The White Song (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 5)

by Phil Tucker

  BEYOND HERE I SHOULD NOT GO, said Flamska. MY PRESENCE MIGHT ROUSE THAT WHICH SLUMBERS BEYOND.

  “Rouse? Could the demons awaken, escape their bonds?” asked Maur.

  ESCAPE? NO. BUT IF THEY SENSE ME, THEY MIGHT SEND FORTH WAVES OF FEAR, OF RAGE. THE UR-DESTRAAS MIGHT SENSE THAT AND LOCATE ALETHEIA ALL THE QUICKER.

  “Ah,” said Maur. “Very well. If there is trouble, we’ll alert you.”

  Tharok followed Maur into the darkness beyond the archway and stepped out into absolute darkness.

  “A chasm?” he asked.

  The floor extended six yards beyond the archway, then abruptly ended in darkness. The air beyond felt strange, cool and vast, with no echo of his voice returning to him.

  Maur moved past him to the very edge. She raised her lantern and peered into the void, but her light illuminated nothing. Tharok followed, then on instinct turned and looked up. The wall behind them extended up and out to the sides without end.

  “Watch your step,” said Maur.

  Tharok turned back and joined Maur on the edge. He gazed out into the void.

  “This must be it,” said Maur. “The chamber where the demons are held.”

  Tharok fought the urge to draw World Breaker. “The magister said it would be large, but this...” He squinted, trying to catch some reflection, some hint of an object, any sense of dimension in what lay before him.

  “If this is the chamber, then there are thousands of demons imprisoned here,” said Maur. “This is where Zephyr and her ur-destraas will fight to come.”

  Tharok lowered himself into a crouch. The darkness was mesmerizing. “What is to stop them from simply teleporting here?”

  “I don’t know,” Maur said, lowering herself beside him. “Perhaps the same runes that bind the demons here into their cells. For if they can, we’ll be finished. The dragons can only teleport to places they’ve already seen. Perhaps it’s the same for demons, then. They must have visited a place to teleport there.”

  “Then, let us hope none of them have visited Aletheia,” said Tharok.

  They lapsed into silence.

  He shouldn’t be down here. He should be above, with his kragh, imposing order, organizing the tribes, ensuring their loyalty. He could well imagine the chaos above. There had been many voices raised in protest when he left, warlords demanding answers. He’d avoided them, had known that he should have waded into the thick of the growing rebellion and cracked heads, asserted himself, cowed the dissidents and made them his once more.

  Instead, he’d searched for Maur and convinced her to come exploring with him.

  “Maur,” said Tharok. “I must tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  Tharok didn’t know how to put into words the growing sense of confusion and panic that had been rising within him. Instead, he extended his hand, palm up, and summoned a small, dancing flame of white light above it.

  Maur’s features appeared in its glow, her brow lowered in confusion. “What is that?”

  Tharok peered into the white flame. “I don’t know. But I hear voices raised in song when I call it forth. Voices that confuse me.”

  “What do they sing of?”

  “No words. Just... an emotion. I feel a rising sense of hope. Of...” He exhaled noisily, annoyed at himself, at the song, of how insufficient words felt for explaining it all. “An impersonal glory. Like... as if the trees were celebrating sunlight. Or... I don’t know. But it’s saved my life. I used it to craft a shield that blocked Asho’s black fire.”

  “It defended you?”

  “Not just me. Humans can hear this song too. Kethe is one of them. The Virtues. They coat their blades in its fire. Consider themselves holy.”

  “This is a human thing, then?” For once, she sounded tentative. “Part of their religion?”

  “It can’t be,” Tharok said, closing his hand into a fist and extinguishing the light. “I don’t believe in Ascension.”

  “Then...?”

  “I don’t know.” Again, he stared into the void, jutting out his lower lip.

  Maur sighed. “I wish Golden Crow was still with us. Or any of our shamans.”

  “Yes,” said Tharok. He felt a flash of deep, rending guilt. “It’s my fault they’re not.”

  “Yes,” Maur agreed.

