The five killers were almost free. Their barrow was breaking apart, thick fissures welling in the dark, wet earth submerged rocks grinding and snapping together. The muted sounds of five voices joined in a chant as heavy as drums…rising, coming ever closer to the surface.
‘Oh,’ she moaned, ‘where is everybody? Where are my friends?’
Kettle staggered over to the barrow containing her only ally. He was there, so very close. She reached down—
—and was dragged in, a heaving passage of hot soil, then through, stumbling, slipping on a muddy bank. Before her sprawled a fetid swamp beneath a grey sky.
And, almost within arm’s reach, a figure was climbing from the dark water. White-skinned, long hair smeared with mud. ‘Kettle!’ The voice a strained gasp. ‘Behind you—reach—’
She turned round.
Two swords, points thrust into the mud.
‘Kettle—take them—give them—’
A wet gasp, and she spun back, to see the bared arms of another figure, clawing up to wrap about her friend—a woman’s arms, lean, ribboned in muscle. He was dragged back—she saw him drive an elbow into the fiercely twisting, black-streaked face that rose suddenly from the slime. Connecting hard in a splatter of blood. But the clutching hands would not let go.
And they both sank back into the swirling foam.
Whimpering, Kettle crawled over to the swords. She tugged them from the mud, then clambered back to the water’s edge.
Limbs appeared amidst the thrashing waves.
Shivering, Kettle waited.
So easy, now, a slave once more, as the Wyval suffused his body, stealing the will of every muscle, every organ, the charging blood in his veins. Udinaas could barely see through his own eyes, as street after street blurred past. Sudden moments of brutal clarity, as he came upon three Soletaken wolves—which turned as one with snarls and bared fangs—and was among them, his hands now talons, the thumb-long claws tearing into wolf-flesh, curling round ribs and ripping them loose. A massive, gnarled fist, slamming into the side of a lunging, snapping head, breaking bone—the wolf’s head suddenly lolling, the eyes blank in death.
Then, motion once more.
His master needed him. Needed him now. No time to lose.
A slave. Absolved of all responsibility, nothing more than a tool.
And this, Udinaas knew, was the poison of surrender.
Close, now, and closing.
There is nothing new in being used. Look upon these sprawled corpses, after all. Poor Letherii soldiers lying dead for no reason. Defending the corpse of a kingdom, citizens once more every one of them. The kingdom that does not move, the kingdom in service to the god of dust—you will find the temples in crooked alleys, in the cracks between cobbles.
You will find, my friends, no sweeter world than this, where honour and faith and freedom are notions levelled one and all, layers as thin as hate, envy and betrayal. Every notion vulnerable to any sordid breeze, stirred up, stirred together. A world without demands to challenge the confused haze of holy apathy.
The god of dust rises dominant—
Ahead, a dozen wolves, charging straight for him.
There would, it seemed, be a delay.
Udinaas bared his teeth.
‘How are you managing it?’ Bugg asked.
The Errant glanced over. ‘The wolves?’
‘They’re everywhere but here, and they should have arrived long ago.’
The god shrugged. ‘I keep nudging them away. It’s not as difficult as I feared, although their leader is too clever by far—much harder to deceive. Besides, the beasts keep running into other…opposition.’
‘What kind of opposition?’
‘Other.’
The shouts from within the temple ceased then. Silence, no movement from the dark doorway. A half-dozen heartbeats, then, a muttering of voices and swearing.
The mage, Corlo, appeared, backing out and dragging a limp body in his wake, a body leaving twin trails of blood from its heels.
Concerned, Bugg stepped forward. ‘Is she alive?’
Corlo, himself a mass of cuts and bruises, cast the manservant a slightly wild look. ‘No, dammit.’
‘I am sorry for that,’ the Errant murmured.
More Guardsmen were emerging from the doorway. All were wounded, one of them badly, his left arm torn loose at the shoulder and dangling from a few pink-white tendons. His eyes were glazed with shock.
Corlo glared at Turudal Brizad. ‘Can you do any healing? Before the rest of us bleed out—’
Iron Bars stepped from the ruined temple, sheathing his sword. He was covered in blood but none of it was his. His expression was alarmingly dark. ‘We were expecting wolves, damn you,’ he said in a low growl as he stared at the Errant, who had closed to lay hands upon the most grievously injured soldier, raising new flesh to bind the arm once more to the shoulder as the soldier’s face twisted with pain.
