Midnight Tides

by Steven Erikson

  ‘The kingdom of Lether is prepared to enter negotiations regarding the debts incurred as a result of the illegal harvest of tusked seals.’

  Like a snake whose tail had just been stepped on, Quillas hissed and spat in indignation.

  ‘The issue of debt,’ Rhulad responded, ignoring the prince, ‘is no longer relevant. We care nothing for your gold, First Eunuch. Indeed, we care nothing for you at all.’

  ‘If isolation is your desire—’

  ‘We did not say that, First Eunuch.’

  Prince Quillas suddenly smiled, under control once more. ‘An opening of outright hostility between our peoples, Emperor? I would warn you against such a tactic, which is not to say I would not welcome it.’

  ‘How so, Prince Quillas?’

  ‘We covet the resources you possess, to put it bluntly. And now you give us the opportunity to acquire them. A peaceful solution could have been found in your acknowledgement of indebtedness to Lether. Instead, you voice the absurd lie that is it we who owe you!’

  Rhulad was silent a moment, then he nodded and said, ‘Letherii economics seems founded on peculiar notions, Prince.’

  ‘Peculiar? I think not. Natural and undeniable laws guide our endeavours. The results of which you will soon discover, to your regret.’

  ‘First Eunuch, does the prince speak for Lether?’

  Nifadas shrugged. ‘Does it matter, Emperor?’

  ‘Ah, you are clever indeed. Certainly more worthy of conversation with ourselves than this strutting fool whose nobility resides only in the fact of his crawling out from between a queen’s legs. You are quite right, First Eunuch. It no longer matters. We were simply curious.’

  ‘I feel no obligation to assuage that curiosity, Emperor.’

  ‘And now you show your spine, at last, Nifadas. We are delighted. Deliver these words to your king, then. The Tiste Edur no longer bow in deference to your people. Nor are we interested in participating in your endless games of misdirection and the poisonous words you would have us swallow.’ A sudden, strange pause, the ghost of some kind of spasm flitting across the emperor’s face. Then he shook himself, settled back. But the look in his eyes was momentarily lost. He blinked, frowned, then the gleam of awareness returned. ‘Moreover,’ he resumed, ‘we choose now to speak for the tribes you have subjugated for the hapless peoples you have destroyed. It is time you answered for your crimes.’

  Nifadas slowly tilted his head. ‘Is this a declaration of war?’ he asked in a soft voice.

  ‘We shall announce our intention with deeds, not words, First Eunuch. We have spoken. Your delegation is dismissed. We regret that you travelled so far for what has turned out to be a short visit. Perhaps we will speak again in the future, although, we suspect, in very different circumstances.’

  Nifadas bowed. ‘Then, if you will excuse us, Emperor, we must make ready to depart.’

  ‘You may go. Hull Beddict, Acquitor, remain a moment.’

  Seren watched Quillas and Nifadas walk stiffly from the throne chamber. She was still thinking about that display from Rhulad. A crack, a fissure. I think I saw him then, young Rhulad, there inside.

  ‘Acquitor,’ Rhulad said as soon as the curtains fell back into place, drawing her attention round, ‘inform Buruk the Pale that he has right of passage for his flight. However, the duration of the privilege is short, so he best make haste.’

  ‘Emperor, the wagons perforce—’

  ‘We fear he will not have sufficient time to take his wagons with him.’

  She blinked. ‘You expect him to abandon the iron in his possession?’

  ‘There are always risks in business, Acquitor, as you Letherii are quick to point out when it is to your advantage. Alas, the same applies when the situation is reversed.’

  ‘How many days do you permit us?’

  ‘Three. One more detail. The Nerek remain here.’

  ‘The Nerek?’

  ‘Are Indebted to Buruk, yes, we understand that. Yet another vagary of economics, alas, under which the poor man must suffer. He has our sympathy.’

  ‘Buruk is a merchant, Emperor. He is used to travelling by wagon. Three days for the return journey may well be beyond his physical abilities.’

  ‘That would be unfortunate, for him.’ The dead, cold gaze shifted. ‘Hull Beddict, what have you to offer us?’

  Hull dropped to one knee. ‘I swear myself to your cause, Emperor.’

