Gurt shook his head. Whatever these things were, they were hard and cold and blood-mad as the Protectorate, but they'd come garbed for war, and the bastards were full of magic Gurt didn't even begin to understand.
'Look,' said Perr. Gurt craned his head to the sky, where Perr pointed.
It seemed the red light in the sky that looked so much to his eyes like some angry storm was...excited...becoming darker and harder until it was no longer day, or night, but everything was red and hot like fire and blood.
'The light...the light's getting...don't know...but the battle's doing something to the light.'
Those awful warriors were now visible, in the midst of the huge army, striding around, untouchable. They carved bodies or burned them, cleaved heads from shoulders with dread swords, send cracking light blasting through the Protectorate ranks.
In return, power poured from the Protocrats at the armoured warriors and simply...bounced back.
'They're invincible.'
'I think...I think this is what they want...' said Gurt, his voice hard and hoarse with sorrow and the smoke of a thousand burning warriors. 'I think this is it. Gods, Perr...I think this is the end of the world...'
Maybe he was right. Death, pain, agony; all reached some kind of peak, almost like it was a tangible thing, a golem made of base emotions that reached a great hand up to the sky. And the red light...it felt it, too. The light leached downward from the skies and joined with the armoured warrior with a terrible, rending screech that could be heard for hundreds of miles.
Gurt and Perr were blown from their horses. They flew backward, through the air. Gurt didn't see anything after that.
In a mere instant, he felt his bones crack and his old, yellow teeth shatter. He hit the sand, and the sand was hard as rock, and then, thankfully, his vision turned black.
*
Chapter Twenty-Five
Being down in the dark didn't bother Renir. He'd known darkness before.
No more than a day, he figured, since he'd been taken from his room to this one, deep below the city...if he was even beneath the city any longer. The room was dark enough that his eyes hadn't adjusted at all. There was not even the tiniest sliver of light to help.
There was a bed, of sorts, though he dare not let himself sleep on it. The blackness here was so absolute he imagined never waking, or if he did, that he would find something crawling over him, on worse, in him.
When he roamed from his careful perch on the edge of the musty bed, he found very little. He skinned his knee on a piece of furniture, low down. The wood had been cold, with a hint of damp, but not rotted.
All in all, he had the sense that this was a room that had not been used in a long, long time...and that it was somewhere low and deep. No sense of warmth, no breeze, and utterly dark as though the sun had never been here. That, and the fact that he had been carried ever downward.
But was this black cage any worse than his room in the castle? What difference did it make where he was held prisoner? Was one gaol worse than another?
I sincerely hope not, he thought, but from the sound of the footsteps coming closer, it seemed he was about to find out.
*
Renir had no idea how Roskel Farinder achieved his capture. One moment, he'd been reaching for Haertjuge, ready to kill. Next he knew, the man had him over his shoulder, and was striding down a long, long flight of stairs. Renir didn't understand how he could not leave the room, yet this Farinder tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and just went wherever the hell he wanted.
Renir shouted, at first, shouted for the Sard, his keepers or gaolers (he hadn't decided which) but the thief merely told him to shush. The thief had not panicked. Nor did the man sound breathless, as you would imagine someone might, carrying a grown man on their shoulder while heading down a long flight of steps.
The steps must have been in my room, though Renir. Could've got out all along, had I but known...
Stupidly, Renir struggled for some minutes. The man didn't flinch, didn't slow, just...ignored Renir. Maybe held him a little tighter, but only to stop Renir falling...more like he was concerned Renir would do damage to his own person, rather than the thief being concerned for his own health. At one point Renir managed to grab at the thief's eye, but he simply slapped Renir's hand away and made a noise in the back of his throat, like he was disappointed. 'Tsk,' or some approximation.
Renir felt...emasculated. It wasn't like the thief was particularly muscular, even. The man was all bone. The worst discomfort, Renir realised after he'd ceased struggling, was the man's bony shoulder digging into his midriff.
