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.’
‘Yes, Hannan Mosag, I have. We must exercise all caution with the Nerek. I have no desire to see the rising of those spirits.’
The once-Warlock King was frowning. ‘The Letherii sorcerors had little difficulty negating—even eradicating—the power of those spirits. Else the Nerek would not have crumbled so quickly.’
>
‘The weakness the Letherii exploited was found in the mortal Nerek, not in the spirits they worshipped. It is our belief now, Hannan Mosag, that the Eres’al was not truly awakened. She did not rise to defend those who worshipped her.’
‘Yet something has changed.’
Rhulad nodded. ‘Something has.’ He glanced up at Mayen. ‘Begun with the blessing of the Edur woman who is now my wife.’
She flinched and would meet neither Rhulad’s nor Hannan Mosag’s eyes.
The emperor shrugged. ‘It is done. Need we be concerned? No. Not yet. Perhaps never. None the less, we had best remain cautious.’
Udinaas resisted the impulse to laugh. Caution, born of fear. It was pleasing to know that the emperor of the Tiste Edur could still be afflicted with that emotion. Then again, perhaps I have read Rhulad wrongly. Perhaps fear is at the core of the monster he has become. Did it matter? Only if Udinaas endeavoured to entertain the game of prediction.
Was it worth the effort?
‘The Den-Ratha are west of Breed Bay,’ Hannan Mosag said. ‘The Merude can see the smoke of their villages.’
‘How many are coming by sea?’
‘About eight thousand. Every ship. Most of them are warriors, of course. The rest travel overland and the first groups have already reached the Sollanta border.’
‘Supplies?’ the emperor asked.
‘Sufficient for the journey.’
‘And nothing is being left behind?’
‘Naught but ashes, sire.’
‘Good.’
Udinaas watched Hannan Mosag hesitate, then say, ‘It is already begun. There is no going back now.’
‘You have no reason to fret,’ Rhulad replied. ‘I have already sent wraiths to the borderlands. They watch. Soon, they will cross over, into Lether.’
‘The Ceda’s frontier sorcerors will find them.’
‘Eventually, but the wraiths will not engage. Merely flee. I have no wish to show their power yet. I mean to encourage overconfidence.’
The two Edur continued discussing strategies. Udinaas listened, just one more wraith in the gloom.
Trull Sengar watched his father rebuilding, with meticulous determination, a kind of faith. Stringing together words spoken aloud yet clearly meant for himself, whilst his wife looked on with the face of an old, broken woman. Death had arrived, only to be shattered by a ghastly reprise, a revivification that offered nothing worth rejoicing in. A king had been cast down, an emperor risen in his place. The world was knocked askew, and Trull found himself detached, numb, witness to these painful, tortured scenes in which the innumerable facets of reconciliation were being attempted, resulting in exhausted silences in which tensions slowly returned, whispering of failure.
They had one and all knelt before their new emperor. Brother and son, the kin who had died and now sat bedecked in gold coins. A voice ravaged yet recognizable. Eyes that belonged to one they had all once known, yet now looked out fevered with power and glazed with the unhealed wounds of horror.
Fear had given up his betrothed.
A terrible thing to have done.
Rhulad had demanded her. And that was…obscene.
Trull had never felt so helpless as he did now. He pulled his gaze from his father and looked over to where Binadas stood in quiet conversation with Hull Beddict. The Letherii, who had sworn his allegiance to Rhulad, who would betray his own people in the war that Trull knew was now inevitable. What has brought us all to this? How can we stop this inexorable march?
‘Do not fight this, brother.’
Trull looked over at Fear, seated on the bench beside him. ‘Fight what?’
His brother’s expression was hard, almost angry. ‘He carries the sword, Trull.’
‘That weapon has nothing to do with the Tiste Edur. It is foreign, and it seeks to make its wielder into our god. Father Shadow and his Daughters, they are to be cast aside?’
‘The sword is naught but a tool. It falls to us, to those around Rhulad, to hold to the sanctity of our beliefs, to maintain that structure and so guide Rhulad.’
Trull stared at Fear. ‘He stole your betrothed.’
‘Speak of that again, brother, and I will kill you.’
His eyes flinched away, and he could feel the thud of his heart, rapid in his chest. ‘Rhulad will accept no guidance, not from us, Fear, not from anyone. That sword and the one who made it guide him now. That, and madness.’
‘Madness is what you have decided to see.’
Trull grunted. ‘Perhaps you are right. Tell me, then, what you see.’
‘Pain.’
And that is something you share. Trull rubbed at his face, slowly sighed. ‘Fight this, Fear? There was never a chance.’ He looked over again. ‘But do you not wonder? Who has been manipulating us, and for how long? You called that sword a tool—are we any different?’
