his utter absence of fear when in darkness. He knew it well as a state in which he could hide, silent, unseen.

Yet Mother Dark would strip that from us. Give us eyes to pierce any gloom. Many may consider that a blessing, an end to the fear of what cannot be seen, what cannot be known. Is it only fear that makes us pray for answers? What do we lose by not knowing? Not understanding?

Lamps doused, he sat on the cot, wishing that he were blind inside and out.
Bless me with darkness if you must, but make it the blessing of not seeing. Do that, Mother Dark, and I will serve you. There are times, as you must well know, when ignorance is no enemy.