Fall of Light

by Steven Erikson

  Caladan Brood hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘These daughters – the blood of their mother runs fierce within them. Since our arrival, I have felt them explore their power. This is a crowded keep, Anomander, and by that I do not mean those of flesh and blood as we find around us. Something else dwells here, and it knows I have come, and likes it not. Regarding Wreneck, however …’ He hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘He has acquired formidable protectors.’

  ‘All this mysticism tires me,’ Anomander said in a growl, reaching for a goblet. ‘This sorcery proves to be an insidious art, inviting the worst in us.’

  Though Ivis said nothing, Sandalath – who had been watching him – saw in his expression something sickly. ‘Master Ivis, are you unwell?’

  The man seemed to flinch at the question. He combed thick fingers through his greying beard, and then spoke. ‘This sorcery seems in step with our natural unravelling of decorum and decency,’ he said, eyeing Caladan Brood. ‘The forest is restless with earth spirits. I have seen with my own eyes the spilling of sacrificial blood, only it was no mortal doing the bleeding. High Mason, I am told your powers belong to the earth. What can you tell me of a goddess suspended above the ground on a bed of wooden spikes? Impaled through her body, even her skull, yet she lives, and speaks …’

  With the others, Sandalath stared at Ivis. The scene the man described horrified her, and upon his visage, now laid bare, was something both haunted and suffering.

  After a long moment of silence, Lord Anomander spoke. ‘Ivis, where did you find this … goddess?’

  Ivis started. ‘Milord? In the forest, a glade.’

  ‘Does she remain there?’

  ‘I do not know. I confess, I have not the courage to return.’

  ‘And she spoke to you? What did she say?’

  Frowning, Ivis glanced away. ‘That we shall fail in all that we do. The world changes and there will be no peace in what comes. What will be born anew will be as a babe atop a heap of corpses. A living crown,’ he concluded in a hoarse rasp, ‘upon dead glory.’

  With a muffled oath, Anomander rose to his feet. ‘Enough of this nonsense. You did not imagine this, Ivis? She is out there? I will speak with this goddess – I will defy these prophecies of failure and death.’ He drew his cloak about him. ‘Failing that,’ he added with a half-snarl, ‘I will end her torment.’

  ‘I sought the same, milord,’ Ivis said. ‘She mocked me for it. Remove the spikes and she will indeed die. To live, she must suffer, a goddess of the earth.’ He looked again to Caladan Brood. ‘As the earth suffers in turn.’ Facing Anomander once more, he said, ‘Milord, the Tiste are as talons carving through the flesh of the world. Every ragged furrow is a victory won. Every savaged span of flesh maps our progress – but it’s all for naught. When we kill what we stand on, it all ends, and whatever destiny we believed in for our kind is revealed as worthless.’

  By the time he was done, Ivis was trembling. He took hold of the wine jug and drank from its curled lip, spilling on to his shirt.

  Lord Anomander stood as if frozen in place. Then he swung to face the Azathanai. ‘What advice, High Mason, or has your tongue died in your mouth?’

  The Azathanai’s attention seemed to be fixed on the tabletop before him. ‘One in pain longs to share the suffering,’ he said. ‘Even a goddess. She has made artistry of despair and delights in an audience. Anomander, she will have nothing worthwhile to say to you. Indeed, she will deceive where she can. In any case, she is not real.’

  Ivis scowled. ‘I saw her—’

  ‘You walked into a dream, Master Ivis, but not one of your own making. There are places, in the wilderness, when the visions of the Sleeping Goddess become manifest. Most often, they are caught from the corner of the eye, a flash, something blurred or hinted at. If violence attends her dreaming, however, they can sustain themselves, even unto an exchange of words.’ He rolled his shoulders in an odd shrug. ‘But most often, they appear as beasts. Hounds, or demonic cats with red eyes—’

  ‘An impaled goddess?’

  ‘Hers is an uneasy sleep, Master Ivis. In any case, none here can deny the wounding done to the earth in these Tiste lands. The assault has been savage and sustained, and the wilderness dies. Here, in this place, the Sleeping God does indeed bleed from wounds. Every wooden spike marks a triumph of progress.’ He lifted his gaze to Anomander. ‘Would you now undo all that has been achieved in the name of civilization?’

