But those days were gone. Life was changing. Gaunt was high and mighty now. He’d never stand in the line with his boys again. The glory days and noble ends of the First and fething Only were memories. Reality and the future was a colder place. He had to reimagine his own destiny.
And he couldn’t ever have imagined this. Not this. A stinking, unwitnessed end in a sealed fething dungeon that shifted around him like a living thing, like a sorcerous labyrinth in the old-time myths. And a nightmare monster, straight out of those same childhood stories, coming for him, sniffing at his heels and tasting his tracks.
‘So, the candle’s lit, and there’s light,’ Zweil was saying. ‘But the candle casts a shadow too, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, father.’
‘The shadow’s only there because of the light,’ said Zweil.
Domor glanced at the old man. ‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘Or is the shadow still there when the light goes out, and we just can’t see it because it’s dark?’
Zweil frowned. ‘Shit me sideways, boy,’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s some deep philosophy there.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, I’ve just got to factor that into my thinking…’
‘No need.’
Zweil paused, scratched his head, and then scooped the skirts of his ayatani robe up out of the water and wrung them out. He kept doing that. Domor wasn’t sure why. As soon as he’d wrung them out, Zweil would simply drop them back into the water and keep going.
‘Well,’ said Zweil. ‘That’s what I think. The darkness follows the light, you see? Like a… like it can smell it.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Opposites, light and dark, each needing the other to survive. To exist.’
‘Right.’
‘Can’t have one without the other. They can’t be separated.’
‘I’ve often thought that,’ said Domor, not really listening.
‘So we’re in this shit,’ said the old man, ‘we’re in this awful, awful shitty shit-balls mess, because she’s here.’
‘Who?’
‘Haven’t you been listening? Her. The Saint. My beloved Beati.’
‘Oh.’ Domor paused. ‘I thought you meant Yoncy.’
‘Yoncy?’ The old man asked, puzzled. ‘Why would I mean Yoncy?’
Domor shrugged.
‘Well, Shoggy? Why did you think I meant her?’
Domor shook his head. ‘Yoncy’s odd,’ he said. ‘Odd follows her around. Haven’t you ever noticed that? And this thing we keep hearing, it sounds like whatever it was came for her at Low Keen. I heard it, father. It sounds the same.’
‘I dunno, Shoggy,’ said Zweil. ‘That’s a terrible thing to think about a little girl.’
‘She’s not a little girl,’ said Domor. ‘She’s… look, I love Kolea. He’s my brother. Dalin’s a good boy. Solid and brave. And Tona, well, she’s done a hell of a thing, raising them. But Yoncy… I’m not the only one to think it. Elodie, she gets freaked out by her. Even Gol.’
Zweil thought about this for a moment, then started to laugh loudly.
‘Shhh!’ said Domor, in alarm.
‘You think Yoncy’s coming for us?’ Zweil laughed.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yoncy. Hnnh! Yoncy? I’ve heard some notions in my time–’
‘Well, you just said it was the Saint.’
‘No, I didn’t!’ said Zweil sharply. ‘I said the darkness is here because of her. She’s light, Domor. The light of the Throne. Just so magnificent. And the darkness is drawn to that. The shadow of the warp, you see? She’s the candle–’
‘I get it.’
‘–and the warp, see, that’s the–’
‘I get it. The Archenemy, the Ruinous Powers, they’re here tonight because she’s here.’
‘In the palace,’ Zweil nodded. ‘I can feel her presence, calling to me.’
‘So we’re not the targets?’ asked Domor. ‘We’re just in the way?’
‘I suppose so. The darkness has come for her. She’s strong, and she’ll fend it off, but I hope she’s got loyal soldiers at her side.’
‘She might not even be here yet,’ said Domor, sloshing forward. ‘There was no announcement. No ceremonial welcome–’
‘Oh, she’s here. I told you, I can feel her–’
Zweil fell silent.
‘Father?’
Domor looked around. Zweil had stopped, deeply pensive.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I can feel her,’ said Zweil. ‘I can feel her close by.’
‘So you said.’
‘No, Shoggy. Think about it. I can feel her. And I thought, well, that’s nice and reassuring. A comfort. But I can feel her. Like a lodestone feels true north.’
‘What?’
Zweil turned abruptly and began splashing off the way they’d come.
‘Father? Father!’
‘Come on, Shoggy!’ Zweil called back. ‘I was stupid, is what it is! It was right before my eyes and I missed it.’
‘What was?’
‘I can feel her call,’ Zweil said emphatically. ‘Goodness, Domor. Don’t you listen? Keep up. She can lead us out of here. I only have to listen, to let myself feel. Then follow. Be her pilgrim, her imhava, just as I’ve done my whole life. Follow her path. Go to her, wherever she’s calling from. Let her guide me out of the darkness and up into the light. You too, of course.’
‘We’ve been that way,’ Domor protested.
‘We’ve been every which way,’ Zweil replied. ‘There’s no sense to this place any more. The warp’s seen to that. We just follow the light. What?’
Domor was smiling. ‘That makes as much sense as anything I’ve heard today, father,’ he said.
Zweil nodded. ‘Miracles wear disguises, my boy. Like, you know, moustaches and hats and those sash things with the pom-poms on them. Also, masks. The point is, you don’t always recognise them at first, even when your mind is a highly tuned spiritual organ like mine. The Emperor protects, Shoggy Domor, and today he is protecting us through the sanctity of his Beati. We were just too scared and bothered and worked up to see that before. But I see it now, oh yes! A revelation. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I behold the path of salvation–’
There was an awful, blood-chilling screech and something black sawed out of the darkness right at them. Zweil cried out and fell over in a huge splash of flood water. Domor recoiled. Terror seized him again.
This was it. This was it. This was fething it–
He felt claws slice into his cheek, hot blood pouring down his face.
The darkness was still shrieking at him.
‘Shoggy? Shoggy?’
The shrieking stopped.
‘Father?’
‘Oh,’ said Zweil. He got up, soaked through, wiping his face, and peered at Domor. ‘It got you a good one. Gashed your cheek.’
‘What the feth–?’ Domor stammered.
Zweil splashed past him, and scooped a bedraggled mass out of the water, a large, tattered shape that had been thrashing around where it landed.
‘Oh, hush now, you poor little bugger,’ Zweil cooed.
It was the regimental mascot.
‘Shit,’ said Domor.
‘You see?’ said Zweil. ‘It’s Quil. Poor little bugger.’
‘Quil?’
‘I named it. Because it didn’t have a name. It’s short for–’
‘Whatever,’ said Domor.
The psyber-eagle had been damaged and wounded. Feathers were mangled, and it was matted with blood. One of its heads had been sliced off.
‘Poor old bastard,’ said Zweil, clutching the surprisingly large and heavy creature in his arms as best he could manage. ‘It’s lost a head.’
‘So I see.’
‘Like a… what’s the word? What do you call a two-headed eagle that’s missing a head?’