Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

Spinnock was studying him in an odd, disquieting manner. ‘We released nothing, sir.’

‘A blunt denial,’ Bursa snapped, ‘soaked through with hope, but the facts will see it wrung dry. Indeed, it was you and Faror Hend and Finarra Stone. All of this, begun by your fumbling.’ After a moment, he shook his head. ‘But you, Durav, you simply followed. In truth, you are innocent enough.’

‘Your words surprise me,’ Spinnock said.

‘She asked me to guard you well, but that was in the world now dead. Where we are now, well, we are mere days from each going our own way. I have no desire to be your escort as you return to your family holdings. I have no desire to fall into your Houseblades, and start saluting you. Your noble blood earns nothing from me. I trust I am understood.’

‘She? Who?’

‘The women all lust after you, Durav. Something you’re used to, I suppose. They all yearn to protect you. When I look upon your future, I see you still a child, forever a child. Such is the fate of men like you.’

Smiling, Spinnock Durav offered up a half-hearted salute, and then moved away, resuming his patrol of the walls.

Those weak of mind hurried into old habits, finding solace in their familiarity. Walk the walls, Warden. Guard the fort. Such is your task. None of it mattered any more, and it took a quicker mind than Spinnock Durav’s to comprehend that everything had changed, that whatever had existed before was now irrelevant.

I must ride from here. Perhaps tonight. Leave Calat Hustain to his grief. Clearly it has broken him. He still speaks of us as a company. All this talk of rebuilding, of rebirth. There is nothing left. See that dragon, Calat Hustain? This is our new future, as meat for its jaws, our flensed skulls to roll and jostle in its gut.

Nine of them.

They hunt me in my dreams, and this whispers to me of my fate. I run, in my arms the wealth of Kurald Galain. The crown, the sceptre, the coins tumbling from between my fingers. Then the shadow sweeps over me—

Growling under his breath, Bursa shook himself to dispel the visions. He would leave tonight. It was not desertion. Like Spinnock Durav, Calat Hustain remained blind to the truths of this new, terrible world. He would find Savarro, Ristand and the others. Old Becker Flatt had said that there had been other survivors, other ragtag groups stumbling in, but they had elected to ride to the Hust Legion. They suffered from the fires of fury, and sought vengeance against Urusander’s Legion. Having fled their first battle, they now saw themselves as soldiers. They vowed that they would meet the enemy again, upon another field, and give answer with sword and lance.

Idiots. No, Savarro had the right of it. Ride out, disappear into the mists. We were misfits. So we began, and into that miserable solitude we now return.

Calat Hustain, you gave command of the Wardens to Lord Ilgast Rend. That was your first crime, and it remains unforgivable. Why you haven’t already taken your own life baffles me. Must someone do it for you?

I would, if I cared. But I don’t. Better, I think, that you live, and so suffer guilt, year upon year, until its rot takes you from the inside out.

A short time later Spinnock Durav returned from his circuit, now approaching Bursa from the other side of the walkway. ‘There will be more snow tonight,’ he said.

Bursa grunted.

Hearing sounds from the compound behind and below, both men turned to see Commander Calat Hustain emerging from the longhouse. Old Becker shambled at his side, struggling as he attempted to shrug into his armour, his sword-belt trailing from one hand.

‘Now what?’ Bursa asked under his breath.

‘Spinnock Durav!’ the commander called. ‘Attend to me. Bursa, remain upon the wall.’

Aye, he’ll take the handsome one. He watched Spinnock clamber down the rope ladder, displaying nauseating agility.

‘Bursa.’

‘Commander?’

‘Observe well, should matters turn awry.’

What new madness now afflicts you, Hustain?

Once Spinnock joined them, they continued on to the gate, and moments later reappeared in the clearing, making directly for the slumbering dragon.

Bursa’s mouth dried. His heart started a fierce hammering in his chest. He thought to cry out, voice his warning. He thought to shriek his sanity down to them – all this, even as he struggled against the impulse to flee. They’re welcome to die. It matters not to me. Finarra, your precious boy followed Calat Hustain. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. The commander ordered me to remain at my post. I could do naught but witness. I wish, oh, captain, how I wish I could say that he died bravely …

The three Tiste had taken no more than a dozen paces when the dragon’s eyes opened and the creature lifted its head, the serpentine neck twisting as the beast fixed lambent eyes upon the intruders.

Impossibly, it then spoke, with a voice that filled Bursa’s skull.

‘We will not return. Refuse us this freedom and we shall set aside our hate. We shall find our frenzy, and so awaken to this world Tiamatha. Upon this dread deed, all manner of dismay and disappointment will follow.’