In Siege of Daylight

by Gregory S Close

  Brohan remained silent, absorbing the statement that he would have laughed at from any other source. And yet there was a truth there. The Empire had conquered many lands, absorbed many different beliefs – even lived side-by-side with pagans to achieve their political end. The purges under Atrevus had been a brief and bloody period of intolerance, eliminating some deviance to established canon. Little was known of the suspect dogma itself, save in rumor or purely academic debate.

  Not simply culled, but erased, Brohan reflected. The Askani Church must have been in some way related to the Dacadian Church, or why the fervor? Why destroy all evidence of such a thing, unless it somehow could threaten their own sacred doctrine – or their power? Family made bitter enemies, indeed. The Civil War had proved as much. Had the Church once been so splintered, but better mended their wounds, more efficiently hidden their scars?

  “I don’t tell you this to test your devoutness,” Kassakan explained. “I expect you to be less a church man and more a man of the tides, anyway. Yes?”

  Brohan snorted and rolled his eyes. “I know the game, Kassakan. I know what the gods are, and more importantly, what we are to them. Whether we talk of the Old Ones or the Swords, they are all the same to me.”

  Kassakan nodded, her eyes still fixed on Brohan, searching him for some sort of response. Brohan was rarely uncomfortable under scrutiny, but the hosskan who so routinely calmed burgeoning tempers now set him on edge. Perhaps, after all her talk, she was wondering how far she could actually trust him.

  “I have a good idea who you really are, Brohan Madrharigal,” Kassakan said, as if addressing his thoughts. “And that admission makes my life forfeit, just as what I’m revealing to you forfeits yours. May we agree to understand each other, and be lax in our respective obligations in the interest of expediency?”

  Brohan reacted to the news only with a small frown. After all, this wasn’t an entirely unexpected revelation, coming from one such as her. Regardless, he had no intention or desire to try to kill a N’skil’ah Adept like Kassakan Vril, regardless of what she suspected.

  “On the contrary,” he assured her. “I am almost relieved. I am no threat to you, Kassakan, and I trust you are not sharing this with me just to kill me for it. We know what we know, and will keep it to ourselves. Agreed?”

  “So,” Kassakan said, her tone stating that’s settled, “you are now wondering, no doubt, what relevance all of this exposition on ancient religions may have to the text we have yet to read. Perhaps you even wonder how I can know so much of Askan without being literate in their script?”

  “I am wondering that, yes,” admitted Brohan.

  “It is more simple a truth than you might imagine, and therefore also a dangerous one. The Scions of Askan were an evolution of an even more ancient religion. Religion, in fact, is too strong a word. It is a belief. My belief. The belief of the hosskan.”

  Brohan bit down his questions, knowing that Kassakan was not done confusing him with answers.

  “The city was once named Az Hozkan – literally, of the Hosskan. We had settled there before the Old Foe were vanquished, fomenting rebellion amongst the humans and aiding the young insurrection of the fae. Lazy tongues and sloppy mapmakers eventually corrupted the name to Azhokan, then Azhkan, and finally to its current form, Askan. Nomenclature aside, it is important to note that we lived there, together and at peace with the human populace. We shared our knowledge and philosophy, and what was to become the Church was born there, as well as the shift in human loyalties that would eventually help defeat Anduoun.”

  Brohan almost laughed, but there was no easy mirth in this discourse, even for him. “Thus, you are suggesting that it was the hosskan who instigated the overthrow of the andu’ai, rather than the Three Swords; that the Three Swords, in fact, served as leaders of what was later deemed a heretic cult; that therefore, the resultant human ascendance in civilization on this continent is based on a lie.

  “It’s a bit much to absorb, and again I’m left wondering why it all matters right this moment, all things considered, true or not.”

  “In terms of history, I have scratched away only a bit of rust from the truth.” Kassakan tapped the scales between her eyes with a single extended claw. “Just enough to caution you. If we have found the prophecy of which Gaious spoke, and it is not simply within a forbidden text, but one written by the hand of an apostate, and uncovers truths that the church went to great and bloody lengths to obliterate… How long will either of us live with this knowledge?”

