Steven Erikson - Fall of Light

After a moment, Dathenar did the same.

‘I have often wondered,’ mused Prazek, ‘at the mind of certain of our fellows, those for whom the hunt incites a flush of zeal, the eyes bright as a child’s. I have seen the arrow strike true. Some noble creature in a glade, head lifted in alarm, only to crumple to the iron bite. By your confession, friend, I see now what is slain. Dignity is the natural stance of beasts. Their innate essence, which, perhaps, the hunters in their moral paucity envy, and so grow vicious. To slay out of spite, ah, Dathenar, the years are stripped away.’

Dathenar sighed. ‘Behold the child revealed, flushed and bright, posing beside the kill. If we war against nature, why, we war against dignity itself. Our sordid dominion makes ascension a lie. The truth is, we descend, with all the dignity of a disease.’

Prazek wiped at his face, wincing at his torn lip. ‘Salvage me some hope, I beg you.’

Dathenar reached across to settle a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there is this.’

* * *

Wareth remained at Rebble’s side, holding the man’s weight as best he could as they clambered up the last few paces to reach the crest. The moment they arrived, Rebble reached up and gripped Wareth’s arm, just above the elbow, and tugged hard.

‘In the name of our Mother, Wareth, set me down.’

Together, they settled to the ground, Wareth being as gentle as he could with his friend. Rebble settled on to his back, eyes filled with pain as he stared skyward. ‘I make it thirty-seven,’ he said.

Wareth looked down, saw the blood still streaming from the sword-wound in Rebble’s chest. But the man wasn’t coughing blood – there was that mercy, at least. ‘Thirty-seven?’

Rebble lifted a trembling hand. ‘Doubt I can make it,’ he said, ‘but I’ll give it a try.’

Wareth wiped at his face. ‘You’re not making any sense,’ he said.

‘Tell me, Wareth, did I see true? Toras Redone kneeling beside a body? Was it Faror Hend who fell?’

To earn such grief? Such wails and tearing at hair? ‘No, Rebble. Galar Baras.’

‘Ah. Then. I see.’

‘She drew a knife and would have cut her own throat. Faror Hend prevented her, twisted the weapon free. In her face there was vengeance and satisfaction, as she glared down at the broken woman. Rebble, such things shake me.’

Others of the broken legion were settling here and there. Wareth saw drawn faces, expressions taut with the pain of wounds. But even then, something seemed to be missing.

‘Crack the knuckles,’ Rebble said.

‘What?’

‘One for every life I took, every fucked up stupidity I went and did. I make it four, for today. Not sure they all died, though. I’m thinking they didn’t. I’m hoping they didn’t. Anyway,’ he smiled up at the heavy clouds, ‘thirty-seven. Rebble’s idiot toll.’ He paused then, and shifted his gaze slightly, enough to meet Wareth’s eyes. ‘Them Bonecasters … quite the gift they gave us …’

Baffled, Wareth said, ‘I still don’t know what it was.’

‘Truly?’

Wareth nodded.

Rebble laughed, and then winced.

‘What gift, Rebble? What did that ritual do?’

‘No more lies. That’s all. No lying to anyone else. But mostly, no lying to yourself.’

Frowning, Wareth shook his head. ‘I’ve never lied to myself.’

Rebble studied him for a moment, and then said, ‘So, you never even noticed.’

‘No. I suppose not.’

Rebble brought his hands together over his belly. He began cracking his knuckles.

‘I need to know,’ Wareth said. ‘Why did you protect me? Back in the pit? Why did you bother?’

‘Why did I bother?’

‘Being my friend.’

Knuckles cracked. ‘I don’t know,’ Rebble replied, and then he smiled. ‘I guess you had an honest face.’

Wareth settled back on to his haunches. He saw now that everyone among the Hust had halted their march, gathering in silent clumps. No lies, is that what is missing here? In these faces? These raw stares into the distance?

Listar still lived, but he didn’t know about Rance. So many of the other officers drawn up from the prisoner ranks were dead. They’d come to the fore in the Legion’s desperate withdrawal, holding back the enemy and giving up their lives to do so.

Wareth’s throat was still raw from his frantic shouting. And yet, impossibly, the Hust had responded to his desperate commands, and when Prazek and then Dathenar curled their companies around, folding them into the retreat, the Hust Legion’s day of battle was done. Through it all, Toras Redone was nowhere to be seen, until the very end.

He listened to his friend cracking his knuckles until the sound of bones popping stopped.

Rebble never managed all thirty-seven, and, as simply as that, his only friend was gone.

He edged closer, to lift Rebble’s head and rest it on his thighs. He groomed the man’s beard with his fingers, pulling at the knots, and studied the peaceful repose of the face, knowing that he would never again see it animate, that hard grin, the sly flick of the gaze, and the raging temper that hung like a storm-cloud behind everything.

Rebble, my friend. You weren’t any more than what you were. I treasured you. How I treasured you.

Someone moved to halt at his side and Wareth looked up into Listar’s face. ‘He’s gone, Listar.’

‘Just the two of us, then,’ Listar replied.

‘Two?’

‘Who stood between them and the Cats.’ Listar paused and then said, ‘The coward and the man who wanted to die. The honourable one – why, as you say, now he’s dead.’

Wareth considered the man’s words, and their harsh, blunt tone. ‘No lies,’ he said.

‘I couldn’t do it, Wareth. I couldn’t kill anyone. All I did was defend.’

‘So it was with most of them, Listar. I saw it, on all sides. That’s how I knew that we would never win. Wouldn’t yield either. Just stand there, dying. I saw it, Listar, though I didn’t understand it. Not until Rebble explained. The ritual-’

‘Yes, my beloved gift to you all.’

‘You were sent.’

‘I was sent. But what did I ask for? From them? Has anyone even asked me that? They said we needed something to absolve us, to cleanse us, to sweep away the curse of our crimes.’

Wareth stroked Rebble’s cooling brow. ‘Is that not what you asked, Listar?’

‘No. Not quite.’

‘Then … what?’

‘I wanted us – all of us – to accept who we were. To face our crimes, our cruel pasts, our vicious thoughts. If we’re to feel, Wareth – I told the Bonecasters – if we’re to feel , then do not let us hide, or run from those feelings. Do not let us pretend.’

Wareth lifted his gaze, squinted up at Listar.

‘You still don’t get it,’ Listar said. ‘You’re not the only coward. Not even close. This Hust Legion, all these convicts. Wareth, most of them are cowards. Those men we faced down in the pit, the ones eager to get at the women. Was it just lust? No. Rapists are many things, but mostly they’re cowards, the kind that has to feed on victims. It’s a different kind of cowardice from yours, Wareth, but it’s still cowardice. Why did they all hate you? Because you were the sole coward not in hiding.’ The man paused then, looking away. ‘Look at them, Wareth. Blessed by my gift. Seeing them, I think that Rebble’s the lucky one.’

With that, Listar stumbled away.

Wareth stared after him. No lies. Well, that’s no proof against being stupid.

Shit, I forgot to ask him about Rance.

* * *

‘Priest.’

Endest Silann looked up, saw a woman in the livery of a Houseblade. His attention proved brief, as inevitably he resumed staring at his hands where they rested on his thighs.