Lord of Lies. David Zindell

do they wish it as you do, Val? A fire, you spoke of, a raging fire that blinded you – like one of his illusions.’

      ‘In Argattha,’ I said, ‘the Lord of Lies lost the power to make me behold his illusions.’

      ‘Yes, but it seems he still has the power to make you hate.’

      The brandy in my glass burned my tongue as I sipped it. ‘Are you saying, then, that Morjin is trying to make me into a ghul?’

      ‘Trying, yes, with all his might. But your heart is free. And your soul is the gift of the One. It can never be taken, only surrendered.’

      ‘That,’ I said, ‘will never happen.’

      ‘No, the Lord of Lies has no power to seize your will directly. But how much of your will do you think will remain if you destroy yourself with this terrible hate?’

      I had no answer for him. I knew that he was right. For a few moments, I tried to practise one of the light meditations that he had once taught me. But the two blackened orbs inside the box that Salmelu had given me darkened my eyes; and the letter that I had placed down inside my armor was like a crushing weight upon my heart.

      I finally brought forth this thick square of folded paper. I held it up toward the candles in their stand. No ray of light pierced the bone-white envelope to show what words Morjin might have written to me. It was sealed with red wax bearing the stamp of the Dragon.

      ‘Is this, then,’ I asked, ‘another of Morjin’s traps?’

      ‘I’m afraid it is,’ Master Juwain said.

      ‘Then the trap must be sprung.’

      I drew my knife to open it, but Master Juwain held out his hand and shook his head. ‘No, do not – burn it instead.’

      ‘But the letter must be read. If Morjin has set traps for me, then his words might betray what these are.’

      ‘I’m afraid his words are the trap. Like the kirax, Val. Only this poison will work at your mind.’

      ‘My father,’ I said, looking across the circle at the great man who had sired me, ‘taught me that an enemy’s mind must be studied and known.’

      ‘Not this enemy,’ Master Juwain said. ‘Liljana merged minds with the Dragon in Argattha. It nearly destroyed her.’

      I thought of this brave woman with her round, pleasant face and her will of steel. Atara had once warned her that the day she looked into Morjin’s mind would be the last day she ever smiled. And yet, if she hadn’t dared this dreadful feat, none of us would have escaped from Argattha and the Lightstone would remain in Morjin’s possession.

      I squeezed the letter between my fingers, and said to Master Juwain, ‘“Lord of Light,” everyone called me. If this is true, how, then, should this Dark Lord called Morjin have power over me with his words?’

      ‘Is this the pride of a prince?’

      ‘It might seem like pride, sir. But I don’t think it really is. You see, after being forced to watch what Morjin did to Atara, no help for it and nothing I could do, nothing … after that, there wasn’t very much to be proud of, ever again. No, it is something else.’

      Master Juwain’s Juwain’s eyes grew bright and sad as he finally understood. ‘No, Val – don’t do this.’

      ‘Earlier tonight, you made a test of things with your horoscopes. But there are other tests to be made.’

      ‘No, not this way.’

      ‘I must know, sir.’

      Master Juwain pointed his gnarled finger at the letter and said, ‘I think this is an evil thing.’

      I nodded my head to him. ‘But didn’t you once tell me that light would always defeat the darkness? Either one has faith in this or one does not, yes?’

      Master Juwain sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He rubbed the back of his head. He sighed, his troubled eyes on the letter. Then he turned toward my father and asked, ‘And what, King Shamesh, do you advise your son to do?’

      My father’s eyes were like coals as he said simply, ‘Open the letter.’

      ‘And you, Queen Elianora?’ Master Juwain asked my mother.

      Her concern for me hurt my heart as she said, ‘Burn it, please.’

      Master Juwain asked everyone’s counsel. Nona joined my mother and Master Juwain in their desire to see the letter destroyed, while Asaru and Maram agreed with my father that it should be opened and read. And so Master Juwain looked at me and said, ‘You must decide, Val.’

      I nodded my head, then moved my knife toward the letter.

      ‘Wait!’ Master Juwain called out. ‘If you don’t fear the poison of the Lord of Lies’ words, then at least consider that he might have written this letter with a poisoned ink. Do not touch it with your bare hands!’

      Again, I nodded toward him. I laid down both the letter and the knife, then removed the riding gloves folded around my belt. I put these on. Then I picked up the knife again and used its sharp steel tip to break the seal of the letter.

      ‘Do you have enough light?’ my mother said to me. ‘Shall I bring you a candle?’

      I shook my head as I drew out the sheets of paper and unfolded them. It was awkward working this way, with my fingers covered in slips of leather. But the gloves kept my sweat from the paper, and the ink from my flesh, even as the small, neat lettering of Morjin’s hand leaped like fire into my eyes:

      My Dearest Valashu,

       I trust this letter finds you in good health, which my friends in your little kingdom assure me has never been better. You will want to know that I have made what could be called a miraculous recovery from the wound to my neck that you must have hoped was mortal. The wound to my heart, however, remains more grievous. For you have taken from me that which is dearer than life itself.

      ‘Well?’ Maram called out from next to me. ‘What does it say? Read it out loud.’

      I nodded my head and took another sip of brandy. I began reading again from the letter’s beginning, for Maram’s sake and everyone else’s. As I intoned the words that Morjin had set to paper, I had to fight to keep my voice from becoming his voice: smooth, suasive, seductive and strong. An image of Morjin as I had first seen him came into my mind: his fine, intelligent face that was radiant with an almost unearthly beauty; his hair like spun gold and his golden eyes. They were the eyes of an angel, and they seemed to know all things. They looked at me out of the black ink of his words as I continued to read:

       I know that you keep the Cup of Heaven locked and guarded in your castle as in ancient times. It is a beautiful thing, is it not? The most beautiful in all the world. And so I know that you will see in its golden depths the most beautiful of all temptations: to believe that you are its master, the Lord of Light – the Maitreya. How could it be otherwise? For you, Valashu Elahad, who feels so keenly the suffering of others, must long quite terribly for the suffering to end. This is a noble impulse. But it is misguided, and for the sake of the world, and your own, I must try to make you understand why.

      All beings yearn for one thing above all else: the light and love of the One. For this is our source and substance, and we long to return there. But this ecstasy of completion and deep peace is denied to us, and the proof of this is our suffering. Men suffer many things: dread of death and wounds and dashed dreams, but nothing so terrible as the desire that burns our beings to feel ourselves at one with our source. We suffer most of all because we do not understand why we must suffer: why the One, which is said to be all goodness itself, would wish all the agonies of the body and soul upon us. Have you not, Valashu, as you listened to the cries of the children being torn apart at Khaisham, as you cursed life itself, asked yourself the simple question, ‘Why?’

      The answer,