Brys inwardly smiled and turned. Three strides into the spice-filled, low-ceilinged room. Countless sources of light made a war of colours on the furniture and tables with their crowds of implements, scrolls and beakers.
‘Ceda?’
‘Over here. Come and see what I’ve done.’
Brys edged past a bookcase extending out perpendicularly from one wall and found the King’s Sorceror behind it, perched on a stool. A tilted table with a level bottom shelf was at the man’s side, cluttered with discs of polished glass.
‘Your step has changed, Finadd,’ Kuru Qan said, ‘since becoming the King’s Champion.’
‘I was not aware of that, Ceda.’
Kuru Qan spun on his seat and raised a strange object before his face. Twin lenses of glass, bound in place side by side with wire. The Ceda’s broad, prominent features were made even more so by a magnifying effect from the lenses. Kuru Qan set the object against his face, using ties to bind it so that the lenses sat before his eyes, making them huge as he blinked up at Brys.
‘You are as I imagined you. Excellent. The blur diminishes in importance. Clarity ascends, achieving preeminence among all the important things. What I hear now matters less than what I see. Thus, perspective shifts. The world changes. Important, Finadd. Very important.’
‘Those lenses have given you vision? That is wonderful, Ceda!’
‘The key was in seeking a solution that was the antithesis of sorcery. Looking upon the Empty Hold stole my sight, after all. I could not effect correction through the same medium. Not yet important, this detail. Pray indeed it never becomes so.’
Ceda Kuru Qan never held but one discourse at any one time. Or so he had explained it once. While many found this frustrating, Brys was ever charmed.
‘Am I the first to be shown your discovery, Ceda?’
‘You would see its importance more than most. Swordsman, dancing with place, distance and timing, with all the material truths. I need to make adjustments.’ He snatched the contraption off and hunched over it, minuscule tools flicking in his deft hands. ‘You were in the First Eunuch’s chamber of office. Not an altogether pleasing conversation for you. Unimportant, for the moment.’
‘I am summoned to the throne room, Ceda.’
‘True. Not entirely urgent. The Preda would have you present…shortly. The First Eunuch enquired after your eldest brother?’
Brys sighed.
‘I surmised,’ Kuru Qan said, glancing up with a broad smile. ‘Your unease tainted your sweat. Nifadas is sorely obsessed at the moment.’ He set the lenses against his eyes once more. Focused on the Finadd’s eyes—disconcerting, since it had never happened before. ‘Who needs spies when one’s nose roots out all truths?’
‘I hope, Ceda, that you do not lose that talent, with this new invention of yours.’
‘Ah, see! A swordsman indeed. The importance of every sense is not lost on you! What a measurable delight—here, let me show you.’ He slid down from the stool and approached a table, where he poured clear liquid into a translucent beaker. Crouched low to check its level, then nodded. ‘Measurable, as I had suspected.’ He plucked the beaker from its stand and tossed the contents back, smacking his lips when he was done. ‘But it is both brothers who haunt you now.’
‘I am not immune to uncertainty.’
‘One should hope not! An important admission. When the Preda is done with you—and it shall not be long—return to me. We have a task before us, you and I.’
‘Very well, Ceda.’
‘Time for some adjustments.’ He pulled off the lenses once more. ‘For us both,’ he added.
Brys considered, then nodded. ‘Until later, then, Ceda.’
He made his way from the sorceror’s chamber.
Nifadas and Kuru Qan, they stand to one side of King Diskanar. Would that there was no other side.
The throne room was misnamed, in that the king was in the process of shifting the royal seat of power to the Eternal Domicile, now that the leaks in its lofty roof had been corrected. A few trappings remained, including the ancient rug approaching the dais, and the stylized gateway arching over the place where the throne had once stood.
When Brys arrived, only his old commander, Preda Unnutal Hebaz, was present. As always, a dominating figure, no matter how exalted her surroundings. She stood taller than most women, nearly Brys’s own height. Fair-skinned, with a burnished cast to her blonde hair yet eyes of a dark hazel, she turned to face him at his approach. In her fortieth year, she was none the less possessed of extraordinary beauty that the weather lines only enhanced.
‘Finadd Beddict, you are late.’