Eventually, Renir resigned himself to being carted down to the basement of the castle, to find out what new twist fate had stored down there among the wine barrels and mouldering vegetables.
But he was, yet again, wrong.
Farinder wasn't taking him to the lower castle. Not to the stores, or the dungeons, but...deeper.
How deep?
Renir couldn't imagine. They journeyed down an endless succession of steps. A sense, later, of pure dark. The thief knew his way well, it seemed. Never lit a torch, but carried on for what might have been hours, even, with the dead weight of Renir on his bones like he wore no more than maybe a thick winter coat. Renir began to sweat, at one point, though Farinder did not. Then, he became cold, and frightened, and at one point Renir was ashamed to find that he'd actually fallen asleep.
He tried talking to the man, but perhaps his hood upon his head was enchanted in some way, for the thief gave no indication that he heard anything other than his own footsteps...and so thinking, Renir realised that he couldn't actually hear the man's footsteps. The feel of impact in his middle, right up through the thief's shoulder (which now, after so long, was beginning to hurt him) but no sound of footfalls.
Then, without warning, the thief Farinder swung Renir down, onto his feet, and whipped away the hood from his head.
'We're here. Sorry, not quite the introduction we'd hoped, but...times change.'
Renir blinked and blinked, but there was no light. He couldn't even tell where the man was, where his own hands were, for that matter. He could see absolutely nothing, so pitch the darkness he might well have been blind.
The thief was still talking. 'I'd prefer a warmer welcome. Maybe some light, eh? Wine, dancing girls...a bit of flair...but...times change.'
'Where am I?' said Renir.
'Where it all began, I think,' said Roskel Farinder, thoughtfully. 'As it should be.'
'What do you want with me?'
'She'll tell you, soon enough. Make yourself comfortable. Won't be long.'
'Who? Who am I meeting?'
He asked again, but there was no one there. One moment, the thief had been before him, then...nothing.
He was left alone, blind, in the dark.
I didn't even hear him go. Did he go?
It took Renir maybe an hour, searching around the windowless room in the blackness, to be sure the man had really gone.
A man could go mad, he thought. Wondered if he hadn't already.
*
Footsteps? Must be the woman Farinder was referring to...because he didn't make a sound, did he? What kind of man makes no sound...none at all...unless he wants to?
What kind of man needs no light?
The footsteps, soft, unhurried, came closer.
Not confident, though, Renir realised now that his hearing was his main sense. Pausing. Walking. Then moving on again, just a little way. The person was searching, struggling with the dark, just like him.
Someone out there in a corridor, probably. Corridors were usually outside rooms, right?
I'm not mad, thought Renir. Not at all.
He reminded himself that whatever came, whatever this woman was, he had to remember, she and the thief...they were not his friends. No matter how polite a jailer, a prison was the same wherever, and a captive no different in a King's quarters or in a musty, forgotten room below the dirt.
/> The footsteps came closer and closer, pausing, searching, and then a sound, like the grating of stone-on-stone, swiftly followed by instant blinding light.
I thought the light would be a relief, he thought, pain lancing through his eyes and into his brain.
'Renir?' said someone outside the agony of the sudden light hitting his eyes.
I know that voice...
'Lady A'm Dralorn?'
Renir blinked and rubbed at his eyes. It took some moments before he could see, and there she was. Tirielle held a torch in her small fist. His eyes recovered. She was dusty and looked as tired as he probably did. But then she looked past him, to where the musty bed was, and Renir turned as saw what she looked at, too.
It took all of Renir's effort not to piss himself, for one instant, in the new light, he saw something terrible had been there in the dark with him all along, sitting up in bed like some awful cadaver. In the next instant, his eyes adjusted and the trick, the confusion, was gone.
The lady on the bed was simply stunning. The most beautiful creature he'd ever seen in his life.
How could I ever think...he thought...but then he could not remember where that thought was going, because the woman on the bed spoke and her voice filled Renir's mind with clouds and cobwebs, but light things that were full of beauty.