  “That is an excellent point,” Brohan conceded, and then realization hushed his words into a guarded whisper. “You believe that this is the prophecy, then?”

  “I do. Before Atrevus razed the city, there was an y’rtai in Askan, a sacred pool. There is a means of reading the future, a forbidden magic known to the hosskan, using the power of the y’rtai as conduit. It would have been a reliable oracle, if the attending N’skil’ah had channeled its power for such a purpose. Without belaboring yet another point, let us just say that the book itself is thick with iiyir, and undoubtedly of my kind. The very words are infused with power. I cannot read the script, but I can feel it.”

  “The N’skil’ah left some of her iiyir in the book?”

  “Not some of it,” Kassakan clarified. “She gave herself to the purpose of this prophecy. Her iiyir and her life bind the truth to these pages.”

  “Like Gai?” Brohan asked. “She is present within the tome?”

  “I am trying not to belabor the point.” Kassakan looked down, her eyes fixed unblinking at the clutter on the table, out of focus. “In death, we do not pass through the greylands, as other mortals. We transcend the shadowrealms through our y’rtai, and we rest in the Light. This N’skil’ah, she gave herself instead to the prophecy, and to the tome. She will never transcend death, but always be captive by it. Do you understand now the weight I give this text?”

  “The scales must balance,” Brohan said. “There must have been a danger of equal proportion to the sacrifice, or she would not have committed to such an act.”

  Kassakan looked back up, her voice soft. “We may have to make a similar decision, after you translate the Prophecy.”

  “Entirely too many people have been imbuing their life force in this and that to save the world, it seems,” Brohan acknowledged. “Let’s endeavor to see that practice ended, on our account.”

  Kassakan’s lips drew back over her teeth, and a soft hissing noise brewed in the back of her throat. Brohan turned the page, beginning his work under the assumption that she was either about to laugh or preparing to eat him. Either way, there was very little he could do to stop her.

  “Agreed,” Kassakan snickered – a deep baritone growl from her chest accompanied by an audible hiss from her nostrils.

  Upon hearing that rather disturbing sound, Brohan wondered if he might not rather have been eaten.

  The translation was only moderately challenging. He was fairly fluent in Askani, but had to work out pieces here and there that did not correspond to modern teaching of the old runes. Since it shared a root language with Old Dacadh, a language that he’d mastered, any such delay was not long. It was purely academic, and though he typically enjoyed such an exercise, he found each deciphered word only added to his unease. Kassakan sat unmoving, waiting and watching as he worked.

  At least she stopped laughing.

  “Well,” he sighed finally, rubbing his eyes as he finished the last page. He hadn’t bothered to transcribe it. All things considered, it seemed best to lock up the words in the safer vault of his memory than to chance any ink to page. “It isn’t long. The majority of it describes the signs and portents that will warn us of the impending doom they have named The Darkening, most of which we have missed already, apparently. Don’t come late to a coronation or a prophecy, if you want either to do you any good. There is but a page and a half that speaks of what Gai referred to, I think.”

  Kassakan waited, her silence pushing him on. Wit
h another sigh, a habit he was getting far too comfortable with, Brohan began his recitation.

  Fail, these troubled mortal realms of flesh.

  Their memory is too short,

  conceits too lame,

  to ford the broadness of their vanities.

  Prideful, they from heavens’ sight avert.

  With same scorn, star and moon withhold the shelter of their light.

  Under a baneful sky, tied by tide and astral night,

  speaks the Mouth of Shadow,

  turning gates and rending lattice.

  Now lets loose the flaming brand of war, to rage and burn,

  and sate Third’s thirst.

  Within such riven-time the darkest star,

  in siege of daylight, Dark’ning.

  Undying King and Deathless Queen contest to slip their boundary.

  Anduoun’s children wake, to feast,

  as fae on poison victory sup.