‘Impromptu audiences with the First Eunuch and the Ceda—’
‘We have but a few moments,’ she interrupted. ‘Take your place along the wall, as would a guard. They might recognize you, or they might assume you are but one of my underlings, especially given the poor light now that the sconces have been taken down. Either way, you are to stand at attention and say nothing.’
Frowning, Brys strode to his old guard’s niche, turned about to face the chamber, then edged back into the shadows until hard stone pressed against his shoulders. He saw the Preda studying him for a moment, then she nodded and swung to face the doorway at the far corner of the wall behind the dais.
Ah, this meeting belongs to the other side…
The door slammed open to the gauntleted hand of a Prince’s Guardsman, and the helmed, armoured figure of that man strode warily into the chamber. His sword was still in its scabbard, but Brys knew that Moroch Nevath could draw it in a single beat of a heart. He knew, also, that Moroch had been the prince’s own candidate for King’s Champion. And well deserved too. Moroch Nevath not only possesses the skill, he also has the presence…And, although that bold manner irritated Brys in some indefinable way, he found himself envying it as well.
The Prince’s Guard studied the chamber, fixing here and there on shadowed recesses, including the one wherein Brys stood—but it was a momentary thing, seeming only to acknowledge the presence of one of the Preda’s guards—and Moroch finally settled his attention on Unnutal Hebaz.
A single nod of acknowledgement, then Moroch stepped to one side.
Prince Quillas Diskanar entered. Behind him came Chancellor Triban Gnol. Then, two figures that made Brys start. Queen Janall and her First Consort, Turudal Brizad.
By the Errant, the entire squalid nest.
Quillas bared his teeth at Unnutal Hebaz as would a dog at the end of his chain. ‘You have released Finadd Gerun Eberict to Nifadas’s entourage. I want him taken back, Preda. Choose someone else.’
Unnutal’s tone was calm. ‘Gerun Eberict’s competence is above reproach, Prince Quillas. I am informed that the First Eunuch is pleased with the selection.’
Chancellor Triban Gnol spoke in an equally reasonable voice. ‘Your prince believes otherwise, Preda. It behoves you to accord that opinion due respect.’
‘The prince’s beliefs are his own concern. I am charged by his father, the king, in this matter. Regarding what I do and do not respect, Chancellor, I strongly suggest you retract your challenge.’
Moroch Nevath growled and stepped forward.
The Preda’s hand snapped out—not to the Prince’s Guardsman, but towards the niche where Brys stood, halting him a half-stride from his position. The sword was already in his hand, and its freeing from the scabbard had been as silent as it had been fast.
Moroch’s gaze flashed to Brys, the startled expression giving way to recognition. The man’s own sword was but halfway out of its scabbard.
A dry chuckle from the queen. ‘Ah, the Preda’s decision for but one guard is…explained. Step forward, if you please, Champion.’
‘That will not be necessary,’ Unnutal said.
Brys nodded and slowly stepped back, sheathing his sword as he did so.
Queen Janall’s brows rose at the Preda’s brusque countermand. ‘Dear Unnutal Hebaz, you rise far above your station.�
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‘The presumption is not mine, Queen. The Royal Guard answer to the king and no-one else.’
‘Well, forgive me if I delight in challenging that antiquated conceit.’ Janall fluttered one thin hand. ‘Strengths are ever at risk of becoming weaknesses.’ She stepped close to her son. ‘Heed your mother’s advice, Quillas. It was folly to cut at the Preda’s pedestal, for it has not yet turned to sand. Patience, beloved one.’
The Chancellor sighed. ‘The queen’s advice—’
‘Is due respect,’ Quillas mimed. ‘As you will, then. As you all will. Moroch!’
Bodyguard trailing, the prince strode from the chamber.
The queen’s smile was tender as she said, ‘Preda Unnutal Hebaz, we beg your forgiveness. This meeting was not of our choice, but my son insisted. From the moment our procession began, the Chancellor and I both sought to dissuade him.’
‘To no avail,’ the Chancellor said, sighing once more.
The Preda’s expression did not change. ‘Are we done?’
Queen Janall wagged a single finger in mute warning, then gestured to her First Consort, slipping her arm through his as they left.
