Midnight Tides

by Steven Erikson

  Kill him, or surrender. And what could make Hannan Mosag surrender? To a barely blooded whelp? No, chop off his hands, sever his head and crush it flat. Burn the rest into dusty ashes. Destroy the monstrosity, for Rhulad Sengar was truly a monster.

  Footsteps on the stones behind him. Udinaas sat back on his haunches, blinking rain from his eyes. He looked up as Hulad stepped into view.

  ‘Udinaas, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Did she cast the tiles, Hulad? Did she?’

  ‘She tried.’

  ‘Tried?’

  ‘It failed, Udinaas. The Holds were closed; she was blind to them. She was frightened. I’ve never seen her so frightened.’

  ‘What else has happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Edur are still in the citadel.’

  ‘They can’t all be there.’

  ‘No, only the nobility. The others are in their homes. They have banished their slaves for now. Most of them had nowhere to go. They’re just huddled in the forest. Soaked through. There seems no end in sight.’ He reached down and helped Udinaas to stand. ‘Let’s go to the longhouse. Get dry and warm.’

  He let Hulad guide him back to the Sengar longhouse. ‘Did you see the ships, Hulad?’ he asked as they walked. ‘Did you see them?’

  ‘Yes. They’re lowering boats, but no welcome seems forthcoming.’

  ‘I wonder what they’ll think of that?’

  Hulad did not reply.

  They entered. Sudden warmth, the crackle of flames the only sound. Hulad helped him remove the rain cloak. As he did so, he gasped and pulled at Udinaas’s shirt.

  ‘Where did you get those?’

  Udinaas frowned down at the almost-black bruises where the Wyval’s talons had been. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘They remind me of Feather Witch’s wounds, from that demon. Just the same. Udinaas, what is happening to you?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m going to sleep.’

  Hulad said nothing more as Udinaas walked down the length of the main chamber towards his sleeping pallet.

  ****

  Fighting the outflow, the three scows edged closer to the bank on the south side of the river. Each craft held about a dozen Letherii, most of them bodyguards in full armour, the visors closed on their helms.

  Four steps behind Buruk the Pale, Seren followed the merchant down to the strand. It seemed they would be the sole welcoming committee, at least to begin with. ‘What do you intend to tell them?’ she asked.

  Buruk glanced back at her, rain dripping from the rim of his hood. ‘I was hoping you would say something.’

  She did not believe him, but appreciated the effort. ‘I’m not even certain of the protocol. Nifadas is leading the delegation, but the prince is here as well. Who do I acknowledge first?’

  Buruk shrugged. ‘The one most likely to be offended if you bow to other one first.’

  ‘Assuming,’ she replied, ‘I do not intend a calculated insult.’

  ‘Well, there is that. Mind you, Acquitor, you are supposed to be neutral.’

  ‘Perhaps I should direct my bow to a space directly between them.’

  ‘Whereupon they will both conclude that you have lost your mind.’

  ‘Which is at least even-handed.’

  ‘Ah, humour. That is much better, Acquitor. Despair gives way to anticipation.’

  They reached the strand and stood side by side, watching the scows approach. The rain elected that moment to fall harder, a growing downpour prattling on the stones and hissing on the current- and tide-twisted water. The scows blurred behind a grey wall, almost vanished entirely, then reappeared suddenly, the first one crunching and lurching as it grounded. Sweeps rose and then descended as the crew stored them. Guards splashed down and clambered onto the strand. One made his way to Buruk and Seren. His expression below the visor and nose-bar was grim.

  ‘I am Finadd Moroch Nevath, of the Prince’s Guard. Where are the Edur?’

  Moroch seemed to be facing Seren, so she spoke in reply, ‘In the citadel, Finadd. There has been an… event.’

  ‘What in the Errant’s name does that mean?’

  Behind the Finadd and his guards, Prince Quillas Diskanar was being carried by servants over the waves. The First Eunuch Nifadas had eschewed any such assistance and was wading onto the strand.

  ‘It’s rather complicated,’ Seren said. ‘Buruk’s guest camp is just on the other side of the bridge. We can get under cover from the rain—’

  ‘Never mind the rain,’ Moroch snapped. Then he swung about and saluted as Quillas Diskanar, sheltered beneath a four-point umbrella held aloft by two servants, strode to halt before Buruk and Seren. ‘My prince,’ the Finadd said in a growl, ‘it would appear the Tiste Edur have chosen this moment to be preoccupied.’

