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If Kharkanas rested upon ruins, they’d yet to be revealed. Only the temple at the heart of the Citadel hinted of a world now vanished.
Then again, the city trapped by thread and dye was burning, dying within a firestorm. In such a storm, even the rocks would shatter, crumbling to dust.
Omens are for fools, but every truth of the future resides in the present, if only we have the will to see.
After a time, he realized that he was no longer alone. Turning, he frowned at the figure standing a step behind him. ‘Grizzin Farl, for all your girth, you move in silence.’
The Azathanai sighed. ‘Humble apologies, historian.’
‘I was thinking of you.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Vast forces at work, making a mockery of our conceits. Was this all begun by the woman we call T’riss? Or, as I suspect, should we look to Lord Draconus? Or you, perhaps, with your curious presence here, or, rather, your persistence?’
‘You would blame others for your ills?’
‘A feeble deflection, Azathanai. The realm of Eternal Night, or whatever it’s called, is too vast for us Tiste Andii to call home. And do not offend me by suggesting that Mother Dark lays claim to it. She is but an interloper. For all we know, she wanders as one lost, or even in fear, cowering at her Consort’s side.’
‘Neither, I should think,’ Grizzin Farl replied.
‘Dragons,’ said Rise Herat, turning back to look upon the tapestry once more. ‘Will we see more of them? Do they gather like vultures spying a wounded creature? Do they but await our inevitable death?’
Grizzin Farl scratched through his beard, his eyes glittering from some unseen light. ‘Now you describe a deceit in truth, historian. The fate of Kurald Galain barely registers with creatures such as the Eleint, and what they feed upon is nothing so crass as flesh and bone. Though, it must be said, they will indulge from time to time. It is important, Rise Herat, that you understand something of their nature.’
‘Oh? Please, continue.’
Ignoring the ironic invitation, Grizzin Farl stepped up beside the historian and squinted at the tapestry. ‘Inclined to scavenging,’ he said. ‘Less the hunter, then, than the opportunist. They dislike, even fear, each other’s company—’
‘This depiction suggests the opposite.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘Explain.’
‘They become a Storm, sir. A Storm of Dragons, and that is a terrible thing. No single Eleint can resist, once a certain threshold is crossed. Gather enough of the beasts – create a big enough Storm – and they merge. They become one beast, possessing many heads, many limbs, but a single, undeniable identity. Such a Storm has a name among the Azathanai. Tiamatha. Goddess of destruction. Tiam among the Thel Akai. The Fever Queen.’ He paused, and then nodded at the tapestry. ‘Here, merely a Storm. Ill chance that it should gather above a city, but you well see its annihilating force.’
‘The fire – that is incidental?’
Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘Something drew them all there. There is that, I suppose.’
‘Something? What thing, Azathanai?’
‘Unknown. Perhaps … a wounded gate?’
‘Abyss take you, Farl! How can a gate be wounded?’
‘Careless usage, I imagine. That, or some form of elemental opposition.’
Elemental opposition? ‘Such as Light upon Dark?’
‘Not necessarily, historian. Forgive me if my careless words have alarmed you. You now fear some kind of violence to attend the union of Mother Dark and Father Light, but that is far from incumbent.’
‘I fear the violence leading to that union!’
A flicker of sorrow softened the huge man’s features. ‘Yes, the necessity for a delicate balance awaits you. I see that now. But still, be at ease. Dragons have indeed returned to the world, but they are scattered and would remain so, given the choice. The Storm is an unpleasant manifestation even for the Eleint trapped within it.’
‘Never mind that – what of the gate? What of this damned marriage?’