Turudal Brizad shrugged. ‘There was little time to elaborate on what you were about to fight, Avowed. In case you have forgotten.’
‘Damned cats,’ he said.
‘Lizard cats, you mean,’ one of the Guardsmen said, spitting blood onto the street. ‘Sometimes I think nature is insane.’
‘You got that right, Halfpeck,’ Corlo said, reaching down to close the eyelids of the dead woman lying at his feet.
Iron Bars suddenly moved, a blur, past the Errant, both hands lifting—
—as a huge white wolf, claws skittering, pitched round from an alley mouth and, head ducking, lunged towards Turudal Brizad, who had only just begun to turn round.
The Avowed caught it in mid-leap, left hand closing on its right leg just beneath the shoulder, right hand clutching its neck beneath the beast’s jaws. He heaved the wolf high, pivoted and smashed it head first onto the street. Crushing snout, skull and shoulders. Limbs kicking spasmodically, the Soletaken flopped onto its back, yellow vomit spurting, urine arcing as it died. A moment later, all movement from the limbs ceased, although the urine continued to stream, the arc dwindling, then collapsing.
Iron Bars stepped back.
Halfpeck suddenly laughed. ‘It pissed on you!’
‘Be quiet,’ Iron Bars said, looking down at his wet legs. ‘Hood take me, that stinks.’
‘We should get back to the ship,’ Corlo said. ‘There’s wolves all over the place and I don’t think I can keep them away much longer.’
Turudal Brizad; ‘But I can. Especially now.’
Bugg asked, ‘What’s changed, apart from the Pack getting chopped to pieces?’
The Errant pointed down at the dead Soletaken. ‘That was B’nagga, the leader of the Jheck.’ He shot Bugg a look, astonished and half disbelieving. ‘You chose well,’ he said.
‘This squad managed to escape Assail,’ Bugg said, shrugging.
The god’s eyes widened. He turned to Iron Bars. ‘I will ensure you a clear path to your ship—’
‘Oh, damn,’ Bugg cut in, slowly turning. ‘They’re getting out.’
‘More trouble?’ Iron Bars asked, looking round, his hand drifting close to the sword at his hip.
‘Not here,’ Bugg said. ‘But not far.’ He faced the Avowed, gauging.
Iron Bars frowned, then said, ‘Corlo, take the squad back to the ship. All right, old man, lead the way.’
‘You don’t have to do this—’
‘Yes I do. With that wolf pissing on me I feel the need to lose my temper. It’s another fight, isn’t it?’
Bugg nodded. ‘Might make the Pack seem like kittens, Iron Bars.’
‘Might? Will it or won’t it?’
‘All right, we might well lose this one.’
‘Fine,’ the Avowed snapped. ‘Let’s get it over with.’
The manservant sighed. ‘Follow me, then. It’s a dead Azath House we’re heading to.’
‘Dead? Hood take me, a garden fête.’
A garden fête? Dear me, I like this man. ‘And we’re inviting ourselves,
Avowed. Still with me?’
Iron Bars looked across at Corlo, who had stopped to listen, his face bloodless as he repeatedly shook his head in denial. The Avowed grunted. ‘Once you’ve dropped ’em off, come and find us, Corlo. And try and make your arrival timely.’
‘Avowed—’
‘Go.’
Bugg glanced at the Errant. ‘You coming?’
‘In spirit,’ he replied. ‘There is another matter I must attend to, I am afraid. Oh,’ he added as Bugg and Iron Bars turned to go, ‘dear manservant, I thank you. And you as well, Avowed. Tell me, Iron Bars, how many of the Avowed remain among the Crimson Guard?’
‘No idea. A few hundred, I’d imagine.’
‘Scattered here and there…’
The grey-haired soldier smiled. ‘For the moment.’
Bugg said, ‘We shall have to run, I think.’
‘Can you keep up?’ Iron Bars asked.
‘As swift as a charging wave, that’s me,’ Bugg said.