  ‘Hardly an auspicious beginning,’ Quillas snapped, turning a sneer on Seren Pedac. ‘Acquitor. Has Hull Beddict elected the wise course and departed this village?’

  She blinked, struggling to disguise her alarm at the pre-eminence the question of Hull had assumed. Do they fear him that much? ‘He is nearby, my prince.’

  ‘I intend to forbid his attendance, Acquitor.’

  ‘I believe an invitation has been extended to him,’ she said slowly, ‘by the Warlock King.’

  ‘Oh? And will Hull speak for the Edur now?’

  Buruk spoke for the first time, ‘My prince, that is a question we would all like answered.’

  Quillas shifted his attention. ‘You are the merchant from Trate.’

  ‘Buruk the Pale.’ With a deep bow from which Buruk had difficulty recovering.

  ‘A drunk merchant at that.’

  Seren cleared her throat. ‘Your arrival was sudden, my prince. The Edur have been sequestered in the citadel for a day and a half. We’ve had little to do but wait.’

  The First Eunuch was standing a pace back, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, his small, glittering eyes fixed on the citadel. He appeared equally indifferent to the rain pummelling his hood and cape-clad shoulders. It occurred to Seren that here was a different kind of power, and in silence the weight was being stolen from Prince Quillas Diskanar.

  Proof of that was sudden, as the prince swung round to Nifadas and said, ‘What do you make of all this, then, First Eunuch?’

  Expressionless eyes settled on Quillas. ‘My prince, we have arrived at a moment of crisis. The Acquitor and the merchant know something of it, and so we must needs await their explanation.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Quillas said. ‘Acquitor, inform us of this crisis.’

  Whilst you stand beneath that umbrella and we get soaked and chilled to the bone. ‘Of course, my prince. The Warlock King despatched a party of warriors into the ice wastes to retrieve what turned out to be a sword. They were, however, set upon by Jheck Soletaken. One of the warriors, who was wielding that sword, was slain. The others brought his body back for burial, but the corpse would not release its grip upon the sword. The Warlock King was greatly animated by this detail, and made his demand for the weapon plain and unequivocal. There was a public clash between him and the dead warrior’s father.’

  ‘Why not just cut off the body’s fingers?’ Quillas Diskanar demanded, his brows lifted in contemptuous disbelief.

  ‘Because,’ Nifadas replied, laconic and overly patient, ‘there is traditional sanctity accorded a fallen warrior among the Edur. Please, Acquitor, go on. It is hard to believe this impasse is yet to be resolved.’

  She nodded. ‘It was but the beginning, and indeed it became something of a moot point. For the corpse returned to life.’

  Quillas snorted. ‘What manner of jest is this, woman?’

  ‘No jest,’ Buruk the Pale answered. ‘My prince, we saw him with our own eyes. He was alive. The truth was announced by his screams, such terrible screams, for he had been dressed—’

  ‘Dressed?’ the prince asked, looking around.

  The First Eunuch’s eyes had widened. ‘How far along, Merchant Buruk?’

 
; ‘The coins, First Eunuch. And the wax.’

  ‘Errant defend,’ Nifadas whispered. ‘And this sword – he will not yield it?’

  Seren shook her head. ‘We don’t know, First Eunuch.’

  ‘Describe the weapon, if you would, Acquitor.’

  ‘Two-handed grip, but a thin blade. Some kind of alloy, yet reluctant to fuse. There is iron, and some sort of black metal that appears in elongated shards.’

  ‘Origin? Can you discern anything from the style?’

  ‘Not much, First Eunuch. The bell-hilt bears some resemblance to the drawn twist technique used by the Meckros—’

  ‘The Meckros?’ Quillas asked. ‘Those traders from the floating cities?’

  ‘Yes, although the pattern on that bell-hilt has been shaped to resemble links of chain.’

  Buruk faced her with a wry expression, ‘You’ve sharp eyes, Acquitor. All I saw was a sword.’

  ‘I suggest,’ Nifadas said, ‘we retire to the merchant’s camp.’

  Quillas hissed, ‘You will swallow this insult, First Eunuch?’

