Steven Erikson - Fall of Light

But it was Hunn Raal who first regained himself.

Kellaras was not entirely certain who the surviving priest was. The man was covered in mud and streaming blood; his clothes were scorched and shredded. The path he made in his belly-crawl to his companion left a smear like the track of a slug. And the other priest … Cedorpul. None other. And now, that cheerful young man is dead. He must be. No one could survive that assault.

Where he and Draconus had drawn up their horses, Lord Anomander stood ringed in a rough circle of aides, messengers and standard-bearers. Yet these Andii maintained a distance, as if Anomander stood alone upon an island.

Draconus and Kellaras halted. The ground was muddy, their mounts uncertain of their footing. Overhead the sky still convulsed in a miasma of sickly clouds through which shadows flitted.

Eyes fixed upon the valley below, Anomander shook his head. ‘I must go down to that priest-’

‘Leave him for the moment, friend,’ Draconus said, dismounting. ‘Your guards are correct. If Hunn Raal sees you draw within range, he will strike at you with what he has left. On another day, I could have swatted him down. Instead, I am weakened here. Incomplete, if you will.’

Turning, Anomander studied the Consort, and then tilted his head. ‘Incomplete? No matter. Here you are.’

‘You have taken command. What would you have me do, friend?’

‘Do you censure me in her name, Consort?’

‘No. It is said you have named your sword Vengeance. How sure is your rectitude, Anomander? I would think, thus named, the blade will demand from you a purity of purpose. Of course,’ he added with a faint shrug, ‘you will need to surrender everything else.’

‘Will I? Draconus, have our vows gained veracity in this new, sorcerous age?’

‘I should think so, yes.’

‘Vengeance,’ Anomander said in a musing tone, his eyes narrowing upon the enemy forces opposite.

‘I have pondered,’ resumed Draconus, ‘the notion of a righteous blade. Not as would Lord Henarald and his Hust iron. I would value no opinion from my chosen weapon, merely a certain efficacy. Justice, should such a notion exist, must lie in the hand wielding the blade.’

‘And how would you name your new sword?’ Anomander asked.

‘There is something inherently chaotic in any weapon. Do you see this?’

‘If it lacks moral spine, then, yes, I see this well enough.’

Kellaras listened to these two men, their nonsensical, seemingly irrelevant discussion so at odds with the moment, with the ever-growing pressure of two armies about to clash. He wondered, for the first time, if both men were utterly mad.

‘Then,’ Draconus asked, ‘will you this day draw your sword in its name? More to the point, can you? I spoke of what must be surrendered, lest your weapon fail you.’

‘Friend,’ said Anomander, ‘your presence here is divisive.’

‘I know.’

‘We will lose the highborn. We will, in turn, lose this battle.’

‘Will you send me away then, Anomander?’

‘I mean to fight for you, Draconus.’

‘Yes, I see that.’

‘But, if you will leave here … take your Houseblades.’

‘How can I?’ Draconus demanded. ‘And how can you, who would stand in my place here, invite such a thing of me?’

Anomander replied, ‘I state what is possible, with no blame in attendance.’

‘Your brother, I think, has little understanding of you,’ observed Draconus. ‘Nor, it seems, of me.’

‘My brother?’

‘It does not matter. We are here, and neither intends to yield. You would fight in my name. I, therefore, shall fight in yours.’

They stood in silence then. Until, after a time, Draconus stirred. ‘I will join Ivis now.’

‘Fare you well, Draconus.’

Climbing astride his horse, Draconus hesitated, and then said, ‘And you, Anomander.’ He rode off to join his Houseblades.

The First Son fixed his attention once more on Urusander’s Legion. Soldiers had descended to help a staggering Hunn Raal make his way up the slope. ‘Kellaras.’

Startled, Kellaras dismounted and joined Anomander. ‘Milord.’

‘What did my brother do?’

‘He spoke to Draconus.’

‘And?’

‘He convinced him to flee.’

‘Flee?’

‘Draconus agreed. He understood the necessity, milord. But he would take his Houseblades into exile with him.’

‘Only to discover that they rode with me.’

‘Yes, milord.’

‘So, he would flee.’

‘In the name of love, milord, yes.’

‘To force upon him that choice, Kellaras, was unconscionable.’

‘Sir, we were desperate.’

Anomander turned sharply to Kellaras. ‘You were party to this? You added your weight to my brother’s entreaty?’

‘Milord, I was witness. That, and nothing more. Your brother has little interest in my counsel.’

‘Yet … ah, I see. Silchas led me here, after all.’ He studied Kellaras for a moment longer, and then faced the valley once more. ‘Very well.’

Very well? That and nothing more? ‘Milord? Shall I return to Lord Silchas Ruin? What message shall I convey to him?’

Anomander now faced the left flank, watching as Draconus reined in close to Silchas. Once there, an argument began, but they were too distant, their voices too low, for anything to be heard. Despite that, Kellaras could see Ruin’s shock and then dismay. An instant later, Anomander’s brother was on his horse and riding fast – not towards Anomander, but angling behind the assembled ranks. He was, Kellaras realized, riding for the highborn.

He’ll not get there in time. They have seen Draconus. They have seen what has happened.

‘No message,’ Anomander replied. ‘Join my Houseblades, captain. You will be needed to act in my brother’s stead.’

‘Yes, milord.’

‘Oh, and Kellaras.’

‘Milord?’

‘Place yourself and my Houseblades under the command of Lord Draconus.’

‘Sir?’

‘My friend is here in the name of love, captain. In the absence of anything else, is that not a worthy cause? No, let us take his side.’

Kellaras glanced to the far right flank. ‘Milord, the highborn will not be so sentimental-’

‘Sentimental, am I? Is love so paltry a thing, to be plucked and dropped to the ground at the first breath of contempt? Man or woman, disparaging love is a crime of the soul, for which the future will turn away its face.’

‘I doubt they fear such a fate, milord.’

‘They will learn to, captain. This I swear.’

Sensing a new presence, Kellaras twisted round and saw, a few paces behind them, the Azathanai, Caladan Brood. The huge figure was motionless, his expression revealing nothing. Following his gaze, Anomander grunted and said, ‘I have begun to wonder where you were, Caladan.’

The Azathanai made to speak, but then lifted his face to the sky. A moment later he scowled. ‘Lord Anomander,’ he said, as if exasperated, ‘there will be no more magic from the enemy on this day.’

‘Indeed?’ Anomander snapped. ‘Then should I walk down now, to that brave priest below-’

‘Send soldiers down to collect him.’

‘Their lives are of less worth?’

‘No. But you will be needed here, for the battle is about to begin.’

‘Do you vouch for their safety?’

‘In collecting the poor priest? Yes. In the battle to come, alas, no such thing is possible.’

‘No,’ Anomander replied. ‘I imagine not. Unless, of course, you choose to awaken what is within you, as you did at Dracons Keep.’

‘Milord, shall I slaughter your enemy then?’

‘Can you?’

Caladan Brood nodded.

‘And kill thousands. You would take that burden?’