Darkness Falls
by Shadowy Star
May 2007
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters, places, locations and organizations not appearing or being mentioned in the books are also mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission.
Summary: To each light, there has to be a darkness… He will see to that.
Andrys entered the living room. Thick curtains in wine red covered the windows of the first floor, shutting out the night. Candles were lit around the room, and a small fire threw bright sparks –like miniature fireworks, he mused– against the sooty black of its fireplace's roof, pieces of cedar wood cracking cheerfully against the winter's cold outside the walls of Merentha Castle.
He made his way through the room, blowing out most of the candles, letting only those on his desk burn, Sitting down and heaving a frustrated sigh, he picked up two letters that needed to be answered by tomorrow morning.
The shadows in the corners grew deeper.
Out of one of them, a voice came.
"Can't you stand the light?"
His heart racing, he jumped to his feet, sending his finely ornamented, velvet-holstered chair to the floor. A surge of memories –dark as night, red as blood– swept over him, raged against the walls of his conscious mind, tried to break through to the very core of his soul. He fought desperately, putting all he had into it. He succeeded, somehow.
The voice was deep, its timbre rich and dark like black velvet, not the light, mocking tones that still haunted his dreams. Yet, it seemed familiar, but he just couldn't put a finger on it.
Relieved, he allowed himself to relax a little.
"Or did you finally learn that not every darkness can be banished?" the voice went on, a shade of impersonal curiosity to it.
With that, a tall shape stepped forwards, making its appearance from a shadowed corner near a floor-to-ceiling window, its cloak as dark as the night outside, perhaps even more so.
"Wwwhho are you?" Andrys stammered. "What are you?"
"How easy you forget," the other man said, a tiny, cold smile gracing his full lips, the upper part of his face still hidden in the shadows of a large hood. "Then again, you were so eager to forget…" Again that distance in his tone, and maybe pity, and something else Andrys had no name for. "You got anything you wanted. All you had to do was to take it from somebody else. Your title, the money, this castle… All this at the cost of an identity."
Andrys stared at the other without comprehension. Was he a demon? God knew, he'd seen enough demons for the rest of his life.
The man moved then, a leather-gloved hand coming forward in an elegant motion and removing the hood of his cloak.
Andrys froze. "I remember…" he breathed. "You were there…" Little wonder the voice sounded familiar…
The fire's golden light put a warmth into the man's hazel brown eyes they did no longer possess.
"You could have chosen differently as you very well know," the man continued. "But you always choose the easy way out, don't you?"
"You don't understand!" Andrys snapped furiously. "You of all people should–"
"Of all people, I understand perfectly." His voice was again laced with something far beyond Andrys' ability to read or ever hope comprehend. "I was there – as you said."
"What do you want?" Andrys asked. "Revenge?"
"This is not about retaliation," the other said softly, almost gently. Slowly approaching Andrys' position. "Not even about reversal. Just about balance."
Andrys took a step back, and another, and another, until he felt the edge of his desk biting sharply into his lower back. He didn't quite understand where this was leading to but he was sure no good thing would result of it.
His eyes were still wide with incomprehension when the sharp point of a sword pierced his heart, its blade easily burying itself to a flame-ornamented hilt into his chest.
Damien Kilcannon Vryce retrieved his sword, sadly looking down at the dead body of the last Neocount of Merentha. With the dark eyes closed the young man looked almost exactly like his ancestor.
"This was foreordained, you know. Without darkness, there can't be no light," he said, resheathing his sword in a single fluid motion. He'd been light to one Tarrant's darkness and now darkness to another Tarrant's light. Would there be someone to bring light to his own darkness? he asked himself.
He turned away and leaped out of the window without making a sound, his feet sure in the darkness, the night welcoming him and keeping him safe.
FIN
