Midnight Tides

by Steven Erikson

  ‘Ublala? That oaf? In Rissarh’s bed. Or Hejun’s. Not mine, not tonight, anyway. We take it in turns.’

  Bugg stared at her through the gloom. He drank the last of the tea and set the cup down.

  ‘Is all that true?’ Shand asked after a moment. ‘Those investments?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why isn’t he telling us these things?’

  ‘Because your investments have to remain separate, disconnected. There can be no comparable pattern. Thus, follow his instructions with precision. It will all come clear eventually.’

  ‘I hate geniuses.’

  ‘Understandable. All he does seems to confound, it’s true. One gets used to it.’

  ‘And how is Bugg’s Construction doing?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  ‘What’s the purpose of it, anyway? Just to make money?’

  ‘No. The intention is to acquire the contract for the Eternal Domicile.’

  Shand stared. ‘Why?’

  Bugg smiled.

  ****

  Disinfecting, bleaching, scraping, combing. Fragrant oils rubbed into clothing and skin. Preserving oils rubbed in everywhere else. Scouring flushes of eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Then it was time for the pump.

  At which point Tehol staggered outside for some air.

  The sky was paling to the east, the city’s less sane denizens already risen and venturing out onto the streets. Clattering carts on the cobbles. Somewhere a rooster crowed, only to have its exuberant cry cut off into strangled silence. A dog barked happily.

  Footsteps, halting to Tehol’s right. ‘You still here?’

  ‘Ah, Selush’s assistant. And how are you this grisly morning, Padderunt?’

  The old man’s expression was eternally sour, but at Tehol’s courteous enquiry it seemed to implode into a wrinkled mess. ‘How am I? Sleepless! That’s how I am, y’damned snake! They still in there? It’s a lost cause, I say. A lost cause. Just like you, Tehol Beddict. I knew your mother – what would she say seeing you now?’

  ‘You knew her corpse, you old fool. Before that we’d never met you.’

  ‘Think she didn’t tell me all about herself anyway? Think I can’t see what’s there to be seen? The soul inside shapes the flesh. Oh, she talked to me all right.’

  Tehol’s brows rose. ‘The soul inside shapes the flesh?’ He stared down at the wrinkled prune face glaring up at him. ‘Oh my.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a cutting remark, is it? True enough, here’s what happens when a decent man gets no sleep!’

  A small clay pot exploded on the cobbles between them, followed by a furious shout from a window in the building opposite.

  ‘There!’ Padderunt cried, hand to his head as he staggered in circles. ‘Make of our neighbours vicious enemies! You don’t live here, do you?’

  ‘Calm down,’ Tehol said. ‘I simply asked how you were this morning, in case you’ve forgotten. Your reply was supposed to be equally inane and nondescript. If I’d wanted a list of your ailments – well, I wouldn’t. Who would? Innocuous civility is what was expected, Padderunt. Not foul invective.’

  ‘Oh really? Well, how am I supposed to know that? Come on, there’s a place nearby makes great grain cakes. And rustleaf tea, which can wake the dead.’

  The two made their way down the street.

  ‘Have you tried it?’ Tehol asked.

  ‘Tried what?’

  ‘Waking the dead with rustleaf tea.’

  ‘Should’ve worked.’

  ‘But, alas, it didn’t.’

  ‘Still should’ve. The stuff doubles your heart rate and makes you heave everything in your stomach.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘Until you get used to it. Makes a fine insect killer, too. Just splash it on the floor and in cracks and such. I can’t recommend it highly enough.’

  ‘Most people smoke rustleaf, not drink it.’

  ‘Barbarians. Here we are. You’re buying, right?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Then it goes on Selush’s account, meaning you just have to pay later.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ****

  Shurq Elalle stood in front of the long silver mirror. Instinct had her gauging the worth of all that silver for a moment before she finally focused on the reflected image. A healthy pallor to her skin, her cheeks glowing with vigour. Her hair was clean and had been cut for the first time in years, scented with a hint of patchouli oil. The whites of her eyes were clear, a wet gleam reflecting from her pupils.