  Rhulad smiled. ‘You do not yet know that cause, Hull Beddict.’

  ‘I believe I comprehend more than you might think, sire.’

  ‘Indeed

  ‘And I would stand with you.’

  The emperor swung his attention back to Seren. ‘Best take your leave now Acquitor. This discussion is not for you.’

  Seren looked across at Hull, and their eyes met. Although neither moved, it seemed to her that he was retreating before her, growing ever more distant, ever further from her reach. The intervening space had become a vast gulf, a distance that could not be bridged.

  And so I lose you.

  To this… creature.

  Her thoughts ended there. As blank as the future now breached, the space beyond naught but oblivion, and so we plunge forward… ‘Goodbye, Hull Beddict.’

  ‘Fare you well, Seren Pedac.’

  Her legs felt wobbly beneath her as she walked to the curtained exit.

  ****

  Gerun Eberict was waiting for her ten paces from the citadel doors. There was smug amusement in his expression. ‘He remains inside, does he? For how long?’

  Seren struggled to compose herself. ‘What do you want, Finadd?’

  ‘That is a difficult question to answer, Acquitor. I was asked by Brys Beddict to speak to his brother. But the opportunity seems increasingly remote.’

  And if I tell him that Hull is lost to us, what would he do then?

  Gerun Eberict smiled, as if he had read the thoughts in her mind.

  She looked away. ‘Hull Beddict is under the emperor’s protection.’

  ‘I am pleased for him.’

  She glared. ‘You do not understand. Look around, Finadd. This village is filled with shadows, and in those shadows are wraiths – servants to the Edur.’

  His brows rose. ‘You believe I desire to kill him? Where has that suspicion come from, Acquitor? I did say “speak”, did I not? I was not being euphemistic.’

  ‘Your reputation gives cause for alarm, Finadd.’

  ‘I have no reason to proclaim Hull my enemy, regardless of his political allegiance. After all, if he proves to be a traitor, then the kingdom possesses its own means of dealing with him. I have no interest in interceding in such a matter. I was but endeavouring to consummate my promise to Brys.’

  ‘What did Brys hope to achieve?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps I was, once, but clearly everything has changed.’

  Seren studied him.

  ‘And what of you, Acquitor?’ he asked. ‘You will escort the merchant back to Trate. Then what?’

  She shrugged. There seemed little reason to dissemble. ‘I am going home, Finadd.’

  ‘Letheras? That residence has seen little of you.’

  ‘Clearly that is about to change.’

  He nodded. ‘There will be no demand for Acquitors in the foreseeable future, Seren Pedac. I would be honoured if you would consider working for me.’

  ‘Work?’

  ‘My estate. I am involved in… extensive enterprises, You have integrity, Acquitor. You are someone I could trust.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Do not feel you need to answer here and now. I ask that you think on it. I shall call upon you in Letheras.’

  ‘I think, Finadd,’ Seren said, ‘that you will find yourself rather preoccupied with your military duties, given what is about to happen.’

  ‘My position is in the palace. I do not command armies.’ He looked round, and his gap-toothed smile returned. ‘These savages won’t reach Letheras. They’ll be lucky to make it across the frontier. Y
ou forget, Acquitor, we’ve faced similar enemies before. The Nerek had their spirit goddess – what was it called?’

  ‘The Eres’al.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. The Eres’al. And the Tarthenal their five Seregahl, the Wrath Wielders. Warlocks and witches, curses and demons, we obliterated them one and all. And the Ceda and his cadre barely broke a sweat.’

  ‘I fear this time it will be different, Finadd.’

  He cocked his head. ‘Acquitor, when you think of the Merchant Tolls, what do you imagine it to be?’

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘The commercial core, the heart of the financial system which drives all of Lether, its every citizen, its very way of looking at the world. The Tolls are not simply coins stacked high in some secret vault. Not just traders howling their numbers before the day’s close. The Tolls are the roots of our civilization, the fibres reaching out to infest everything. Everything.’

  ‘What is your point, Finadd?’