  Anomander’s eyes flattened as he studied the Azathanai. ‘Should I walk out from this keep on this night, I have that power? Should I find this goddess? Speak the truth now, Brood, if you would earn my respect.’

  The High Mason’s broad face seemed to stretch as the Azathanai bared his teeth, revealing long canines. ‘Arrogance does not intimidate me, Rake, as you well know by now. Presumption, even less so. Upon my answer hangs all respect? But what if the answer displeases you? What manner of friendship do you seek?’

  ‘Then quest through the stones of this keep, and tell us what dwells here,’ Anomander said. ‘Between us,’ he added in a bitter tone, ‘only one of us has been free with admissions of weakness and flaw. Or shall I assume you perfect?’

  Caladan Brood slowly closed his eyes. ‘Then I shall say it plain. Unleash me upon this keep, and few shall survive the night. If I awaken my power, I will be a lodestone to the daughters of Draconus, and to the host of forgotten gods protecting young Wreneck, and to whatever other entity hides here. Sorcery will feed upon sorcery. Come the dawn, this estate and most of the lands of Lord Draconus could well be a scorched ruin.’

  ‘Now who mocks with bravado?’

  At that, Caladan Brood rose. ‘You’ll sting me awake, Anomander? So be it then.’

  * * *

  ‘He’s mine!’

  Sleepily, Wreneck opened his eyes. The back of his head ached and something made the hair sticky in that place, where it rested upon cold flagstones. Blinking, he stared up at a low ceiling of black stone slick with mould. Both shoulders were pressed against gritty walls, as if he’d been thrown into a sarcophagus. He struggled to sit up, only to be roughly pushed back by a naked heel slamming into his chest.

  ‘Stay there, fool!’

  Envy moved into a crouch above him, her knees on his chest. ‘Say nothing,’ she continued in a harsh whisper. ‘We’re between the walls. People might hear us. If they do, we’ll have to kill you.’

  ‘They’re nowhere close,’ hissed another voice, from somewhere behind Wreneck. ‘That was the muster bell we heard. Everybody’s rushed down to the main hall. Listen – not a sound now. But I heard the main doors slam.’

  ‘That was the demon pounding on the door,’ Envy replied.

  ‘No it wasn’t.’

  ‘You’re bleeding from your ears, Spite, on account of me bashing your skull. It’s no wonder you’re hearing things.’

  ‘It was the main doors. I don’t think anyone’s left in the house.’

  ‘They wouldn’t do that. Why would they do that? We’ve got a hostage!’

  ‘He’s nothing. Worthless.’

  ‘If he was yours, Spite, you wouldn’t be saying that. But he’s mine. My slave. My first one, and you can’t have him. I’m ahead of you now and that’s what you hate the most, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’ll kill him before I let you take him as your slave!’

  ‘Too late!’

  Envy scrambled upright to stand on Wreneck’s chest. She weighed almost nothing. Suddenly angry, Wreneck reached up and grasped Envy’s ankles. He lifted and then pushed her up and over his head. Her shriek was cut short as she collided with her sister. The two fell to fighting again.

  Rolling on to his side and then on to his stomach, Wreneck drew his hands and knees under him and pushed himself upright, twisting round to watch the sisters beating at each other with fists and knees.

  The girls suddenly ceased their thrashing. Both glared up at him.

  ‘Kill him now,’ said Spite. ‘If you don’t, I will.’
/>
  ‘No you won’t. He’s mine.’

  ‘Just kill him, Envy!’

  ‘Fine, I will, then.’

  At that instant, it seemed that the entire house lurched to one side. Groaning, the stones of the walls spat out grit and dust. Howling filled Wreneck’s skull and he clutched the sides of his head.

  Spite’s eyes were suddenly wide. ‘What was that?’

  Wreneck forced words past his clenched jaw. ‘The Azathanai,’ he said, finally making out the inchoate screaming of the dying gods. ‘The High Mason, who built this house. And made the Sealed Chamber, though he didn’t know what Draconus wanted it for. Someone’s been feeding what’s been trapped inside that room. Feeding it with bad thoughts, making it stronger. But now the wards are collapsing, and it’s trying to get out.’

  Spite loosed a terrified squeal, pulling away from Envy. ‘We have to get out of here!’

