Free The Darkness that Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker Page B

mightiest power in the Three Seas. No. It would be far more rational for the Shriah to declare the Fanim the object of his Holy War—”
    “But,” Nautzera interjected, “we all know that faith is no friend to reason. The distinction between the rational and the irrational means little when one speaks of the Thousand Temples.”
    “You’re sending me to Sumna,” Achamian said. “To discover Maithanet’s true intent.”
    A wicked smile creased Nautzera’s dyed beard. “Yes.”
    “But what good could I do? It’s been years since I’ve been to Sumna. I’ve no more contacts there.” This was true or untrue depending upon how one defined “contacts.” There was a woman he knew in Sumna—Esmenet. But that had been a long time ago.
    And there was also—Achamian was arrested by the thought. Could they know?
    “But this isn’t true,” Nautzera replied. “In fact, Simas has informed us of that student of yours who”—he paused, as though searching for a term to deal with a matter too dreadful for polite conversation—“defected.”
    Simas? He looked to his old teacher. Why would you tell them?
    Achamian spoke cautiously. “You refer to Inrau.”
    “Yes,” Nautzera replied. “And this Inrau has become, or so I am told”—again a glance at Simas—“a Shrial Priest .” His tone was thick with censure. Your student, Achamian. Your betrayal.
    “You’re too harsh, as always, Nautzera. Inrau was cursed: born with the sensitivities of the Few and yet with the sensibilities of a priest. Our ways would have killed him.”
    “Ah, yes . . . sensibilities, ” the old face replied. “But tell us, clearly if you could, your estimation of this former student. Has he crossed the pale, or might the Mandate retrieve him?”
    “Could he be made our spy? Is this what you ask?”
    Inrau a spy? Obviously Simas had compounded his betrayal by not telling them anything of Inrau.
    “I thought it evident,” Nautzera said.
    Achamian paused, looked to Simas, whose face had become discouragingly serious.
    “Answer him, Akka,” his old teacher said.
    “No,” Achamian replied, turning back to Nautzera. Suddenly his heart felt a stone. “No. Inrau was born on the far side of the pale. He won’t return.”
    Cold amusement—so bitter on such an old face. “Ah, Achamian, but he will.”
    Achamian knew what they demanded: the sorceries, and the betrayal they would entail. He had been close to Inrau, had promised to protect him. They had been . . . close.
    “No,” he replied, “I refuse. Inrau’s spirit is frail. He doesn’t have the mettle to do what you’re asking. We need someone else.”
    “There is no one else.”
    “Nevertheless,” he replied, only beginning to grasp the consequences of his rashness, “I refuse.”
    “You refuse?” Nautzera spat. “Because this priest is a weakling? Achamian, you must stifle the mother in—”
    “Achamian acts out of loyalty, Nautzera,” Simas interrupted. “Don’t confuse the two.”
    “Loyalty?” Nautzera snapped. “But this is the very heart of the issue, Simas! What we share is incomprehensible to other men. As one we cry out in our sleep. With such a bond—like a vice!—how can loyalty to another be anything short of sedition?”
    “Sedition?” Achamian exclaimed, knowing he had to proceed carefully. Such words were like casks of wine: once unstopped, things tended to deteriorate.“You mistake me—both of you. I refuse out of loyalty to the Mandate. Inrau is too frail. We risk alienating the Thousand—”
    “Such a weak lie,” Nautzera growled. He then laughed, as though realizing that he should have expected this impertinence all along. “Schools spy, Achamian. We are alienated in advance . But you know this.” The old sorcerer turned away from him and warmed his fingers over the coals of a nearby brazier. Orange light trimmed his grand figure, sketched his narrow lines against colossal works of stone. “Tell me, Achamian, if this Maithanet and