Shadow of All Night Falling by Glen Cook Page A

Man considered that. Finally, he nodded. “The Silent One Who Walks With Grief. Of Ilkazar.”
    “And Eldred the Wanderer.”
    “A sad man. I watched him occasionally. He drank a bitter wine. Dogs can be more humane than men. They don’t know the meaning of ingratitude. Nor of treachery.”
    “True. But I’ve abandoned anger and disappointment.”
    “As have I. They’ll be what they’ll be, and nothing will change them. You came seeking?”
    “A place away from all places, and men, and loneliness. Two centuries among men... are enough.”
    “Any changes these past hundred years? I slept them out, being bored with repetitiveness.”
    “I thought so. Yes. Cities have fallen. Kingdoms have risen. But kings and men are the same in their hearts.”
    “And will always be. Fangdred is a refuge from that.
    You’re welcome. But there’s a lot to do to make this place livable. Maybe servants and artisans should be engaged. Why here?”
    “As I said, I need a place away, yet not lonely. To wait.”
    “For?”
    “A woman, and destiny. I haven’t performed the divination for decades. Would you like to watch? You’d understand better.”
    “Of course. How soon?”
    “She’s still two centuries down the river. The Fates hold a veil across the flow, concealing most of her age. Their hands will be in deep then, in a time of strife and true changes. Great powers will contest for empires. Wizards will war as never before. That’s what I’ve divined so far. Seldom have I seen a divination so clouded.”
    “Ah? What’s this about the Fates? Have they ranged themselves against you?” The Old Man’s gray eyes flashed as though he were considering challenging the unchallengeable.
    “They’ve taken sides, but I don’t know how, nor the nature of my role. They’re playing a complex game, apparently against the Norns, with incomprehensible rules and stakes. The players are uncertain, and their allegiances ephemeral.”
    “You’ve got a theory?” The Old Man tugged his beard thoughtfully.
    “A tenuous one. That possibly the antagonists are systems of manipulation. Magic versus science. Romantic stasis versus clinical progress. The stakes could be the validity of magic and godhead. That puts us on the side of the gods. But I can’t understand the Norns fighting us. If they are. They’d have no place in an orderly world either.”
    The Old Man ran a wrinkled hand through his hair. “I see. Ours is an enchanted world, with magical laws. That system has no room for newness or change. Which’s why it hasn’t changed much since the advent of the Star Rider.” That event antedated even the Old Man’s earliest memories-though he knew more than he would ever admit.
    “And it’ll stay that way unless the Power fails. I don’t know if that’s right. I have to stay with the magical system. My choices have been made for me, long ago, before I understood enough to choose intelligently.
    “Consider a world without magic.”
    The Old Man closed his eyes, leaned back, imagined. He remained motionless and silent so long it seemed he had fallen asleep. A man less patient than Varthlokkur would have grown irritated. But, then, Varthlokkur had a concept of time unlike that of shorter-lived men.
    “It wouldn’t be a pleasant world,” the Old Man finally replied. “There’d be no room for us. Sorcery would be a bad joke. Dragons and such would be the hardware of children’s stories. Gods would be degraded till they had the substance of smoke. An unpleasant world, I’d say. I’d have to support magic, too. Are you tired?”
    “In many ways, of many things, and life most of all. But I’m going to wait for her.”
    “Rest, then. Tomorrow we’ll start rejuvenating Fangdred. And then we’ll begin getting ready for this future contest.”
    Actually, Varthlokkur didn’t much care about the coming struggle. He thought of it only as the price of finding his woman. “Where should I establish myself?”
    “The Wind Tower