Triban Gnol remained a moment longer. ‘My congratulations, Preda,’ he said. ‘Finadd Gerun Eberict was an exquisite choice.’
Unnutal Hebaz said nothing.
Five heartbeats later and she and Brys were alone in the chamber.
The Preda turned. ‘Your speed, Champion, never fails to take my breath away. I did not hear you, only…anticipated. Had I not, Moroch would now be dead.’
‘Possibly, Preda. If only because he had dismissed my presence.’
‘And Quillas would have only himself to blame.’
Brys said nothing.
‘I should not have halted you.’
He watched her leave.
Gerun Eberict, you poor bastard.
Recalling that the Ceda wanted him, Brys swung about and strode from the chamber.
Leaving behind no blood.
And he knew that Kuru Qan would hear the relief in his every step.
The Ceda had been waiting outside his door, seemingly intent on practising a dance step, when Brys arrived.
‘A few fraught moments?’ Kuru Qan asked without looking up. ‘Unimportant. For now. Come.’
Fifty paces on, down stone steps, along dusty corridors, and Brys guessed at their destination. He felt his heart sinking. A place he had heard of, but one he had yet to visit. It seemed the King’s Champion was permitted to walk where a lowly Finadd was not. This time, however, the privilege was suspect.
They came to a pair of massive copper-sheathed doors. Green and rumpled with moss, they were bare of markings and showed no locking mechanism. The Ceda leaned on them and they parted with a grinding squeal.
Beyond rose narrow steps, leading to a walkway suspended knee-high above the floor by chains that reached down from the ceiling. The room was circular, and in the floor were set luminous tiles forming a spiral. The walkway ended at a platform in the chamber’s centre.
‘Trepidation, Finadd? Well deserved.’ Gesturing, Kuru Qan led Brys onto the walkway.
It swayed alarmingly.
‘The striving for balance is made manifest,’ the Ceda said, arms held out to the sides. ‘One’s steps must needs find the proper rhythm. Important, and difficult for all that there are two of us. No, do not look down upon the tiles—we are not yet ready. To the platform first. Here we are. Stand at my side, Finadd. Look with me upon the first tile of the spiral. What do you see?’
Brys studied the glowing tile. It was large, not quite square. Two spans of a spread hand in length, slightly less so in width.
The Holds. The Cedance. Kuru Qan’s chamber of divination. Throughout Letheras there were casters of the tiles, readers of the Holds. Of course, their representations were small, like flattened dice. Only the King’s Sorceror possessed tiles such as these. With ever-shifting faces. ‘I see a barrow in a yard.’
‘Ah, then you see truly. Good. An unhinged mind would reveal itself at this moment, its vision poisoned with fear and malice. Barrow, third from last among the tiles of the Azath Hold. Tell me, what do you sense from it?’
Brys frowned. ‘Restlessness.’
‘Aye. Disturbing, agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
‘But the Barrow is strong, is it not? It will not yield its claim. Yet, consider for a moment. Something is restless, there beneath that earth. And each time I have visited here in the past month, this tile has begun the spiral.’
‘Or ended it.’
Kuru Qan tilted his head. ‘Possibly. A swordsman’s mind addresses the unexpected. Important? We’ll see, won’t we? Begins, or ends. So. If the Barrow is in no danger of yielding, then why does this tile persist? Perhaps we but witness what is, whilst that restlessness promises what will be. Alarming.’
‘Ceda, have you visited the site of the Azath?’
‘I have. Both tower and grounds are unchanged. The Hold’s manifestation remains steadfast and contained. Now, drag your gaze onward, Finadd. Next?’
‘A gate, formed of a dragon’s gaping jaws.’
‘Fifth in the Hold of the Dragon. Gate. How does it relate to Barrow of the Azath? Does the Gate precede or follow? In the span of my life, this is the first time I have seen a tile of Dragon Hold in the pattern. We are witness—or shall be witness—to a momentous occasion.’
Brys glanced at the Ceda. ‘We are nearing Seventh Closure. It is momentous. The First Empire shall be reborn. King Diskanar shall be transformed—he shall ascend and assume the ancient title of First Emperor.’
