Lord of Lies. David Zindell

don’t you see?’

      Soon, he said, the Golden Band would begin to weaken, and a great chance might be lost. For men’s hearts, now open to the light that the Maitreya would bring, would soon close and harden their wills yet again toward evil and war.

      ‘You see,’ he said, ‘all the other Maitreyas failed. Of those of the Lost Ages, of course, we know almost nothing. But at the end of the Age of the Mother, it’s said that Alesar Tal entered the Brotherhood and grew old and died without ever setting eyes upon the Lightstone. And at the end of the Age of Swords, Issayu was enslaved by Morjin and the Lightstone kept from him. Godavanni was murdered at the moment that the Lightstone was placed into his hands. Now we are in the last years of the Age of the Dragon. This terrible time, the darkest of ages. How will it end, Val? In even greater darkness or in light?’

      Out of the window I saw cloud shadows dappling the courtyard below and darkening the white stone walls of the castle. The foothills rising above them were marked with indentations and undulations, their northern slopes invisible to the eye, lost in shadow and perhaps concealing eagles’ aeries and bears’ caves and the secret powers of the earth. I marveled at the way the sunlight caught the rocky faces of these hills: half standing out clearly in the strong Soldru light, half darkened into the deeper shades of green and gray and black. I saw that there was always a vivid line between the dark and the light, but strangely this line shifted and moved across the naked rock even as the sun moved slowly on its arc across the sky from east to west.

      ‘Val? Are you all right?’

      Master Juwain’s voice brought me back to his comfortable room high in the Adami tower. I bowed my head to him, then asked if I could borrow his copy of the Saganom Elu. It took me only a moment to flip through its pages and find the passage I was seeking. I read it aloud word by word, even though I knew it by heart:

      ‘“If men look upon the stars and see only cinders, if the sun should be seen to set in the east – if a man comes forth in falseness as the Shining One concealing darkness in his heart, if he claims the Lightstone for his own, then he shall become a new Red Dragon, only mightier and more terrible. Then red will burn black and all colors die; the heavens’ lights will be veiled as if by smoke, and the sun will rise no more.”’

      I closed the book and gave it back to him. I said, ‘I must know, sir. If I am truly this one who shines, I must know.’

      We returned to the table to rejoin Maram and my grandmother. Master Juwain made us more tea, which we sat drinking as the sun fell behind the mountains and twilight stole across the world. Master Juwain reasserted his wish that I might come forth as Maitreya in sight of the emissaries who had assembled in my father’s castle; it was why, he said, he had hurried home to Mesh. As much as I might need to know if I were really the Lord of Light foreseen in the prophecies, the world needed to be told of this miracle even more.

      At last, as it grew dark and the hour deepened into full night, I went over to the window one last time. The sky was now almost clear. The dying of the sun had revealed the stars that always blazed there, against the immense black vault of the heavens. The constellations that my grandfather had first named for me many years before shimmered like ancient signposts: the Great Bear, the Archer, the Dragon, with its sinuous form and two great, red stars for eyes. I searched a long time in these glittering arrays for any certainty that I was the one whom Master Juwain hoped me to be. I did not find it. There was only light and stars, infinite in number and nearly as old as time.

      Then Maram came up to me and clapped me on the shoulder. ‘It’s time for the feast, my friend. You might very well be this Maitreya, but you’re a man first, and you have to eat.’

      We walked back across the room, where I helped my grandmother out of her chair and took her arm in mine. Then we all went down to the great hall to take food and wine with many others and view the wonder of the Lightstone.

       2

      The great hall adjoined the castle’s keep where my father and most of his guests resided. By the time we had gone outside and made our way through the dark middle ward, past the Tower of the Moon and the Tower of the Earth, and entered the hall through its great southern doors, it was almost full of people. Brothers from the sanctuary near Silvassu stood wearing their brown robes and drinking apple cider in place of wine or beer; nobles from Alonia gathered in a group next to their table. I immediately recognized Count Dario Narmada, King Kiritan’s cousin and the chief of his emissaries. With his flaming red hair and bright blue tunic emblazoned with the gold caduceus of the House Narmada, he was hard to miss. In this large room, opening out beneath its vaulted ceiling of stone, were many Valari: simple warriors and knights as well as great princes and even kings. Lord Issur, son of King Hadaru of Ishka, seemed to be discussing something of great importance with a tall man who displayed many battle ribbons in his long, gray hair and great longing on his much-scarred face. This was King Kurshan of Lagash, whose ferocious countenance hid a kind and faithful heart. I knew that he had journeyed to Mesh to make a marriage for his daughter, Chandria – and to stand before the Lightstone like everyone else.

      On a long dais at the north end of the room, beneath a wall hung with a black banner showing the swan and stars of the House of Elahad, was an ancient white granite pedestal. On top of it sat a plain, golden cup. It was small enough to fit the palm of a man’s hand; indeed, it had been my hand that had placed it there some months before. At first glance, it did not seem an impressive thing. No gem adorned it. No handles were welded onto its sides, nor did it rest upon a long and gracefully shaped base, as with a chalice. It did not, except at rare moments, even radiate much light. But its beauty stole away the breath, and in its golden shimmer was something lovely that drew the eye and called to the soul. Not a few of those gathered in the hall were staring at it with tears streaming down their cheeks. Even the oldest and hardest of warriors seemed to melt in its presence, like winter’s ice beneath the warm spring sun.

      Standing to either side of the pedestal were fifteen knights, each of whom wore a long sword at his side, even as did I. They wore as well suits of mail like my own; to the various blazons on their surcoats had been added a unique mark of cadence: a small, golden cup. For these were thirty of the Guardians of the Lightstone who had sworn to die in its defense. I had chosen them – and seventy others not presently on duty – from among the finest knights of Mesh. They, too, seemed in awe of that which they protected. Their noble faces, I thought, had been touched by the Lightstone’s splendor, and their bright, black eyes remained ever watchful, ever awake, ever aware.

      Before we had crossed ten paces into the hall, a stout, handsome woman wearing a black gown came up to us, with her dark eyes fixed on Maram. He presented her as Dasha Ambar, Lord Ambar’s widow. After bowing to my grandmother, she smiled at Maram and asked, ‘Will we go riding tomorrow, Sar Maram?’

      ‘Tomorrow?’ Maram said, glancing about the hall as he began to sweat. ‘Ah, tomorrow is Moonday, my lady. Why don’t we wait until Eaday, when we’ve recovered from the feast?’

      ‘Very well,’ Dasha said. ‘In the morning or the afternoon?’

      ‘Ah, I must tell you that the morning, for me, quite often begins in the afternoon.’

      Dasha smiled at this, as did my grandmother and I. Then Dasha excused herself and moved off toward the throng of knights who had gathered around Lord Tomavar’s table.

      ‘You’re playing a dangerous game,’ I told Maram as his eyes drank in Dasha’s voluptuous form.

      ‘What am I to do?’ Maram said, turning toward me. ‘Your Valari women are so beautiful, so bold. The widows especially. And there are so many of them.’

      ‘Just be careful that Lord Harsha doesn’t make Behira a widow before you even have the chance to marry her.’

      ‘All right, all right,’ Maram muttered. He gazed across the hall toward the Lightstone as if hoping its radiance might bestow upon him fidelity and other virtues. Then he seemed to forget his resolve as he