Banewreaker(2)

Beyond the Sundering Sea.

Tanaros gripped the edge of the casement and looked west into the night. The low mountains surrounding Darkhaven rose in ridges, silvered by a waning moon. Far, far beyond, he could see the faintest shimmer of surging darkness on the distant horizon where the sea began. Below, it was quiet, only an occasional clatter to be heard in the barracks of the Fjeltroll, a voice raised to break the silence.

Above there was the night sky, thin clouds scudding, scattered with pinpricks of stars and the waning moon. As it was since time had begun, since Arahila the Fair had Shaped them into being that the children of Men might not fear the darkness.

No.

There… there. Low on the horizon, a star.

A red star.

It was faint, but it was there. Its light throbbed, faint and fickle, red.

Leather and steel creaked as Vorax levered his bulk to his feet, his breathing audible in the tower chamber; louder, as he saw the star and sucked his breath between his teeth with a hiss. "Red star," he said. "That wasn't there before."

Tanaros, who had not known fear for many years, knew it now. He let go the edge of the casement and flexed his hands, tasting fear and wishing for his black sword. "What is it, my Lord?"

The Shaper watched the red star flicker low in the distance. "A warning."

"Of what, my Lord?" The taste of fear in his mouth. "From whom?"

"My elder sister." The voice was as soft as a Shaper's could be, touched with ages of sorrow. "Oh, Arahila!"

Tanaros closed his eyes. "How can that be, my Lord? With the Souma shattered and Urulat sundered… how can it be that Arahila would Shape such a thing?"

"Dergail," said Vorax. "Dergail's Soumanie."

A chip of the Souma, long since shattered; a chip, Shaped by Haomane First-Born, Chief of Shapers, into a gem, one of three. It had been lost even before Tanaros was born, when Haomane sent his three Wise Counselors to make war upon his Lordship. The Counselor Dergail, who had borne the Arrow of Fire, had known defeat and flung himself into the sea rather than allow the gem or the weapon to fall into enemy hands. For over a thousand years, both had been lost.

"Yes," said Satoris, watching. "Dergail's Soumanie."

Tanaros' mouth had gone dry. "What does it mean, my Lord?"

Satoris Third-Born watched the red star, and the faint light of the waning moon silvered his dark visage. Calm, so calm! Unmoving, he stood and watched, while ichor seeped like blood from the unhealing wound he bore, laying a glistening trail down the inside of his thigh, never ceasing.

"War," he said. "It means war."

Footsteps sounded on the tower stair, quick and light, announcing Ushahin's arrival. The half-breed entered the chamber, bowing. "My Lord Satoris."

"Dreamspinner," the Shaper acknowledged him. "You have news?"

In the dim light, there was beauty in the ruined face, the mismatched features. The half-breed's smile was like the edge of a knife, deadly and bitter. "I have passed across the plains of Curonan like the wind, my Lord, and walked in the dreams of Men while they slept. I have news. Cerelinde of the Ellylon, granddaughter of Elterrion, has agreed to wed Aracus Altorus of the children of Men."

When a daughter of Elterrion weds a son of Altorus…

It was one of the conditions of Haomane's Prophecy, those deeds by which the Lord-of-Thought vowed Satoris would be overthrown and defeated, and Urulat reclaimed by the Six Shapers who remained.

Vorax cursed with a Staccian's fluency.

Tanaros was silent, remembering.

Aracus Altorus.

There had been another of that House, once; there had been many others, and Altorus Farseer first among them, in the First Age of the Sundered World. For Tanaros, born in the years of dwindling glory, there was only one: Roscus Altorus, whom he had called "King," and "my lord." Roscus, dearer to him than any brother. Red-gold hair, a ready smile, a strong hand extended to clasp in friendship.

Or in love, as his hand had clasped that of Tanaros' wife. Claiming her, possessing her. Leading her to his bed, where he got her with child.

Tanaros trembled with hatred.

"Steady, cousin." Vorax's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and there was sympathy in the Staccian's voice. They knew each other well, the Three, after so long. "This concerns us all."

Ushahin Dreamspinner said nothing, but his eyes gleamed in the dark chamber. Near black, the one, its pupil fixed wide; the other waxed and waned like the moon, set in a pale, crazed iris. So it had been, since the day he was beaten and left for dead, and Men said it was madness to meet his eyes. What the Ellylon thought, no one knew.

"My Lord Satoris." Tanaros found his voice. "What would you have of us?"