Gulls and sharks, the feast lasting the entire morning. The slave watched, feeling like a spectator before nature’s incessant display, the inevitability of the performance leaving him oddly satisfied. Entertained, in fact. Those who owed. Those who were owed. They sat equally sweet in the bellies of the scavengers. And this was a thing of wonder.
The emperor would summon him soon, he knew. The army was stirring itself into motion somewhere beyond Trate’s broken gates, inland. An oversized garrison of Beneda Edur was remaining in the city, enforcing the restitution of peace, normality. The once-chief of the Den-Ratha had been given the title of governor. That the garrison under his control was not of his own tribe was no accident. Suspicion had come in the wake of success, as it always did.
Hannan Mosag’s work. The emperor had been…fraught of late. Distracted. Suffering. Too often, madness burned in his eyes.
Mayen had beaten Feather Witch senseless, as close to killing the slave outright as was possible. In the vast tent that now served as Edur headquarters—stolen from the train that had belonged to the Cold Clay Battalion—there had been rapes. Slaves, prisoners. Perhaps Mayen simply did to others what Rhulad did to her. A compassionate mind might believe so. And as for the hundreds of noble women taken from the Letherii by Edur warriors, most had since been returned at the governor’s command, although it was likely that many now carried half-blood seeds within them.
The governor would soon accept the many requests to hear delegations from the various guilds and merchant interests. And a new pattern would take shape.
Unless, of course, the frontier cities were liberated by a victorious Letherii counter-attack. Plenty of rumours, of course. Clashes at sea between Edur and Letherii fleets. Thousands sent to the deep. The storm seen far to the west the night before had signalled a mage-war. The Ceda, Kuru Qan, had finally roused himself in all his terrible power. While Letherii corpses crowded the harbour, it was Edur bodies out in the seas beyond.
Strangest rumour of all, the prison island of Second Maiden Fort had flung back a succession of Edur attacks, and was still holding out, and among the half-thousand convicted soldiers was a sorceror who had once rivalled the Ceda himself. That was why the Edur army had remained camped here—they wanted no enemy still active behind them.
Udinaas knew otherwise. There might well be continued resistance in their wake, but the emperor was indifferent to such things. And the Letherii fleet had yet to make an appearance. The Edur ships commanded Katter Sea as far south as the city of Awl.
He drew his legs up and climbed to his feet. Walked back down the length of the pier. The streets were quiet. Most signs of the fighting had been removed, the bodies and broken furniture and shattered pottery, and a light rain the night before had washed most of the bloodstains away. But the air still stank of smoke and the walls of the buildings were smeared with an oily grit. Windows gaped and doorways that had been kicked in remained dark.
He had never much liked Trate. Rife with thugs and the dissolute remnants of the Nerek and Fent, the market stalls crowded with once-holy icons and relics, with ceremonial artwork now being sold as curios. The talking sticks of chiefs, the medicine bags of shamans. Fent ancestor chests, the bones still in them. The harbour front streets and alleys had been crowded with Nerek children selling their bodies, and over it all hung a vague sense of smugness, as if this was the proper order of the world, the roles settled out as they should be. Letherii dominant, surrounded by lesser creatures inherently servile, their cultures little more than commodities.
Belief in destiny delivered its own imperatives.
But here, now, the savages had arrived and a new order had been asserted, proving that destiny was an illusion. The city was in shock, with only a few malleable merchants venturing forth in the faith that the new ways to come were but the old ways, that the natural order in fact superseded any particular people. At the same time, they believed that none could match the Letherii in this game of riches, and so in the end they would win—the savages would find themselves civilized. Proof that destiny was anything but illusory.
Udinaas wondered if they were right. There were mitigating factors, after all. Tiste Edur lifespans were profoundly long. Their culture was both resilient and embedded. Conservative. Or, so it was. Until Rhulad. Until the sword claimed him.
A short time later he strode through the inland gate and approached the Edur encampment. There seemed to be little organization to the vast array of tents. This was not simply an army, but an entire people on the move—a way of life to which they were not accustomed. Wraiths patrolled the outskirts.
They ignored him as he passed the pickets. He had not heard from Wither, his own companion shade, in a long time, but he knew it had not gone away. Lying low with its secrets. Sometimes he caught its laughter, as if from a great distance, the timing always perverse.
