Steven Erikson - Fall of Light

Baring his teeth, Caladan Brood said, ‘It would not be mine, would it?’

Kellaras sat frozen in place, unable to pull away from the conversation. On the far right flank, the mass of Houseblade companies had begun tearing apart, and among the highborn nobles there was chaos – into which Silchas Ruin now rode.

In answer to Caladan Brood’s question, Anomander said, ‘No, I suppose not.’

The Azathanai glanced again at the heavy clouds overhead. ‘But I would advise you decide on the instant, First Son.’

‘A single word from me can win this battle, and with it, the entire war.’

‘It can,’ Caladan replied.

‘Returning Draconus to his love’s side. Ending this incursion of Liosan into our realm. Saving even the precious possessions of the highborn.’

‘Just so.’

A half-dozen soldiers set out, hurrying down to where the priests were now lying side by side, one dead and the other perhaps only moments from joining him.

‘Am I a coward,’ Anomander asked, ‘to abjure from giving you leave to slaughter my enemy? If I refuse you, Azathanai …’

‘You will lose this battle, milord, and many of your Tiste Andii will die. In place of that, sir, I offer you naught but Liosan dead. But as I said, time is short. Wait too long, and I will be matched.’

‘By Hunn Raal?’

‘No. He is still too clumsy with the power of Elemental Light. Another comes, and she is not far.’

Anomander seemed nonplussed.

Suddenly stiffening, Kellaras said, ‘Forgive me, sirs. Azathanai, do you speak of one of your own?’

Caladan Brood sighed, and then nodded. ‘She whom you have named T’riss. Content only with balance, I’m afraid. A sentiment plaguing many of my kin.’

‘But not you,’ said Anomander.

The Azathanai shrugged. ‘You wanted peace, First Son.’

‘My answer to all that I fear. My response to all that threatens me. Caladan Brood, you would see me become a tyrant in the name of purity, in the name of a peace that is maintained at any cost.’

‘Yes, milord.’

‘Azathanai, I must refuse you.’

‘I understand-’

‘Do you? I name that presumption, sir. This war belongs to the Tiste. Absolve none of us. Nor, indeed, is such absolution yours to give.’ He cast Kellaras a glare. ‘Ride on, captain, this instant!’

‘Milord.’ Kellaras gathered up his reins. Moments later he was riding for the left flank, and his mind was a storm of chaos. You decry sentiment, Anomander? You damned fool, by what other name have you just surrendered certain victory?

Ahead, he saw Lord Draconus, and at his side, Ivis. Both men were now positioned in front of their Houseblades, and it was clear that they would lead the charge.

Not a coward’s thought, not there, with those two fools. Abyss below. Sentiment!

Win her back, will you, Draconus? With this dusk and its suffocating madness? I fear not, sir, oh, Mother save us, I fear not.

* * *

And now, an eternity later, the battle was done, and still the night held back, a drawn breath suspended in the firmament. Kellaras remained standing in the midst of the battlefield. Figures moved here and there, lending what aid they could to those fallen who still lived. Here, at last, it mattered not the uniform worn, as every piteous cry proclaimed no colours, and even the skin, cloven white or black, was made one in the mud.

Someone approached from his left, and Kellaras slowly turned, to see Silchas Ruin. He felt his own spine stiffening as he straightened, concealing the fury he felt behind his soldier’s mask, his survivor’s insensate mien. ‘Milord,’ he said.

‘He struck the standard?’

Kellaras nodded. ‘And now makes formal surrender.’

Silchas Ruin was wounded, blood thick upon his left shoulder. ‘It was the highborn, Kellaras. Our betrayers. Mother Dark’s own children of the blood. Did you see the Hust, captain? Did you see how they held? I’d not thought it possible. Convicts. Murderers. Truly that iron is its own sorcery.’ He stood, now watching his brother in the distance. ‘He struck the standard,’ he said again.

‘Milord, you are wounded-’

‘This? Infayen Menand. She attacked while I was engaged with two others, sought to come upon me from behind, but I caught the motion.’

‘Her fate?’

Silchas shrugged. ‘She was a Menand.’ He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, ‘Captain, the Hust Legion – was their retreat by Redone’s command?’

‘I do not know, milord. Only that nearly a thousand of them lie dead, having not retreated a single step.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘If indeed it was Commander Toras Redone who ordered the flag, she did the right thing.’

Silchas Ruin’s stained face twitched in a cold half-grin as he studied Kellaras. ‘Ah, captain, the world’s torment knows ease with your opinion voiced.’

‘I would think not, sir. Indeed,’ he added, his voice hardening, ‘on this day, we are the makers of this world’s torment. The only ease granted now is named death.’

‘And surrender,’ Silchas Ruin said, his moment of contempt past. His eyes narrowed on the distant scene. ‘Ah, now Hunn Raal comes to the fore. Spent, and yet even at this distance I see the smear of his smile.’

‘Yes,’ said Kellaras – though not bothering to follow Ruin’s hard gaze. ‘It seems there is to be a marriage.’

Silchas Ruin nodded, and then spat red into the mud at his feet. ‘Sound the bells, Wise Kharkanas. Retrieve your refugees to line the streets. Roll out the crimson bandages to make suitable bunting and streamers. Lay out the weapons to make the aisle for our king and queen. Something notched and stained underfoot – was not iron our first glory, captain? The very birth of the Tiste, if the legends are to be believed.’ He waved a hand more red than white. ‘As suits the moment.’

‘Milord, I saw a dragon. Overhead. In the storm-clouds.’

‘I did not.’

Kellaras frowned, only to realize that he had nothing more to say.

‘Captain.’

‘Milord?’

‘My brother still stands alone. Are you not of his Houseblades? Take your surviving company and join him.’

And what of you, his brother? ‘Yes sir.’ Kellaras turned to gather his Houseblades. As they drew up around him, he saw Silchas Ruin wander off, westward, as if he would now walk to Kharkanas. Kellaras then glanced to the southeast, in time to see the last of the Hust Legion reach the crest. The sound of its iron, faint yet clear, rode the icy tears of the wind.

* * *

They reached the road, the valley behind them. Prazek drew off his gore-spattered gauntlets and dropped them to the ground. ‘Well,’ he said around a cut lip already scabbed black, ‘that was a sorry day.’

Dathenar slowly hunched over, still struggling to regain his breath from a mace-blow that had driven him from his feet. ‘“Sorry”, is it? No, friend, set sorrow aside. Disband this beleaguered company of regrets. I see no blessing in their sordid attendance.’

‘They line the road like refugees,’ Prazek said, spitting.

‘And would seek the shelter of rationalization, as befits their desperate need. But these are modest roofs, and the crowds jostle beneath each one, as would a family of fools breeding out of their house, too many bodies and not enough rooms. Shall we build additions? Extend this paltry roof? Bah, let’s just breed some more.’

‘And to this you say?’

Dathenar shrugged. ‘Why, I say, fuck you in your fuckery. But we are right, friend. Regrets breed regrets, a spawn unceasing in humping zeal. At the last, we are less than animals. For all our claim to nature’s graces, we are absent dignity.’

Prazek considered his friend’s words for a moment. Then he glanced around, at the figures shuffling past. ‘See this current,’ he said in a low mutter, ‘and here I am, snagged, tugged and frayed.’ Abruptly he sat down on the cold, wet ground.