‘We were murdered by compromises. No, not those that followed the arrival of Light. Not those born of Shadow. These things were inevitable. They were, by their very nature, necessary.’
‘Yes.’
‘The day we accepted her turning away, Endest, was the day we ran the knives across our own throats.’ Anomander Rake paused, and then said, ‘We are an an cient, stubborn people.’ He faced Endest Silann. ‘See how long it has taken to bleed out?’
And then, to complete the unruly triumvirate, there was the brood of Osserc. Menandore, and that mess of mixed bloods to follow: Sheltatha Lore, Sukul Ankhadu, Brevith Dreda. The others, the ones outside all of that, how they watched on, bemused, brows darkening with anger. Draconus, you thought you could give answer to all of us. You were wrong.
Were you wrong? He found himself staring at Dragnipur, catching the faintest echo of rumbling wheels, the muted cries of the suffering, and there, yes, that seething storm of chaos drawing every closer.
‘Without the blood of dragons,’ Anomander Rake went on, ‘we would all be dust, scattered on the winds, drifting between the stars themselves. Yes, others might see it differently, but that cold fever, so sudden in our veins, so fierce in our minds-the chaos, Endest-gave us the strength to persist, to cease fearing change, to accept all that was unknown and unknowable. And this is why you chose to follow us, each in our time, our place.’
The chaos in you, yes, a fire on the promontory, a beacon piercing the pro-found entropy we saw all around us. And yet, so few of you proved worthy of our allegiance. So few, Lord, and fewer with each generation, until now here you stand, virtually alone.
Tears were streaming from his eyes now, weeping as did the obelisk, as did the stone on all sides. The one who was worth it. The only one.
‘You will find the strength within you, Endest Silann. Of that I have no doubt.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘As shall I.’ And with that the Son of Darkness reached out, reclaimed the sword Dragnipur. With familiar ease he slid the weapon into the scabbard on his back. He faced Endest and smiled as if the burden he had just accepted yet again could not drive others to their knees-gods, ascendants, the proud and the arrogant, all to their knees. Rake’s legs did not buckle, did not even so much as tremble. He stood tall, unbowed, and in the smile he offered Endest Silann there was a certainty of purpose, so silent, so indomitable, so utterly appalling that Endest felt his heart clench, as if moments from rupturing.
And his Lord stepped close then, and with one hand brushed the wetness from one check.
He could see her dancing out there, amidst dust devils and shards of frost-skinned rock, through shafts of blistering sunlight and hazy swirls of spinning snow. Blood still streamed from his wounds and it seemed that would never cease-that this crimson flow debouched from some eternal river, and the blood was no longer his own, but that of the god standing beside him. It was an odd notion, yet it felt truthful even though he dared not ask the Redeemer, dared not hear the confirmation from the god’s mouth.