Kuru Qan hugged himself. ‘The popular interpretation, aye. But the true prophecy, Finadd, is somewhat more…obscure.’
Brys was alarmed by the Ceda’s reaction. Nor had he known that the popular interpretation was other than accurate. ‘Obscure? In what way?’
‘“The king who rules at the Seventh Closure shall be transformed and so shall become the First Emperor reborn.” Thus. Yet, questions arise. Transformed—how? And reborn—in the flesh? The First Emperor was destroyed along with the First Empire, in a distant land. Leaving the colonies here bereft. We have existed in isolation for a very long time, Finadd. Longer than you might believe.’
‘Almost seven thousand years.’
The Ceda smiled. ‘Language changes over time. Meaning twists. Mistakes compound with each transcribing. Even those stalwart sentinels of perfection—numbers—can, in a single careless moment, be profoundly altered. Shall I tell you my belief, Finadd? What would you say to my notion that some zeroes were dropped? At the beginning of this the Seventh Closure.’
Seventy thousand years? Seven hundred thousand?
‘Describe for me the next four tiles.’
Feeling slightly unbalanced, Brys forced his attention back to the floor. ‘I recognize that one. Betrayer of the Empty Hold. And the tile that follows: White Crow, of the Fulcra. The third is unknown to me. Shards of ice, one of which is upthrust from the ground and grows bright with reflected light.’
Kuru Qan sighed and nodded. ‘Seed, last of the tiles in the Hold of Ice. Another unprecedented appearance. And the fourth?’
Brys shook his head. ‘It is blank.’
‘Just so. The divination ceases. Is blocked, perhaps, by events yet to occur, by choices as yet unmade. Or, it marks the beginning, the flux that is now, this very moment. Leading to the end, which is the last tile—Barrow. Unique mystery. I am at a loss.’
‘Has anyone else seen this, Ceda? Have you discussed your impasse with anyone?’
‘The First Eunuch has been informed, Brys Beddict. To ensure that he does not walk into the Great Meeting blind to whatever portents might arise there. And now, you. Three of us, Finadd.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because you are the King’s Champion. It is your task to guard his life.’
Brys sighed. ‘He keeps sending me away.’
‘I will remind him yet again,’ Kuru Qan said
. ‘He must surrender his love of solitude, or come to see no-one when he glances your way. Now, tell me what the queen incited her son to do in the old throne room.’
‘Incited? She claimed the very opposite.’
‘Unimportant. Tell me what your eyes witnessed, what your ears heard. Tell me, Brys Beddict, what your heart whispered.’
Brys stared down at the blank tile. ‘Hull may prove a problem,’ he said in a dull voice.
‘This is what your heart whispered?’
‘It is.’
‘At the Great Meeting?’
He nodded.
‘How?’
‘I fear, Ceda, that he might kill Prince Quillas Diskanar.’
The building had once housed a carpenter’s shop on the ground floor, with a modest collection of low-ceilinged residential rooms on the upper level, reached via a drop-down staircase. The front faced out onto Quillas Canal, opposite a landing where, presumably, the carpenter had received his supplies.
Tehol Beddict walked around the spacious workshop, noting the holes in the hardwood floor where mechanisms had been fitted, hooks on walls for tools still identifiable by the faded outlines. The air still smelled of sawdust and stains, and a single worktable ran the full length of the wall to the left of the entrance. The entire front wall, he saw, was constructed with removable panels. ‘You purchased this outright?’ he asked, facing the three women who had gathered at the foot of the staircase.
‘The owner’s business was expanding,’ Shand said, ‘as was his family.’
‘Fronting the canal…this place was worth something…’
‘Two thousand thirds. We bought most of his furniture upstairs. Ordered a desk that was delivered last night.’ Shand waved a hand to encompass the ground level. ‘This area’s yours. ‘I’d suggest a wall or two, leaving a corridor from the door to the stairs. That clay pipe is the kitchen drain. We knocked out the section leading to the kitchen upstairs, since we expect your servant to feed the four of us. The privy’s out in the backyard, empties into the canal. There’s also a cold shed, with a water-tight ice box big enough for a whole Nerek family to live in.’
‘A rich carpenter with time on his hands,’ Tehol said.
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 376