  “I can’t do this,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Be the Uniter.” He felt suddenly calm as he spoke. A weight was coming off his shoulders. “Lead our people into this new war.”

  “You have no choice,” Maur said, rising to her feet. “You can’t abandon us now.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’ve failed. What I set out to do, to conquer the Empire – I’ve failed.”

  “Because we have a greater enemy now,” said Maur.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t matter. My reputation, my authority – it came from being unbeatable. From doing what I promised. I molded our people into a weapon. I broke them and reforged them into a tool I could use for one purpose: to destroy the humans. I sacrificed everything for that goal. It was the end that justified every means. But now that purpose is gone, and with it my ability to command them. Already I’ve heard of kragh breaking away, crossing the Bythian badlands for Abythos, returning home.”

  “Then, stop them,” she said. “Post guards at the Portal.”

  “You still don’t understand, Maur. Authority comes from being the strongest, from having the most conviction. From delivering victory after victory.”

  “So? You still have World Breaker. The medusa’s Kiss makes you nearly invulnerable. Now, you wield this white fire. You can defeat any challenger.”

  Tharok rested his chin on his forearms. “I am Tharok the Uniter, the scourge of the human Empire, destroyer of Abythos and Aletheia. I’m not the kragh who will lead them into a new partnership with the humans against demons.”

  “You are not, or you don’t wish to be?”

  Tharok looked down. “Damn Wise Women.”

  “Answer me.”

  “The circlet is gone. And with it, the fire it gave me to wreak such momentous change. Could I undo the damage I have done to our people? Perhaps. But I can’t bring back the shamans. I can’t remove the Kiss from our warlords and chieftains. I can’t restore the tribes and clans to what they once were.”

  “I’ve already asked once. Can’t, or don’t want to?”

  Tharok extended his hand again, and once more the white flame leapt forth. “I’ve replaced the circlet with this, whatever it is. And it… distracts me. Confuses me. I cannot continue to pretend to be Tharok the Uniter. That Tharok is dead. He died when the circlet was torn from his brow. Now, I am simply Tharok. And that’s not enough.”

  Maur’s agitation was plain. “You owe your people. You cannot walk away.”

  “I won’t.” He looked sidelong at her. “I’m going to give them a new ruler.”

  “Who? Jojan? None of them have the depth of understanding that you do. The ability to communicate with the humans –”

  “You, Maur. I want you to lead our people.”

  She froze, then snorted in disbelief. “Tharok,” said Maur. “Enough with this madness. This is the first time that we truly need your strength. This is no pointless conquest that you’re leading us on. This is our survival.”

  “And if you were not here, perhaps I would find that strength,” he said. “But you have come back atop a dragon, Maur. What greater symbol of hope and change is there? You repudiate all that I stood for. You are a new symbol of leadership and strength.”

  “I’m not a warlord,” she snarled.

  “Nor are you a Wise Woman,” he said. “You’re a dragon rider. Our people already look to you, listen to you. Atop Flamska, you will have the authority to command them into this new battle, and more importantly, to save their souls even as they fight, even as Kyrra returns to us.”

  “No,” said Maur. “You’re mad.”

  “I wish I was,” said Tharok. “Then I c
ould forget the thousands upon thousands who died for me. The shamans I had killed. The damage I have done to our people, our culture, our own religion. But I’m not mad. I’m myself, at long last. The circlet is gone, and I tell you that I cannot be the bloody Uniter that our kragh knew and followed. That Tharok is gone.”

  Maur rubbed her face. “I thought that after all you’d done, I couldn’t get any angrier at you. Now, you do this.”

  Tharok chuckled softly. “That’s one talent I’ll never lose. You must take control, Maur. We need to break with the bloody quest that brought us here. We need to break from the Tharok I used to be. We need to heal, to become strong, to find it in our hearts to fight these demons without our shamans. We need you to lead us, atop your dragon – to represent our new alliance with the humans and our hope for a future without war and bloodshed.”

