Fall of Light (The Kharkanas Trilogy 2)

eparing a tongue-lashing, but Caplo reached out to grip her arm just beneath the shoulder. A warning squeeze held her mute until they filed into the passage, past the guard, and then the assassin released his hold on her.

The hooded face turned her way. ‘I doubt he had occasion to challenge the dragon’s arrival, captain. To ready a spear, or reach for a belted sword.’ He lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Events can make us all small, humbled into ourselves. Besides, two of us are priests, come to a city of priests and priestesses. And, lastly, our skins are not white.’

‘It is the laxity that so offended me,’ she said, angling her mount to ensure that he could not reach her a second time. There had been something uncanny in his touch even through the coarse fabric of her uniform.

They rode out on to the concourse. Dusk was deepening to night, and everywhere lanterns were being extinguished, inviting darkness into the city. From one of the Citadel towers, a bell tolled sonorously, dull and slow, as if announcing a dirge.

Resh grunted. ‘At last, some ritual attends this faith.’

The streets before them were mostly empty. Finarra wondered if some kind of exodus had already started. Perhaps Urusander’s Legion was already on the way. She knew too little of the present state of affairs, and the ignorance she had once welcomed now stung her. ‘Let us waste no time in this,’ she said, ‘and ride straight to the Citadel. If anything, the day’s end should have enlivened the Terondai.’

‘An astute observation,’ Resh said.

A short time later they reached the first guard post upon the north shore of the Dorssan Ryl, and once again were waved onward on to the bridge. Upon the other side, the Citadel’s massive doors stood ajar, and from within there was a commotion, and the hint of many people gathered.

‘Something has occurred,’ Caplo observed. ‘Priests and priestesses mill within—’

‘Do they attend the Terondai?’ Resh demanded.

‘No,’ the assassin replied. ‘A fallen comrade, I think.’

The three newcomers dismounted at the arched entrance, left the reins of the horses to hang untethered. There was no one to collect them.

With growing unease, Finarra followed Resh and Caplo through the portico and emerged into the main chamber. Though no torches flared and not a single lantern remained lit, she found she could easily pierce the gloom. As Caplo had described, a score or more priests were gathered in a circle around one of their own – a man lying prone, splashed in blood. Priestesses moved about the periphery of this rough circle, agitated and frightened. Few took notice of the new arrivals.

Warlock Resh stepped forward. ‘Make way,’ he said. ‘If none among you has the skill to heal, I will see to the wounded man—’

‘There is nothing to heal,’ said one priest, but he and the others moved apart nonetheless, and Resh reached the figure. Crouching, he stared down for a time, saying nothing.

Finarra moved up behind him. ‘His hands are pierced,’ she said. ‘The wounds do not close.’

Resh grunted.

The same priest who’d spoken earlier now said, ‘None of this is for you – any of you. This is Endest Silann, chosen among all the priests. Mother Dark has blessed him, raised him above the rest of us. He has just performed a miracle. We were witness to dead creatures returned to life. To hundreds of citizens kneeling before him.’ The man hesitated, and Finarra saw something wild and loose in his gaze. ‘He banished a dragon.’

‘Banished?’ Caplo snorted.

‘The priest is right,’ Resh said, straightening. ‘I cannot heal these wounds. Sorcery bleeds from them.’ He shook his head, passing one hand before his eyes as if making an obscure sacred gesture. ‘Our reasoned and rightful world is askew.’

The warlock’s last words rippled through Finarra, their passage leaving her chilled, trembling.

‘I once worshipped both reason and right,’ Caplo said. ‘Until I was made witness to their frailty. Now, neither yields faith worthy of the name. Leave them their moment, my brother. I see the Terondai before us, unattended, a scrawl of godly graffiti. Let us peruse it.’

Nodding, Resh pulled back, out of the crowd that now struck Finarra as somehow sordid. Miracles demand a price, it seems. There is nothing more bloodless than a gathering of gawkers. She followed Resh and Caplo.

Moments later they stood before the Terondai, the magical gift of Lord Draconus to his beloved Mother Dark.

Carved in black upon dulled, grey flagstones, the vast pattern gleamed as if wet. Something about it confounded Finarra, as if the meaning of the design – even unto its precise lines – eluded her. She was frightened by a sudden yearning to step upon it, to place herself in the centre.

‘I can make nothing of this,’ Resh said. ‘Not while I stand outside it.’ He glanced across at Finarra. ‘Captain, will you attend me?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, but the word came out dry, fragile.

Caplo hissed out a breath. ‘It warns me away,’ he said. ‘Not for me, this wretched power. Forgive me, brother. I cannot join you.’

Resh nodded as if unsurprised.

‘What will you do?’ Finarra asked the assassin.