  Only the blood of the lion’s line,

  unseal immortal doom.

  Perish the prince, falter the Light,

  the bonesword brings the end of dreams.

  In a Pale Hand wielded, tis the death of all things.

  “At least its not in rhyming verse,” Brohan said, as he finished. “I detest that nonsense of Sumadrat and his like – cheap theatrics. Bad enough they won’t speak plainly, but to be so evasive yet so conscious of assonance is… asinine.”

  “What do you make of it, then?” Kassakan asked, stretching her arms high over her head.

  “Well, to begin with, the poetry is just awful, but perhaps it loses something in translation. As for the rest, well…” Brohan cleared his throat and tapped the table, unconsciously mimicking the habit of one of his favorite lecturers at the Bard College.

  “The first two lines, all that about vanity and the rather selective eyesight of the Star and the Moon – standard stuff, that. The gods are displeased, and we’ve all brought our fate on our own heads. You never hear a prophecy start with the gods were in error. If it’s good, thank the gods – but if it’s bad, it’s your own damn fault! So that much is established.

  “The second and third stanzas get more to the heart of the matter, if by roundabout means. The baneful sky… You said Gai mentioned Ebhan-nuád, specifically? It could be a reference to that.”

  Kassakan nodded.

  Brohan flinched at her quick acceptance. Somehow Calvraign’s fate was also tied to Ebhan-nuád. Is he caught up in this prophecy? Was that Greycloak’s purpose – to warn him of what’s to come?

  “Mouth of Shadow,” he mused, interrupting his own wandering thoughts. “That could be any number of –”

  “An iiyir well,” Kassakan supplied, “and a powerful one.”

  “Ah.” Brohan blinked. “That would explain turning gates and rending lattice, then. It refers to the Gates of Light, Dark and Shadow, and the lattice must be the ley lines that connect them. Like Mylyr Gaeal.”

  Again, a nod from the hosskan. “Yes. Take the Nexus to turn the tides. The flaming brand of war could then refer to almost any resultant conflict, in general, save for the mention of Third’s thirst.”

  “Third Son,” Brohan agreed. “Kazdann. There is no doubt there, but I am puzzled by the reference. Where there is war, there is always Kazdann. The question is whether he is a part of it, whether he has allied himself to the enemy of his own.”

  “He has no need to ally himself to relish the outcome, but I agree – the reference is vague as to his role.”

  “The third stanza then, where it names the riven-time specifically as the Darkening. This acts as our list of dramatis personae.

  “The Undying King is obviously Thar Malagch. He is known as such often enough. The Deathless Queen. I… I can only assume it refers to whom I hope it doesn’t. She of no name, the blight of dreams; in blackest tide of evernight; She, the Deathless Queen.”

  “The Nameless One,” Kassakan confirmed. “Neva Seough.”

  “I would just as soon let the Undying King contest his boundary. At least he was once mortal, as is his boundary. He seeks escape from Malakuur and conquest of the East, as he always has, to be sure. What seeks the Nameless One? Not a cup of tea, I’ll wager.”

  Kassakan offered no answer, so Brohan went on. “It also confirms the return of the andu’ai, with little useful elaboration. I admit to being puzzled by the reference to the fae. What their victory will be, and how it will be poisoned, we can only guess. It does seem to indicate that while the Old Foe shall return, the fae will be hard pressed to lend aid against them.

  “And this brings us to the final stanza.” Brohan paused for a moment, reciting the prophecy mentally to find his place. Kassakan waited without comment.

  “The blood of the lion’s line,” he scoffed. “A son of House Jiraud, of which only one survives. Prince Hiruld. We may as well call him the Chosen One. Only he can do this, and only he can do that. And then, of course, perish the prince – if he dies, the caution regarding the Pale Man and the rather ominous death of all things.”

  Brohan’s voice trailed off. Calvraign’s destiny was also tied up with the bearer of the bonesword. There are too many links between the lad and this prophecy. He will play a part in it, and not a minor one.

