A presence, there in the dark holes of the face’s eyes.
Karsa heard a howling wind, filling his mind. A thousand souls moaning, the snapping thunder of chains. Growling, he steeled himself before the onslaught, fixed his gaze on his god’s writhing face.
‘Karsa Orlong. We have waited long for this. Three years, the fashioning of this sacred place. You wasted so much time on the two strangers-your fallen friends, the ones who failed where you did not. This temple is not to be sanctified by sentimentality. Their presence offends us. Destroy them this night.’
The seven faces were all wakeful now, and Karsa could feel the weight of their regard, a deathly pressure behind which lurked something… avid, dark and filled with glee.
‘By my hand,’ Karsa said to Urugal, ‘I have brought you to this place. By my hand, you have been freed from your prison of rock in the lands of the Teblor-yes, I am not the fool you believe me to be. You have guided me in this, and now you are come. Your first words are of chastisement? Careful, Urugal. Any carving here can be shattered by my hand, should I so choose.’
He felt their rage, buffeting him, seeking to make him wither beneath the onslaught, yet he stood before it unmoving, and unmoved. The Teblor warrior who would quail before his gods was no more.
‘You have brought us closer,’ Urugal eventually rasped. ‘Close enough to sense the precise location of what we desire. And there you must now go, Karsa Orlong. You have delayed the journey for so long-your journey to ourselves, and on to the path we have set before you. You have hidden too long in the company of this petty spirit who does little more than spit sand.’
‘This path, this journey-to what end? What is it you seek?’
‘Like you, warrior, we seek freedom.’
Karsa was silent. Avid indeed . Then he spoke. ‘I am to travel west. Into the Jhag Odhan.’
He sensed their shock and excitement, then the chorus of suspicion that poured out from the seven gods.
‘West! Indeed, Karsa Orlong. But how do you know this?’ Because, at last, I am my father’s son . ‘I shall leave with the dawn, Urugal. And I will find for you what you desire.’ He could feel their presence fading, and knew instinctively that these gods were not as close to freedom as they wanted him to believe. Nor as powerful.
Urugal had called this clearing a temple, but it was a contested one, and now, as the Seven withdrew, and were suddenly gone, Karsa slowly turned from the faces of the gods, and looked upon those for whom this place had been in truth sanctified. By Karsa’s own hands. In the name of those chains a mortal could wear with pride.
‘My loyalty,’ the Teblor warrior quietly said, ‘was misplaced. I served only glory. Words, my friends. And words can wear false nobility. Disguising brutal truths. The words of the past, that so clothed the Teblor in a hero’s garb-this is what I served. While the true glory was before me. Beside me. You, Delum Thord. And you, Bairoth Gild.’
From the stone statue of Bairoth emerged a distant, weary voice. ‘Lead us, Warleader.’
Karsa flinched. Do I dream this ? Then he straightened. ‘I have drawn your spirits to this place. Did you travel in the wake of the Seven?’
‘We have walked the empty lands,’ Bairoth Gild replied. ‘Empty, yet we were not alone. Strangers await us all, Karsa Orlong. This is the truth they would hide from you. We are summoned. We are here.’
‘None,’ came Delum Thord’s voice from the other statue, ‘can defeat you on this journey. You lead the enemy in circles, you defy every prediction, and so deliver the edge of your will. We sought to follow, but could not.’
‘Who, Warleader,’ Bairoth asked, his voice bolder, ‘is our enemy, now?’
Karsa drew himself up before the two Uryd warriors. ‘Witness my answer, my friends. Witness.’
Delum spoke, ‘We failed you, Karsa Orlong. Yet you invite us to walk with you once again.’
Karsa fought back an urge to scream, to unleash a warcry-as if such a challenge might force back the approaching darkness. He could make no sense of his own impulses, the torrential emotions threatening to engulf him. He stared at the carved likeness of his tall friend, the awareness in those unmarred features-Delum Thord before the Forkassal-the Forkrul Assail named Calm-had, on a mountain trail on a distant continent, so casually destroyed him.
Bairoth Gild spoke. ‘We failed you. Do you now ask that we walk with you?’
‘Delum Thord. Bairoth Gild.’ Karsa’s voice was hoarse. ‘It is I who failed you. I would be your warleader once more, if you would so permit me.’