Sister bless us, that is Rhulad. My brother.
Who was dead.
The slave slowly crouched before the horrid figure, and Trull could make out his words as he said, ‘There are coins before your eyes, Rhulad Sengar. That is why you can see nothing. I would remove them. Your brothers are here. Fear and Trull. They are here.’
The shrieks broke then, replaced by helpless weeping.
Trull stared as Udinaas then did something he did not think possible. The slave reached out and took Rhulad’s head in his hands, as a mother might an inconsolable child. Tender, yet firm, the hands slowly lifted it clear of the knees.
A sobbing sound came from Fear, quickly silenced, but Trull felt his brother tremble.
The face—oh, Father Shadow, the face.
A crazed mask of wax, cracked and scarred. And beneath it, gold coins, melded onto the flesh—not one had dislodged—angled like the scales of armour around the stretched jaw, the gasping mouth.
Udinaas leaned closer still, spoke low beside Rhulad’s left ear.
Words, answered with a shudder, a spasm that made coins click—the sound audible but muted beneath wax. A foot scraped across the stone flagstones surrounding the platform, drew in tighter.
Fear jolted in Trull’s grip, but he held on, held his brother back as Udinaas reached down to his belt and drew out a work knife.
Whispering; rhythmic, almost musical. The slave brought the knife up. Carefully set the edge near the tip alongside the coin covering Rhulad’s left eye.
The face flinched, but Udinaas drew his right arm round into a kind of embrace, leaned closer, not pausing in his murmuring. Pressure with the edge, minute motion, then the coin flashed as it came loose along the bottom. A moment later it fell away.
The eye was closed, a mangled, red welt. Rhulad must have sought to open it because Udinaas laid two fingers against the lid and Trull saw him shake his head as he said something, then repeated it.
A strange tic from Rhulad’s head, and Trull realized it had been a nod.
Udinaas then reversed the position of his arms, and set the knife edge to Rhulad’s right eye.
Outside was the sound of a mass of people, but Trull did not turn about. He could not pull his gaze from the Letherii, from his brother.
He was dead. There was no doubt. None.
The slave, who had worked on Rhulad for a day and a night, filling mortal wounds with wax, burning coins into the cold flesh, who had then seen his charge return to life, now knelt before the Edur, his voice holding insanity at bay, his voice—and his hands—guiding Rhulad back to the living.
A Letherii slave.
Father Shadow, who are we to have done this?
The coin was prised loose.
Trull pulled Fear along as he stepped closer. He did not speak. Not yet.
Udinaas returned the knife to its sheath. He leaned back, one hand withdrawing to settle on Rhulad’s left shoulder. Then the slave pivoted and looked up at Trull. ‘He’s not ready to speak. The screaming has exhausted him, given the weight of the coins encasing his chest.’ Udinaas half rose, intending to move away, but Rhulad’s left arm rustled, hand sobbing away from the sword’s grip, coins clicking as the fingers groped, then found the slave’s arm. And held on.
Udinaas almost smiled—and Trull saw for the first time the exhaustion of the man, the extremity of all that he had gone through—and settled down once more. ‘Your brothers, Rhulad,’ he said. ‘Trull, and Fear. They are here to take care of you now. I am but a slave—’
Two coins fell away as Rhulad’s grip tightened.
‘You will stay, Udinaas,’ Trull said. ‘Our brother needs you. We need you.’
The Letherii nodded. ‘As you wish, master. Only…I am tired. I—I keep blacking out, only to awaken at the sound of my own voice.’ He shook his head helplessly. ‘I don’t even know what I have said to your brother—’
‘It matters not,’ Fear cut in. ‘What you have done…’ His words trailed away, and for a moment it seemed his face would crumple. Trull saw the muscles of his brother’s neck tauten, then Fear’s eyes closed tight, he drew a deep breath and was himself once more. He shook his head, unable to speak.
Trull crouched beside Udinaas and Rhulad. ‘Udinaas, I understand. You need rest. But stay for a few moments longer, if you can.’
The slave nodded.