  The rotted leathers and linen of her clothing had been replaced with black silks beneath a short black calf-hide jacket. A new weapons belt, tanned leggings and high boots. Tight leather gloves. ‘I look like a whore.’

  ‘Not any old whore, though, right?’ Selush said.

  ‘True, I’ll take your coin then kill you. That’s how I look.’

  ‘There are plenty of men out there who’ll go for that, you know.’

  ‘Getting killed?’

  ‘Absolutely. In any case, I was led to believe that wasn’t your profession. Although I suppose you might feel inclined to try something new – how does the ootooloo feel, by the way?’

  ‘Hungry. Can’t I feed it, uh, something else?’

  Selush’s eyes sparkled. ‘Experimentation, that’s the spirit!’

  Some comments, the undead woman reflected, deserved no response.

  Shurq Elalle flexed the muscles that would permit her to draw breath – they were long out of practice, and it was strange to feel the still vague and remote sense of air sliding down her throat and filling her chest. After the pump, there had been infusions. The breath she released smelled of cinnamon and myrrh. Better than river mud any day.

  ‘Your work is acceptable,’ she said.

  ‘Well, that’s a relief! It’s nearly dawn, and I’m starving. Shall we test you out, dear? I imagine my assistant and Tehol are at the local establishment, breaking their fast. Let us join them.’

  ‘I thought I wasn’t supposed to eat or drink.’

  ‘No, but you can preen and flirt, can’t you?’

  Shurq stared at the woman.

  Selush smiled. Then her eyelids fluttered and she turned away. ‘Where’s my shawl?’

  ****

  Kuru Qan had left and returned with two assistants who carried Brys back to the Ceda’s chambers, where he was laid down on a bench and plied with various liquids and food. Even so, strength was slow to return and he was still lying supine, head propped up on a cushion, when the doors opened and First Eunuch Nifadas entered.

  His small eyes glittered as he looked down on Brys. ‘King’s Champion, are you well enough to meet your king? He will be here in a moment.’

  Brys struggled to sit straighter. ‘This is unfortunate. I am, for the moment, unequal to my responsibilities—’

  ‘Never mind that, Finadd. Your king seeks only to ensure you will recover from your ordeal. Genuine concern motivates Ezgara Diskanar in this instance. Please, remain where you are. I have never seen you so pale.’

  ‘Something has fed on his blood,’ Kuru Qan said, ‘but he will not tell me what it was.’

  Nifadas pursed his lips as he regarded Brys. ‘I cannot imagine that a god would do such a thing.’

  ‘Mael was not there, First Eunuch,’ Brys said. ‘The Tiste Edur found something else, and have bound it to their service.’

  ‘Can you tell us what this thing is?’

  ‘A forgotten god, but that is the extent of my knowledge. I do not know its nature, nor the full breadth of its power. It is old, older than the ocean itself. Whatever worshipped it was not human.’

  A voice spoke from the doorway, ‘I am ever careless with my assets, although the Errant has spared me the cruellest consequence thus far, for which I am thankful.’

  Kuru Qan and Nifadas both bowed low as Ezgara Diskanar entered the chamber. In his sixth decade, the king’s features remained surprisingly youthful. He was of average height, slightly on the lean sid
e, his gestures revealing a nervous energy that seemed tireless. The bones beneath his features were prominent and somewhat asymmetrical, the result of a childhood incident with a bad-tempered horse. Right cheekbone and orbital arch sat flatter and higher than their counterparts on the left side of the king’s face, making the eye on that side seem larger and rounder. It was a poorly functioning eye and had a tendency to wander independently when Ezgara was irritated or weary. Healers could have corrected the damage, but the king forbade it – even as a child, he had been obstinate and wilful, and not in the least concerned with outward appearance.

  Further proof of that observation was evinced in his modest attire, more befitting a citizen in the markets than a king.

  Brys managed a slight bow from his reclined position. ‘My apologies, your highness—’

  ‘None needed, Finadd,’ Ezgara Diskanar cut in, waving a hand. ‘Indeed, it is I who must apologize to you. Unpleasant tasks that take you from your official functions. I have sorely abused your loyalty, my young Champion. And you have suffered for it.’

  ‘I shall recover, sire,’ Brys said.

