‘That answer leaves me feeling…relief, Udinaas.’
Which is why I gave it.
‘Udinaas.’
‘Yes?’
‘I fear for what will come. In Letheras.’
‘Yes.’
‘I feel the world is about to unravel.’
Yes. ‘Then we shall have to do our best, Trull Sengar, to hold it all together.’
The Tiste Edur’s eyes held his, then Trull nodded. ‘Beware your enemies, Udinaas.’
The slave did not reply. Alone once more, he studied the distant hills, the thinning smoke from the fires somewhere in the belly of the fallen keep rising like mocking shadows from earlier this day.
All these wars…
Chapter Twenty-four
Five wings will buy you a grovel,
There at the Errant’s grubby toes
The eternal domicile crouching low
In a swamp of old where rivers ran out
And royal blood runs in the clearest stream
Around the stumps of rotted trees
Where forests once stood in majesty
Five roads from the Empty Hold
Will lay you flat on your back
With altar knives and silver chased
The buried rivers gnawing the roots
All aswirl in eager caverns beneath
Where kingly bones rock and clatter
In the silts, and five are the paths
To and from this chambered soul
For all you lost hearts bleeding out
Into the wilderness.
DAY OF THE DOMICILE
FINTROTHAS (THE OBSCURE)
The fresh, warm water of the river became the demon’s blood, a vessel along which it climbed, the current pushing round it. Somewhere ahead, it now knew, lay a heart, a source of power at once strange and familiar. Its master knew nothing of it, else he would not have permitted the demon to draw ever closer, for that power, once possessed, would snap the binding chains.
Something waited. In the buried courses that ran ceaselessly beneath the great city on the banks of the river. The demon was tasked with carrying the fleet of ships—an irritating presence plying the surface above—to the city. This would be sufficient proximity, the demon knew, to make the sudden lunge, to grasp that dread heart in its many hands. To feed, then rise, free once again and possessing the strength of ten gods. To rise, like an elder, from the raw, chaotic world of long ago. Dominant, unassailable, and burning with fury.
Through the river’s dark silts, clambering like a vast crab, sifting centuries of secrets—the bed of an ancient river held so much, a multitude of tales written in layer upon layer of detritus. Muddy nets snagged upon older wreckage, sunken ships, the sprawl of ballast stones, ragged rows of sealed urns still holding their mundane riches. Bones rotting everywhere, gathered up in sinkholes where the currents swirled, and deeper still, in silts thick and hardening and swallowed in darkness, bones flattened by pressures and transformed into crystalline lattices, arrayed in skeletons of stone.
Even in death, the demon understood, nothing was still. Foolish mortals, short-lived and keen with frenzy, clearly believed otherwise, as they scrambled swift as thought above the patient dance of earth and stone. Water, of course, was capable of spanning the vast range of pace among all things. It could charge, outrunning all else, and it could stand seemingly motionless. In this it displayed the sacred power of gods, yet it was, of itself, senseless.
The demon knew that such power could be harnessed. Gods had done so, making themselves lords of the seas. But it was the river that fed the seas. And springs from the layers of rock. The sea-gods were, in truth, subservient to those of the rivers and inland pools. The demon, the old spirit-god of the spring, intended to right the balance once more. With the power awaiting it beneath the city, even the gods of the sea would be made to kneel.
It savoured such thoughts, strange with clarity as they were—a clarity the demon had not possessed before. The taste of the river, perhaps, these bright currents, the rich seep from the shores. Intelligence burgeoning within it.
Such pleasure.
‘Nice stopper.’
She turned and stared, and Tehol smiled innocently.
‘If you are lying, Tehol Beddict…’
Brows lifted. ‘I would never do that, Shurq.’ Tehol rose from where he’d been sitting on the floor and began pacing in the small, cramped room. ‘Selush, you have a right to be proud. Why, the way you tucked in the skin around the gem, not a crease to be seen—’
‘Unless I frown,’ Shurq Elalle said.
‘Even then,’ he replied, ‘it would be a modest…pucker.’