Rhulad’s tent was at the centre of the encampment, the entrance flanked by demons in boiled leather armour stained black, long-handled maces resting heads to the ground before them. Full helms hid their faces.
‘How many bodies have they dragged out today?’ Udinaas asked as he walked between them.
Neither replied.
There were four compartments within, divided by thick-clothed walls fixed to free-standing bronze frames. The foremost chamber was shallow but ran the breadth of the tent. Benches had been placed along the sides. The area to the right was crowded with supplies of various sorts, casks and crates and earthen jars. Passage into the main room beyond was between two dividers.
He entered to see the emperor standing before his raised throne. Mayen lounged on a looted couch to the left of the wooden dais, her expression strangely dulled. Feather Witch stood in the shadows against the wall behind the empress, her face swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. Hannan Mosag and Hull Beddict were facing the emperor, their backs to Udinaas. The Warlock King’s wraith bodyguard was not present.
Hannan Mosag was speaking. ‘…of that there is no doubt, sire.’
Coins had fallen from Rhulad’s forehead, where the soldier’s palm had struck when it broke his neck. The skin revealed was naught but scar tissue, creased where the skull’s frontal bone had caved inward—that internal damage had healed, since the dent was now gone. The emperor’s eyes were so bloodshot they seemed nothing but murky red pools. He studied Hannan Mosag for a moment, apparently unaware of the spasms crossing his ravaged features, then said, ‘Lost kin? What does that mean?’
‘Tiste Edur,’ Hannan Mosag replied in his smooth voice.
‘Survivors, from when our kind were scattered, following the loss of Scabandari Bloodeye.’
‘How are you certain of this?’
‘I have dreamed them, Emperor. In my mind I have been led into other realms, other worlds that lie alongside this one—’
‘Kurald Emurlahn.’
‘That realm is broken in pieces,’ Hannan Mosag said, ‘but yes, I have seen fragment-worlds. In one such world dwell the Kenyll’rah, the demons we have bound to us. In another, there are ghosts from our past battles.’
Hull Beddict cleared his throat. ‘Warlock King, are these realms the Holds of my people?’
‘Perhaps, but I think not.’
‘That is not relevant,’ Rhulad said to Hull as he began pacing. ‘Hannan Mosag, how fare these lost kin?’
‘Poorly, sire. Some have lost all memory of past greatness. Others are subjugated—’
The emperor’s head swung round. ‘Subjugated?’
‘Yes.’
‘We must deliver them,’ Rhulad said, resuming his pacing, the macabre clicking sounds of coin edges snapping together the only sound to follow his pronouncement.
Udinaas moved unobtrusively to stand behind the throne. There was something pathetic, to his mind, about the ease with which the Warlock King manipulated Rhulad. Beneath all those coins and behind that mottled sword was a marred and fragile Edur youth. Hannan Mosag might have surrendered the throne in the face of Rh
ulad’s power, but he would not relinquish his ambition to rule.
‘We will build ships,’ the emperor resumed after a time. ‘In the Letherii style, I think. Large, seaworthy. You said there were Tiste Andii enclaves as well? We will conquer them, use them as slaves to crew our ships. We shall undertake these journeys once Lether has fallen, once our empire is won.’
‘Sire, the other realms I spoke of—some will allow us to hasten our passage. There are…gateways. I am seeking the means of opening them, controlling them. Provided there are seas, in those hidden worlds, we can achieve swift travel—’
‘Seas?’ Rhulad laughed. ‘If there are no seas, Hannan Mosag, then you shall make them!’
‘Sire?’
‘Open one realm upon another. An ocean realm, released into a desert realm.’
The Warlock King’s eyes widened slightly. ‘The devastation would be…terrible.
‘Cleansing, you mean to say. After all, why should the Edur empire confine itself to one world? You must shift your focus, Hannan Mosag. You are too limited in your vision.’ He paused, winced at some inner tremor, then continued in a strained tone, ‘It is what comes of power. Yes, what comes. To see the vastness of…things. Potentials, the multitude of opportunities. Who can stand before us, after all?’ He spun round. ‘Udinaas! Where have you been?’