  She stood silently for a long time, the lantern hanging by her side, and when she sighed, he knew he had won. The relief was enormous. To not have to pretend he was still the Tharok the horde believed him to be, to not have to dominate, browbeat, command and inspire…

  “Here,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Take it.”

  “World Breaker?”

  “You’ll need its powers, and it is a potent symbol. It makes no sense for me to carry it any longer.”

  “No,” said Maur. “Not yet. Give it to me when I assume control before our people. Let it be a symbol of the transfer of power.”

  Tharok slid the blade back into its scabbard. “You’re right.” He smiled sadly. “You’re going to be good at this.”

  “And you, Tharok? How are we going to handle you?”

  He knew what she meant. Kragh warlords only ever handed over their power when they grew too old, too weak to carry on. It was the way of the kragh to defeat warlords in battle, proving their right to rule over the older leaders. The kragh would understand his ceding his authority to Maur because of Flamska, but what would they make of him then? He couldn’t remain among them. He was a symbol of the past, one that would only muddy the waters. Confuse the kragh.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I won’t get in your way.”

  “Perhaps you could be one of my warlords,” she said. Again, she sounded tentative. “Help me —”

  “No,” he said. “That would only make things worse. Tharok the Uniter cannot become Tharok the helpful warlord.”

  “Then...?”

  “I don’t know.” He heard the faint call of the song in the depths of his soul, and it seemed to reinforce his decision. “There isn’t much time, either way. If we survive this coming battle, we will decide.”

  “Very well,” said Maur. “I — thank you.”

  He stepped in close. “Maur. In another life, you and I, perhaps. If we’d stayed at the Red River. If the circlet had never come to me.”

  Her breathing grew shallow. “Yes.”

  Only a few inches separated them. He wanted to reach out and touch her. Take her hand in his own. Caress her. But the very thought pained him, the futility of his longing.

  “Come,” he said, his voice gruff, almost fierce. He stepped away. “We need to confront the warlords. The sooner, the better.”

  “Tharok,” said Maur.

  If he stayed any longer, he would do something he’d regret for the rest of his life.

  “Come,” was all he said, then he strode away from her to where he knew the archway to be. “We must begin the process of saving our people.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Iskra

  The Hall of Light had been used with great regularity by the first Ascendants. Iskra had heard it mentioned in the oldest ballads, the first accounts of how the Empire was hammered into being, but despite a frantic attempt at cleaning by a dozen servants, it was still dusty and redolent with an air of neglect. The stained-glass windows that flanked its nave did not blaze with colored light, and the great painting that covered the ceiling was faded and peeling.

  “I believe it’s been centuries since an Ascendant last held an audience here,” the Ascendant said quietly from his throne.

  They were on a dais at the end of the hall, gazing at the far door, where Kethe was about to make her appearance.

  “High time it was used again,” murmured Iskra. “A pity that the Minister of Perfection isn’t here to witness the occasion.”

  “You jest, but I’m glad he is gone,” said the Ascendant. “Even now, I expect him to emerge from the shadows, smiling with his yellowed teeth, ready to whisper suggestions that I won’t have the will to disobey.” The young man shuddered, then pushed his shoulders back. “He used to give me nightmares.”

  Iskra pursed her lips. They were far enough from the closest of the gathered commanders and nobles that nobody should be able to hear the Ascendant’s words, but nonetheless, they troubled her; it had been easier to pursue this war when she could forget that he was still a young man in many ways, as mortal and as fallible as she. It was much easier to think of him as an exalted being, a symbol, a small part of the true Ascendant’s glory made manifest.

  The Ascendant shifted his weight subtly on the hard chair. “Is this posturing necessary, Iskra? I would be more comfortable meeting with Makaria in my council chamber where she could speak freely.”

  “It is, Your Holiness. You cannot neglect the hopes and expectations of your people. They need to see the Ascendant in the Hall of Light. They need these rituals and ceremonies to feel assured that all is well. This, as much as any gathering of might, is a tonic for the fear and uncertainty that threatens to cripple us.”