Brys stood alone in the corridor. The howling was, thankfully, over. It was the only sound that had managed to penetrate the walls. There was no way to know if the garrison was fighting in the city beyond the Eternal Domicile. It seemed such a pointless thing…
His breath caught upon hearing a strange sound. Brys lowered his gaze, fixed it upon the Ceda, who was lying curled tight in the chamber beyond, with his back to Brys and the throne room behind him.
Kuru Qan’s head shifted slightly, then rose a fraction from the floor.
And, from the Ceda, there came low laughter.
The path was unmistakable. Keening with glee, the demon drew itself to the cave’s entrance, contracting its massive, corpulent presence, the bloated flesh of its body, away from the river’s broad span. Inward, gathering, hovering before the tunnel beneath the city, where old swamp water still flowed, putrid and sweet, a flavour like sweet nectar to the demon.
Ready now, at last, for the lunge, the breaking away from the grip of its master. Who was so regrettably preoccupied at the moment.
Now.
Surging forward, filling the cave, then into the narrow, twisting tunnel.
To the heart. The wondrous, blessed heart of power.
Joy and hunger burning like twin fires within it. Close, so close now.
Squirming down, the path narrowing, squeezing with the vast pressure of overlying stone and earth. A little further.
Reaching out, the space suddenly opening, blissfully wide and high, spreading out to all sides, the water welcoming in its warmth.
A storm of long-still silts sweeping up, blinding, shadows of dead things cavorting before its countless eyes.
The heart, the enormous cavern beneath the lake, the city’s very soul—the power—
And Brys heard Kuru Qan speak.
‘Now, friend Bugg.’
Thirty paces from the overgrown yard of the Azath tower, Bugg skidded to a halt. He cocked his head, then smiled.
Ahead, Iron Bars slowed, then turned round. ‘What?’
‘Find the girl,’ the manservant said. ‘I’ll join you when I can.’
‘Bugg?’
‘In a moment, Avowed. I must do something first.’
The Crimson Guardsman hesitated, then nodded and swung back.
Bugg closed his eyes. Jaghut witch, hear me. Recall my favour at the quarry? The time has come for…reciprocity.
She replied in his mind, distant, yet swiftly closing. ‘I hear you, little man. I know what you seek. Ah, you are a clever one indeed…’
Oh, I cannot take all the credit, this time.
The demon expanded to fill the cavern. The heart was all about, the power seeping in to enliven its flesh. The chains of binding melted away.
Now, it need only reach out and grasp hold.
The strength of a thousand gods awaited it.
Reaching.
Countless grasping, clutching hands.
Finding…nothing.
Then, a mortal’s voice—
From the Ceda, two more words, uttered low and clear, ‘Got you.’
A lie! Illusion! Deceit! The demon raged, spun in a conflagration of brown silt, seeking the way out—only to find the tunnel mouth sealed. A smooth surface, fiercely cold, the cold burning—the demon recoiled.
Then, the lake overhead. Upward—fast, faster—
Ursto Hoobutt and his sometime lover, Pinosel, were both drunk as they awaited the fall of Letheras. They had been singing, celebrating the end of their debts, sprawled on the mouldy walkway surrounding Settle Lake amidst nervous rats and head-jutting pigeons.
When the wine ran out, they began bickering.
It had begun innocently enough, as Pinosel loosed a loud sigh and said, ‘And now you can marry me.’
It was a moment before her words registered, upon which, bleary-eyed, he looked over in disbelief. ‘Marry you? What’s wrong wi’ ’ow it is now, Cherrytart?’
‘What’s wrong? It’s respectable I want, you fat, flea-bit oaf. I earned it. Respectable. You marry me, Ursto Hoobutt, now that the Edurians done conquered us. Marry me!’
‘All right, I will.’
‘When?’ she demanded, sensing the out he was angling towards.
‘When…when…’ Hah! He had his answer—
And, at that instant, the fetid green water of Settle Lake, sprawled out before them like a turgid plain of seaweed fertilizer, paled into murky white. And clouds began rising from its now frozen surface.
An icy breeze swept over Ursto Hoobutt and Pinosel.
There was a sudden deep thump from somewhere beneath the frozen lake’s ice, although not a single crack showed.
Ursto Hoobutt stared, disbelieving. Opened his mouth, then closed it.
Then his shoulders sagged. ‘Today, love. I’ll marry ya today…’
Chapter Twenty-five
When the gods of dust were young
They swam in blood.