  Ezgara smiled, then surveyed the others in the room. ‘Well, this is a fell gathering, isn’t it? We should be relieved that my dearest wife is at the moment senseless beneath an exhausted consort, so that even her most trusted spies dare not intrude to report on this meeting. Hopefully, when that finally occurs, it will be far too late.’

  Nifadas spoke, ‘My king, I shall be the first to take my leave, if you will permit. The hour of my departure from the city fast approaches, and my preparations are far from complete.’

  Ezgara’s lopsided smile broadened. ‘First Eunuch, your diligence in such matters is legendary, leaving me sceptical of your claims. None the less, you have my leave, if only that you might ensure your spies are made aware of precisely when her spies make their report, so that they in turn may report to you and you may then report to me. Although what I am to do with such knowledge will no doubt escape me, given that the event initiating these flurries of reporting is none other than the one occurring right now in this room.’

  Nifadas bowed. ‘None can rest in this dance, sire, as you well know.’

  The king’s smile tightened. ‘Well I do, indeed, First Eunuch. Be off with you, then.’

  Brys watched Nifadas depart. As soon as the door was closed the king faced Kuru Qan. ‘Ceda, the Chancellor continues to petition against Finadd Gerun Eberict’s attachment to the delegation. His arguments are persuasive.’

  ‘He fears for the life of your son, your highness.’

  Ezgara nodded. ‘And has the Finadd’s restraint so weakened that he might murder my heir?’

  ‘One would hope not, sire.’

  ‘Do you imagine that my son understands the risk and will therefore act with constraint and decorum?’

  ‘Prince Quillas has been advised of the dangers, sire,’ Kuru Qan carefully replied. ‘He has gathered about him his most trusted bodyguards, under the command of Moroch Nevath.’

  ‘Presumably, Moroch feels equal to the task of defending his prince’s life.’ At this Ezgara turned and fixed Brys with an inquisitive gaze.

  ‘Moroch is supremely skilled, sire,’ Brys Beddict said after a moment. ‘I would hazard he will have tasters in line before the prince, and mages replete with a host of wards.’

  ‘To the latter, your highness,’ Kuru Qan said, ‘I can attest. I have lost a number of skilled students to the queen’s command.’

  ‘Thus,’ Ezgara Diskanar said, ‘we seek balance in the threat, and rely upon the wisdom of the players. Should one party decide on preemptive action, however, the scenario fast unravels.’

  ‘True, sire.’

  ‘Finadd Brys Beddict, is Moroch Nevath capable of advising restraint?’

  ‘I believe so, sire.’

  ‘The question remaining, however,’ Ezgara said, ‘is whether my son is capable of receiving it.’

  Neither the Ceda nor Brys made response to that.

  Their king eyed them both for a long moment, then settled his attention on Brys. ‘I look forward to your return to duties, Champion, and am relieved that you are recovering from your adventures.’

  Ezgara Diskanar strode from the chamber. At the doorway’s threshold he said – without turning or pausing – ‘Gerun Eberict will need to reduce his own entourage, I think…’

  The door was closed by one of Kuru Qan’s servants, leaving the two men alone. The Ceda glanced over at Brys, then shrugged.

  ‘If wherewithal was an immortal virtue…’ Brys ventured.

  ‘Our king would be a god,’ Kuru Qan finished, nodding. ‘And upon that we now stake our lives.’ The lenses covering his eyes flashed with reflected light. ‘Curious observation to make at this time. Profoundly prescient, I think. Brys Beddict, will you tell me more of your journey?’

  ‘Only that I sought to right a wrong, and that, as a consequence, the Tiste Edur will be unable to bind any more forgotten gods.’

  ‘A worthwhile deed, then.’

  ‘Such is my hope.’

  ‘What do the old witches in the market always say? “The end of the world is announced with a kind word.” ’

  Brys winced.

  ‘Of course,’ the Ceda continued distractedly, ‘they just use that as an excuse to be rude to inquisitive old men.’

  ‘They have another saying, Ceda,’ Brys said after a moment. ‘ “Truth hides in colourless clothes.” ’

  ‘Surely not the same witches? If so, then they’re all the greatest liars known to the mortal world!’