  ‘There is no insult,’ Nifadas replied easily, striding past the prince to hook arms with a surprised Seren Pedac. ‘Escort me, please, Acquitor.’

  ‘Of course, First Eunuch.’

  The others had no choice but to trail after them.

  Nifadas walked quickly. After a dozen or so paces, he asked in a quiet, conversational tone, ‘Was Hull Beddict witness to all this?’

  ‘No. At least I don’t think so. He’s been gone for some time.’

  ‘But he will return.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have left the majority of my guard aboard the Risen Pale, including Finadd Gerun Eberict.’

  ‘Gerun – oh.’

  ‘Indeed. Would it be, do you think, propitious that I send for him?’

  ‘I – I am not sure, First Eunuch. It depends, I imagine, on what you would have him do.’

  ‘Perhaps a word or two with Hull, upon his return?’

  ‘Is the Finadd a persuasive man?’

  ‘Not by way of personality, no…’

  She nodded, struggled to repress a shiver – unsuccessfully, it turned out.

  ‘Chilled, Acquitor?’

  ‘The rain.’

  ‘Of course. I trust Buruk’s servants are feeding a fire of some sort?’

  ‘Rather too eagerly.’

  ‘Well, I doubt if anyone will complain. You and Buruk have waited here some time, I take it.’

  ‘Yes. Some time. There was an audience with the Warlock King, but in keeping with my role I departed before anything of substance was discussed. And as to what was said, neither Hull nor Buruk has revealed anything.’

  ‘Hull was there for that, was he?’ He swung a faint smile on her. ‘Nothing of substance was revealed to you, Acquitor? I admit to having trouble quite believing that assertion.’

  Seren Pedac hesitated.

  ‘Acquitor,’ Nifadas said in a low voice, ‘the privilege of neutrality no longer exists in this matter. Make your choice.’

  ‘It is not that, First Eunuch,’ she said, knowing her claim was untrue. ‘I have a fear that whatever position the Warlock King may have chosen back then is no longer relevant.’ She glanced over at him. ‘I do not think Rhulad will relinquish that sword.’

  ‘Rhulad. What can you tell me of this Rhulad?’

  ‘Youngest son of a noble family, the Sengar.’

  ‘The Sengar? Eldest son is Fear, yes? Commander of the Edur warriors. Prestigious blood, then.’

  ‘Yes. Another brother is Binadas, who is blood-sworn with Hull Beddict.’

  ‘Interesting. I begin to grasp the complexity awaiting us, Acquitor.’

  And so, it seems, do I. For I appear to have made my choice.

  As if Nifadas gave me any other option, as I walk here arm in arm with the First Eunuch…

  ****

  ‘Wake up, Udinaas.’

  Lids slid back from stinging, burning eyes. Udinaas stared up at the angled wall above him. ‘No. I need to sleep—’

  ‘Not so loud. What you need, fool, is to walk to the citadel.’

  ‘Why? They’ll cut my throat for intruding—’

  ‘No, they won’t. Rhulad won’t let them, for you are his slave now, and no-one else’s. They must be informed. The Letherii delegation awaits.’

  ‘Leave me be, Wither.’

  ‘The Tiste Edur emperor wants you. Now.’

  ‘Right. And does he know it?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘As I thought.’ He closed his eyes once more. ‘Go away, wraith.’

  ‘The Wyval and I are in agreement in this, Udinaas. You must step to the forefront. You must make yourself invaluable to Rhulad. Tell me, do you want Feather Witch for your own or not?’

  Udinaas blinked, then sat up. ‘What?’

  ‘Go now, and you will see.’

  ‘Not until you explain that, Wither.’

  ‘I shall not, slave. Go to the citadel. Serve the Edur emperor.’

  Udinaas pulled aside his blankets and reached for his sodden moccasins. ‘Why don’t you all leave me alone.’

  ‘She raped you, Udinaas. She took your seed. Why did she do that?’

  He went still, one moccasin on, the other cold in his hands. ‘Menandore.’

  ‘The bitch has designs, she does. No love for Edur or Andii, no, not her.’

  ‘What has that to do with anything?’

  The wraith made no reply.

  Udinaas rubbed at his face, then pulled on the second moccasin and tugged at the soaked leather ties. ‘I am a slave, Wither. Slaves are not given slaves, and that is the only way I could win Feather Witch. Unless you plan on invading her mind and twisting her will. In which case, it won’t be Feather Witch, will it?’

