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Lord of Lies
David Zindell
Death and destruction surround the Lightstone in the second book of this magnificent and deeply moving fantasy epic.The Cup of Heaven has been wrested from the hall of Morjin the Liar, the Great Red Dragon himself, by Valashu Elahad, Valari knight and seventh son of the King of Mesh.As Lord Guardian of the Lightstone, his task is to find the Maitreya, the one person to whom its secrets will be revealed. Even so, the power of the Lightstone pours through Valashu like a golden fire. There are many who believe Valashu himself to be the Maitreya. But Valashu can find no voice of certainty within himself. He only knows that if a man proclaims himself falsely to be the Shining One, then he shall become a new Red Dragon, only mightier and more terrible.Then the scryer Kasandra declares a new prophecy: ‘This is the vision that I and my sisters have seen: that you, Valashu Elahad, will find the Maitreya in the darkest of places; that the blood of the innocent will stain your hands; that a man with no face will show you your own.’What could be darker than finding the Lord of Light inside the cavern of his own heart?
Lord of Lies
Book Two of the Ea Cycle
DAVID ZINDELL
COPYRIGHT (#ulink_861062de-b8d6-5a6e-be39-629108824f14)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2003
Copyright © David Zindell 2003
The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780006486213
Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2016 ISBN 9780008222321
Version: 2016-09-01
CONTENTS
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Heraldry (#litres_trial_promo)
The Gelstei (#litres_trial_promo)
The Greater Gelstei (#litres_trial_promo)
The Lesser Gelstei (#litres_trial_promo)
Books of the Saganom Elu (#litres_trial_promo)
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About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
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A man’s fate, the scryers say, is written in the stars. Beneath these fiery points of light, we come forth from our mother earth to live and gaze up at the sky in wonder, to dance and dream and die. Some are born to be tillers of the soil or huntsmen; others to be weavers or minstrels or kings. Murderers might find the bright Dragon constellation pulling at their souls while saints seek in the Seven Sisters for the source of their goodness. A few turn away from the heavens altogether and look to the fire of their own hearts to forge their fate. But I believe that there is one – and one only – who is chosen to bear the golden cup that the angels sent to earth long ago. Even as a sword is made for the hard grip of a warrior, only the Shining One was meant to take the Lightstone in his hands and bring forth its secret light for all to behold.
Others, however, believe other things. In the year 2813 of the Age of the Dragon, the Lightstone having been wrested from the hall of Morjin the Liar, the Great Red Dragon himself, word that the quest to find the Cup of Heaven had been fulfilled spread like a wildfire to each of Ea’s lands. In far-off Hesperu, the slaves in the fields gripped their hoes in bitterness and prayed that some hero might wield the Lightstone to free them from their bondage; in conquered Surrapam, starving youths took up their bows and dreamed of hunting the true gold instead of meat. The priests of Morjin’s Kallimun wove their plots to regain the Lightstone while minstrels from fallen Galda and Yarkona made their way across burning plains to sing its wonders and hear new songs. Even the kings of realms still free – great men such as King Kiritan Narmada and King Waray of Taron – sent out emissaries to demand that the Lightstone be brought to them. From north and south, east and west, they joined a whole army of lordless knights, exiles, scryers, seekers and rogues who journeyed to Mesh. To the castle of my father, Shavashar Elahad, they came to view the wonder of the Lightstone. For there, behind the castle’s white granite walls, my friends and I had brought it to be guarded against the world’s evil and greed.
On a warm Sunday afternoon in late spring, with the cherry trees in the foothills in full bloom, I joined Master Juwain Zadoran and Sar Maram Marshayk at the top of the castle’s great Adami tower. It was our first gathering in nearly half a year – and our first in Master Juwain’s guest chamber since we had set out on the great Quest half a year before that. Master Juwain had recently returned from Taron in great haste, and had called this meeting to discuss matters pertaining to the Lightstone – and other things.