  The thought did not reassure Brohan in the least. It was not hard to piece together a few possibilities. He knew Calvraign and his boyish infatuation with the heroic. The lad wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his life for House Jiraud’s sole surviving prince if he thought it would make a difference. Greycloak’s words rattled in his head – or share your father’s fate.

  “This is all very depressing,” he finally stated. Kassakan had become distracted by something at the far end of the room, high on a shelf and behind a case of scrolls. “Aside from throwing in a brood of slaoithe or a flight of dragons, what else could there be to bring our doom? This is the end of an age. Perhaps even the end of all ages, if that’s not too dramatic.”

  “Ah!” Kassakan exclaimed, picking out a thin book that had been wedged behind the scroll case. The leather binding was blotched white with rot, and a musty stink followed her to the table. “Kieramnor’s Discourse on Shadow and Veil,” she said. “Another forbidden tome. I wonder if Guillaume knows how many illegal texts his lord high chamberlain has squirreled away up here.”

  “I would think he makes it his business not to know,” replied Brohan. “And fortunate for us it is, too.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she agreed. “I wonder though – do you think even this the true extent of Agrylon’s library?”

  Brohan watched the hosskan’s huge claws turn another page with the delicacy of a midwife cradling a newborn. “I should think not. I’ve known Agrylon for years, and sometimes I think I know him not at all. He’s a man of mixed motives, at best. In these times, our trust seems more thrust upon him than deserved.”

  Kassakan was bobbing her head in agreement absently, skimming through the pages of her book, searching out some small morsel of information within the feast of knowledge. “Here!” she proclaimed, tapping a page. “Ebhan-nuád is examined in great detail. This should prove quite helpful!”

  “Yes,” Brohan warned, “but Kieramnor’s studies drove him insane, or so the legends say. So read slowly and carefully.”

  “I will have to be more careful than slow, if I’m to find anything useful before Midride.”

  “Midride?” Brohan yawned, somewhat indelicately. “I’d think we could skip the feasting for this.”

  Kassakan stopped reading, closing the book as gingerly as she’d opened it moments ago. “The urgency, Master Bard,” she began, then shook her head. “Brohan, Ebhan-nuád is this coming Midride. The tides have already been turned. The Darkening is all but upon us.”

  Brohan felt the blood drain from his face so fast that he was almost dizzy. “What?”

  Kassakan shook her great snout side to side. “I assumed that Agrylon had already told you.”

  “By the gods,” whispered
Brohan, his wide open eyes staring past the hosskan at an invisible but awful realization. “He relayed the need to uncover the prophecy, but he didn’t elaborate.”

  Brohan covered his face in his hands, shutting out the light, the room, and his looming hosskan companion so he could think. It made so much sense, of course. Why else the cryptic ghostly warnings from Greycloak, if the doom he spoke of were so distant. Why else this rush of disparate but troubling events, each a tributary feeding into a torrent, then rushing on to violent conclusion like a river runs to the falls?

  Calvraign, he thought. Calvraign is in great danger now. There was no more time to puzzle this all out by himself, no more time for secrets. It was much too late for that now. Besides, he reasoned, if there’s one person I can trust…

  “Kassakan,” Brohan said, and he took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s something you should know.”

  The master bard explained all he knew about the lurking presence of Greycloak and the visions of Calvraign’s mother. He spared no details but wasted no time, relating the events as efficiently as possible. As a master storyteller, he could spin a tale of any length with clarity, and that experience served him well. The hosskan listened, quiet and intense. When Brohan had finished, she paused only to lick her teeth before responding.

  “The Pale Man intends to be busy this Midride,” she said. “But something isn’t as it seems. What threat does your apprentice pose their plans?”

  “I wish I knew,” Brohan answered. “He’s a remarkable young man in so many ways – intelligent, insightful, and compassionate. He has the makings of a fine warrior, too, if not the disposition. I’ve always wondered what was intended for him. I’m not so naïve that I believe my services were bought out of gratitude to Ibhraign alone.