Fall of Light

by Steven Erikson

  Enough reason to flee this cursed place, as far as Bursa was concerned. When he had heard of the desertion of the battle’s survivors, he had not shared the outrage of the others. I would have done the same. I still might.

  The Vitr’s slow assault upon the lands of Kurald Galain now held for him all the urgency of death by old age. Nothing could stop it, after all, and its mysteries tasted stale. The Wardens were finished. The world felt bloodless, the future an empty expanse devoid of purpose.

  Beside him, Spinnock Durav leaned on the slumped bales that made up the fort’s wall. Like Bursa, he too stared at the dragon upon the edge of the grassline. ‘Seventy paces,’ he said. ‘More or less. Well, there are no caves anywhere nearby, are there? If the beast must hibernate …’

  Scowling, Bursa said nothing for a moment. It still astonished him, this new hatred he fostered for the young man at his side. Unreasoning as it was, he relished its intensity. Envy was wasted unless it could do damage. ‘It bears wounds,’ he said. ‘The demon does not hibernate. It simply recovers.’

  ‘Ah, well. No one has studied it as you have done, sir.’

  ‘You consider mine an unwise obsession?’ Bursa asked. ‘Do you imagine these flimsy walls of grass can defend us from that beast? It could kill us all, at any moment. Yet you and the rest – still we stay here. Yes, I study the creature, and be thankful that someone does. What we unleashed from the Vitr will haunt the Tiste, and perhaps see Kurald Galain laid to waste.’

  Spinnock was studying him in an odd, disquieting manner. ‘We released nothing, sir.’

  ‘A blunt denial,’ Bursa snapped, ‘soaked through with hope, but the facts will see it wrung dry. Indeed, it was you and Faror Hend and Finarra Stone. All of this, begun by your fumbling.’ After a moment, he shook his head. ‘But you, Durav, you simply followed. In truth, you are innocent enough.’

  ‘Your words surprise me,’ Spinnock said.

  ‘She asked me to guard you well, but that was in the world now dead. Where we are now, well, we are mere days from each going our own way. I have no desire to be your escort as you return to your family holdings. I have no desire to fall into your Houseblades, and start saluting you. Your noble blood earns nothing from me. I trust I am understood.’

  ‘She? Who?’

  ‘The women all lust after you, Durav. Something you’re used to, I suppose. They all yearn to protect you. When I look upon your future, I see you still a child, forever a child. Such is the fate of men like you.’

  Smiling, Spinnock Durav offered up a half-hearted salute, and then moved away, resuming his patrol of the walls.

  Those weak of mind hurried into old habits, finding solace in their familiarity. Walk the walls, Warden. Guard the fort. Such is your task. None of it mattered any more, and it took a quicker mind than Spinnock Durav’s to comprehend that everything had changed, that whatever had existed before was now irrelevant.

  I must ride from here. Perhaps tonight. Leave Calat Hustain to his grief. Clearly it has broken him. He still speaks of us as a company. All this talk of rebuilding, of rebirth. There is nothing left. See that dragon, Calat Hustain? This is our new future, as meat for its jaws, our flensed skulls to roll and jostle in its gut.

  Nine of them.

  They hunt me in my dreams, and this whispers to me of my fate. I run, in my arms the wealth of Kurald Galain. The crown, the sceptre, the coins tumbling from between my fingers. Then the shadow sweeps over me—

  Growling under his breath, Bursa shook himself to dispel the visions. He would leave tonight. It was not desertion. Like Spinnock Durav, Calat Hustain remained blind to the truths of this new, terrible world. He would find Savarro, Ristand and the others. Old Becker Flatt had said that there had been other survivors, other ragtag groups stumbling in, but they had elected to ride to the Hust Legion. They suffered from the fires of fury, and sought vengeance against Urusander’s Legion. Having fled their first battle, they now saw themselves as soldiers. They vowed that they would meet the enemy again, upon another field, and give answer with sword and lance.

  Idiots. No, Savarro had the right of it. Ride out, disappear into the mists. We were misfits. So we began, and into that miserable solitude we now return.

  Calat Hustain, you gave command of the Wardens to Lord Ilgast Rend. That was your first crime, and it remains unforgivable. Why you haven’t already taken your own life baffles me. Must someone do it for you?

