Fall of Light (99 page)

But for the moment, none in the Citadel had thought to seek her out, despite the two strangers who had unlocked the pattern of passage in the Terondai – one of its many wondrous gifts – and disappeared from sight. The discovery of a murdered guard in the corridor leading to the Chamber of Night had sent alarm winging among the Houseblades and their officers, only to somehow deftly avoid – by choice or chance – the many acolytes of the priesthood.

She sat unknowing, then, her right leg folded over the left, like a queen upon a throne.

Distant agitations in the sorcerous darkness brushed Orfantal’s awareness, and a moment’s focus made out, in his mind’s eye, the figures of Silchas Ruin, Captain Kellaras, and a woman Houseblade, hurrying towards the Chamber of Night.

Orfantal hesitated. Seeing too much made things complicated all over again. His spirit, wandering in this way, possessed no voice, and what it heard was thin and muted, as if every sound came through walls. He could draw as close as he liked to Emral Lanear, but make nothing known of his presence.

That was probably just as well. Some things had a way of frightening people. Even so, he groped for a means of warning her that things were happening, and that blood had been spilled outside the Chamber of Night.

So intent was his focus upon her now, he was caught unawares by the sudden arrival of Endest Silann.

But she looked up and seemed to sag in her throne. ‘If only we could all find someone else to carry our anguish,’ she said.

The priest, looking ashen and drained, tilted his head slightly. ‘Or send it out and away in white streams of smoke.’

‘If she regrets her lack of success,’ Lanear replied, ‘at last we find common ground.’

‘There has been violence in the Chamber of Night.’

The High Priestess drew hard on the mouthpiece, then spoke with held breath. ‘The realm beyond those doors is a fraught place.’

‘A Shake assassin reached that realm.’

She let out a slow, lengthy sigh of smoke. ‘Caplo Dreem returned, then. To finish whatever he intended the first time.’

‘You seem unconcerned.’

‘Was she?’

‘Lord Draconus defeated the assassin. Apparently. Terribly wounded and naked, Caplo re-emerged, too weak to resist arrest by Lord Silchas Ruin. A few words were exchanged before the assassin fell unconscious. There is talk of summary execution. And a pronouncement of war upon the Shake.’

‘Tell me of her concern.’

Silann’s gaze fell. ‘I cannot. But Lord Draconus did not escape unharmed from the encounter. She attends him with … solicitude.’

‘Where is Cedorpul?’

‘High Priestess, I unleashed magic in the city. I sought to bless the citizens of Kharkanas, in ways she might desire – if only she would tell us. Instead …’ His voice caught then, and it was a moment before he could continue. ‘Anger proves a poor fuel for forgiveness.’

‘Cedorpul?’

‘It fell to an Eleint, descending from the sky, to halt my … my largesse.’

‘All on this day?’ Abruptly, Lanear laughed, only to stifle the sound. ‘Forgive me, Endest. I was, for some time here, musing on the span of a single bowl’s pleasure. The world is a place of many rooms indeed, but in this one, I knew the luxury of peace.’ She slowly set the mouthpiece down on to its silver tray. ‘Where, I ask a third time, is Cedorpul?’

‘I am informed, High Priestess, that with grievous outrage and indignation, Cedorpul has set out upon the trail of Warlock Resh and the Warden officer who accompanied him through the Gate of Darkness.’

‘Alone?’

‘So I understand. I knew a fever following my audience with the dragon. All I can report is what I was subsequently told.’

‘A fever. Yours or hers?’

He shrugged.

‘Will you lead me to where Silchas Ruin has taken the assassin?’

‘Of course, High Priestess. But one other matter awaits us.’

‘And that is?’

‘The child upon your lap,’ Endest replied.

Startled, Orfantal fled the chamber.

  *   *   *

Kellaras had not participated in the rough handling of Caplo Dreem. Instead, he and the other Houseblade had but followed Silchas Ruin as the lord dragged the unconscious assassin by one ankle down stairs and along corridors, to a wing of the old palace where waited scores of empty cells. For all Ruin’s outrage, the traverse had seemed cruel, but cruelty was gathering in this last remaining brother.

Selecting a cell, Silchas pulled Caplo inside, and then ordered the Houseblade to affix shackles to the man’s ankles and wrists. This action stirred Caplo to consciousness and he blinked up at the young woman, watching as the thick iron rings clicked shut one by one. His dark eyes tracked her retreat when she was done.