‘Well,’ Shurq said, ‘you’d know.’
Selush hastened to pack her supplies back into the bag. ‘Oh, don’t I know what’s coming? A spat.’
‘Express your gratitude, Shurq,’ Tehol said.
Fingertips probing the gem in its silver setting in her forehead, Shurq Elalle hesitated, then sighed. ‘Thank you, Selush.’
‘Not the spat I was talking about,’ the wild-haired woman said. ‘Those Tisteans. They’re coming. Lether has been conquered, and I dread the changes to come. Grey skin, that will be the new fashion—mark my words. But I must maintain my pragmatism,’ she added, suddenly brightening. ‘I’m already mixing a host of foundations to achieve that ghastly effect.’ A pause, a glance over at Shurq Elalle. ‘Working on you was very helpful, Shurq. I thought I’d call the first line Dead Thief of the Night.’
‘Cute.’
‘Nice.’
‘But don’t think that means you’re taking a cut of my profits, Shurq.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘I have to be going now,’ Selush said, straightening with her bag slung over one shoulder. ‘I intend to be hiding in my basement for the next few days. And I would advise the same for you two.’
Tehol looked round. ‘I don’t have a basement, Selush.’
‘Well, it’s the thought that counts, I always say. Goodbye!’
A swish of curtain and she was gone.
Shurq Elalle asked, ‘How late is it?’
‘Almost dawn.’
‘Where’s your manservant?’
‘I don’t know. Somewhere, I would think.’
‘Really?’
Tehol clapped his hands. ‘Let’s head onto the roof. We can see if my silent bodyguard changes expression upon seeing your beauty.’
‘What has he been doing up there all this time?’
‘Probably standing directly above the doorway here, in case some unwelcome visitor arrived—which, fortunately, did not happen. Brys’s messenger girl hardly qualified.’
‘And what could he have done about some attacker from up there?’
‘I imagine he would have flung himself straight down in a flurry of swords, knives and clubs, beating the intruder senseless in an instant. Either that, or he’d shout then run back to the ladder, climb down and exact revenge over our corpses.’
‘Your corpse. Not mine.’
‘You’re right, of course. My mistake.’
‘I am not surprised you are confused now, Tehol,’ Shurq said, sweeping back her hair with both hands, the gesture admirably flinging out her chest. ‘Given the pleasure you discovered in my wares earlier.’
‘Your “wares” indeed. A good term to use, since it could mean virtually anything. Now, shall we head up to greet the dawn?’
‘If you insist. I can’t stay long. Ublala will be getting worried.’
‘Harlest will advise him how the dead have no sense of time, Shurq. No need to fret.’
‘He was muttering about dismembering Harlest just before I left them.’
They walked to the ladder, Shurq taking the lead.
‘I thought he was trapped in a sarcophagus,’ Tehol pointed out.
‘We could still hear him. Dramatic hissing and scratching on the underside of the lid. It was, even for me, somewhat irritating.’
‘W
ell, let’s hope Ublala did nothing untoward.’
They climbed.
The sky was paling to the east, but a chill remained in the air. The bodyguard stood facing them until he had their attention, then he pointed towards the river.
The Edur fleet crowded the span, hundreds of raider craft and transports, a dark sweep of sails. Among the lead ships, oars had appeared, sliding out from the flanks of the hulls. The landings would begin within the bell.
Tehol studied them for a moment, then he faced northwest. The white columns of the battle the day before were gone, although a stain of dark smoke from the keep lingered, lit high above the horizon by the sun’s first shafts. Above the west road was a streak of dust, drawing closer as the sun rose.
It was some time before either Tehol or Shurq spoke, then the latter turned away and said, ‘I have to go.’
‘Stay low,’ Tehol said.
She paused at the top of the ladder. ‘And you, Tehol Beddict, stay here. On this roof. With that guard standing close.’
‘Sound plan, Shurq Elalle.’
‘Given the chance, Gerun Eberict will come for you.’
‘And you.’
From the far west gate, a raucous flurry of bells announced the approach of the Edur army.