  Brys smiled at the jest. But a taste of ashes had come to his mouth, and he inwardly quailed at the first whispers of dread.

  Chapter Seven

  You see naught but flesh in the wrought schemes that stitch every dance in patterns of rising – the ritual of our days our lives bedecked with precious import as if we stand unbolstered before tables feast-heavy and tapestries burdened with simple deeds are all that call us and all that we call upon as would flesh blood-swollen by something other than need.

  But my vision is not so privileged and what I see are the bones in ghostly motion, the bones who are the slaves and they weave the solid world underfootwith every stride you take.

  Slaves Beneath

  Fisher kel Tath

  Acquitor Seren Pedac watched edur children playing among the sacred trees. The shadows writhing in the black bark of the boles were a chaotic swirl of motion surrounding the children, to which they seemed entirely indifferent. For some ineffable reason, she found the juxtaposition horrifying.

  She had, years ago, seen young Nerek playing amidst the scattered bones of their ancestors, and it had left her more shaken than any battlefield she had walked. The scene before her now resonated in the same manner. She was here, in the Warlock King’s village, and in the midst of people, of figures in motion and voices ringing through the misty air, she felt lost and alone.

  Encircling the holy grove was a broad walkway, the mud covered with shaggy strips of shredded bark, along which sat logs roughly carved into benches. Ten paces to Seren’s left was Hull Beddict, seated with his forearms on his knees, hands anchoring his head as he stared at the ground. He had neither moved nor spoken in some time, and the mundane inconsequentiality of their exchanged greetings no longer echoed between them, barring a faint flavour of sadness in the mutual silence.

  The Tiste Edur ignored the two Letherii strangers in their midst. Lodgings had been provided for them and for Buruk the Pale. The first meeting with Hannan Mosag was to be this night, but the company had already been here for five days. Normally, a wait of a day or two was to be expected. It was clear that the Warlock King was sending them a message with this unprecedented delay.

  A more dire warning still was to be found in the many Edur from other tribes now resident in the village. She had seen Arapay, Merude, Beneda and Sollanta among the native Hiroth. Den-Ratha, who dwelt in the northernmost regions of Edur territory, were notoriously
reluctant to venture from their own lands. Even so, the fact of the unified tribes could be made no more apparent and deliberate than it had been, and a truth she had known only in the abstract was given chilling confirmation in its actuality. The divisive weaknesses of old were no more. Everything had changed.

  The Nerek had pulled the wagons close to the guest lodge and were now huddled among them, fearful of venturing into the village. The Tiste Edur had a manner of looking right through those they deemed to be lesser folk. This frightened the Nerek in some way, as if the fact of their own existence could be damaged by the Edur’s indifference. Since arriving they had seemed to wither, immune to Buruk’s exhortations, barely inclined to so much as feed themselves. Seren had gone in search of Hull, in the hope of convincing him to speak to the Nerek.

  Upon finding him, she had begun to wonder whether he’d been inflicted with something similar to the enervating pall that had settled on the Nerek. Hull Beddict looked old, as if the journey’s end had carried with it a fierce cost, and before him waited still heavier burdens.

  Seren Pedac pulled her gaze from the playing children and walked back to where Hull sat on the log bench. Men were quick and stubborn with their barriers, but she’d had enough. ‘Those Nerek will starve if you don’t do something.’

  There was no indication that he’d heard her.

  ‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘What’s a few more Nerek deaths to your toll?’

  She’d wanted anger. Outrage. She’d wanted to wound him with that, if only to confirm that there was still blood to flow. But at her vicious words, he slowly looked up and met her eyes with a soft smile. ‘Seren Pedac. The Nerek await acceptance by the Tiste Edur, just as we do – although we Letherii are far less sensitive to the spiritual damage the Edur want us to suffer. Our skin is thick, after all—’

  ‘Born of our fixation on our so-called infallible destiny,’ she replied. ‘What of it?’

  ‘I used to think,’ he said, smile fading, ‘that the thickness of our… armour was naught but an illusion. Bluster and self-righteous arrogance disguising deep-seated insecurities. That we lived in perpetual crisis, since self-avowed destinies wear a thousand masks and not one of them truly fits—’