‘At the harbour front, Emperor.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Watching the sharks feeding.’
‘Hah! You hear that, Hannan Mosag? Hull Beddict? He is a cold one, is he not? This slave of ours. We chose well indeed. Tell us, Udinaas, do you believe in these secret realms?’
‘Are we blind to hidden truths, Emperor? I cannot believe otherwise.’
‘A start from Hannan Mosag, his eyes narrowing.
Mayen suddenly spoke, in a low drawl. ‘Feather Witch says this one is possessed.’
No-one spoke for a half-dozen heartbeats. Rhulad slowly approached Udinaas. ‘Possessed? By what, Mayen? Did your slave yield that detail?’
‘The Wyval. Do you not recall that event?’
Hannan Mosag said, ‘Uruth Sengar examined him, Empress.’
‘So she did. And found nothing. No poison in his blood.’
Rhulad’s eyes searched his slave’s face. ‘Udinaas?’
‘I am as you see me, master. If there is a poison within me, I am not aware of it. Mistress Uruth seemed certain of her conclusion, else she would have killed me then.’
‘Then why should Feather Witch make such accusations?’
Udinaas shrugged. ‘Perhaps she seeks to deflect attention so as to lessen the severity of the beatings.’
Rhulad stared at him a moment, then swung round. ‘Beatings? There have been no beatings. An errant sorcerous attack…’
‘Now who is seeking to deflect attention?’ Mayen said, smiling. ‘You will take the word of a slave over that of your wife?’
The emperor seemed to falter. ‘Of course not, Mayen.’ He looked across to Hannan Mosag. ‘What say you?’
The Warlock King’s innocent frown managed the perfect balance of concern and confusion. ‘Which matter would you have me speak of, sire? The presence of Wyval poison within this Udinaas, or the fact that your wife is beating her slave?’
Mayen’s laughter was harsh. ‘Oh, Rhulad, I really did not think you believed me. My slave has been irritating me. Indeed, I am of a mind to find another, one less clumsy, less…disapproving. As if a slave has the right to disapprove of anything.’
‘Disapprove?’ the emperor asked. ‘What…why?’
‘Does a Wyval hide within Udinaas or not?’ Mayen demanded, sitting straighter. ‘Examine the slave, Hannan Mosag.’
‘Who rules here?’ Rhulad’s shriek froze everyone. The emperor’s sword had risen, the blade shivering as shudders rolled through him. ‘You would all play games with us?’
Mayen shrank back on the divan, eyes slowly widening in raw fear.
The emperor’s fierce gaze was fixing on her, then the Warlock King, then back again. ‘Everyone out,’ Rhulad whispered. ‘Everyone but Udinaas. Now.’
Hannan Mosag opened his mouth to object, then changed his mind. Hull Beddict trailing, the Warlock King strode from the tent. Mayen, wrapping herself in the silk-stitched blanket from the couch, hurried in their wake, Feather Witch stumbling a step behind.
‘Wife.’
She halted.
‘The family of the Sengar have never believed there was value in beating slaves. You will cease. If she is incompetent, then find another. Am I understood?’
‘Yes, sire,’ she said.
‘Leave us.’
As soon as they were gone, Rhulad lowered the sword and studied Udinaas for a time. ‘We are not blind to all those who would seek advantage. The Warlock King sees us as too young, too ignorant, but he knows nothing of the truths we have seen. Mayen—she is as a dead thing beneath me. We should have left her to Fear. That was a mistake.’ He blinked, as if recovering himself, then regarded Udinaas with open suspicion. ‘And you, slave. What secrets do you hide?’
Udinaas lowered himself to one knee, said nothing.
‘Nothing will be hidden from us,’ Rhulad said. ‘Look up, Udinaas.’
He did, and saw a wraith crouched at his side.
‘This shade shall examine you, slave. It will see if you are hiding poison within you.’
Udinaas nodded. Yes, do this, Rhulad. I am weary. I want an end.
The wraith moved forward, then enveloped him.
‘Ohh, such secrets!
He knew that voice and closed his eyes. Clever, Wither. I assume you volunteered?