  She fled up the narrow passage. A moment later, with a final glare back at Wreneck, Envy followed her.

  The roar of voices dropped off, leaving only moaning echoes draining like water through Wreneck’s thoughts. Nauseous, one shoulder rubbing against the stone wall, he set off in the direction opposite that taken by the sisters.

  The Azathanai was the only person in the house barring Wreneck, Envy and Spite. Everyone else was gone. The dying gods began muttering again, urging him onward. He reached a junction in the passageway and saw thin lines of light on the wall opposite. A moment’s fumbling in the gloom found the latch. With a click the door opened, grating on stone ball-joints, revealing a room beyond that Wreneck was unfamiliar with. He stumbled in, letting the door swing back.

  Still dazed, he looked round. A low, long table dominated the centre of the chamber, hewn from a single block of wood, with gutters carved down the length of its long sides. Small buckets hung from hooks at the corners. Along one wall were a half-dozen rows of pegs, from which depended small iron tools – small-bladed knives, gouges, wood-handled saws, clamps and awls.

  The air smelled of something bitter.

  A faint shriek sounded, but it seemed far away, so he decided to ignore it. He crossed the room until he stood before the tools. He selected one of the small knives. The blade was surprisingly sharp, and Wreneck wondered what this room was for, with the strange table and its buckets.

  A proper door opened out on to a corridor. It told him little – he was not even sure what floor he was on. Choosing a direction at random, he set off, the dying gods gibbering in his head.

  * * *

  They were gathered in the barracks. The alarms had roused the Houseblades and Ivis was pleased to find them mostly dressed and properly kitted when he led his group into the main dining hall, and now the hearth blazed with fresh wood and the bitter cold was being driven back.

  Lord Anomander remained near the door, as if still of a mind to set out into the fangs of the storm, seeking his audience with the impaled goddess. Sandalath, accompanied by Yalad and Surgeon Prok, had taken a chair closer to the hearth. Ivis eyed the trio as he was joined by his lieutenant.

  ‘Orders, sir?’

  ‘What? No. Yes. Have your soldiers preparing kits – enough to support us should we need to evacuate the grounds.’

  ‘Sir? Are we under attack?’

  ‘Unknown,’ Ivis replied. ‘Possibly. I know, it’s a beastly storm out there, but we can find shelter in the wood if need be. Go on, Marak. Food, water, winter clothes, blankets, tents and cookware.’ Without awaiting a reply, he walked over to the hearth.

  ‘Milady, Caladan Brood will find Wreneck. You can be sure of that.’

  ‘What makes you so certain?’ Sandalath asked. ‘He forced us out into the cold, Ivis. He warned us against destruction – my child is in there! I do not trust these Azathanai. Their hearts are cold, their eyes like stone. Oh, where is Lord Draconus? This is all his fault!’

  Yalad stood. ‘Master Ivis, I would like to volunteer to return to the main house. It may be that the High Mason has his hands full with those two witches. Wreneck could well find himself trapped between warring magicks – who will consider the worth of such a small life?’

  Ivis twisted round, saw that Anomander was now watching them.

  After a moment, the lord strode over. ‘Sand,’ he said, moving to crouch opposite and taking one of her hands in both of his. ‘There is indeed something cruel in this new age of sorcery. But I have travelled with Brood for some time now. When we first found Wreneck, the lad was near death. It was Caladan who prepared a reviving broth for the child. Not the act of a heartless man.’

  Sandalath leaned forward. ‘Milord, you know my trust in you is absolute. If you assure me, then I must be satisfied.’

  Yalad said, ‘Master Ivis—’

  ‘Attend to Lady Sandalath, gate sergeant.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Thunder shook the building, eliciting shouts of surprise. Anomander moved quickly back to the door that faced on to the parade ground. A sudden flash of actinic light lanced through the shutters, followed by a second eruption that sent shards of stone hailing down on the barracks roof. Soldiers cursed, reaching for their weapons.

  ‘Lieutenant Marak! Take four squads to the stables and start saddling the horses – Horse Master Venth, prepare to take the mounts out to the summer drill-ground. If we have to, we’ll see them sheltered in amongst the trees.’

  Ivis watched as the Houseblades steadied themselves, with Marak moving among them, and then he joined Anomander at the door. ‘Milord, your friend did not exaggerate, did he?’