  I would, if I cared. But I don’t. Better, I think, that you live, and so suffer guilt, year upon year, until its rot takes you from the inside out.

  A short time later Spinnock Durav returned from his circuit, now approaching Bursa from the other side of the walkway. ‘There will be more snow tonight,’ he said.

  Bursa grunted.

  Hearing sounds from the compound behind and below, both men turned to see Commander Calat Hustain emerging from the longhouse. Old Becker shambled at his side, struggling as he attempted to shrug into his armour, his sword-belt trailing from one hand.

  ‘Now what?’ Bursa asked under his breath.

  ‘Spinnock Durav!’ the commander called. ‘Attend to me. Bursa, remain upon the wall.’

  Aye, he’ll take the handsome one. He watched Spinnock clamber down the rope ladder, displaying nauseating agility.

  ‘Bursa.’

  ‘Commander?’

  ‘Observe well, should matters turn awry.’

  What new madness now afflicts you, Hustain?

  Once Spinnock joined them, they continued on to the gate, and moments later reappeared in the clearing, making directly for the slumbering dragon.

  Bursa’s mouth dried. His heart started a fierce hammering in his chest. He thought to cry out, voice his warning. He thought to shriek his sanity down to them – all this, even as he struggled against the impulse to flee. They’re welcome to die. It matters not to me. Finarra, your precious boy followed Calat Hustain. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. The commander ordered me to remain at my post. I could do naught but witness. I wish, oh, captain, how I wish I could say that he died bravely …

  The three Tiste had taken no more than a dozen paces when the dragon’s eyes opened and the creature lifted its head, the serpentine neck twisting as the beast fixed lambent eyes upon the intruders.

  Impossibly, it then spoke, with a voice that filled Bursa’s skull.

  ‘We will not return. Refuse us this freedom and we shall set aside our hate. We shall find our frenzy, and so awaken to this world Tiamatha. Upon this dread deed, all manner of dismay and disappointment will follow.’

  Commander Calat Hustain said, ‘Eleint. You misconstrue our purpose. We do not challenge your presence, nor your claim to freedom.’

  ‘This pleases me. What breed of creatures are you?’

  ‘We are Tiste Andii, of Kurald Galain.’

  ‘I see some advantage in your form. Less effort to fill your stomach. The bliss of modest shelter. A certain elegance in your crawl upon the ground.’

  ‘You emerged from the Vitr—’

  ‘Vitr! What giant ogre throwing stones has been whispering in your ear? Or, perhaps, some meddling Azathanai?’ The dragon lifted its head higher and seemed to sniff the air. ‘The Queen of Dreams haunts one of you. Poor bastard. But then, she failed the first time, yes?’

  ‘I do not understand,’ Calat Hustain said. ‘What can you tell us about the Vitr? How can we stop its advance?’

  ‘It advances upon this realm?’

  ‘It does. Slowly, but yes.’

  ‘There must be … a leak.’ The creature suddenly blurred, air swirling about it, lifting snow from the ground.

  Squinting, Bursa saw the dragon shrink, its form losing its original shape. The spinning snow settled, revealing a naked Tiste woman where the creature had been.

  She strode towards Calat, Spinnock and old Becker Flatt.

  She spoke out loud now. ‘You wear furs for warmth. Give me some. Also, I hunger. And suffer thirst.’ Then she pointed up to Bursa. �
��The Queen of Dreams sees me through his eyes. I care not. Horrid woman! Vile Azathanai! We threw your sister out. One of my kin then ate you – too bad he couldn’t keep you down!’ Returning her attention to Calat, she said, ‘Take me in. These things’ – she indicated her full breasts – ‘are turning into blocks of ice.’

  Gallant as ever, Spinnock removed his cloak and advanced. ‘Milady,’ he said. ‘This will keep you warm until we reach the longhouse.’

  Bursa saw her eyeing him, an appraisal he had seen before whenever a woman came face to face with Spinnock Durav.

  ‘Lovely,’ the woman said, taking the cloak and flinging it over one shoulder. ‘And … lovely.’

  Calat Hustain said, ‘Welcome. I am Commander Calat Hustain of the Wardens of Glimmer Fate. Do you have a name?’

