‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.
The city was quiet, barring a pair of dogs scrapping somewhere behind a warehouse. Seren stumbled on occasion as she hurried down the streets. But, true to the dockhand’s word, the ale dulled the pain behind her eyes. Made her thoughts all too clear.
She reached Buruk the Pale’s home, an old but well-maintained house halfway down a row on the street just in from the riverside warehouses.
No lights showed behind the shuttered windows.
Seren climbed the steps and drove her boot against the door.
Four kicks and the locks broke. By this time, neighbours had awakened. There were shouts, calls for the guard. Somewhere down the row a bell began ringing.
She followed the collapsing door into the cloakroom beyond. No servants, no sound from within. Into the dark hallway, ascending the stairs to the next level. Another hallway, step by step closing in on the door to Buruk’s bedroom. Through the doorway. Inside.
Where he hung beneath a crossbeam, face bloated in the shadows. A toppled chair off to one side, up against the narrow bed.
A scream, filled with rage, tore loose from Seren’s throat. Below, boots on the stairs.
She screamed again, the sound falling away to a hoarse sob.
You have always held my heart.
Smoke rising in broad plumes, only to fall back and unfold like a grey cloak over the lands to the north. Obscuring all, hiding nothing.
Hanradi Khalag’s weathered face was set, expressionless, as he stared at the distant devastation. Beside the chief of the Merude, Trull Sengar remained silent, wondering why Hanradi had joined him at this moment, when the mass of warriors were in the midst of breaking camp on the forested slopes all around them.
‘Hull Beddict spoke true,’ the chief said in his raspy voice. ‘They would strike pre-emptively. Beneda, Hiroth and Arapay villages.’
A night of red fires filling the north. At least four villages, and among them Trull’s own. Destroyed.
He swung round to study the slopes. Seething with warriors, Edur women and their slaves, elders and children. No going back, now. The Letherii sorcery has obliterated our homes…but those homes were empty, the villages left to the crows.
And a handful of hapless Nerek.
Nothing but ashes, now.
‘Trull Sengar,’ Hanradi Khalag said, ‘our allies arrived last night. Three thousand. You were seen. It seems they know you well, if only by reputation. The sons of Tomad Sengar, but you especially. The one who leads them is called the Dominant. A hulk of a man, even for one of his kind. More grey than black in his mane. He is named B’nagga—’
‘This does not interest me, Chief,’ Trull cut in. ‘They have been as sorely used as we have, and that use is far from over. I do not know this B’nagga.’
‘As I said, he knows you, and would speak with you.’
Trull turned away.
‘You had best accept the truth of things, Trull Sengar—’
‘One day I will know your mind, Hanradi Khalag. The self you hide so well. Hannan Mosag bent you to his will. And now you kneel before my brother, the emperor. The usurper. Is this what the unification of the tribes was intended to mean? Is this the future you desired?’
‘Usurper. Words like that will see you killed or cast out.’
Trull grunted. ‘Rhulad is with the western army—’
‘But the wraiths now serve him.’
‘Ah, and we are to have spies among us now? An emperor who fears his own. An emperor who would be immune to criticism. Someone must speak in the name of reason.’
‘Speak no more of this. Not to me. I reject all you say. You are being foolish, Trull Sengar. Foolish. Your anger is born of envy. No more.’ He turned and walked back down the narrow track, leaving Trull alone once again on the precipice rising above the valleys of the pass. It did not occur to him to see if Hanradi had indeed lost his shadow.
A precipice. Where he could look down and watch the thousands swarm among the trees.
Three land armies and four fleets held, divided among them, the entire population of the Tiste Edur. This camp before him was a league wide and two leagues deep. Trull had never seen so many Edur gathered in one place. Hiroth, Arapay, Sollanta, Beneda.
He caught movement below, on the edge of Fear’s command area, squat, fur-clad figures, and felt himself grow cold. Our…allies.
Jheck.
Summoned by the Edur they had killed. Worshippers of the sword.
