Banewreaker(28)

"I was stabbed with this dagger." Lord Satoris reached out a hand, penetrating the blue-white fountain, and the flames grew tinged with darkness. "Thus." His forefinger touched the crudely rounded knob that formed Godslayer's hilt. Tanaros hissed through his teeth as the dagger's light convulsed and the scar of his branding constricted. "To this day, the pain endures. And yet it is not so great as the pain of my siblings' betrayal."

"My Lord." Tanaros drew a deep breath against the tightness in his chest. On the eve of war, he asked the question none of the Three had voiced. "Why did you refuse Haomane's request?"

"Brave Tanaros." The Shaper smiled without mirth. "There is danger in conversing with dragons. I saw too clearly the Shape of what-would-be if my Gift were withdrawn from Men, uncoupled forever from the Gift of thought. Out of knowledge, I refused; and out of love, love for Arahila, my Sister. Still." He paused. "What did Haomane see, I wonder? Why did he refuse my Gift for his Children? Was it pride, or something more?"

"I know not, my Lord," Tanaros said humbly.

"No." Considering, Lord Satoris shook his head. "I think not. My Elder Brother was ever proud. And it matters not, now." His hand tightened on Godslayer's hilt. "Only this. Haomane seeks it, my General. That is what it comes to, in the end. Blood, and more blood, ending in mine—or his."

"My Lord!" Tanaros gasped, tearing at his chest.

"Forgive me." The Shaper withdrew from the marrow-fire, his hands closing on Tanaros' upper arms. The power in them made Tanaros' skin prickle. "Would you know what is in my heart?" he asked in a low voice. "I did not choose this, Tanaros Blacksword. But I will not go gently, either. Any of them… any of them!" He loosed his hold and turned away. "Any of them could cross the divide," he said, softly. "Any of the Six. It is theirs to do, to defy Haomane's will, to risk mortality. If they did…" He smiled sadly. "Oh, Arahila! Sister, together, you and I…"

Catching his breath, Tanaros bowed, not knowing what else to do before such immeasurable sorrow. "My Lord, we will do our best to deliver you Urulat."

"Urulat." The Shaper gathered himself. "Yes. Urulat. If I held Urulat in my palm, would it be enough to challenge Haomane's sovereignty?" His laughter was harsh and empty. "Perhaps. I would like to find out."

"It shall be yours, my Lord!" Tanaros said fiercely, believing it, his heart blazing within him like the marrow-fire. "I will make it so!"

Blood yet unshed dripped between them.

"Tanaros." His name, nothing more; everything. The touch of the Shaper's lips on his brow, chaste and burning. It had been his Gift, once. The quickening of the flesh, joyful blood leaping in the loins. A crude Gift, but his, cut short by Godslayer's thrust. "May it be so."

"My Lord," Tanaros whispered, and knew himself dismissed.

As he took his leave, Lord Satoris turned back to the marrow-fire, gazing at it as if to find answers hidden in the ruby shard. The Shaper's features were shadowed with unease, a fearful sight of itself. "Where is your weapon Malthus, Brother, and what does he plot?" he murmured. "Why must you force my hand? I did not Sunder the world. And yet I have become what you named me. Is that truly what must come to pass, or is there another way?" He sighed, the sound echoing in the Chamber. "If there is, I cannot see it. Your wrath has been raised against me too long. All things must be as they must."

Tanaros withdrew quietly, not swiftly enough to avoid hearing the anguish in the Shaper's final words.

"Uru-Alat!" Lord Satoris whispered. "I would this role had fallen to another."





* * *





SIX





« ^ »



"COUNSELOR, FORGIVE ME," THE ARDUAN croaked, falling to her knees.

The Company of Malthus halted beneath the hammer of the sun, a merciless, white-hot blaze in the vivid blue sky. All around them, the scorched landscape extended farther than the eye could see in any direction, red earth baked and cracking, broken only by the strange, towering structures of anthills.

"I told you it was no journey for a woman." Although his face was drawn beneath beard-stubble, the former Commander of the Border-guard kept his feet, wavering only slightly. "We should have sent her back."

"Peace, Blaise." Even Malthus' voice was cracked and weary. "Fianna is the Archer of Arduan. It is as it must be. None of us can go much farther." Drawing back his sheltering hood, the Counselor bowed his head and took the Soumanie from its place of concealment beneath his robes, chanting softly and steadily in the Shaper's tongue. The gem shone like a red star between his hands.