  The First Son had pushed open the door, enough to look out. Snow spun in around him with something like anger, as if the wind itself was outraged. ‘An outer wall has buckled,’ he said quietly. ‘The roof above it simply exploded. But now … nothing.’

  ‘Milord—’

  Anomander punched a fist against the wooden frame of the door. ‘Abyss take this sorcery, Ivis! I feel helpless against such powers. What city can stand against such a thing? What throne is safe, when the air itself can be made to burn? Is this what Urusander will deliver to the battlefield?’

  ‘If he does, milord, then we must answer in kind.’

  ‘And who among us can?’

  Ivis had no answer. He could see, in the courtyard beyond, a scatter of broken stone and shattered roof tiles on the snow. To the right of the main entrance, the wall was no longer vertical. Massive stones now bulged outward. The guest antechamber. Where the low peaked roof had been was now a gaping space, jutting roof beams lifting splintered fists into the spinning snow.

  ‘That tower, there, Ivis, to the left—’

  Ivis shifted his gaze, and then blinked. Steam or smoke was pouring from its sides, through countless fissures between the stones, but there was no hint of flames or any other source of light. He shook his head. ‘That tower, milord … there is a chamber there, a locked door. All are forbidden to enter.’

  Anomander half drew his sword, and then let it slide home again. ‘Does my courage falter here, Ivis?’

  ‘Milord, wisdom alone keeps you here. When you can do nothing against such forces, what point in sacrificing your life?’

  Anomander barked a bitter laugh. ‘Ah, yes, this wise lesson here. If you would hold your enemy at bay, trapped into helplessness, chained to what cannot be known, only feared … why, I begin to comprehend a tactical value to sorcery, beyond its actual manifestation. The question remains, alas: how does one answer it? How does one defeat it? Pray, Ivis, offer me a soldier’s answer.’

  ‘How have we ever answered such impossible risks, milord? We march forward, under whatever hail awaits us. We bare teeth at the enemy, even as they damn us for our temerity. A true soldier, milord, will never bow to sorcery – this I now believe.’

  Anomander grunted. ‘I can almost hear Scara Bandaris, in his manner of laughing when nothing works. I remember, the day we faced the last Jhelarkan horde … “War?” he cried. “Why, another name for shit, my friends. So now, keep your heads ab
ove the flood and swim for your fucking lives!”’

  ‘Then, milord,’ said Ivis, ‘if you’ll step to one side and give me leave, I have a boy to find.’

  The gaze of the First Son was suddenly bright, even as he moved aside. ‘Do not tarry overlong, my friend, lest you force me to come and get you.’

  ‘My charges, you and them, milord. My responsibility.’

  Another detonation shook the grounds, another sudden flash, this time from the east tower. The squat structure wavered, tottered like a drunk on a bridge. Shutters fell away from the narrow windows.

  ‘Milord, I beg you, do not come after me. If I do not return, take command of the Houseblades.’

  ‘Best hurry, Ivis. This night seems fraught with grand gestures. I will watch. I will abide, as only a humbled man can.’

  Nodding, and without a glance back at Sandalath, Ivis set out across the snow-sculpted, shard-studded compound.

  * * *

  Envy limped up the dust-filled corridor. She’d hurt the bastard, but there were lessons still to be learned. Standing there, admiring the effects of her ambush, had been a mistake. His retaliation had the feel of a backhanded swing – though he stood across the dining chamber, ten or more paces distant. The power that had struck her had been shocking in its breadth, its vicious might. Perhaps more surprising, however, was that she had survived being flung through a solid stone wall to land amidst rubble in the antechamber. Stunned, staring upward, she had only vaguely comprehended the imminent collapse of the roof – which would surely have buried her. A savage pulse of power had sent the roof up and out. Sudden cold flooded in. Shivering, she had crawled out from the wreckage, one knee throbbing and barely able to take her weight.

  The Azathanai had set off after Spite.

  You think you finished me? You didn’t. I’m not one to be ignored, fool, as you shall discover!

  She edged along the corridor, with fires dancing along her limbs to keep her warm.

  Father’s poor house, all ruined. See what neglect gets you?

  An eruption of sorcery shook the house again, like a god’s fist, and Envy gasped at her sister’s sudden, terrible shriek.