  Despite any misgivings he might have, the Ascendant’s face was serene. He sat encased within his gold and white robes with perfect ease, and Iskra imagined it would be easy to see him from a distance as an effigy, the very symbol she yearned for him to be.

  “As you say,” he agreed. “Then let us begin.”

  Iskra glanced over the crowd one last time and then nodded to the chamberlain at the far end. He stiffened, bowed, and pulled open the doors to the antechamber beyond.

  “Akinetos the Immovable, Virtue of Ennoia,” he called out.

  Iskra’s heart swelled with relief at the sight of the massive man. He strode forward as if his monstrous plate armor were weightless, his helm beneath his arm so that all could see his craggy features, shaved head, and square jaw – a face that looked as if it had been carved out of granite with a rock hammer. Each step was accompanied by the clank of armor, and his very solidity, the confidence and calm he exuded, seemed to affect the crowd, easing the tension that had been so rife moments ago.

  “Mixis the Commingling, Virtue of Bythos.”

  The man who followed was a gaunt wolf. His long white hair was pulled back into a wild ponytail, his face was unshaven, and his eyes were haunted and fierce. He stalked through the doors as if stepping onto a battlefield, his mouth pulled into a thin line. Only when his eyes settled on the Ascendant did Iskra see him relax.

  “Synesis the Intelligent, Virtue of Nous.”

  The slender girl who followed was shockingly young, younger surely even than Kethe, and her face was ashen with pain. For all her pride, she could barely hide her limp. The fire in her eyes, however, seemed to dare anyone to comment, and with her shoulders thrust back and her chin raised, she followed Mixis with an assurance born of determination.

  “Makaria the Beloved, Virtue of Zoe.”

  Iskra schooled her features, forcing herself to remain impassive as Kethe entered the hall, her armor hastily cleaned but still badly dented and worn. Her auburn hair was braided and pinned in a coil around the crown of her head, and her freckles stood out against her pale skin. She strode quickly to join the others in a line before the Ascendant and flicked a glance at Iskra along with a tight smile that vanished just as quickly as it had come.

  The Ascendant rose to his feet. “Your return brings great joy to my heart. In this darkest hour, you four shine brightly. You are sources of strength and hope for the peopl
e of our Empire. I welcome you and bestow my love and blessings upon your souls.”

  Lifting his gaze, he scanned the crowd. “Much has changed, and more will change once the threat we face has been overcome. No longer will the Ascendant recline in beatific solitude within his palace; henceforth, I shall move amongst you and take an active hand in the guidance of our Empire. The position of Minister of Perfection is abolished, and the very nature of our Empire will change as we adopt new truths and discharge old injustices. But first we must survive the imminent assault of our enemies. What have you to report, my Virtues?”

  Akinetos took a step forward. “Your Holiness, I am pleased to report that our army is returning through the Solar Portals to protect Aletheia. Five thousand Ennoians are streaming into the Portal Chamber below and are being directed to the outer Circums so as to rebuff all assaults. Further, we have brought back with us twenty-five Consecrated from Abythos, who will fight alongside our soldiers to buttress their strength and reinforce their morale.”

  “Very good,” said the Ascendant.

  Kethe stepped up alongside Akinetos. “Your Holiness, our soldiers are as willing as they are brave, but we all know they cannot fight the foe that we face.”

  Whispers broke out amongst the audience chamber, and Iskra couldn’t help but nod. Good. The truth had to be spoken.

  “I am aware of the dangers we face,” said the Ascendant. “But how else can we defend ourselves if not with the swords of Ennoia?”

  “The demons will wield black flame against us,” said Kethe. “They have the ability to teleport where they wish. They number in the thousands and may strike at any time. My apologies, but these are facts and must be stated. Brave knights will not suffice. It is for that reason, and that reason alone, that I have agreed to allow Kyrrasthasa the medusa to present herself to this court to make her offer to you in person.”

  A shocked silence followed her words. The other three Virtues didn’t react, however; it was clear Kethe had convinced them to go along with this plan.

  The Ascendant’s brows lowered a fraction. “You have brought the medusa to Aletheia? To the Hall of Light?”