Silchas Ruin faced the prisoner, and made to speak, but Caplo lifted a hand with a weak gesture that rattled the links, and said, ‘My apologies, milord, for the slain guard. Impatience is a twitching blade and no thought slowed my hand. For what it is worth, it is the only crime for which I accept your purview.’

Silchas grunted. ‘An assault upon the sacred precincts of Mother Dark?’

‘She claims less of it than you think.’

‘And Draconus?’

Caplo glanced away. ‘A hard man to kill. Did I not say as much before passing out? My mumbled … confession. Let it not be said I shied from the truth.’

‘He will not demand your head, assassin?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s busy.’

Silchas scowled, crossing his arms. After a moment, he cast Kellaras a beleaguered look. ‘Step forward, captain, I beg you. Convince me against persisting in wasting everyone’s time. Better yet, separate this man’s head from the rest of him.’

‘Forgive me, milord, but I don’t understand any of this. Have the Shake declared war? Is this man here at Sheccanto’s behest? True, a god died, but the blame for that must surely belong to the Azathanai, T’riss.’ Kellaras eyed the prisoner. ‘Caplo Dreem, who sent you?’

‘No one.’

Kellaras mused on that reply, and found no falsity in it. ‘Where did Warlock Resh go, when he and that Warden vanished at the Terondai?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then neither had knowledge of your intentions?’

Caplo grinned, moving to sit up with his back against the wall. ‘I had a suspicion. They knew that much.’

‘A suspicion? Regarding what?’

‘Oddly enough, though I found the truth of it, I find myself subsequently reluctant to pronounce it. I have,’ he added, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the wall, ‘made revision.’

‘Please explain what that means,’ Kellaras said.

‘I was in error. Not every truth is a crime. Though,’ he blinked open his eyes and smiled up at Kellaras, ‘too many of them are. Still, not this time. Foolish me, but then, ignorance is a poor excuse for anything, and I’ll not hide behind it.’

‘Do you expect to live, Caplo Dreem?’

The man shrugged, and then winced at his wounds.

Silchas Ruin growled under his breath. ‘A slain Houseblade of House Purake. Confound the rest, but this crime stands unchallenged.’

‘With regret.’

The lord settled one white hand upon his grip of the sword at his side. Iron began sliding from the scabbard, then halted at a sound from the doorway behind them.

‘Belay that, lord,’ said Emral Lanear, stepping into the now crowded cell. Kellaras saw the priest, Endest Silann, edge in behind her, his hands devoid of cloth or bandage, the wounds dripping freely to paint his fingers. His face belonged to that of an aged man.

‘House Purake claims the right of punishment,’ Silchas Ruin said to the High Priestess.

‘No doubt,’ she replied, eyeing Caplo Dreem. ‘But I would question him first.’

‘You waste your time,’ Silchas replied. ‘He is all riddles.’

‘I have no interest in Mother Dark,’ said Caplo Dreem to Lanear. ‘I have never represented a threat to her.’

‘And yet, you trespass.’

‘My argument was with Lord Draconus. We had it out, and now we are done with each other.’

‘With at least one corpse in your wake,’ she pointed out.

‘Release him,’ said Endest Silann.

All turned to face the priest. The command seemed to have momentarily left Silchas Ruin speechless. Emral Lanear glanced back at her companion. ‘By your command, Endest?’

‘No,’ he replied.

‘She makes her wishes known to you? You had led me to believe that Mother Dark’s attendance upon you yielded nothing of her will. Has that changed?’

‘Draconus is wounded, and this angers her,’ Endest replied. ‘Nonetheless, Caplo Dreem is to be banished from Kharkanas. That is all.’

‘What of justice for the House of Purake?’ Silchas Ruin demanded. ‘Is that not a virtue to be defended by our goddess? We, who are sworn to her service? Will she deny us this as well?’

No response came from Endest Silann. He turned to leave, and Kellaras distinctly heard the priest mutter, ‘Come along now, boy, this was not for you.’

Even the High Priestess seemed at a loss. ‘Lord Silchas, I am sorry,’ she said.

He glared at her, and then made a sharp gesture with one hand. ‘No matter.’ He shot her a look and added, ‘How does it sit with you, High Priestess? Being … superfluous?’