‘We are Tiste Edur. We ruled an entire realm, once. We crossed swords with the gods of this world—’
‘And lost.’
‘Were betrayed.’
‘I seem to recall you shared our mother’s doubts—’
‘I was mistaken. Lured into weakness. We all were. But we must now cast that aside, Trull. Binadas understands. So does our father. Theradas and Midik Buhn as well, and those whom the emperor has proclaimed his brothers of blood. Choram Irard, Kholb Harat and Matra Brith—’
‘His unblooded friends of old,’ Trull cut in, with a wry smile. ‘The three he always defeated in contests with sword and spear. Them and Midik.’
‘What of it?’
‘They have earned nothing, Fear. And no amount of proclaiming can change that. Yet Rhulad would have us take orders from those—’
‘Not us. We too are brothers of blood, you forget. And I still command the warriors of the six tribes.’
‘And how do you think the other noble warriors feel? They have all followed the time-honoured path of blooding and worthy deeds in battle. They now find themselves usurped—’
‘The first warrior under my command who complains will know the edge of my sword.’
‘That edge may grow dull and notched.’
‘No. There will be no rebellion.’
After a moment, Trull nodded. ‘You are probably right, and that is perhaps the most depressing truth yet spoken this day.’
Fear stood. ‘You are my brother, Trull, and a man I admire. But you walk close to treason with your words. Were you anyone else I would have silenced you by now. With finality. No more, Trull. We are an empire now. An empire reborn. And war awaits us. And so I must know—will you fight at the sides of your brothers?’
Trull leaned his back against the rough wall. He studied Fear for a moment, then asked, ‘Have I ever done otherwise?’
His brother’s expression softened. ‘No, you have not. You saved us all when we returned from the ice wastes, and that is a deed all now know, and so they look upon you with admiration and awe. By the same token, Trull, they look to you for guidance. There are many who will find their decisions by observing your reaction to what has happened. If they see doubt in your eyes…’
‘They will see nothing, Fear. Not in my eyes. Nor will they find cause for doubt in my actions.’
‘I am relieved. The emperor shall be calling upon us soon. His brothers of blood.’
Trull also rose. ‘Very well. But for now, brother, I feel in need of solitude.’
‘Will that prove dangerous company?’
If it does, then I am as good as dead. ‘It hasn’t thus far, Fear.’
‘Leave me now, Hannan Mosag,’ the emperor said, his voice revealing sudden exhaustion. ‘And take the K’risnan with you. Everyone, go—not you, slave. Mayen, you too, wife. Please go.’
The sudden dismissal caused a moment of confusion, but moments later the chamber was vacated barring Rhulad and Udinaas. To the slave’s eyes, Mayen’s departure looked more like flight, her gait stilted as if driven by near hysteria.
There would be more moments like this
, Udinaas suspected. Sudden breaks in the normal proceedings. And so he was not surprised when Rhulad beckoned him closer, and Udinaas saw in the emperor’s eyes a welling of anguish and terror.
‘Stand close by me, slave,’ Rhulad gasped, fierce trembling sweeping over him. ‘Remind me! Please! Udinaas—’
The slave thought for a moment, then said, ‘You died. Your body was dressed for honourable burial as a blooded warrior of the Hiroth. Then you returned. By the sword now in your hand, you returned and are alive once more.’
‘Yes, that is it. Yes.’ A laugh that rose to a piercing shriek, stopping abruptly as a spasm ripped through Rhulad. He gaped, as if in pain, then muttered, ‘The wounds…’
‘Emperor?’
‘No matter. Just the memory. Cold iron pushing into my body. Cold fire. I tried. I tried to curl up around those wounds. Up tight, to protect what I had already lost. I remember…’
Udinaas was silent. Since the emperor would not look at him, he was free to observe. And arrive at conclusions.
The young should not die. That final moment belonged to the aged. Some rules should never be broken, and whether the motivation was compassionate or coldly calculated hardly mattered. Rhulad had been dead too long, too long to escape some kind of spiritual damage. If the emperor was to be a tool, then he was a flawed one.
And what value that?
‘We are imperfect.’
Udinaas started, said nothing.
‘Do you understand that, Udinaas?’
‘Yes, Emperor.’
‘How? How do you understand?’
‘I am a slave.’
Rhulad nodded. His left hand, gauntleted in gold, lifted to join his right where it gripped the handle of the sword. ‘Yes, of course. Yes. Imperfect. We can never match the ideals set before us. That is the burden of mortality.’ A twisted grimace. ‘Not just mortals.’ A flicker of the eyes, momentarily fixing on the slave’s own, then away again. ‘He whispers in my mind. He tells me what to say. He makes me cleverer than I am. What does that make me, Udinaas? What does that make me?’
‘A slave.’
‘But I am Tiste Edur.’
The Malazan Empire Page 415