‘Returned to the Legion camp, I understand. There is the matter of the companies out tracking Sharenas Ankhadu.’
The mention of Sharenas’s name elicited a frown from Urusander, and he turned away to face the window again, and this was to Renarr the only sign of his dismay.
Syntara stood as if awaiting his regard once more. He had, after all, voiced no dismissal. After a moment, her gaze slipped to Renarr, who was seated on a chair near the lord’s desk. The High Priestess cleared her throat. ‘Blessings upon you, Renarr – I apologize for not taking note of your presence earlier. Are you well?’
Inconsequential enough to escape notice? Hardly. ‘Discomfited, to be honest,’ Renarr replied, ‘as I ponder just how your pet historian will alter the portents of this meeting in whatever account he records for posterity. I assume his presence is deemed necessary, given the need for a Holy Writ of some sort, a recounting of Light’s glorious birth, or some such thing.’ She smiled. ‘If I could be bothered, I might match him with a scroll or two. How odd the birth of a new religion if it does not quickly fracture into sects. Is it not a proper task to plant the seeds of schism as early on as possible? The Book of Sagander, and the contrary Book of Renarr, Adopted Daughter to Father Light. Imagine the holy wars to come of that, with the tree so eagerly shaken before its roots even set.’
Syntara’s blink was languid. ‘Cynicism, Renarr, is a stain upon a soul. Its reflection is bitter, even to you, I imagine. Come to the Chamber of Light. With prayer and service, you can be cleansed of what troubles you.’
My troubles? Oh, woman, what you call a stain is my coat of arms. It lies emblazoned upon my soul, and the promise of redress belongs not to you, nor Light, nor any temple of your making. ‘Thank you for the offer, High Priestess, and do not doubt that I appreciate the sentiment behind your desire.’
Sagander pointed at Renarr and said, in a half-snarl, ‘You are no daughter by blood, whore. Beware your presumption!’
At that, Urusander swung round. ‘Get that wretched scholar from my chamber, Syntara. As for recording this meeting, why, my hand does not tremble at the prospect. Sagander, your writings are well known to me, inasmuch as they mangle every notion of justice imaginable. Your mind was never equal to the task of your heart’s desire, and clearly nothing has accrued to you in the years since, barring layers of spite. Both of you, get out.’
Bridling, Syntara drew herself taller. ‘Milord, Mother Dark expects a formal reply from us.’
‘Mother Dark, or Emral Lanear?’
‘Would you have Mother Dark address you in person? She speaks through her High Priestess. No other interpretation is possible.’
‘Truly? None? And do you speak for me? Or is it Hunn Raal who claims that right? How many voices shall I possess? How many faces in my visage can this precious Light behold?’
‘Hunn Raal is indeed an archmage,’ Syntara snapped, making the title one of derision. ‘He makes mockery of the sorcery he now explores. Even so, it is born of Light. The power we now possess cannot be denied, milord.’
‘I argued against our irrelevance,’ Urusander retorted. ‘That and nothing more.’ Now there was anger visible in the commander, reverberating through his entire body. ‘An utterance of bitterness, a plea for something like a just reward for all that we sacrificed for our realm. I voiced it to the highborn, seeking the release of land as recompense, and was rebuffed. This, High Priestess, was the seed of my complaint. And now, as you and countless others ride the back of my dismay, we find ourselves charging into death and destruction. Where, in all of this, is my justice?’
Renarr had to credit Syntara’s self-possession, in that she neither stepped back nor flinched from Urusander’s anger. ‘You will find it meted out, milord, by your hand, from a position of equality – from the Throne of Light, which will stand beside the Throne of Dark. This is why the highborn will gather against you. It is why they will fight your ascension. But you, Urusander, and Mother Dark – only the two of you, bound together, can stop this. From that throne, you will force from the highborn every concession you desire—’
‘It is not for me that I desire anything!’
‘For your soldiers, then. Your loyal soldiers who, as you have said, deserve to be rewarded.’
A few moments passed, in which no one spoke or moved. Then Urusander waved dismissively. ‘Bring to me this note from High Priestess Emral Lanear. I will read it for myself.’
‘Milord, I can recount it for you word for word—’
‘My reading skills will suffice, Syntara, unless you also desire the title of my secretary?’
Renarr snorted.
‘Very well, then,’ Syntara said. ‘As you wish, milord.’
Their departure was marked by the hollow thumps of the historian’s crutches. As the doors closed, Renarr said, ‘You’ll never see it, you know.’
He shot her a searching look.
‘It will have been transcribed,’ Renarr went on. ‘There will be a notation from Syntara attached, explaining that the original was in High Script, or some arcane temple code. They are not done with playing you, Father. But now, after today, there will be a new diligence to the
ir scheming.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it seems that you have awakened to this moment, and your place in it.’
He sighed. ‘I miss Sharenas Ankhadu.’
‘The one who set about murdering your captains?’