The thief disappeared down through the hatch.
Tehol stood facing west. His back grew warmer, and he knew that this day would be a hot one.
One of her hands rested on the king’s shoulder, but Brys could see that Nisall was near collapse. She had stood vigil over Ezgara Diskanar most of the night, as if love alone could guard the man against all dangers. Exhaustion had taken the king into sleep, and he now sat the throne like a corpse, slumped, head lolling. The crown had fallen off some time in the night and was lying beside the throne on the dais.
The Chancellor, Triban Gnol, had been present earlier but had left with the last change of guards. Ghost-like since the loss of the queen and the prince, and Turudal Brizad, he had grown suddenly ancient and withered, drifting down corridors speaking to no-one.
Finadd Moroch Nevath had disappeared, although Brys trusted that the swordsman would arrive when the time came. For all that he had suffered, he was a brave man and none of the rumours concerning his conduct at High Fort were, to Brys’s mind, worth the spit needed to utter them.
First Eunuch Nifadas, along with Brys Beddict, had assumed the responsibility for what remained of the soldiers in the palace. Each wing entranceway was now barricaded by at least thirty guards, with the exception of the King’s Path, where the Ceda in his madness had forbidden anyone to remain, barring himself. In the city beyond, Finadd Gerun Eberict and the city garrison were positioned throughout Letheras, their numbers insufficient to hold the gates or walls yet prepared to fight none the less—at least, Brys assumed that was the case, since he had not left the throne room in some time, and Gerun had not reappeared since the man assumed command of the garrison.
Spelled by Nifadas, the King’s Champion had rested on a bench near the throne room’s grand entrance, managing a half-dozen bells of surprisingly sound sleep. Servants had awakened him with breakfast, beginning the day to come with surreal normality. Chilled in sweat-damp clothes beneath his armour, Brys quickly ate, then rose and walked to where Nifadas sat at the bench opposite.
‘First Eunuch, it is time for you to rest.’
‘Champion, there is no need for that. I have done very little and am not in the least fatigued.’
Brys studied the man’s eyes. They were sharp and alert, quite unlike the usual sleepy regard with which Nifadas commonly presented. ‘Very well,’ he said.
The First Eunuch smiled up at him. ‘Our last day, Finadd.’
Brys frowned. ‘There is no reason to assume, Nifadas, that the Edur will see cause to take your life. As with the Chancellor, your knowledge will be needed.’
‘Knowledge, yes. A worthy assumption, Finadd.’
The First Eunuch added nothing more.
Brys glanced back at the throne, then strode towards it. He came close to Nisall. ‘First Concubine, he will sleep a while yet.’ He took her arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said as she began to resist, ‘just to that bench over there. No further.’
‘How, Brys? How could it all collapse? So fast? I don’t understand.’
He remembered back to the secret meetings, where Nisall and Unnutal Hebaz and Nifadas and the king planned their moves and countermoves in the all-devouring games of intrigue within the Royal Household. Her confidence then had seemed unassailable, the cleverness bright in her eyes. He remembered how the Letherii saw the Tiste Edur and their lands, a pearl ripe for the plucking. ‘I don’t know, Nisall.’
She let him guide her down from the dais. ‘It seems so…quiet. Has the day begun?’
‘The sun has risen, yes.’
‘He won’t leave the throne.’
‘I know.’
‘He is…frightened.’
‘Here, Nisall, lie down here. Use these cushions. Not ideal, I know—’
‘No, it’s fine. Thank you.’
Her eyes closed as soon as she settled. Brys stared down at her for a moment. She was already sleeping.
He swung round and walked down to the grand entrance, strode into the low-ceilinged corridor where he intended to make his stand. Just beyond, the Ceda was lying, curled up in sleep, on the centre tile.
And standing near Kuru Qan was Gerun Eberict. With sword in hand. Staring down at the Ceda.
Brys edged closer. ‘Finadd.’
Gerun looked up, expressionless.
‘The King’s Leave does not absolve you from all things, Gerun Eberict.’
