Guy Gavriel Kay - Tigana

Both moons were high, dimming the light of all but the brightest stars. The campfires burned on either side of the river, stretching away into the night. Quietly flowing, the Deisa caught the moonlight and the orange of the nearer fires and cast them back in wavery, sinuous ripples. And all the lines of light led to his eyes, to where he was sitting on the riverbank, hands about his knees, thinking about dying and the life hed lived.

There was a glory to the night, Saevar thought, breathing deeply of the mild summer air, smelling water and water flowers and grass, watching the reflection of blue moonlight and silver on the river, hearing the Deisas murmurous flow and the distant singing from around the fires. There was singing on the other side of the river too, he noted, listening to the enemy soldiers north of them. It was curiously hard to impute any absolute sense of evil to those harmonizing voices, or to hate them quite as blindly as being a soldier seemed to require. He wasnt really a soldier, though, and he had never been good at hating.

He couldnt actually see any figures moving in the grass across the river, but he could see the fires and it wasnt hard to judge how many more of them lay north of the Deisa than there were here behind him, where his people waited for the dawn.

Almost certainly their last. He had no illusions; none of them did. Not since the battle at this same river five days ago. All they had was courage, and a leader whose defiant gallantry was almost matched by the two young sons who were here with him.

They were beautiful boys, both of them. Saevar regretted that he had never had the chance to sculpt either of them. The Prince he had done of course, many times. The Prince called him a friend. It could not be said, Saevar thought, that he had lived a useless or an empty life. Hed had his art, the joy of it and the spur, and had lived to see it praised by the great ones of his province, indeed of the whole peninsula.

And hed known love, as well. He thought of his wife and then of his own two children. The daughter whose eyes had taught him part of the meaning of life on the day shed been born fifteen years ago. And his son, too young by a year to have been allowed to come north to war. Saevar remembered the look on the boys face when they had parted. He supposed that much the same expression had been in his own eyes. Hed embraced both children, and then hed held his wife for a long time, in silence; all the words had been spoken many times through all the years. Then hed turned, quickly, so they would not see his tears, and mounted his horse, unwontedly awkward with a sword on his hip, and had ridden away with his Prince to war against those who had come upon them from over the sea.

He heard a light tread, behind him and to his left, from where the campfires were burning and voices were threading in song to the tune a syrenya played. He turned to the sound.

Be careful, he called softly. Unless you want to trip over a sculptor. Saevar? an amused voice murmured. A voice he knew well. It is, my lord Prince, he replied. Can you remember a night so beautiful?

Valentin walked over, there was more than enough light by which to see, and sank neatly down on the grass beside him. Not readily, he agreed. Can you see? Vidomnis waxing matches Ilarions wane. The two moons together would make one whole.

A strange whole that would be, Saevar said. Tis a strange night.

Is it? Is the night changed by what we do down here? We mortal men in our folly?

The way we see it is, Valentin said softly, his quick mind engaged by the question. The beauty we find is shaped, at least in part, by what we know the morning will bring.

What will it bring, my lord? Saevar asked, before he could stop himself. Half hoping, he realized, as a child hopes, that his dark-haired Prince of grace and pride would have an answer yet to what lay waiting across the river. An answer to all those Ygrathen voices and all the Ygrathen fires burning north of them. An answer, most of all, to the terrible King of Ygrath and his sorcery, and the hatred that he at least would have no trouble summoning tomorrow.

Valentin was silent, looking out at the river. Overhead Saevar saw a star fall, angling across the sky west of them to plunge, most likely, into the wideness of the sea. He was regretting the question; this was no time to be putting a burden of false certitude upon the Prince.

Just as he was about to apologize, Valentin spoke, his voice measured and low, so as not to carry beyond their small circle of dark.

I have been walking among the fires, and Corsin and Loredan have been doing the same, offering comfort and hope and such laughter as we can bring to ease men into sleep. There is not much else we can do.

They are good boys, both of them, Saevar offered. I was thinking that Ive never sculpted either of them.

Im sorry for that, Valentin said. If anything lasts for any length of time after us it will be art such as yours. Our books and music, Orsarias green and white tower in Avalle. He paused, and returned to his original thought. They are brave boys. They are also sixteen and nineteen, and if I could have I would have left them behind with their brother... and your son.

It was one of the reasons Saevar loved him: that Valentin would remember his own boy, and think of him with the youngest prince, even now, at such a time as this.

To the east and a little behind them, away from the fires, a trialla suddenly began to sing and both men fell silent, listening to the silver of that sound. Saevars heart was suddenly full, he was afraid that he might shame himself with tears, that they would be mistaken for fear.

Valentin said, But I havent answered your question, old friend. Truth seems easier here in the dark, away from the fires and all the need I have been seeing there. Saevar, I am so sorry, but the truth is that almost all of the mornings blood will be ours, and I am afraid it will be all of ours. Forgive me.

There is nothing to forgive, Saevar said quickly, and as firmly as he could. This is not a war of your making, nor one you could avoid or undo. And besides, I may not be a soldier but I hope I am not a fool. It was an idle question: I can see the answer for myself, my lord. In the fires across the river.

And the sorcery, Valentin added quietly. More that, than the fires. We could beat back greater numbers, even weary and wounded as we are from last weeks battle. But Brandins magic is with them now. The lion has come himself, not the cub, and because the cub is dead there must be blood for the morning sun. Should I have surrendered last week? To the boy?

Saevar turned to look at the Prince in the blended moonlight, disbelieving. He was speechless for a moment, then found his voice. I would have gone home from that surrender, he said, with resolution, and walked into the Palace by the Sea, and smashed every sculpture I ever made of you.

A second later he heard an odd sound. It took him a moment to realize that Valentin was laughing, because it wasnt laughter like any Saevar had ever heard.

Oh, my friend, the Prince said, at length, I think I knew you would say that. Oh, our pride. Our terrible pride. Will they remember that most about us, do you think, after we are gone?