'Renir Esyn, how kind of you to come. And Tirielle A'm Dralorn, too...you are a surprise. Don't worry, I haven't had my way with the young man,' said the vision on the bed. 'I waited for him on the bed, but he was such a gentleman.'
The woman slid from the bed (not musty, not at all...smooth, silky sheets, Renir saw now...how could I ever have been mistaken?) and with a simple gesture she lit a candle beside the bed.
The light from Tirielle's torch and the candle finally blew away the cobwebs from Renir's mind. The room was opulent. The woman who came from the bed to stand before him took his breath away. He couldn't help staring, but with the greatest effort he'd ever put into anything he managed to turn his gaze from her to the floor.
'Thank you...for the welcome?'
The woman laughed and the sound was like rain on a still, clear pond.
Tirielle, beside him, did not seem quite as enamoured as he.
'Are you a witch?' she said, simply. Renir's jaw dropped open, but the woman merely smiled.
'Tirielle A'm Dralorn...who could have guessed? You have the sight...and you heard me, did you?'
Tirielle nodded, watching the woman warily. 'I did...I...heard you. Above.'
'Then you are witch-kin, too.'
'Then you are? You really are a witch?'
The beautiful woman nodded, Renir closed his mouth lest he drool at the sight. Things moved about the woman (she's barely wearing any clothes!) that made a man a fool.
'I am Selana. And I'm not a witch, Lady A'm Dralorn. I'm the witch. '
*
Chapter Twenty-Six
Selana sat once more upon her bed and it sighed. She watched them, watching her.
The woman didn't trust her, that much was obvious. The king-in-waiting...he was like a dog after a bitch. Man gets any hotter, his tongue is liable to loll out.
'Stay a while. Sit. I've a tale to tell and so few visitors.'
Roskel Farinder silently entered the room and just as quietly placed a chair behind each. As he passed, he gentle closed Renir's mouth and whispered something in his ear. She heard, of course she did. Selana's hearing, like so much else, was astounding.
Renir looked around, surprised, like a man waking. Well, he was...waking from a spell.
Selana made an effort to seem more...normal. Poor man. She knew her limits, just as she knew most mens'. Sometimes they surprised her.
Roskel winked at her, sliding himself against a wall to listen.
Yes, sometimes a man came along who could handle her, she thought. Maybe two in all her years in her life. One kin, and oddly, one mortal. Roskel was rare indeed. Rare enough she'd kept him around a thousand years.
While she thought and observed, Renir shook his head, trying to clear it of the fugue within which she had momentarily placed him.
'Don't think too hard, my King. Just listen a while...you, too, Tirielle A'm Dralorn. You came down here, heard my voice. Few could ever do as such, and now? Maybe only one or two across this wide world. Listen, learn. There is time, perhaps...but not much, I fear. Men think they hold the world in their palm, but they do not. There is much they do not see. Caeus, too.'
'You know...'
'Shush, man, and listen.' Roskel didn't move. He didn't need to. Renir closed his mouth, once again.
'He's powerful, alright, but in the way of men. He's all fire and showing off. Women...we're different. You, Tirielle...I...the girl child you knew as Sia, gone now...we see things to which Caeus is blind. They are here, you know...the Elethyn. He thought to stop them coming here, but he could not. He never could.
'It was always going to be this way. Men think with their strength. They try to make the world like...a battlefield. Something to whack into shape with brawn and steel. Never thinking that perhaps some things cannot be changed. The turning of the world, the cycles of a woman, the ebb and flow of the sea. Men fight what we accept. They strike, we flow. The Elethyn are here. Caeus will not defeat them. Nor will you, Renir Esyn, no matter what Caeus believes. A king to unite the people, yes...but to win out against the Sun Destroyers?'
