Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

‘Eternal Night, historian. Elemental Night. Name it as you will, but know that it is pure. It is essence.’

Emral could hear something like wind soughing through trees in the distance, but she felt no breath upon her chilled face. A moment later the Azathanai’s huge hand closed about her upper arm, and Grizzin whispered, ‘With me, then. I sense a presence ahead.’

They began walking, with Rise close behind them – he might have been gripping the Azathanai by belt or clothing. ‘How far?’ Emral asked.

‘Uncertain.’

‘Where sits Mother Dark’s throne?’ the historian demanded, his voice taut. ‘Have we lost her utterly now?’

‘Such questions will have to await answers,’ Grizzin Farl replied. ‘This realm sets itself against me. I do not belong, and now, more than ever before, I feel unwelcome.’

‘Can we return?’ Emral asked the Azathanai.

‘Unknown,’ came his disturbing response.

The feel of the earth beneath her was unchanging. There was not a single stone or pebble, nor a plant or any other protuberance rising from the level clay. Yet the redolence was cloying and thick, as if they walked a rain-drenched forest.

‘We have made an error,’ said Rise Herat, ‘entering this place. High Priestess, forgive me.’

Still they could see nothing, not even the ground upon which they walked. Yet, when the heavy sound of footsteps approached from directly ahead, it was but moments before Emral Lanear could distinguish the figure in growing detail.

It was monstrous, hunched and towering over even Grizzin Farl. Its hands hung down past its knees, the arms massive in their musculature. Its head was disproportionately small, the pate hairless, the eyes sunken deep.

Striding closer, and closer still. Moments before reaching them, it said, ‘Food.’

One heavy hand swung up, struck Grizzin Farl in the chest. The Azathanai was flung back, spinning in the air.

Another hand then reached out for Emral Lanear.

But Rise Herat was quicker, dragging her back by the cloak she wore, out beyond the demon’s grasping fingers.

She stumbled as the historian continued pulling her, tugging until she was turned round, and then they were running, blind, lost.

Behind them, the demon gave chase, each step a thump of thunder upon the ground. Distinctly, it said again, ‘Food.’

Warring against her benumbed senses, terror clawed its way free, making a hammer of her heart. She ran as she had not run since she was a child – but those memories were not ones of fear. Now, she felt herself overwhelmed, too vulnerable to comprehend. The way ahead was emptiness, and in that absence there was only the desolation that came with the realization that there was nowhere to hide.

Beside her, Rise Herat’s breaths were harsh and straining. For a moment, Emral Lanear almost laughed. The indolence of their lives in the Citadel had ill prepared them for this. Lying languid. Lungs full of smoke. Dreaming of chants and solemn processions. The poisons in betrayal’s gilded cup. Already, the muscles of her legs were losing strength, and it seemed the weight of her own body was growing too burdensome to bear.

Lithe child, where have you gone? Do you hide there still, beneath layers of adulthood

?

Rise Herat stumbled, and suddenly he was gone from her side. Crying out, Emral Lanear slowed, twisting round—

She saw the demon lumber to where the historian had fallen. Its hands reached down to take hold of him.

Then there was blurred motion, a succession of meaty thuds, and it seemed that the darkness itself had coalesced into something solid, immensely powerful. It swarmed over the demon, and with each blow blood spurted. The demon reeled back from the assault, voicing a child’s bawl of frustration, shock and pain. Then it wheeled round and ran away.

Rise Herat remained on the ground, as if broken by some unseen wound, and when he propped himself up on one elbow, the effort clearly cost him dearly. Emral stumbled towards him, and then halted as their saviour lost the swirling darkness enwreathing it, and she found herself facing Lord Draconus.

‘High Priestess,’ the Consort said, ‘have you not yet understood how unwise it is to accept Grizzin Farl’s protection?’

Rise Herat coughed from where he now sat. ‘Milord, you saved our lives.’

Draconus glanced down to study the historian. ‘If you will wander strange realms, Rise Herat, you must first understand that your own has been made uncommonly sparse of predators – beyond your own kind, that is. Most realms are much … wilder.’ He lifted his gaze and met Emral’s eyes. ‘There are dangers. Tell me, would you as blithely enter a cave mouth in some mountainside?’

Grunting, Rise Herat managed to regain his feet, though he still struggled to find his breath. ‘Tales of old, told to children,’ he said. ‘The heroes plunge into caves and caverns again and again, and each time find peril.’