Sonovar arrived, his approach undetected, for the Shadows did not move with him save in the shadows of his mind.
This tale has already been told, the tale of war, of sacrifice, of heroism, of countless screams in the night.
Finally Sonovar limped away, bloodied but unbowed, broken but not silent, maddened but not mad.
On the contrary, at last he was sane.
What is love?
A question Kats could not answer. As she looked down at Kozorr's sleeping face for the third and final night, she found herself finally prepared to ask herself the question she had not been able to face before now.
She had not been surprised by the things she had seen in his face. She had seen his loyalty, his honour, his pride. He was a fine warrior, possessed of many of the virtues true warriors were meant to exhibit, but there was more to him than that. She could see his decency, his protectiveness, and most of all his sheer, clear and precise love for her.
She heard him cry out in his sleep. She saw his self–hatred, his inability to forgive himself for his self–perceived treasons, and she wanted to reach out and touch him, easing his pain and bringing him peace.
She remembered the first time they had spoken. She had been alone, trapped in an agonising pillar of light, at the complete mercy of a madman who had attempted to tear her apart, body and soul. She had met Kozorr then, trapped in despair and pain and suffering, wishing only to die. She had seen him before then, many times, but that had been the first time she had seen him as a man, not simply as one of her tormentors.
Help me! she had cried.
He had not answered, not with words, but his face had shown his divided loyalties. His eyes had revealed his sympathy, and that had been something for her to hold tight as she suffered the onslaught of Kalain's words and blows.
What is love?
She did not know, but she did know that it was what she felt for him now.
Above all else she wanted to reach out and ease his pain. He had eased hers without ever realising it. It had been a simple thing, one single look, but for her it had been enough.
She could do no less for him. Nor would she.
"I love you," she whispered. His sleep became more peaceful, his dream demons abated.
Sonovar listened again to Sinoval's words, and this time the seeds sank into his heart, and the doubts that had been there sprouted and grew and wormed their way into his mind. He knew now the dark Masters of whom Sinoval had spoken. He saw at last whom Forell served, and he wondered why he had not seen it before.
He sat in silent meditation, for the first time since he had taken the reins of leadership and power from Kalain. At the end Kalain had been raving, broken, a husk. He had taught Sonovar so much without ever realising it. He had taught him to reach out and grasp his destiny with his own hands, to claim it for himself and never let go.
He had given him the answer to every question but one: How to be a great man. He had asked that question of many he had known and met, but he had never asked the one person he should have asked.
Himself.
For long hours he spoke with his ancestors, feeling their spirits around him. He spoke of his fears, his questions, his dreams, and as they listened, so he listened to himself. And as he heard them, so he heard himself. So he heard the answer to his last question.
He rose from his meditation at last, heedless of the pain of his body. It was nothing. The blood that filled his right eye was nothing. The shattered bones in his leg were nothing.
He was a great man at last.
"Great lord," whispered a familiar voice. "I have come to bring you your healing draught, great lord."
Sonovar's eyes, the one filled with blood and the other a pale blue, so pale as to be almost colourless.... both of them flashed.
"I think there are things to be said, Forell," he whispered.
Takier had been a leader all his life. From birth he had been destined to command, to lead his clan and his warriors, to die in glorious battle and pass the burdens and glories of power to a successor. At first he had hoped his son would lead, but his death had forestalled that. Lanniel's treachery precluded her, which left only Tirivail, but was she ready to lead? Was she truly ready? He had not known.
He still did not know.
The battle had been hard–fought and bloody. Of the five ships Sonovar controlled, three had been destroyed. The remaining two had been forced to flee, broken now at last. Their rebellion was over. Sonovar's final order had confirmed it.
"It is done," Takier whispered to himself. "We fought, and we tried. We lost.... these are the wages of defeat. Had we won...."
No, foolish thoughts. They had lost. Why think of what might have been?
He stopped before the door. It was unguarded now, of course. There were not enough left to guard it. His orders had been for her protection, but now.... now it was far more likely that he would need her protection, that they all would need her protection.
The door opened and he stepped through. Lanniel was sitting in silent meditation. Communing with her ancestors, perhaps? Her eyes opened and an expression of acceptance crossed her face.
"Am I to die then?" she asked softly.
"No."
"Then has a reply been prepared for me to take back to the Primarch?"
"In a sense. We are the reply."
"What?"
Takier breathed in harshly. He had faced countless enemies, fought a multitude of battles, stared at death a million times and not been afraid. But he was afraid now.
"I have received orders from Lord Sonovar. I and the entire Storm Dancer clan are to surrender to Primarch Sinoval."
"I think there are things to be said, Forell."
There was no reply, not at first. Only a slow drawing in of breath and a slight twitching of his mutilated face revealed any change in his demeanour.
"What things, great lord?" he asked at last.
"The truth.... unlike the lies you have been feeding me along with that foul drink. Who are your masters? How long have you been working for beings other than myself? Since the very beginning?"
"I have always worked for you and you alone, lord." There was a shimmering on Forell's shoulder, something Sonovar could not clearly see, something on the edge of his perception. His crimson–stained vision did not help.
He moved forward, pike raised, and smashed it through the tray Forell held, sending goblet and elixir to the floor. Forell took an involuntary step back, but then held his ground.
"Liar!" Sonovar cried. "Answer me, Forell! I need the truth!"
"There is no truth," Forell said calmly. "There is nothing but the perception of truth. There is nothing but words and images and a million different interpretations. The others have a saying: truth is a three–edged sword. They are wrong. It is not a sword but a maelstrom, a whirlpool of thought and colour.
"Truth is chaos personified."
Sonovar stepped back slowly. The voice was Forell's, but the words did not seem to be his. A dark mass began to appear on his shoulder, long tendrils snaking around his neck.
"You do not understand," Forell continued. "That is something else the others say. They say understanding is irrelevant. They are wrong. Understanding is vital.... but only when the time is right. You have served us directly for two years, and indirectly all your life. You are a chaos–bringer, an instrument of war, forged in battle.
"You are everything we could have wished of you.... almost. But there is one better, one more fit than you. In another world we might have come to you and moulded you for our purposes, but not in this one. In this world you were only a foil, a means to orchestrate and enhance another. You were the fire within which he was tempered.