Selana shook her head. 'Folly. Always was. Now? Even more so. As we speak, the Elethyn rampage across your land, Tirielle A'm Dralorn. They are invincible. They wear armour that belongs to history, armour no harm can pass. They travelled upon waves of light, in ways you could not imagine, and that light sank into those they left behind for the very purpose of holding their souls. The Hierarchy, once stronger than your hated Protectorate are now no more than vessels for the Elethyn. The Hierarchy and the Protectorate both are no more...vanquished in less than a day, though ordained for millennia...'
'No more?' said Tirielle, her voice soft and...awestruck? Sorrowful? For a moment, even Selana found herself unable to read Tirielle.
But no matter...the woman grieves, no doubt, for the loss of her revenge.
Selana nodded again, watching the woman's face, looking for triumph and seeing none.
Good. The woman understands that it is no victory, merely that a terrible foe has been replaced with something infinitely worse.
'Caeus is and ever was a fool. A sweet fool, and one who I once held dear. But once a fool, always, no?'
Roskel grunted. Selana shot him a look and he merely winked back again, and twiddled his long moustaches at her. She shot him a look, but he simply shrugged.
Once more, she turned her attention to Tirielle and Renir.
'This is no war to be won with some heroic battle. It is an endless war. All war is endless, a cycle, no different to any other. The victors rule until they, too, are ploughed under the weight of history. Another takes their place...they strive for greatness, or power, or to be remembered. But nations and kings are all just waves, breaking on the shore.
'The Elethyn are the shore, Renir Esyn. You, the Order of the Sard, Caeus, even...you are but waves.'
'Then it is hopeless?' asked Renir.
Selana smiled. To the King-to-be's credit, his voice did not waver.
'Sometimes,' she said, 'Waves can breach the shore, yes? Once, you were a fisherman, Renir. You understand the tides and the power of the sea.'
'I'm confused,' Renir said, and Selana held in her laugh, because she did not want to taunt the man. He was earnest, and honest, and bold and brave. Simple, perhaps. Everything her consort was not, and somehow all the more human for it. If there was one thing her and Caeus had in common, it was a soft place in their terrible hearts for human kind.
'I should imagine you are. But does the wave concern itself about the weight of the entire ocean? No. It is a wave, and it can be a beautiful and powerful thing. Renir Esyn, soon you will be king. You will be that wave. A rather large one.'
Selana made a simple gesture, her hand, up and down.
'Nevermind, Renir. Take each day, each battle, as they come. You are a good, honest, man. Maybe you'll be able to do what other, wiser, dishonest men failed at so well and often. Rule this land. Hold this land. Fight. You must, above all, fight.'
'If we can't win?'
'Haven't you been listening?!'
Renir shrugged. 'I have. I confess, too many similes for my taste.'
Roskel barked a laugh from where he rested, one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. Even Selana smiled.
'We fight because we must. This is what we do. You are no longer a fisherman, Renir. You are a warrior. You are a king.'
'No crown, though.'
'I can remedy that,' said the thief with a sly, yet sad, grin.
'You have a crown?' said Tirielle.
Farinder shook his head. 'Not a crown, young lady. I have the Crown. The Crown of Kings, the only symbol of power that ever mattered to this land, the only one that ever ruled this land. Since the days of the first people, when humankind came across the sea and settled Sturman shores. The crown worn by the first king...and the last. Until now, maybe.'
'Where is it?'
'On the last king's head still, I should think. Died a thousand years ago.'
'You know where?'
'I should,' said Roskel with a grin that did not, for once, touch his eyes. 'It was I who laid him to rest.'
*
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gurt wondered if he was dead. If he was, it was strange and somehow soothing. Rain fell onto his face. He found he could not open his eyes - his eyelids were burned, crusted with sand and blood and smoke. Stinging, yes, but the pain was lost in a sea of pain, like his body was an ocean full of agony. The loss of sight was nothing compared to it.
Must have been damn hot. His armour still sizzled, cooling in the blessed rain. Something, either his back or his ribs, grated. He tried to move his fingers, or his toes, starting out with something small, but could not even decided if he had managed that small feat.
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