Banewreaker(83)

Speros' eager, indrawn breath hissed between his teeth, and his eyes glowed at the possibilities. "With those things, he could challenge Haomane himself!"

"Yes," Tanaros said. "He could."

"And if he won?" Speros asked. "Would he slay the Six?"

"No." Tanaros shook his head. "I think not. He loved his sister Arahila well, once; I believe he loves her still. Though she sided with Haomane against him, it was she who stayed the Lord-of-Thought's hand when his Wrath scorched the earth, and she who raised the red star in warning. Lord Satoris cares for his honor. It may be that she would persuade him to mercy."

Speros glanced westward. "What manner of world do you suppose his Lordship would Shape?"

"Only his Lordship knows for certain," Tanaros said. "Yet I imagine a world in which the tyranny of one Shaper's will did not hold sway over all. And that," he added, "is enough for me."

"It's a beginning," Speros agreed. He looked curiously at Tanaros. "What would you do in such a world, Lord General?"

Unaccountably, Tanaros pictured Cerelinde's face. "It don't know," he murmured. "Yet I would like to find out. Perhaps I would become a better Man than I have been in this one." He gathered himself with a shake, ignoring the Midlander's quizzical expression. "Come on, lad. Let's choose a horse for you."

Perplexity gave way to a grin. "Aye, General!"



IN THE CHAMBER OF THE Font, the marrow-fire burned unceasing, a column of blue-white flame rising from its pit, so bright it hurt the eye. And in the center the shard of Godslayer hung, pulsing like a heart to an unseen rhythm.

"My Lord." Cerelinde of the Ellylon clasped her hands in front of her to hide their trembling. Valiant as she was, the fear came upon her every time the tapestry in her quarters twitched at the opening of the secret door, a wary madling emerging to beckon her through the winding passages behind the walls to the three-fold door and the spiral stair, to answer the summons of the Lord of Darkhaven. "You sent for me?"

"Yes." The Shaper's voice was gentle. He moved in the shadows at the outskirts of the room, his massive figure blending into darkness. Only the red, glowing eyes showed clearly. "Be at your ease, Lady."

Cerelinde sat in the chair he indicated, stiff-backed and fearful.

His deep laugh rumbled. "You have been my guest these weeks now. Do you still think I mean you harm?"

"You hold me against my will." She fixed her gaze on the beating heart of Godslayer within the marrow-fire. "Is that not harm, my Lord?"

"Will," Satoris mused, and the stones of Darkhaven shivered under his mighty, soundless tread. A reek of ichor in the air grew stronger at his approach, sweet and coppery. "What do you know of will, little Ellyl?"

"I know it is mine to defy you." The words came hard, harder than she could have imagined. It was hard, in this place, to cling to all that she knew was true.

Fingers brushed her hair. "What if I offered you a kingdom?"

Closing her eyes, Cerelinde shuddered at the touch of a Shaper's power. With Godslayer to hand, he could remake her very flesh if he willed it. "You would not, my Lord Sunderer," she said. "While I live, I am a threat to you, and I do not believe that you will let me live for long, let alone offer me power. I am not a fool, my Lord. I have made my peace with it. I am not afraid to die."

"No." The Shaper withdrew, his voice contemptuous. "Only to live. Will you cling to this Prophecy with which my brother Haomane Shapes the world? I tell you this: You are not the only one, you know, daughter of Erilonde."

"What?" Cerelinde opened her eyes. "What do you say?"

"Oh, yes." Lord Satoris smiled, a fearful thing. "Elterrion the Bold had a second daughter, gotten of an illicit union  . Somewhere among the Rivenlost, your line continues. Do you suppose such things never happen among the Ellylon?"

"They do not." Cerelinde drew herself up taut.

"They do upon very rare occasion." The Shaper's eyes glittered with red malice. "It is a pity your people dare not acknowledge it, Lady. The weight of the world might not rest upon your shoulders if they did."

"You lie," Cerelinde whispered.

Lord Satoris shrugged, the movement disturbing the shadows. "More seldom than you might imagine, Lady," he said, regret in his tone. "These things lie within the purview of the Gift that was mine, and they are mine alone to know. Although the Ellylon themselves do not know it, I tell you: There is another."

"Who?" Cerelinde leaned forward, forgetting herself. " Who, my Lord?"