  ‘You are cleverer than that, Acquitor. You understand full well. That heart feeds on the best and the worst in human nature. Exaltation and achievement, ambition and greed, all acting in self-serving concert. Thus, four facets of our nature, and not one sits well with constraints on its behaviour, on its expression. We win not just with armies, Seren Pedac. We win because our system appeals to the best and worst within all people, not just humans.’

  ‘Destiny.’

  He shrugged. ‘Call it what you will. But we have made it inevitable and all-devouring—’

  ‘I see little of exaltation and achievement in what we do, Finadd. It would seem there is a growing imbalance—’

  His laugh cut her off. ‘And that is the truth of freedom, Seren Pedac.’

  She could feel her anger rising. ‘I always believed freedom concerned the granted right to be different, without fear of repression.’

  ‘A lofty notion, but you won’t find it in the real world. We have hammered freedom into a sword. And if you won’t be like us we will use that sword to kill you one by one, until your spirit is broken.’

  ‘What if the Tiste Edur surprise you, Finadd? Will you in turn choose to die in defence of your great cause?’

  ‘Some can die. Some will. Indeed, unlikely as it is, we may all die. But, unless the victors leave naught but ashes in their wake, the heart will beat on. Its roots will find new flesh. The emperor may have his demons of the seas, but we possess a monster unimaginably vast, and it devours. And what it cannot devour, it will smother, or starve. Win or lose, the Tiste Edur still lose.’

  She stepped back. ‘Finadd Gerun Eberict, I want nothing to do with your world. And so you need not wait for my answer, for I have just given it.’

  ‘As you like, but know that I will think no less of you when you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  He turned away. ‘Everyone has to work to eat, lass. See you in Letheras.’

  ****

  Udinaas had stood quietly in the gloom during the audience with the delegation. His fellow Letherii had not marked his presence. And, had they done so, it would not have mattered, for it was the emperor who commanded the exchange. After the dismissal of the delegation and the Acquitor’s departure, Rhulad had beckoned Hull Beddict closer.

  ‘You swear your fealty to us,’ the emperor said in a murmur, as if tasting each word before it escaped his mangled lips.

  ‘I know the details you need, Emperor, the location and complement of every garrison, every frontier encampment. I know their tactics, the manner in which armies are arrayed for battle. The way sorcery is employed. I know where the food and water caches are hidden – these are the military repositories, and they are massive.’

  Rhulad leaned forward. ‘You would betray your own people. Why?’

  ‘Vengeance,’ Hull Beddict replied.

  The word chilled Udinaas.

  ‘Sire,’ Hull continued, ‘my people betrayed me. Long ago. I have long awaited an opportunity such as this one.’

  ‘And so, vengeance. A worthy sentiment?’

  ‘Emperor, there is nothing else left for me.’

  ‘Tell us, Hull Beddict, will the mighty Letherii fleet take to the waves to challenge us?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Not at first, anyway.’

  ‘And their armies?’

  ‘The doctrine is one of an initial phase of rolling, mobile defence, drawing your forces ever forward. Then counter-attack. Deep strikes to cut your supply lines. Attack and withdraw, attack and withdraw. By the third phase, they will encircle your armies to complete the annihilation. Their fleets will avoid any sea engagement, for they know that to conquer Lether you must make landing. Instead, I suspect they will send their ships well beyond sight of the coastline, then attack your homeland. The villages here, which they will burn to the ground. And every Tiste Edur they find here, old or young, will be butchered.’

  Rhulad grunted, then said, ‘They think we are fools.’

  ‘The Letherii military is malleable, Emperor. Its soldiers are trained to quick adaptation, should the circumstances warrant it. A formidable, deadly force, exquisitely trained and, employing the raised roads constructed exclusively for it, frighteningly mobile. Worse, they have numerical superiority—’

  ‘Hardly,’ Rhulad cut in, smiling. ‘The Edur possess new allies, Hull Beddict, as you shall soon discover. Very well, we are satisfied, and we conclude that you shall prove useful to us. Go now to our father’s house, and make greeting with Binadas, who will be pleased to see you.’

  The Letherii bowed and strode from the chamber.

  ‘Hannan Mosag,’ Rhulad called in a low voice.

  A side curtain was drawn aside and Udinaas watched the once-Warlock King enter.