Trull shifted his gaze, studied Rhulad’s ravaged face, the eyes still shut—but there was movement behind them. ‘Rhulad. It is Trull. Listen to me, my brother. Keep your eyes closed, for now. We must get this—this armour—off you—’
At that Rhulad shook his head.
‘They are funereal coins, Rhulad—’
‘Y-yes. I…know.’
Words raw and heavy, the breath pushed out from a constricted chest.
Trull hesitated, then said, ‘Udinaas has been with you, alone, preparing you—’
‘Yes.’
‘He is used up, brother.’
‘Yes. Tell Mother. I want. I want him.’
‘Of course. But let him go now, please—’
The hand dropped away from the slave’s arm, clunking hard and seemingly insensate on the floor. The other hand, still holding the sword, suddenly twitched.
And a ghastly smile emerged on Rhulad’s face. ‘Yes. I hold it still. This. This is what he meant.’
Trull edged back slightly.
Udinaas crawled off a short distance, leaned up against the chest of coins. He drew himself up into a shape echoing that of Rhulad, and, in the moment before he turned his face away, Trull saw the visage fill with anguish.
Exhaustion or no, for Udinaas peace and rest was ten thousand paces away—Trull could see that, could understand that brutal truth. Rhulad had had the slave, but whom did Udinaas have?
Not a typical Edur thought.
But nothing—nothing—was as it was. Trull rose and moved close to Fear. He thought for a moment, then swung round to the entranceway. Mayen was still standing there, at her side the Letherii, Feather Witch. Trull gestured at the slave, then pointed to where Udinaas crouched.
He saw her face stretch in horror. Saw her shake her head.
Then she ran from the building.
Trull grimaced.
A commotion at the entrance, and Mayen withdrew from sight.
Tomad and Uruth appeared.
And behind them, as they slowly edged forward, came Hannan Mosag.
Oh. Oh no. The sword. The damned sword—
Chapter Ten
White petals spin and curl on their way
down to the depthless sea.
The woman and her basket, her hand flashing red
in quick soft motion scattering these
pure wings, to ride a moment on the wind.
She stands, a forlorn goddess birthing flight
that fails and falls on the river’s broad breast.
A basket of birds destined to drown.
See her weep in the city’s drawn shadow
her hand a thing disembodied,
carrion-clawed and ceaseless in repetition,
she delivers death and in her eyes
is seen the horror of living.
LADY ELASSARA OF TRATE
CORMOR FURAL
The roll of thunder, the heavy trammelling of rain on the roof. The storm was following the course of the river, drawn northward and dragging one edge of its heaving clouds across Letheras. Unseasonal, unwelcome, making the single room of Tehol’s abode close and steamy. There were two more stools than there had been, retrieved by Bugg from a rubbish heap. On one of them, in the far corner, sat Ublala Pung, weeping.
As he had been without pause for over a bell, his huge frame racked with a shuddering that made the stool creak alarmingly.
In the centre of the small room, Tehol paced.
A splashing of feet outside, then the curtain in the doorway was tugged to one side and Bugg stamped in, water streaming from him. He coughed. ‘What’s burning in the hea
rth?’
Tehol shrugged. ‘Whatever was piled up beside it, of course.’
‘But that was your rain hat. I wove it myself, with my own two hands.’
‘A rain hat? Those reeds had wrapped rotting fish—’
‘That’s the stink, all right.’ Bugg nodded, wiping at his eyes. ‘Anyway, rotting is a relative term, master.’
‘It is?’
‘The Faraed consider it a delicacy.’
‘You just wanted me to smell like fish.’
‘Better you than the whole house,’ Bugg said, glancing over at Ublala. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ Tehol said. ‘So, what’s the news?’
‘I found her.’
‘Great.’
‘But we’ll have to go and get her.’
‘Go outside?’
‘Yes.’
‘Into the rain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well,’ Tehol said, resuming his pacing, ‘I don’t like that at all. Too risky.’
‘Risky?’
‘Why, yes. Risky. I might get wet. Especially now that I don’t have a rain hat.’
‘And whose fault is that, I wonder?’
