Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

Prazek cleared his throat. ‘Well, let me amend that, by saying this. A king in his own mind, or indeed a queen in her own mind. It’s a crowded skull, to be sure, lofty with minarets and teetering with towers, sparkling with spires, all so grandiose as to beggar any … beggar. And see the selfsame monarch, marching this way and that up and down the echoing halls with their rustling tapestries. Why, a scion of self-importance! He wears the headdress of a high priest this moment, and a jewelled crown the next. The robes of the judge, the clasped hands of the humble penitent. The bared head of the husband and the godly penumbra of the father. Is it any wonder that he casts coy glances at his reflection in every mirror, so inviting to worship and adoration this man—’

‘Or woman,’ Dathenar interjected.

‘No, he is not a woman. She would be a woman, but not him.’

‘Pray get him and us out of his skull, Prazek, and attend to his stirring speech to the peasant soldiers.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Prazek replied. ‘Very well. Since we two are so busy, so thoroughly distracted by all the noble thoughts implicit in our noble bearing and whatnot, taking little note of peasants by the wayside—’

‘We’ve seen none.’

‘No matter. They exist in principle, I’m sure.’

‘Let’s hear this call to war!’

‘Yes, why not, Dathenar? A moment, while I compose myself.’

‘I see a week at least.’

‘My dearest soldiers! My beloved citizens! My wretched minions!’

Dathenar tilted his head back and yelled, ‘We’re here, sire! Summoned—’

‘Press-ganged.’

‘Your pardon, press-ganged into your service, as if tithes weren’t enough—’

‘You, peasant, what was that you mumbled?’

‘Nothing, sire, I but await your speech!’

‘Dearest instruments of my will, howsoever I will it – and I will—’

‘Now there’s a chilling promise.’

‘We are gathered here upon the eve of battle—’

‘Best make it dawn, Prazek, we’re nearing the hills.’

‘Upon the dawn of a day promising glorious battle! Permit me to elaborate. The battle is yours and the glory is mine. There will be no confusion regarding this matter, I trust. Excellent! You are here, and you will fight in my name, for one perfectly reasonable reason – to wit, because you are not over there, upon the valley’s other side, fighting in the name of him, or her. In other words, you are here and not there. Is that clear, then?’

‘Sire! Sire!’

‘What is it?’

‘I have a brother who fights for him or her, over there!’

‘That man is no brother of yours, fool.’

‘But our mother—’

‘Your mother was a whore and a liar! Now, where was I?’

Dathenar sighed. ‘We were being stirred unto inspiration.’

Prazek waved a hand. ‘I hold high this sword, my kin, my comrades, and with it do point that way, towards the enemy. And where my sword points, you follow. You will march, yes, and when close enough, why, you will charge, and if you prevail, I will be pleased, and further pleased to send those of you left alive back to your shacks and barns, if you please. But if you fail, I’ll not be pleased. No, not at all. In fact, your failure will mean that I’m likely to get my skull cracked open—’

‘Spilling into the ditch minarets and towers and spires all tumbling every which way. Crowns askew, robes besmudged, bared head laid bare through and through, and, alas, godliness snuffed out like a guttered candle.’