The room in which he resided when visiting my father’s castle was large and well-lit. Four arched windows looked out upon the white-capped peaks of Arakel and Telshar and the other mountains to the west. Four more windows gave a good view of the rest of the castle below us: the round and graceful Swan Tower and the Tower of the Stars; the courtyards full of wagons and knights on panting horses arriving for the evening’s feast; the great shield wall cut with crenels along its top like a giant’s teeth. Largest of all the castle’s structures was the massive keep, a huge cube of granite, and the adjoining great hall where the Lightstone was displayed for all to see. I might rather that it had been brought into the fastness of Master Juwain’s chamber, with its comforts of thick Galdan carpets, bright tapestries and many cases full of books, but I reminded myself that the golden cup was not meant to be kept in private by Master Juwain or Maram – or even me.
As I closed the door behind me and crossed the chamber’s tiled floor, Master Juwain of the Great White Brotherhood called out to me with a disquieting formality: ‘Greetings, Lord Valashu Elahad, Knight of the Swan, Guardian of the Lightstone, Prince of Mesh.’
He stood with my best friend, Maram, by the chamber’s west windows, looking at me strangely as if trying to peer beneath the mantle of these newly-won titles to apprehend a deeper thing inside me. His silver-gray eyes, large and luminous as moons, were full of wisdom and his great regard for me. Although some called him an ugly man, with his brown, squashlike nose and head as bald and lumpy as walnut, the light of kindness seemed to burn through these surface features and show only a being of great beauty.
‘Sir,’ I called back to him. I had addressed him thus for ten years, since the day that I had begun my studies at the age of eleven at the Brotherhood’s sanctuary in the mountains nearby. Although that happier time had long passed and we had been companions on the great Quest, he was still a Master Healer and Ea’s greatest scholar, and he deserved no less. ‘It’s good to see you!’
I rushed forward to embrace him. Despite being well into his middle years, his short, stocky body was still hard from the various disciplines to which he subjected it. A long, brown tunic of homespun wool covered him from neck to knee. From a chain, over his heart, dangled a gold medallion showing a sunburst and plain cup in relief. Seven rays streaked out of this cup to fall upon the medallion’s rim. King Kiritan had bestowed such gifts upon all who had vowed to make the quest to find the Lightstone. Maram and I wore our medallions as did Master Juwain: in bittersweet memory and pride.
‘It’s good to see you, Val,’ Master Juwain said, smiling at me. ‘Thank you for coming.’
Maram, dressed in a bright scarlet tunic emblazoned with two gold lions facing each other, did not like being left out of the greetings. He stepped up to me and threw his arms around me, a feat made difficult by his big, hard belly, which pushed out ahead of him like a boulder. He was a big man with a great, blazing heart of fire, and he drummed his hamlike hands against my back with such force that they threatened to stave-in my ribs.
‘Val, my brother,’ he said in his booming voice.
When he had finished pummeling me, we stood apart regarding each other. We were true brothers, I thought, and yet our lineages were as different as the river country of gentler climes and the highlands of Mesh. We were different, too. Although he was tall, for an outlander, I looked down upon him. He had his people’s curly chestnut hair, while mine was that of my father and mother: long, straight and black, more like a horse’s mane than the hair that covered the heads of most human beings. His face was of mounds of earth and rounded knolls, soft, pliable as red river clay; mine was all clefts and crags, cut as with walls of rock: too stark, too hard. He had a big, bear’s nose while mine was that of an eagle. And where his eyes were brown and sweet like alfalfa honey, my eyes, it was said, were black and bright as the nighttime sky above the winter mountains.
‘Ah, Val,’ he said, ‘it’s good to see you again, too.’
I smiled because we had taken breakfast together that very morning. Although Maram had been born a prince of Delu, he had resided in my father’s kingdom for half a dozen years. Once a novice of the Brotherhood under Master Juwain, he had renounced his vows and was now a sort of permanent guest in the castle. I looked at the jeweled rings on the fingers of his left hand and the single silver ring encircling the second finger of his right hand. It was set with two large diamonds: the ring of a Valari knight. Thus my father had honored him upon the fulfillment of the quest, declaring that Maram, in spirit at least, now belonged to my people.