‘It was already smouldering, sitting so close to the hearth. I barely nudged it with my toe and up it went.’
‘I was drying it out.’
Tehol paused in mid-step, studied Bugg for a moment, then resumed pacing. ‘It’s a storm,’ he said after a moment. ‘Storms pass. I need a reason to procrastinate.’
‘Yes, master.’
Tehol swung round and approached Ublala Pung. ‘Most beloved bodyguard, whatever is wrong?’
Red-rimmed eyes stared up at him. ‘You’re not interested. Not really. Nobody is.’
‘Of course I’m interested. Bugg, I’m interested, aren’t I? It’s my nature, isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely, master. Most of the time.’
‘It’s the women, isn’t it, Ublala? I can tell.’
The huge man nodded miserably.
‘Are they fighting over you?’
He shook his head.
‘Have you fallen for one of them?’
‘That’s just it. I haven’t had a chance to.’
Tehol glanced over at Bugg, then back to Ublala. ‘You haven’t had a chance to. What a strange statement. Can you elaborate?’
‘It’s not fair, that’s what it is. Not fair. You won’t understand. It’s not a problem you have. I mean, what am I? Am I to be nothing but a toy? Just because I have a big—’
‘Hold on a moment,’ Tehol cut in. ‘Let’s see if I fully understand you, Ublala. You feel they’re just using you. Interested only in your, uh, attributes. All they want from you is sex. No commitment, no loyalty even. They’re happy taking turns with you, taking no account of your feelings, your sensitive nature. They probably don’t even want to cuddle afterwards or make small talk, right?’
Ublala nodded.
‘And all that is making you miserable?’
He nodded again, snuffling, his lower lip protruding, his broad mouth downturned at the corners, a muscle twitching in his right cheek.
Tehol stared for a moment longer, then he tossed up his hands. ‘Ublala! Don’t you understand? You’re in a man’s paradise! What all the rest of us can only dream about!’
‘But I want something more!’
‘No! You don’t! Trust me! Bugg, don’t you agree? Tell him!’
Bugg frowned, then said, ‘It is as Tehol says, Ublala. Granted, a tragic truth, and granted, Master’s nature is to revel in tragic truths, which to many might seem unusual, unhealthy even—’
‘Thanks for the affirmation, Bugg,’ Tehol interrupted with a scowl. ‘Go clean up, will you?’ He faced Ublala again. ‘You are at the pinnacle of male achievement, my friend—wait! Did you say it’s not a problem I have? What did you mean by that?’
Ublala blinked. ‘What? Uh, are you at that pinnacle, or whatever you called it—are you at it too?’
Bugg snorted. ‘He hasn’t been at it in months.’
‘Well, that’s it!’ Tehol stormed to the hearth and plucked out what was left of the matted reeds. He stamped out the flames, then picked the charred object up and set it on his head. ‘All right, Bugg, let’s go and get her. As for this brainless giant here, he can mope around all alone in here, for all I care. How many insults can a sensitive man like me endure, anyway?’
Wisps of smoke drifted from the reeds on Tehol’s head.
‘That’s about to take flame again, master.’
‘Well, that’s what’s good about rain, then, isn’t it? Let’s go.’
Outside in the narrow aisle, water streamed ankle-deep towards the clogged drain at the far end, where a small lake was forming. Bugg a half-step in the lead, they sloshed their way across its swirling, rain-pocked expanse.
‘You should be more sympathetic to Ublala, master,’ Bugg said over a shoulder. ‘He’s a very unhappy man.’
‘Sympathy belongs to the small-membered, Bugg. Ublala has three women drooling all over him, or have you forgotten?’
‘That’s a rather disgusting image.’
‘You’ve been too old too long, dear servant. There’s nothing inherently disgusting about drool.’ He paused, then said, ‘All right, maybe there is. However, do we have to talk about sex? That subject makes me nostalgic.’
‘Errant forbid.’
‘So, where is she?’
‘In a brothel.’
‘Oh, now that’s really pathetic.’
‘More like a newly acquired raging addiction, master. The more she feeds it, the hungrier it gets.’