  ‘Of course I have a name. Who doesn’t?’ She was still staring at Spinnock Durav, and then she smiled and stepped close to the young man. ‘My kind greet gallantry with a kiss,’ she said.

  ‘Indeed?’ Spinnock replied, and though Bursa could not see his face, the sergeant well knew that charming smile with which Durav answered her. ‘Snout to snout as it were?’

  ‘Never. You surmise truly. I just made that up. Still, do humour me.’

  ‘At the very least,’ Spinnock said, ‘before I offer up this kiss, tell us your name.’

  ‘Telorast.’

  Spinnock Durav stepped back and bowed to her. ‘Spinnock Durav. Calat you have met, and our companion is a veteran of the Wardens, Becker Flatt. And upon the wall behind us is Bursa.’

  Telorast glanced back up at Bursa. ‘Sweet dreams, Bursa?’

  He shook his head.

  Dragons are not bad enough, it seems. Now they must wield uncanny magic. And tell me I am possessed.

  She then took her kiss from Spinnock Durav, pressing her body against him as she did so.

  Calat Hustain stood to one side. Bursa delighted in the man’s discomfort. Yes, he does this, commander. You should have known better. After a moment, while Telorast continued to squirm against Spinnock Durav – even as the man now sought to prise her arms from around his neck – Calat swung round and shouted, ‘Open the gate! We’re coming in!’

  You forgot to add, ‘The dragon will be joining us for the evening meal.’ Commander, you will rue this gesture. Do I flee tonight? Or remain to satisfy my curiosity? One can hope she loses herself, and devours Durav in a single bite.

  Finarra, poor Spinnock Durav. The tale I have to tell you conjures a less than pretty scene …

  * * *

  The gate was pushed open, stuttering upon ridges of ice, until further movement was blocked by a heap of crusted snow. The opening it made was barely enough to emit the fur-wrapped figure that stumbled out to greet Kagamandra Tulas. Straightening, the figure squinted up at the lord, and then leaned back in through the gap. ‘Trout! Get that shovel – no, the one with the handle, fool. Be quick about it!’ Leaning back, the woman faced Kagamandra again. She dipped her head and said, ‘Milord, welcome home.’

  ‘Braphen, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, milord. ’Tis Braphen, acting castellan here at Howls. Milord, your arrival was unexpected. No advance rider reached us, alas, to announce your imminent return. I must confess to a laxity in the upkeep, within the main house, that is. Sealed against the winter, sir, and the like.’ She ducked her head a second time. ‘I submit my resignation, milord, for having failed you.’

  ‘Braphen,’ said Kagamandra, dismounting, ‘you’ve grown into a woman. You mentioned Trout? He remains, then. Good. I’m not interested in your resignation. There was no advance messenger. Castellan now? That will do.’

  While he spoke, Trout appeared with a battered shovel in his cloth-wrapped hands. Seeing Kagamandra, the old veteran nodded, and then turned his head to one side, and spat into the snow. ‘Sir,’ he said, and then he bent to the task of clearing the snow that blocked the gate.

  Castellan Braphen met her lord’s gaze, and shrugged. ‘He insisted I make him a captain, milord, or he’d leave. Same for Nassaras, and Igur Lout. Three captains, milord, to command the Houseblades.’

  ‘That many? Well. How many Houseblades do I have, then?’

  Braphen blinked, and then wiped her dripping nose with one forearm. ‘Well, that’s it, milord. Just the captains. The rest left when the orphans arrived. Headed west, I think. Sought to join Lady Hish Tulla’s Houseblades, on account of her being related to you and all.’

  ‘Hish Tulla is related to me?’

  ‘She isn’t, milord? The family names being so similar, people thought … well. Oh.’

  Trout had managed to work the gate open by now, following a frenzy of flinging wet snow, and Kagamandra led his horse into the compound beyond. The animal shied as it passed beneath the lintel stone and Kagamandra had to fight the beast to bring it in.

  ‘Abyss below,’ he hissed, startled by his mount’s sudden terror, ‘what ails you?’

  Braphen joined him, seeking to calm the animal. ‘It’s the orphans, milord.’

  ‘What orphans?’

  ‘Them as were gifted into your care, milord, by Lord Silchas Ruin and Captain Scara Bandaris. Hostages, actually.’