  ‘You accord me powers I do not possess.’

  ‘Only to emphasize the absurdity of your promises, Wither. Now, be quiet. I’m going.’ He rose and stumbled from the cell. Hulad was crouched by the hearth, heating soup or stew.

  ‘You were talking to yourself, Udinaas. You shouldn’t do that.’

  ‘That’s what I keep telling myself,’ he replied, making his way to the doors, collecting a rain cape on the way.

  Outside, the rain was a deluge. He could barely make out the anchored ships in the bay. There were figures on the strand. Soldiers.

  He pulled up the hood then headed for the citadel that had once belonged to the Warlock King.

  Serve the Edur emperor. And where will you take your people, Rhulad Sengar?

  The shadow wraiths guarding the entrance made no move to oppose the Letherii slave as he ascended the steps. Both hands on the doors, pushing them aside, striding in on a gust of pelting rain. Come, you damned Edur. Slide a blade across my throat. Through my chest. There were no guards within the reception chamber, and the curtain beyond was drawn closed.

  He shook the rain from his cape, then continued forward.

  To the curtains. He pulled them aside.

  To see the Edur kneeling. All of them, kneeling before the glimmering form of Rhulad Sengar, who stood on the dais, the sword raised in one hand above his head. Bear fur on his shoulders, face a rippling mask of gold surrounding the deep holes of his eye sockets.

  Not blind, then. Nor crippled. And if this was madness, then it was a poison riding the chamber’s thick currents.

  Udinaas felt the emperor’s eyes fix on him, as palpable as talons digging into his mind. ‘Approach, slave,’ he said, his voice ragged.

  Heads lifted and turned as Udinaas threaded through the crowd, making his way down the tiers. The Letherii did not glance at any faces, his gaze focused solely on Rhulad Sengar. In his peripheral vision he saw Hannan Mosag, kneeling with head bowed, and behind him his K’risnan in identical positions of subservience.

  ‘Speak, Udinaas.’

  ‘The delegation has arrived, Emperor.’

  ‘We are bound, are we not, Udinaas? Slave and master. You heard my summons.’r />
  ‘I did, master.’ Lies, he realized, were getting easier.

  ‘The delegation waits in the merchant’s camp. Bring them to us, Udinaas.’

  ‘As you command.’ He bowed, then began the laborious effort of backing out.

  ‘There is no need for that, Udinaas. I am not offended by a man’s back. Go, and tell them that the ruler of the Edur will greet them now.’

  Udinaas swung about and made his way from the chamber.

  Beneath the rain once more, across the bridge. Solitude might invite thought, but Udinaas refused the invitation. The fog of the world beyond was mirrored in his own mind. He was a slave. Slaves did what was commanded of them.

  Woodsmoke drifting out from under a broad canopy near the trader wagons. Figures standing beneath it. Acquitor Seren Pedac turned and saw him first. Yes. There is more in her than she realizes. The ghosts like her, hovering like moths around a candle flame. She doesn’t even see them. He watched her say something, then the others swung to face him.

  Udinaas halted just outside the tarp, keeping his gaze averted. ‘The ruler of the Edur bids you come to the citadel.’

  A soldier growled, then said, ‘You stand before your prince, Letherii. Drop to your knees or I’ll cut your head from your shoulders.’

  ‘Then draw your sword,’ Udinaas replied. ‘My master is Tiste Edur.’

  ‘He is nothing,’ said the young, expensively dressed man at the soldier’s side. A flutter of one hand. ‘We are invited, finally. First Eunuch, will you lead us?’

  The large, heavy man with a face as sombre as his clothes stepped out to stand beside Udinaas. ‘Acquitor, please accompany us.’

  Seren Pedac nodded, drawing her cloak’s hood over her head and joining the First Eunuch.

  Udinaas led them back across the bridge. A wind had begun whipping the rain in biting sheets that ripped across their path. Among the longhouses of the nobility, then towards the steps.

  Shadow wraiths swirled before the door.

  Udinaas faced Quillas Diskanar. ‘Prince, your bodyguards are not welcome.’

  The young man scowled. ‘Wait here with your men, Finadd.’

  Moroch Nevath grunted, then directed his guards to fan out to either side of the citadel’s entrance.