The night just past, beginning at dusk, had vanished behind a nightmarish display of sorcery. Unimaginable powers unveiled by the Letherii mages, an expression of appalling brutality in its intent. This was clearly going to be a war where no quarter was given, where conquest and annihilation were, for the Letherii, synonymous. Trull wondered if Rhulad would answer in like manner.
Except we have no homes to return to. We are committed to occupation of the south. Of Lether. We cannot raze the cities…can we? He drew a deep breath. He needed to talk to Fear again. But his brother had plunged into his role as commander of this army. His lead elements, half a day ahead, would come within sight of High Fort. The army would cross the Katter River at the Narrow Chute, which was spanned by a stone bridge centuries old, then swing down to join those lead elements.
And there would be a battle.
For Fear, the time for questions was past.
But why can I not manage the same for myself? Certainty, even fatality, eluded Trull. His mind would not rest from its tortured thoughts, his worries of what awaited them.
He made his way down the track. The Jheck were there, a contingent present in Fear’s command area. He was not required, he told himself, to speak to them.
Edur warriors readying armour and weapons on all sides. Women chanting protective wards to weave a net of invisibility about the entire encampment. Wraiths darting among the trees, most of them streaming southward, through the pass and into the southlands. Here and there, demonic conjurations towered, hulking and motionless along the many newly worn trails leading to the summit. They were in full armour of bronze scales, green with verdigris, with heavy helms, the cheek guards battered plates that reached down past the jawlines, their faces hidden. Polearms, glaives, double-edged axes and maces, an array of mêlée weapons. Once, not so long ago, such summoned demons had been rare, the ritual—conducted by women—one of cajoling, false promises and final deception. The creatures were bound, now doomed to fight a war not of their making, where the only release was annihilation. They numbered in the high hundreds in this, Fear’s army. The truth of that sickened him.
Helping with the striking of tents, children. Torn from their familiar world, subject to a new shaping. If this gambit failed…
Fear was standing near the remnants of a hearth from which smoke rose in a low wreath about his legs. Flanked by the two K’risnan the emperor had attached to this force. Hanradi Khalag stood off to one side.
A Jheck was approaching, probably the one the Merude chief had spoken of, given the wild iron-streaked, tangled head of hair, the flattened, seamed face displaying countless battle-scars. Various shells dangled from knotted strips hanging on his sleeveless sealskin shirt. Other small trophies depended from a narrow belt beneath the man’s round paunch—pieces of Edur armour, jewellery. A bold reminder of past enmity.
What had Hanradi called him? The Dominant. B’nagga.
The Jheck’s eyes were yellow, the whites dull grey and embryonic with blue vessels. They looked half mad.
Filed teeth flashed in a fierce smile. ‘See who comes, Fear Sengar!’ The accent was awkward behind the Arapay intonations. ‘The one we could not defeat!’
Trull scowled as his brother turned to watch him approach. To the Dominant, he said, ‘You’ll find no fields of ice to the south, Jheck.’
‘Mange and moult, Slayer. No other enemy gives us such terror.’ His broadening smile underscored the irony of his words. ‘Fear Sengar, your brother is worthy of much pride. Again and
again, my hunters sought to best this warrior in individual combat. Veered or sembled, it mattered not. He defeated them all. Never before have we witnessed such skill, such ferocity.’
‘Among all who I trained, B’nagga,’ Fear said, ‘Trull was and remains the finest.’
Trull started, then his scowl deepened with disbelief. ‘Enough of this. Fear, has our emperor spoken to us through the wraiths? Does he voice his satisfaction at the failed attempt by the Letherii? Does he spit with rage?’
One of the K’risnan spoke. ‘Not a single Edur was lost, Trull Sengar. For that, we have Hull Beddict to thank.’
‘Ah yes, the traitor. And what of the Nerek camped in our village?’
The warlock shrugged. ‘We could not command them.’
‘Relinquish your anger, brother,’ Fear said. ‘The devastation was wrought by the Letherii, not us.’
‘True. And now it is our turn.’
‘Yes. The wraiths have reported an army ascending to the pass.’
