Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

‘In this realm, Sorrit, resides Kilmandaros.’

‘Perhaps then I shall gather my kin, so that we may contemplate vengeance.’

Raest shrugged. ‘You will find her to the east, on the Azathanai Plain. She no longer guides her children, at least not with deliberation. The curse of being a god is how quickly one becomes bored. Not to mention frustrated, exasperated and, eventually, spiteful. But, to ease you somewhat, I have heard no word of Skillen Droe.’

‘Your news is welcome, Jaghut. Once this storm eases, I will indeed be on my way. As for you, Thel Akai, Dalk lusted for my blood. It is well that he is dead.’

Garelko grunted in surprise, and then said, ‘It is sad when siblings fall out. Families should be bastions of well-being, kindness and love.’

‘Is yours, Thel Akai?’

‘Well, it shall be, perhaps, once we hunt down our wayward wife, kill her lover, and drag the damned woman back home.’

Raest slapped Garelko on the upper arm. ‘Let us go back inside. I’m getting wet.’

As they turned about, Garelko took the opportunity to pat the Jaghut on the left shoulder, not out of affection, but to flatten the stretched nipple in the leather, which had been driving him mad.

* * *

There was little comfort to be found in being carried by Skillen Droe. K’rul hung like carrion in the taloned grip of his companion, with the choppy waves of the sea far below. Droe’s leathery wings sent the chill air beating down, and the only relief came when they slipped into a thermal of rising warm air and the wings could stretch out motionless as they scythed forward.

Above them the sky remained cloudless and cerulean, the sun hanging directly overhead as the morning gave way to afternoon. As there didn’t seem to be much to say, and speaking would require shouting, K’rul held his peace, while Skillen Droe self-evidently kept his thoughts to himself.

K’rul had begun dozing when he was jolted awake by a sudden rush of air. Skillen Droe had begun a sharp descent, and K’rul twisted round to look down.

A boat. It sat grounded upon a shoal, perhaps a hundred spans from a narrow sliver of coral-sand that could barely be called an island. There was nothing else in sight out to every horizon, only the endless swell of heaving waves.

There were two occupants in the craft. Only one was visible as the other was mostly hidden beneath a tattered grey parasol. K’rul looked down to see flaming red hair, artfully if loosely curled and piled high above a face turned up to the sun. That face was impossibly white, as if no rays could bronze it. The woman wore what looked like an evening gown, the silk a bright emerald green and the frills a deeper shade. Though the gown was intended to reach down to her ankles, she had drawn it up to expose her white thighs.

The boat had two benches, one fore and one aft. In between these was a broad-bellied gap that had once held a step-mast, but the step, sail and mast were nowhere to be seen. The woman sat at the bow, while her companion with the parasol occupied the stern.

Skillen Droe elected to land in the gap between them, his wings beating fiercely for a moment before catching an updraught that allowed him to hover briefly, sufficient to set K’rul down before he settled his own weight amidst a crunch and groan of wood, and then Skillen folded his wings and hunched down.

The boat was well and truly aground. K’rul straightened his clothes before facing the woman and bowing slightly. ‘Cera Planto, it has been too long since I last looked upon your lovely self.’ Glancing at the huge, iron-skinned, tusked man in the shade of the parasol, K’rul nodded. ‘Vix, I trust you are well.’

Vix replied with a single grunt, his one eye glittering.

Cera Planto fanned herself, ‘Always the sweetest compliments from you, K’rul, but do tell me, what on earth has happened to Skillen Droe?’

‘A new guise for an old self,’ K’rul replied. ‘Should he choose to speak, his words will come in scents and flavours in the mind. Peculiar, but affecting.’

‘Oh, I doubt he’ll have words for us, since that last unfortunate incident.’ Her broad, flaring cheekbones bore an unnatural flush amidst powdered white, and the kohl surrounding her deep blue eyes and fading up to her eyebrows glistened metallic green. ‘Are there not those among us, no matter what cast or credence, for whom mishap circles with persistent perfidy? So I see Skillen Droe, forever abuzz with ill chance.’

As if in reply, Skillen Droe settled lower in the craft, hooking his wings to offer himself shade, and then tilted his snouted head forward, opaque lids rising up to cover his eyes.

K’rul sighed. ‘Well, he has been flying us for some time.’

‘Then you have satisfied his need to feel useful,’ Cera replied. ‘Always the considerate one, you.’

‘I am sure,’ said K’rul, ‘on

ce he has rested, he will be happy to dislodge your craft.’

‘Oh, Vix can do that any time. He’s just being stubborn.’

‘Not half as stubborn as you,’ Vix growled.

‘We shall see about that, won’t we?’