The man bared his teeth. ‘He has lost his mind, Brys. It would be a mercy.’
‘Not for you to judge.’
Gerun cocked his head. ‘You would oppose me in this?’
‘Yes.’
After a moment, the Finadd stepped back, sliding his sword back into the scabbard at his hip. ‘Well timed, then. Ten heartbeats later…’
‘What are you doing here?’ Brys asked.
‘My soldiers are all in position. What else would you have me do?’
‘Command them.’
A whistling snort from him, then, ‘I have other tasks awaiting me this day.’
Brys was silent. Wondering if he should kill the man now.
It seemed Gerun guessed his thoughts, for his scarred sneer broadened. ‘Recall your responsibilities, Brys Beddict.’ He gestured and a dozen of his own estate guards strode into the chamber. ‘You are supposed to die defending the king, after all. In any case,’ he added as he slowly backed away, ‘you have just confirmed my suspicions, and for that I thank you.’
Blood or honour. ‘I know what you believe, Gerun Eberict. And so I warn you now, you will not be permitted the Leave in this.’
‘You speak for the king? Brys Beddict, that is rather presumptuous of you, don’t you think?’
‘The king expects you to command the garrison in defence of the city—not abandon your responsibilities in order to conduct your own crusade.’
‘Defence of the city? Don’t be an idiot, Brys. If the garrison seeks heroic final stands it is welcome to them. I intend to survive this damned conquest. The Tiste Edur do not frighten me in the least.’ He turned about then and, surrounded by his guards, left the chamber.
Blood or honour. I have no choice in this, Tehol. I’m sorry.
Bugg was not entirely surprised to find himself virtually alone on the wall. His ascent had not been challenged, since it seemed all the garrison guards had withdrawn to various choke-points in the city. Whether those soldiers would rise to stubborn defence remained to be seen, of course. In any case, their presence had kept the streets empty for the most part.
The manservant leaned on a merlon and watched the Edur army approach down the west road. An occasional glance to his left allowed him to monitor the closing of the fleet, and the vast, deadly demon beneath it—a presence spanning the width of the rive
r and stretching back downstream almost half a league. A terrible, brutal creature straining at its sorcerous chains.
The west gate was open and unguarded. The lead elements of the Edur army had closed to within a thousand paces, advancing with caution. Ranging to either side of the column, in the ditches and across the fields, the first of the Soletaken wolves came into view.
Bugg sighed, looked over at the other occupant along the wall. ‘You will have to work fast, I think.’
The artist was a well-known and easily recognized figure in Letheras. A mass of hair that began on his head and swept down to join with the wild beard covering jaw and neck, his nub of a nose and small blue eyes the only visible features on his face. He was short and wiry, and painted with agitated capering—often perched on one leg—smearing paint on surfaces that always seemed too small for the image he was seeking to capture. This failing of perspective had long since been elevated into a technique, then a legitimate style, in so far as artistic styles could be legitimate. At Bugg’s comment he scowled and rose up on one leg, the foot of the other against the knee. ‘The scene, you fool! It is burned into my mind, here behind this eye, the left one. I forget nothing. Every detail. Historians will praise my work this day, you’ll see. Praise!’
‘Are you done, then?’
‘Very nearly, very very nearly, yes, nearly done. Every detail. I have done it again. That’s what they will say. Yes, I have done it again.’
‘May I see?’
Sudden suspicion.
Bugg added, ‘I am something of an historian myself.’
‘You are? Have I read you? Are you famous?’
‘Famous? Probably. But I doubt you’ve read me, since I’ve yet to write anything down.’
‘Ah, a lecturer!’
‘A scholar, swimming across the ocean of history.’
‘I like that. I could paint that.’
‘So, may I see your painting?’
A grand gesture with a multicoloured hand. ‘Come along, then, old friend. See my genius for yourself.’
The board perched on its easel was wider than it was high, in the manner of a landscape painting or, indeed, a record of some momentous vista of history. At least two arm-lengths wide. Bugg walked round for a look at the image captured on the surface.
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 447