Ah, no. So soon.
B’nagga laughed. ‘Do we ambush them? Shall I send my wolves forward?’
‘They are not yet at the bridge,’ Fear replied. ‘I expect they will seek to contest that crossing should we fail to reach it before them. For the moment, however, they are in a slow-march, and, it seems, not expecting much opposition.’
‘That much is clear,’ Hanradi said. ‘What commander would seek an engagement against an enemy upslope? This is a probe. At first contact they will withdraw. Back to High Fort. Fear, we should bloody them all the way.’
‘B’nagga, send half your force forward. Observe the enemy, but remain unseen.’
The K’risnan who had spoken earlier said, ‘Fear, there will be a mage cadre attached to the army.’
Fear nodded. ‘Withdraw the wraiths barring a dozen or so. I would convey the belief that those few are but residents of the area. The enemy must remain unsuspecting. Hanradi Khalag, our warriors must be made ready to march. You will lead them.’
‘We shall be under way before mid-morning.’
Trull watched the Merude chief walk away, then said, ‘Those Letherii mages will prove troublesome.’
The K’risnan grunted. ‘Trull Sengar, we are their match.’
He looked at the two warlocks. Chiefs’ sons. Of Rhulad’s age.
The K’risnan’s smile was knowing. ‘We are linked to Hannan Mosag, and through him to the emperor himself. Trull Sengar, the power we now call upon is more vast, and deadlier, than any the Edur have known before.’
‘And that does not concern you? What is the aspect of this power? Do you even know? Does Hannan Mosag know? Rhulad?’
‘The power comes to the emperor through the sword,’ the K’risnan said.
‘That is no answer—’
‘Trull!’ Fear snapped. ‘No more. I have asked that you assemble a unit from our village. Have you done so?’
‘Yes, brother. Fifty warriors, half of them unblooded, as you commanded.’
‘And have you created squads and chosen your officers?’
Trull nodded.
‘Lead them to the bridge. Take advance positions on the other side and wait until Hanradi’s forces reach you—it should not be a long wait.’
‘And if the Letherii have sent scouts ahead and they arrive first?’
‘Gauge their strength and act accordingly. But Trull, no last stands. A skirmish will suffice to hold up the enemy’s advance, particularly if they are uncertain as to your strength. Now, gather your warriors and be off.’
‘Very well.’
There was no point in arguing any further, he told himself as he made his way to where his company waited. No one wanted to listen. Independent thought had been relinquished, with appalling eagerness, it seemed to him, and in its place had risen a stolid resolve to question nothing. Worse, Trull found he could not help himself. Even as he saw the anger grow in the faces of those around him—anger that he dare challenge, that he dare think in ways contrary to theirs, and so threaten their certainty—he was unable to stay silent.
Momentum was building all around him, and the stronger it grew, the more he resisted it. In a way, he suspected, he was becoming as reactionary as they were, driven into extreme opposition, and though he struggled against this dogmatic obstinacy it was a battle he sensed he was losing.
There was nothing of value in such opposed positions of thought. And no possible conclusion but his own isolation and, eventually, the loss of trust.
His warriors were waiting, gear packed, armour donned. Trull knew them all by name, and had endeavoured to achieve a balanced force, not just in skill but in attitude. Accordingly, he knew many of them resented being under his command, for his dissatisfaction with this war was well known. None the less, he knew they would follow him.
There were no nobles among them.
Trull joined the warrior he had chosen as his captain. Ahlrada Ahn had trained alongside Trull, specializing in the Merude cutlass as his preferred weapon. He was left-handed, rare among the Edur, yet used his other hand to wield a short, wide-bladed knife for close fighting. The bell-hilt of his cutlass sprouted a profusion of quillons designed to trap opposing sword-blades and spear-shafts, and his ceaseless exercises concentrating on that tactic had made his left wrist almost twice the bulk of its opposite. Trull had seen more than one of his practice spears snap at a shoulder-wrenching twist from Ahlrada’s sword-arm.