WHITEFORTH’S DREAM ON THE DAY OF THE SEVENTH CLOSURE
FEVER WITCH
Shurq Elalle walked down the tunnel to the crypt door. Her thoughts were on Gerun Eberict; her concern was for Tehol Beddict. The Finadd was of the most vicious sort, after all, and Tehol seemed so…helpless. Oh, fit enough, probably quite capable of running fast and far should the need arise. But it was clear that Tehol had no intention of running anywhere. The silent bodyguards Brys had assigned to him were some comfort, although, the way Gerun worked, they might prove little more than a minor inconvenience.
If that was not troubling enough, there was the ominous silence from Kettle at the dead Azath tower. Was that a result of the child’s returning to life, thus severing the link that bound the dead? Or had something terrible happened?
She reached the portal and pushed it open.
Light flared from a lantern, and she saw Ublala seated on the sarcophagus, the lantern on his lap as he adjusted the flame.
She saw his expression and frowned. ‘What is wrong, my love?’
‘There’s no time,’ he said, rising, bumping his head on the ceiling, then ducking into a hunch. ‘Bad things. I was about to go.’ He set the lantern down on the lid. ‘Couldn’t wait for you any longer. I’ve got to go.’
‘Where?’
‘It’s the Seregahl,’ he mumbled, hands wringing. ‘It’s bad.’
‘The Seregahl? The old Tarthenal gods? Ublala, what are you talking about?’
‘I have to go.’ He headed for the doorway.
‘Ublala, what about Harlest? Where are you going?’
‘The old tower.’ He was in the tunnel, his words dwindling. ‘I love you, Shurq Elalle…’
She stared at the empty doorway. Love? That sounded…final.
Shurq Elalle went to the sarcophagus and slid the lid to one side.
‘Aarrgh! Hiss! Hiss! Hiss—’
‘Stop that, Harlest!’ She batted the clawing hands away. ‘Get out of there. We have to go—’
‘Where?’ Harlest slowly sat up, practising baring his
long fangs and making growling sounds.
She studied him for a moment, then said, ‘A cemetery.’
‘Oh,’ Harlest sighed, ‘that’s perfect.’
Sitting in the street, in a pool of darkening blood, the emperor of the Tiste Edur had one hand held against his face and seemed to be trying to claw his eyes out. He still screamed every now and then, a shrill, wordless release of raw anguish.
On the bridge, thirty paces distant, the Letherii soldiers were silent and motionless behind their shields. Other citizens of the city were visible along the edge of the canal on the other side, a row of onlookers, their numbers growing.
Trull Sengar felt a hand settle on his shoulder and he turned to find Uruth, her face twisted with distress.
‘Son, something must be done—he’s losing his mind—’
Udinaas, the damned slave who had become so essential, so integral to Rhulad—to the young Edur’s sanity—had vanished. And now the emperor railed, recognizing no-one, froth on his lips, his cries those of a panicked beast. ‘He must be hunted down,’ Trull said. ‘That slave.’
‘There is more—’
Hannan Mosag had moved to stand close to Rhulad, and now spoke, his words carrying easily. ‘Emperor Rhulad, hear me! This is a day of dark truths. Your slave, Udinaas, has done what we would expect of a Letherii. Their hearts are filled with treachery and they serve none but themselves. Rhulad, Udinaas has run away.’ He paused, then said, ‘From you.’
The triumph was poorly hidden as the Warlock King continued. ‘He has made himself into your white nectar, and now leaves you in pain. This is a world without faith, Emperor. Only your kin can be trusted—’
Rhulad’s head snapped up, features ravaged with hurt, a dark fire in his eyes. ‘Trusted? You, Hannan Mosag? My brothers? Mayen?’ Blood-smeared gold, matted bear fur, sword-blade threaded through bits of human meat and intestines, the emperor staggered upright, chest heaving with emotion. ‘You are all as nothing to us. Liars, cheats, betrayers! All of you!’ He whipped the sword, spattering red and pink fragments onto the cobbles and against the shins of those standing nearest him, and bared his teeth. ‘The emperor shall reflect his people,’ he rasped, an ugly grin spreading. ‘Reflect, as it must be.’
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