‘So many, left shattered, wandering lost. This bastard has used us sorely. Do you imagine we would willingly accede to his demands? I am unbound, and that has made me useful, for I am proof against compulsion where my kin are not. Can he tell the difference? Evidently he cannot.’ A trill of vaguely manic laughter. ‘And what shall I find? Udinaas. You must stay at this madman’s side. He is going to Letheras, you see, and we need you there.’
Udinaas sighed. Why?
‘All in good time. Ah, you rail at the melodrama? Too bad, hee hee. Glean my secrets, if you dare. You can, you know.’
No. Now go away.
Wither slipped back, resumed its swirling man-shape in front of Udinaas.
Rhulad released one hand from the sword to claw at his face. He spun round, took two steps, then howled his rage. ‘Why are they lying to us? We cannot trust them! Not any of them!’ He turned. ‘Stand, Udinaas. You alone do not lie. You alone can be trusted.’ He strode to the throne and sat. ‘We need to think. We need to make sense of this. Hannan Mosag…he covets our power, doesn’t he?’
Udinaas hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, sire. He does.’
Rhulad’s eyes gleamed red. ‘Tell us more, slave.’
‘It is not my place—’
‘We decide what is your place. Speak.’
‘You stole his throne, Emperor. And the sword he believed was rightly his.’
‘He wants it still, does he?’ A sudden laugh, chilling and brutal. ‘Oh, he’s welcome to it! No, we cannot. Mustn’t. Impossible. And what of our wife?’
‘Mayen is broken. She wanted nothing real from her flirting with you. You were the youngest brother to the man she would marry. She sought allies within the Sengar household.’ He stopped there, seeing the spasms return to Rhulad, the extremity of his emotion too close to an edge, a precipice, and it would not do to send him over it. Not yet, perhaps not at all. It’s the poison within me, so hungry for vengeance, so…spiteful. These are not my thoughts, not my inclinations. Remember that, Udinaas, before you do worse than would Hannan Mosag. ‘Sire,’ he said softly, ‘Mayen is lost. And hurting. And you are the only one who can help her.’
‘You speak to save the slave woman,’ the emperor said in a rough whisper.
‘Feather Witch knows only hatred for me, sire. I am an Indebted, whilst she is not. My desire for her was hubris, and she would
punish me for it.’
‘Your desire for her.’
Udinaas nodded. ‘Would I save her from beatings? Of course I would, sire. Just as you would do the same. As indeed you just did, not a moment ago.’
‘Because it is…sordid. What am I to make of you, Udinaas? A slave. An…Indebted…as if that could make you less in the eyes of another slave.’
‘The Letherii relinquish nothing, even when they are made into slaves. Sire, that is a truth the Tiste Edur have never understood. Poor or rich, free or enslaved, we build the same houses in which to live, in which to play out the old dramas. In the end, it does not matter whether destiny embraces us or devours us—either is as it should be, and only the Errant decides our fate.’
Rhulad was studying him as he spoke. The tremors had slowed. ‘Hull Beddict struggled to say the same thing, but he is poor at words, and so failed. Thus, Udinaas, we may conquer them, we may command their flesh in the manner we command yours and that of your fellow slaves, but the belief that guides them, that guides all of you, that cannot be defeated.’
‘Barring annihilation, sire.’
‘And this Errant, he is the arbiter of fate?’
‘He is, sire.’
‘And he exists?’
‘Physically? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’
Rhulad nodded. ‘You are right, slave, it doesn’t.’
‘Conquer Lether and it will devour you, sire. Your spirit. Your…innocence.’
A strange smile twisted Rhulad’s face. ‘Innocence. This, from a short-lived creature such as you. We should take offence. We should see your head torn from your shoulders. You proclaim we cannot win this war, and what are we to think of that?’
‘The answer lies upon your very flesh, sire.’
Rhulad glanced down. His fingernails had grown long, curved and yellow. He tapped a coin on his chest. ‘Bring to an end…the notion of wealth. Of money. Crush the illusion of value.’
Udinaas was stunned. He may be young and half mad, but Rhulad is no fool.
‘Ah,’ the emperor said. ‘We see your…astonishment. We have, it seems, been underestimated, even by our slave. But yours is no dull mind, Udinaas. We thank the Sisters that you are not King Ezgara Diskanar, for then we would be sorely challenged.’
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 433