They crossed Turol Avenue and made their way into the Prostitutes’ District. The downpour was diminishing, the tail ends of the storm front streaming overhead. ‘Well,’ Tehol commented, ‘that is not a desirable condition for one of my most valued employees. Especially since her addiction doesn’t include her handsome, elegant boss. Something tells me it should have been me weeping in a corner back there, not Ublala.’
‘It may simply be a case of Shurq not wanting to mix business with pleasure.’
‘Bugg, you told me she’s in a brothel.’
‘Oh. Right. Sorry.’
‘Now I’m truly miserable. I wasn’t miserable this morning. If the trend continues, by dusk I’ll be swimming the canal with bags of coins around my neck.’
‘Here we are.’
They stood before a narrow, three-storey tenement, set slightly in from the adjoining buildings and looking a few centuries older than anything else on the street. The front facing held a carved façade around two square, inset columns of dusty blue marble. Decidedly female demons in bas-relief, contorted and writhing in a mass orgy, crowded the panels, and atop the columns crouched stone gargoyles with enormous breasts held high and inviting.
Tehol turned to Bugg. ‘This is the Temple. She’s in the Temple?’
‘Does that surprise you?’
‘I can’t even afford to step across the threshold. Even Queen Janall frequents this place but a few times a year. Annual membership dues are ten thousand docks…I’ve heard…it rumoured. From someone, once.’
‘Matron Delisp is probably very pleased with her newest property.’
‘I’d wager she is at that. So, how do we extract Shurq Elalle, especially since it’s obvious she is where she wants to be, and the Matron has at least thirty thugs in her employ who’re likely to try and stop us? Should we simply consider this a lost cause and be on our way?’
Bugg shrugged. ‘That is up to you to decide, master.’
‘Well.’ He considered. ‘I’d like at least a word with her.’
‘Probably all you can afford.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Bugg. She doesn’t charge by the word…does she?’
‘She might well charge by the glance, master. Our dear dead thief has blossomed—’
‘Thanks to me! Who arranged for her overhaul? Her drydock repairs, the new coat of paint? We
had a deal—’
‘Tell it to her, master, not me. I am well aware of the lengths you go to in appeasing your own peculiar appetites.’
‘I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that, Bugg. It sounds sordid, and my sordid self is my own affair.’
‘So it is, master, so it is. Good thing you’re not the nostalgic type.’
Tehol glared at Bugg for a moment, then swung his attention once more to the Temple. The oldest brothel in all the land. Some said it was standing here long before the city rose up around it, and indeed the city rose up around it because of the brothel itself. That didn’t make much sense, but then few things did when it came to love and its many false but alluring shades. He tilted his head back to study the gargoyles, and the scorched reed hat slid off to splash on the cobbles behind him. ‘Well, that settles it. Either I stand here getting my hair wet, or I go inside.’
‘As far as I can tell, master, my rain hat was a tragic failure in any case.’
‘It’s your over-critical nature, Bugg, what’s done you in. Follow me!’
Tehol ascended the steps with proprietary determination. As he reached the landing the front door swung open and the frame was filled by a huge, hooded man wearing a black surcoat, a massive double-bladed axe in his gauntleted hands.
Appalled, Tehol halted, Bugg stumbling into him from behind on the lower step.
‘Excuse me,’ Tehol managed, stepping to one side and pulling Bugg along with him. ‘Off to a beheading, then?’ He gestured for the man to pass.
Small eyes glittered from the hood’s shadows. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said in a raspy voice. ‘You are most courteous.’ He strode forward onto the landing, then paused. ‘It’s raining.’
‘Indeed, almost finished, I’d wager. See the blue overhead?’
The axe-carrying giant faced Tehol. ‘If anyone asks, sir, you never saw me here.’
‘You have my word.’
‘Most kind.’ He faced the street again, then cautiously descended the steps.
‘Ooh,’ he said as he set off, ‘it’s wet! Ooh!’
Tehol and Bugg watched him scurry away, hunched over and weaving to avoid the deeper puddles.
The Malazan Empire Page 401