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Eventually, he looked up, to the nobleborn commander who had been bound in chains and made to kneel on the cold, hard ground opposite him. The distance between them was modest, and yet impossibly vast, and this notion made Hunn Raal drunker than any jug of wine could achieve. ‘Do you recall,’ he now said, ‘how we rode together out to the Wardens’ summer camp?’
‘I should have cut you down then.’
‘In conversation with my friends,’ Hunn Raal said, ignoring Rend’s pointless, redundant assertion, ‘with you lagging out of earshot, I made a comment about you. There was laughter. Do you, perchance, recall that moment?’
‘No.’
Hunn Raal said nothing as he slowly leaned forward, and then he smiled and whispered, ‘I think you lie, friend.’
‘Think what you like. Deliver me to Urusander now. This scene grows tired.’
‘What words, like rotten fruit, have you collected up, Ilgast, to deliver to my commander, I wonder?’
‘I leave you to tend that garden alone.’
Hunn Raal waved his free hand. ‘You know, you impressed me today. Not the whole day, mind you. Your desire to seek this battle, for example, was ill conceived. But I saw your genius in that clash against my pikes – I would think only the Wardens could have managed that. The finest riders this realm has ever known. And see what you’ve done – you’ve thrown them away. If in the name of justice I would deliver you to someone, surely it would be Calat Hustain.’
At that, he was pleased to see, Ilgast Rend flinched.
The pleasure did not last, and he felt a sudden regret. ‘Oh, Ilgast, look what you’ve done this day!’ The words came out in pain, in honest anguish. ‘Why did you not bring the Wardens to our cause? Why did you not come here to embrace our desire for what’s right? How differently this day would have played out.’
‘Calat Hustain refused your invitation,’ Ilgast said, trembling. ‘I could not in honour betray that.’
Hunn Raal scowled in exasperated disbelief. ‘My friend!’ he whispered, leaning still closer. ‘By your honour you could not betray him? Ilgast – look upon the field behind you! Yet you would fling those words at me? Honour? Betrayal? Abyss below, man, what am I to make of this?’
‘Not even you can deepen my shame, Hunn Raal. I am here, clear-eyed—’
‘You are nothing of the sort!’
‘Deliver me to Urusander!’
‘You’ve taken your last step, my friend,’ Hunn Raal said, leaning back. Closing his eyes, he raised his voice and said, in a weary tone, ‘Have done with it, then. This man is a criminal, a traitor to the realm. We’ve already seen how the nobleborn can bleed like any other mortal. Go on, I beg you, execute him now, and show me no corpse when I next open my eyes.’
He heard the solid chop of the sword blade, a moment’s worth of choked sob, and then the man’s body falling along with his head. Fingers playing on the ear of the wine jug, he listened as both offending objects were dragged away.
A soldier then spoke. ‘It is done, sir.’
Hunn Raal opened his eyes, blinking in the bright glare, and saw that it was so. He waved his soldiers away. ‘Leave me now, to my grief, and make a list of heroes. It has been a dark day, but I will see light born of it nonetheless.’
Overhead, the winter sun offered little heat. The cold air invited sobriety, but he was having none of that. He’d earned his right to grieve.
* * *
Renarr watched the other whores moving among the corpses below, and the children running this way and that, their thin cries drifting up as they found a precious ring or torc, or a small bag full of coins or polished river pebbles. The light was fading as the short day hurried to its close.
She was chilled to the bone, and not yet ready to think of the boldness of the men who would find her in the evening to come, but her imagination defied such aversion. They would taste different – she was sure – but not on the tongue. This would be a deeper change, something to absorb from sweat and from what they leaked in their passion. It was a taste she would glean wherever their flesh met. She could not yet know, of course, but she did not think it would be bitter, or sour. There would be relief, and perhaps something of the despondent, in that intimate flavour. If it burned, it would burn with life.
She caught sight of the girl whose killing had started the day. She walked with followers now, regal as a queen among the dead.
Renarr studied her, and did not blink.
* * *
You could find a kind of justice in Urusander’s fate, although I will grant you, his ascension to the title of Father of Light made justice a mockery. So yes, indulge me now and give this blind old man a moment or two to catch his breath. This tale has far to go, after all. Free me to muse on the notions of righteous consequence, since they lie scattered before us like stepping stones across history’s torrent.
I have no doubt Urusander was no different from you or me, or rather, no different from most thinking creatures. For myself, I make no common claim. The poet’s view of justice is a secret one, and you and I need not discuss its rules. A few deft twitches on the fingers of one hand bind us in hidden kinship, with strangers none the wiser. So I am certain that you too will hold back when I speak of Urusander’s similitude.
To be plain, he saw justice as a clear thing, and from that raging river of progress, which ever tugs us along, he longed to dip a hand in at any point and raise to the heavens a pool of clean water, sparkling in the cup of his palm.