  Kagamandra said nothing. Trout arrived to take the reins, and led the frightened horse towards the stables.

  ‘I know, milord,’ said Braphen, now tugging the gate shut once more. ‘Trout’s gotten even uglier. We’re all agreed on that. Can’t say how, or what’s changed, but I wager your shock finds reason in his sorry visage. Alas, milord, it’s not a shock easily worn off.’

  ‘Silchas Ruin, you said. And Scara Bandaris? From whence come these hostages? More to the point, why give this estate a new name? And what manner of name is Howls?’

  Braphen studied him for a moment, wiping her nose once more. ‘You’ve not returned to take the charge of them, milord?’

  ‘No. I know nothing about any hostages. Braphen, my patience is – no, lead me inside. I’ve need of a meal. Tell me there are winter stores to suffice.’

  ‘Oh yes, milord. Plenty. We built us a new cold cellar, back near the old cistern, and it’s stocked full of carcasses.’

  ‘Near the cistern?’

  ‘The old one, I said, milord. I mean, the one we found when we started digging. Well, when Trout started digging. So we decided to stop digging. Trout did, rather. The new cellar is beside it, milord, dug into clean dirt. For the carcasses. A big cellar, sir, obviously. It’s not easy fitting fifty carcasses in anywhere.’

  ‘Fifty carcasses?’

  They had begun walking towards the main house. Kagamandra studied it with growing unease, as echoes of his father seemed to remain, ghostly, like stains upon the grey stones. The building looked smaller, ill fitting his memories.

  ‘For the hostages, mostly, milord.’

  ‘Excuse me, what is for the hostages, Braphen?’

  ‘The meat, milord. Goats and steers and mutton.’

  They ascended the ice-sheathed steps. Braphen edged ahead to open the door. ‘Milord, welcome back.’

  Three strides through, in the cloakroom, a grimy child stood as if awaiting them. He stared up at Kagamandra without expression. He was dressed in a tattered deerskin tunic, his lower legs bare and his feet stained black by ash and the greasy stone tiles.

  ‘Ah, one of my hostages? Very well.’ Kagamandra approached the child and reached out a hand to rest it upon the thin shoulder.

  The boy bared his teeth and growled.

  Kagamandra snatched his hand back.

  ‘Jhelarkan hostages, milord,’ said Braphen. ‘This one is named Gear.’

  ‘Silchas Ruin and Scara, you said?’

  ‘Yes, milord.’

  ‘I imagine neither has visited since delivering the hostages.’

  ‘No, milord.’

  ‘How many carcasses remain in that cellar?’

  ‘About two-thirds, milord.’

  ‘So there’s room for, say, two more?’

  Braphen frowned. ‘Mil
ord?’

  ‘Never mind. Do we have a cook, or do we all eat raw meat now?’

  ‘Igur Lout commands the kitchen these days, milord. You will find the hearth in the eating hall well lit, as it’s where he passes the nights, mostly. With the orphans sleeping during the days for the most part, it’s safer that way.’ She drew off her heavier furs now, and the contrast of her comfortable excess with Kagamandra’s own gaunt frame was startling. She interrupted his comparison by wiping her nose again. ‘I will inform Igur to prepare you a meal, milord.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Braphen.’

  Behind them, as Braphen set off for the kitchen, Trout arrived. Seeing Gear, he pointed a finger and said, ‘That’s the lord’s own horse in the stables, you understand? Keep your claws and fangs off it!’

  Gear spun and ran off down a corridor.

  Trout glared at Kagamandra. ‘Sir, I’m taking captain’s pay, just like the rest of us still here. Barring the castellan, of course. On account of the hostages.’

  ‘Understood, Trout. Now, join me in the dining room.’

  Trout hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Sir.’ He followed as Kagamandra made his way towards the central chamber.

  ‘And shed that miserable attitude of yours, will you? We’re old friends, you may recall. We fought side by side. We’ve seen the worst the world can offer.’

  ‘Shed, sir? Can’t be done. This miserable attitude is all I’ve got. Nothing underneath. Just something naked and ugly, and all the uglier for being naked. I’ve not changed at all, sir. And you, well, you look more like you than you ever did before. So yes, let’s have us a drink or two, sir. We can catch up. Shouldn’t take long. Igur’s not a bad cook, sir.’