Master Juwain invited us to sit at his tea table, inlaid with mother of pearl and precious woods, and years ago imported from Galda at great cost. He bent over one of the chamber’s fireplaces and retrieved a black iron pot. After heaping some green leaves into it, he brought it to the table and set it down on a square tile, along with three blue cups.
‘Ah, I think I’d rather have a bit of beer,’ Maram said, eyeing his empty cup. ‘I don’t suppose –’
‘I’m afraid it’s time for tea, Brother Maram,’ Master Juwain said. He, at least, remained true to his vows to renounce wine, women and war. ‘We’ve need for clear heads today – and tonight.’
Maram regarded the tea pot as he sat pulling at his thick, curly beard. I looked at Master Juwain and said, ‘What is troubling you, sir? It’s said that you nearly killed your horse returning from Taron.’
‘My poor horse,’ Master Juwain murmured, shaking his head. ‘But I had heard that King Kiritan’s emissaries were on the road toward Mesh, and I wanted to be here when they arrived. Have they?’
‘Only an hour after yourself,’ I told him. ‘Count Dario Narmada and a small army of knights. It will be hard to find rooms for so many.’
‘And the emissaries from Sakai? I had heard that the Red Dragon has sent seven of his priests to treat with your father.’
‘That is true,’ I said. ‘They’ve remained sequestered in their chamber since their arrival three days ago.’
I listened to the distant echoes and sounds that seemed to emanate from the stone walls around me. A wrongness pervaded the castle, like a child’s scream, and a sense of dread clawed at my insides. I thought of the five Kallimun priests and the cowled yellow robes that hid their faces; I prayed that none of them had been among the priests that had tortured my friends in Morjin’s throne room in Argattha.
‘They should never have been allowed into Mesh,’ Master Juwain said. He touched the enlarged opening of his ear that one of Morjin’s priests had torn with a heated iron. ‘That’s almost as dangerous as allowing the Red Dragon’s poisonous dreams into our minds.’
‘Dangerous, yes,’ I agreed. ‘But my father wishes to hear what they have to say. And he wishes it to be known that all are welcome in Mesh to view the Lightstone.’
I looked out the east windows where the city of Silvassu was spread out beneath the castle. It was a small city, whose winding streets and sturdy stone houses gave way after about a mile to the farmland and forest of the Valley of the Swans. And every inn and stable, I thought, was full with pilgrims who hoped to stand before the Lightstone. Even the fields at Silvassu’s edge were dotted with the brightly colored pavilions of nobles and knights who could not find rooms in the castle, and who disdained sleeping in a common inn with exiles, adventurers, soothsayers and all the others who had flocked to Mesh.
‘We can guess what the Red Priests will say: lies and more lies,’ Master Juwain told us. ‘But what of King Kiritan’s emissaries? Could he have agreed to the conclave?’
My father, King Shamesh, upon the deliverance of the Lightstone to Mesh, had sent emissaries of his own to Alonia and Delu, to the Elyssu and Thalu at the edge of the world. And to Eanna and Nedu, too, and of course, to the Nine Kingdoms of the Valari: to all of Ea’s Free Kingdoms my father had sent a call for a conclave to be held in Mesh, that an alliance might be made to oppose Morjin and his rampaging armies.
‘Ah, now that the Lightstone has been found,’ Maram said, ‘King Kiritan will have to agree to the conclave. And everyone else will follow Alonia’s lead – won’t they, Val?’
In truth, it had been I who had asked my father to call the conclave. For it had been I – and my friends – who had seen with our own eyes the great evil that Morjin was working upon the world.
‘The Valari kings,’ I said, ‘will never follow the lead of an outland king, not even Kiritan. We’ll have to find other means of persuading them.’