  ‘It would seem,’ Rhulad said, ‘your studies of the Letherii military have yielded you an accurate assessment. His description of their tactics and strategies matches yours exactly.’

  ‘How soon, Emperor?’

  ‘Are the tribes readying themselves?’

  ‘With alacrity.’

  ‘Then very soon indeed. Tell us your thoughts on Nifadas and the prince.’

  ‘Nifadas understood quickly that all was lost, but the prince sees that loss as a victory. At the same time, both remain confident in their kingdom’s military prowess. Nifadas mourns for us, Emperor.’

  ‘Poor man. Perhaps he has earned our mercy for that misguided sentiment.’

  ‘Given the course you have chosen for our people, Emperor, mercy is a notion dangerous to entertain. You can be certain that none will be accorded us.’

  Another spasm afflicted Rhulad, such as the one Udinaas had witnessed earlier. He thought he understood its source. A thousand bindings held together Rhulad’s sanity, but madness was assailing that sanity, and the defences were buckling. Not long ago, no more than the youngest son of a noble family, strutting the village but not yet blooded. In his mind, panoramic visions of glory swinging in a slow turn round the place where he stood. The visions of a youth, crowded with imagined scenarios wherein Rhulad could freely exercise his own certainty, and so prove the righteousness of his will.

  And now that boy sat on the Edur throne.

  He just had to die to get there.

  The sudden manifestation of glory still fed him, enough to shape his words and thoughts and feed his imperial comportment, as if the royal ‘we’ was something to which he had been born. But this was at the barest edge of control. An imperfect façade, bolstered by elaborately constructed speech patterns, a kind of awkward articulation that suited Rhulad’s childlike notions of how an emperor should speak. These were games of persuasion, as much to himself as to his audience.

  But, Udinaas was certain, other thoughts remained in Rhulad’s mind, gnawing at the roots and crawling like pallid worms through his necrotic soul. For all the glittering gold, the flesh beneath was twisted and scarred. To fashion the façade, all that lay beneath it had been malformed.

  The slave registered all this in
the span of Rhulad’s momentary spasm, and was unmoved. His gaze drifted to Mayen, but she gave nothing away, not even an awareness of her husband’s sudden extremity.

  Across Hannan Mosag’s face, however, Udinaas saw a flash of fear, quickly buried beneath a bland regard.

  A moment’s consideration and Udinaas thought he understood that reaction. Hannan Mosag needed his emperor to be sane and in control. Even power unveiled could not have forced him to kneel before a madman. Probably, the once-Warlock King also comprehended that a struggle was under way within Rhulad, and had resolved to give what aid he could to the emperor’s rational side.

  And should the battle be lost, should Rhulad descend completely into insanity, what would Hannan Mosag do then?

  The Letherii slave’s eyes shifted to the sword the emperor held like a sceptre in his right hand, the point anchored on the dais near the throne’s ornate foot. The answer hides in that sword, and Hannan Mosag knows far more about that weapon – and its maker – than he has revealed.

  Then again, I do as well. Wither, the shadow wraith that had adopted Udinaas, had whispered some truths. The sword’s power had given Rhulad command of the wraiths. The Tiste Andii spirits.

  Wither had somehow avoided the summons, announcing its victory with a melodramatic chuckle rolling through the slave’s head, and the wraith’s presence now danced with exaggerated glee in the Letherii’s mind. Witness to all through his eyes.

  ‘Emperor,’ Hannan Mosag said as soon as Rhulad had visibly regained himself, ‘the warlocks among the Arapay—’

  ‘Yes. They are not to resist. They are to give welcome.’

  ‘And the Nerek you have claimed from the merchant?’

  ‘A different consideration.’ Momentary unease in Rhulad’s dark eyes. ‘They are not to be disturbed. They are to be respected.’

  ‘Their hearth and the surrounding area has seen sanctification,’ Hannan Mosag said, nodding. ‘Of course that must be respected. But I have sensed little power from that blessing.’

  ‘Do not let that deceive you. The spirits they worship are the oldest this world has known. Those spirits do not manifest in ways we might easily recognize.’

  ‘Ah. Emperor, you have been gifted with knowledge I do not possess.’