The warrior also hated him, for reasons Trull had yet to fathom. Although now, he amended, Ahlrada had probably found a new reason.
‘Captain.’
The dark eyes would not meet his. They never did. Ahlrada’s skin was darker than any other Edur Trull had seen. There were colourless streaks in his long, unbound hair. Shadow wraiths swarmed round him—another strange detail unique to the warrior. ‘Leader,’ he replied.
‘Inform the sergeants, we’re heading out. Minimum kits—we need to travel quickly.’
‘Already done. We were waiting for you.’
Trull walked over to his own gear, shouldered the small leather pack, then selected four spears from his cache. Whatever was left behind would be collected by the Letherii slaves and carried with the main body as it made its cautious way south in the wake of Trull’s company and Hanradi’s forces.
When he turned, he saw that the company were on their feet, all eyes fixed on him. ‘We must needs run, warriors. The south end of the bridge. Once through the pass, each squad sends out a point and makes its own way off-trail down to the bridge. Thus, you must be both swift and silent.’
A sergeant spoke. ‘Leader, if we leave the trail we are slowed.’
‘Then we had best get moving.’
‘Leader,’ the sergeant persisted, ‘we will lose speed—’
‘I do not trust the trail beyond the pass, Canarth. Now, move out.’ In his head he cursed himself. A leader need not give reasons. The command was sufficient. Nor, he silently added, was a sergeant expected to voice public challenge. This was not beginning well.
One squad in the lead, followed by Trull, then the remaining squads with Ahlrada taking up the rear, the company set out for the pass at a steady run. They quickly left the camp behind. Then, through an avenue provided them, they swept past Hanradi Khalag’s forces.
Trull found pleasure, and relief, in the pace they set. The mind could vanish in the steady rhythm, and the forest slid past with each stride, the trees growing more stunted and thinner on the ground the closer they approached the summit, while overhead the sun climbed a cloudless sky.
Shortly before mid-morning they halted on the south end of the pass. Trull was pleased to see that none of his warriors was short of breath, instead drawing long, deep lungfuls to slow their hearts. The exertion and the heat left them, one and all, sheathed in sweat. They drank a little water, then ate a small meal of dried salmon and thin bread wrapped round pine nut paste.
Rested and fed, the warriors formed up into their squads, then, without another word, hea
ded into the sparse forest to either side of the trail.
Trull elected to accompany the squad led by Canarth. They headed into the forest on the trail’s west side, then began the slow, silent descent, staying thirty or so paces from the main path. Another squad was further west, fifteen paces distant, whilst the third trailed midway between them and thirty paces back. An identical pattern had been formed on the eastern side.
Sergeant Canarth made his disapproval plain, constantly edging ahead until he was almost on the heels of the warrior at point. Trull thought to gesture him back but Canarth was ignoring him as if he was not there.
Then, halfway down the slope, the point halted and crouched low, one hand reaching back to stop Canarth.
Trull and the others also ceased moving. The forest had thickened during the descent, an army of blackened pine boles blocking line of sight beyond fifteen paces. There was little undergrowth, but the slope was uneven and treacherous with moss-coated boulders and rotting tree-falls. A glance to his right showed the nearest warrior of the flanking squad a half-dozen paces further down, but now also halted, one hand raised, his gaze fixed on Trull.
Ahead, the point was whispering to Canarth. After a moment, the sergeant reversed direction and made his way cautiously back to where Trull and the others waited.
‘There is a scout on the edge of the main trail. Faraed, likely serving with the Letherii army. He has a good line of sight on the trail itself, maybe seventy-five or more paces.’
Trull looked back at the rest of the squad. He singled one warrior out and beckoned him closer. ‘Badar, go back to the third squad. They are to choose a warrior to head upslope a hundred and twenty paces, then cut in to the main path. He is then to make his way down, as if on point. Once you have delivered the message, return to us.’
Badar nodded and slipped away.
‘What of us?’ Canarth asked.
‘We wait, then join the squad to our west. Make our way down below the scout’s position, and lay our own trap.’
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 421