Steven Erikson - Fall of Light

‘Have we had our moment, then?’

‘I see our future, friend, and it is black and depthless.’

The two men set out, quitting their posts. Unguarded behind them stretched the bridge, making its sloped shoulder an embrace of the river’s rushing water – with its impenetrable surface of curling smiles.

The war, after all, was elsewhere.

* * *

‘It can be said in no other way,’ Grizzin Farl sighed, as he ran a massive, blunt fingertip through the puddle of ale on the tabletop: ‘she was profoundly attractive in a plain sort of way.’

The tavern’s denizens were quiet at their tables, and the air in the room was thick as water, gloomy despite the candles, the oil lamps, and the fiercely burning fire in the hearth. Conversations rose on occasion, cautious as minnows beneath an overhanging branch, only to quickly sink back down.

Hearing his companion’s faint snort, the Azathanai straightened in his seat, in the pose of a man taking affront. The wooden legs beneath him groaned and creaked. ‘What do I mean by that, you ask?’

‘If I-’

‘Well, my pallid friend, I will tell you. Her beauty only arrived at second, or even third, glance. Was a poet to set eyes upon her, that poet’s talent could be measured, as if on a scale, by the nature of his or her declamation. Would frenzied birdsong not sound mocking? And so impugn that poet as shallow and stupid. But heed the other’s song, at the scale’s weighty end, and hear the music and verse of a soul’s moaning sigh.’ Grizzin reached for his tankard, found it empty. Scowling, he thumped it sharply on the table and then held it out.

‘You are drunk, Azathanai,’ observed his companion as a server rushed over with a new, foam-crowned tankard.

‘And for such women,’ Grizzin resumed, ‘it is no shock that they do not consider themselves beautiful, and would take the mocking chirps as deserved, while disbelieving the other’s anguished cry. So, they carry none of the vanity that rides haughty as a naked whore on a white horse, the woman who knows her own beauty as immediate, as stunning and breathtaking. But do not think me unappreciative, I assure you! Even if my admiration bears a touch of pity.’

‘A naked whore on a white horse? No, friend, I would never query your admiration.’

‘Good.’ Grizzin Farl nodded, drinking down a mouthful of ale.

His companion continued. ‘But if you tell a woman her beauty emerges only after considerable contemplation, why, I think she would not sweetly meet the lips of your compliment.’

The Azathanai frowned. ‘You highborn have a way with words. In any case, do you take me for a fool? No, I will tell her the truth as I see it. I will tell her that her beauty entrances me, as it surely does.’

‘And so she wonders at your sanity.’

‘To begin with,’ the Azathanai said, belching and nodding. Then he raised a finger. ‘Until, at last, my words deliver to her the greatest gift I can hope to give her – that she comes to believe in her own beauty.’

‘What happens then? Seduced, swallowed in your embrace, another mysterious maiden conquered?’

The huge Azathanai waved a hand. ‘Why, no. She leaves me, of course. Knowing she can do much better.’

‘If you deem this worthy advice on the ways of love, friend, you will forgive the renewal of my search for wisdom … elsewhere.’

Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘Bleed to your own lessons, then.’

‘Why do you linger in Kharkanas, Azathanai?’

‘Truth, Silchas Ruin?’

‘Truth.’

Grizzin closed his eyes briefly, as if mustering thoughts. He was silent for another moment, and then, eyes opening and fixing upon Silchas Ruin, he sighed and said, ‘I hold trapped in place those who would come to this contest. I push away, by my presence alone, the wolves among my kin, who would sink fangs into this panting flesh, if only to savour the sweat and blood and fear.’ The Azathanai watched his companion studying him, and then nodded. ‘I hold the gates, friend, and in drunken obstinacy I foul the lock like a bent key.’

Finally, Silchas Ruin looked away, squinting into the gloom. ‘The city has gone deathly quiet. Look at these others, cowed by all that is as yet unknown, and indeed unknowable.’

‘The future is a woman,’ said Grizzin Farl, ‘deserving a second, or third, glance.’

‘Beauty awaits such contemplation?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘And when we find it?’

‘Why, she leaves you, of course.’

‘You are not as drunk as you seem, Azathanai.’

‘I never am, Silchas. But then, who can see the future?’

‘You, it appears. Or is this all a matter of faith?’

‘A faith that entrances,’ Grizzin Farl replied, looking down at his empty tankard.

‘I have a thought,’ Silchas Ruin said, ‘that what you protect is that future.’

‘I am my woman’s favourite eunuch, friend. While I am no poet, I pray she is content with the love she sees in my eyes. Utterly devoid of song is hapless Grizzin Farl, and this music you hear? It is no more than my purr beneath her pity.’ He gestured with the empty tankard. ‘Men such as I will take what we can get.’

‘You have talked yourself out of a night with that serving woman you so admired.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do,’ said Silchas. ‘Your last request for more ale surely obliterated this evening’s worth of flirtation.’

‘Oh dear. I must make amends.’

‘If not the common subjects of Mother Dark, there are always her priestesses.’

‘And wiggle the bent key? I think not.’

After a moment, Silchas Ruin frowned and leaned forward. ‘One of these barred gates is hers ?’

Grizzin Farl raised a finger to his lips. ‘Tell no one,’ he whispered. ‘They’ve not yet tried the door, of course.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘My flavour hides in the darkness, whispering the disinclination.’

‘Do you think this white skin announces my disloyalty, Azathanai?’

‘Does it not?’

‘No!’

Grizzin Farl scratched at his bearded jaw as he contemplated the young nobleborn. ‘Well, curse my miscalculation. Will you dislodge me now? I am as weighty as stone, as obstinate as a pillar beneath a roof.’

‘What is your purpose, Azathanai? What is your goal?’

‘A friend has promised peace,’ Grizzin Farl replied. ‘I seek to honour that.’

‘What friend? Another Azathanai? And what manner this peace?’

‘You think the Son of Darkness walks alone through the ruined forest. He does not. At his side is Caladan Brood. Summoned by the blood of a vow.’

Silchas Ruin’s brows lifted in astonishment.

‘I do not know how peace will be won,’ Grizzin continued. ‘But for this moment, friend, I judge it wise to keep Lord Draconus from the High Mason’s path.’

‘A moment, please. The Consort remains with Mother Dark, seduced unto lethargy by your influence? Do you tell me that Draconus – that even Mother Dark – is unaware of what goes on outside their Chamber of Night?’

Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘Perhaps they have eyes only for each other. What do I know? It is dark in there!’

‘Spare me the jests, Azathanai!’

‘I do not jest. Well, not so much. The Terondai – so lovingly etched on to the Citadel floor by Draconus himself – blazes with power. The Gate of Darkness is manifest now in the Citadel. Such force buffets any who would seek to pierce it.’

‘What threat does Caladan Brood pose to Lord Draconus? This makes no sense!’

‘No, I see that it does not, but I have already said too much. Perhaps Mother Dark will face the outer world, and see what is to be seen. Even I cannot predict what she might do, or what she might say to her lover. We Azathanai are intruders here, after all.’