Her expression tightened, but she said nothing.

‘Oh, Kellaras,’ sighed Silchas Ruin, ‘free the man.’

  *   *   *

Rise Herat stood in the unlit corridor, staring at a tapestry. The absence of light proved no obstacle to his study of the dragons woven into the scene. He had been atop the tower when the Eleint sank down from the heavy clouds in a spiralling descent that took it into the heart of Kharkanas. It was well, he reflected yet again, that he was not a believer in omens.

Still, even I must lend credence to the notion of harbingers. We are in difficult times to be sure, but our disputes seem petty in the face of such powers loose once again in the world. There are forces at work far beyond our frail borders.

But anger and fear make an enemy of humility, and of all the emotions within reach of a desperate mind, they loom closest.

If only desperation was not a plague among mortals. If only our lives were not spent rushing from one breach to the next.

There had been word of Endest Silann’s blessing of peace in the Winter Market, and the anguish left in its wake. But how many now denied the simple truth of that aftermath, its rattling lesson of despair?
Peace haunts us like a dream, an echo half forgotten, but still whispering its perfect promise.

The ancient tapestry offered no lies, no inventions of the imagination. The dragons depicted were accurate. In the scene seven of the creatures whirled above a burning city. There was no attribution to this work of art – even the age that spawned it was lost to memory, and nothing of the city itself was recognizable.
Nothing but the river running through it, black as a fissure in bedrock.

If Kharkanas rested upon ruins, they’d yet to be revealed. Only the temple at the heart of the Citadel hinted of a world now vanished.

Then again, the city trapped by thread and dye was burning, dying within a firestorm. In such a storm, even the rocks would shatter, crumbling to dust.

Omens are for fools, but every truth of the future resides in the present, if only we have the will to see.

After a time, he realized that he was no longer alone. Turning, he frowned at the figure standing a step behind him. ‘Grizzin Farl, for all your girth, you move in silence.’

The Azathanai sighed. ‘Humble apologies, historian.’

‘I was thinking of you.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Vast forces at work, making a mockery of our conceits. Was this all begun by the woman we call T’riss? Or, as I suspect, should we look to Lord Draconus? Or you, perhaps, with your curious presence here, or, rather, your
persistence
?’

‘You would blame others for your ills?’

‘A feeble deflection, Azathanai. The realm of Eternal Night, or whatever it’s called, is too vast for us Tiste Andii to call home. And do not offend me by suggesting that Mother Dark lays claim to it. She is but an interloper. For all we know, she wanders as one lost, or even in fear, cowering at her Consort’s side.’

‘Neither, I should think,’ Grizzin Farl replied.

‘Dragons,’ said Rise Herat, turning back to look upon the tapestry once more. ‘Will we see more of them? Do they gather like vultures spying a wounded creature? Do they but await our inevitable death?’

Grizzin Farl scratched through his beard, his eyes glittering from some unseen light. ‘Now you describe a deceit in truth, historian. The fate of Kurald Galain barely registers with creatures such as the Eleint, and what they feed upon is nothing so crass as flesh and bone. Though, it must be said, they will indulge from time to time. It is important, Rise Herat, that you understand something of their nature.’

‘Oh? Please, continue.’

Ignoring the ironic invitation, Grizzin Farl stepped up beside the historian and squinted at the tapestry. ‘Inclined to scavenging,’ he said. ‘Less the hunter, then, than the opportunist. They dislike, even fear, each other’s company—’

‘This depiction suggests the opposite.’

‘No, it doesn’t.’

‘Explain.’

‘They become a Storm, sir. A Storm of Dragons, and that is a terrible thing. No single Eleint can resist, once a certain threshold is crossed. Gather enough of the beasts – create a big enough Storm – and they merge. They become one beast, possessing many heads, many limbs, but a single, undeniable identity. Such a Storm has a name among the Azathanai. Tiamatha. Goddess of destruction.
Tiam
among the Thel Akai. The Fever Queen.’ He paused, and then nodded at the tapestry. ‘Here, merely a Storm. Ill chance that it should gather above a city, but you well see its annihilating force.’

‘The fire – that is
incidental
?’

Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘Something drew them all there. There is that, I suppose.’

‘Something? What thing, Azathanai?’

‘Unknown. Perhaps … a wounded gate?’

‘Abyss take you, Farl! How can a gate be wounded?’