Elsewhere in the keep, house-guards patrolled the corridors, walked the rooms and hallways, stamped up and down tower stairs.
‘Milord,’ ventured Ivis. ‘You said you would speak with your Azathanai companion, regarding the daughters of Draconus.’
Grunting, Anomander nodded. ‘I shall, this evening, Ivis. He is not entirely unaware of something amiss in this keep. For myself, even the mention of sorcery makes me uneasy. That said, they are the children of Draconus, and as to his relationship with them, you know better than do I. How would he respond to such horrors?’
‘As of yet, milord, he has made no response at all.’
‘You cannot be sure of his seeming indifference,’ Anomander replied. ‘It is quite possible that no messages or reports have reached him.’
‘Milord? But I dispatched urgent—’
‘All such missives are set just beyond the door to the Chamber of Night, upon a low table the servants can barely see. Has it yet occurred to Draconus that messages await his attention? Possibly not. So again, I ask: how would he respond to the news of one of his daughters dying at the hands of the remaining two? Or the slaughter of his servants in the keep?’
Ivis hesitated. ‘Milord, I have pondered such questions unto exhaustion, and am no closer to any sure reply. He took away his bastard son, Arathan, into the west lands. A natural boy of seventeen at the time. Eighteen now. But his daughters … they remained children. Their younger half-brother had grown past them all. It is uncanny, sir.’
‘Did he hold them close?’
‘The daughters?’ Ivis thought about the notion, and then eventually shook his head. ‘He tolerated them. The names he gave the three tells its own tale, I wager. Envy, Spite and Malice. Malice was the one murdered and then burned in a bread oven.’
Anomander blinked. ‘Such details still shock me, my friend.’
‘Not a night easily forgotten,’ Ivis said. ‘We could have smoked them out long ago, milord, if not for our fear of the sorcery they possess.’
‘Perhaps, with Caladan Brood in our company, now might be the time, Ivis.’
‘But you are both soon to leave us, milord. Can mere shackles hold them?’
‘No matter what,’ Anomander said, ‘we will not leave you helpless. That said, I have no notion of the extent of Brood’s own power. He proved adept enough in lifting and moving heavy stones, and has spoken of the earth’s own magic, as would a man familiar with it. Does he possess anything beyond such things? As to that, I am as curious as anyone might be. We will discuss the matter this evening.’
‘I thank you, milord.’
‘In this, Ivis, I am but the bridge. It will be Caladan Brood upon the other side. My modest charge is to invite you across it.’
‘Even so, milord, I am grateful.’
‘The evening draws upon us, friend,’ said Anomander. ‘Shall we quit this tower top?’
‘My chilled bones would indeed welcome some heat, milord.’
* * *
Too much of Lady Sandalath reminded Wreneck of his own mother. Whilst she was being dressed for the dinner, he had slipped out of her chambers and now wandered the corridors of the keep. At intervals he came upon pairs of guards bearing lanterns and gripping shortswords. They eyed him warily, and more than one had admonished him for being unattended.
They saw him as still a child. He might have told them otherwise. He might even have reminded them that it was children they now guarded against, children who so frightened them that they walked through rooms and down passageways with drawn weapons, starting at shadows. The old ways of thinking, the ones that pushed children into childlike things, were now gone. The truth of that was obvious to Wreneck. Whatever was coming in this new world, it would divide people into the ones being hurt and the ones doing the hurting, and he was done with being hurt. Age made no difference. Age had nothing to do with it.
The voices in his head, which spoke most clearly in the moments before sleep, still came to him in his waking moments, but muted, murmuring words he often could not make out. He could not be sure, but they all seemed afraid, and at times he was startled by some internal cry, a warning no one else heard, as if they saw dangers unseen by anyone else.
He found it difficult to believe that they were as they said they were. Dying gods. Such beings, dying or not, had no interest in Wreneck, the stable boy, who had done nothing worth much in his whole life, and who thought of the future as a single moment, a spear’s point jabbing down, punching through skin, sliding into meat and whatever else the skin protected. A spear taking a life away, and in his mind his list of names, each one fading before his eyes with each thrust of the spear, each in turn, one by one, until the list was gone, and all that was left to him was empty.
This was his only future, and when it ended, when his task was done, there would be nothing but a vague, blurry world of his life spent with Jinia. But even there, something whispered of oblivion, inviting him into a world of imagination, like an island surrounded by the Abyss.
Abyss. That was a word he’d heard spoken as a curse and as a prayer, as if two faces hid in the darkness, and who knew which one groping hands might find?
He could have told the guards about his thoughts, to show that they weren’t thoughts anyone would expect from a child. But something held him back. He was beginning to suspect that being seen as a child was in itself a kind of disguise, one that he might be able to use, come the night when he did murder.
Perhaps the dying gods had warned him against revealing too much, but he was not convinced of that – in any case, he’d told Lady Sandalath nothing of his plans, and he was certain that the First Son and the Azathanai would both remain silent on the matter. He had no choice but to show himself to her as only a child, a friend of Orfantal who, with her and with Wreneck himself, was all that remained of House Drukorlat. Jinia was another, of course, but she too had become Wreneck’s secret, his way of protecting her from anyone and everyone.
It was complicated, and troubling, and the lady’s need to hold him close, so tight that sometimes he could barely draw a breath, just made him uncomfortable. He had no desire to stay in this keep.
He reached a portal that opened on to the landing of a spiral staircase. The light spilling in from the oil lamps set in the niches in the corridor behind him did not reach far, and by the first turn of the stone steps Wreneck found himself in darkness. He continued upward.
Towers interested him. He had never been higher than a single level above the ground, and that had been in Lady Nerys’s estate, and the house had been burning down around him and Jinia. Climbing trees had shown him how everything changed when seen from any height, but often the thick canopies of other trees blocked most of his view downward. From atop a tower, he believed, there would be nothing to impede his view.
Everything below, when he reached that height, would be familiar, and yet each thing would be transformed in his eyes, becoming something new. This notion seemed to displease the dying gods in his head.
At the level just below the top floor of the tower, he came to a landing and found himself facing a blackwood door. Beads of water ran down its furrowed face. The pool at its base had spread out over the flagstone landing, cold enough to form slush here and there, and thin, crackling layers of ice. Standing before the door, he could feel waves of cold coming from it.
Eyes on the heavy latch, Wreneck stepped forward.
‘Don’t!’
He spun round.
A small girl was crouched on the stairs above the landing, wearing little more than rags. Her thin, smudged face was pale but not white. This told Wreneck that she belonged to neither Mother Dark nor Lord Urusander. She was, in that respect, the same as him. ‘You’re one of the daughters,’ he said. ‘The ones who killed people.’
‘Send them away.’
‘Who?’
‘The spirits. The ghosts. The ones swarming around you. Send them away and then we can talk.’
‘They’re all hun
ting you,’ Wreneck said. ‘Everyone here in the keep. They say you killed your sister, the youngest one.’
‘No. Yes.’
‘You burned her in an oven.’
‘She was already dead. Dead but not knowing it. The oven. That was us being merciful. We’re not the same as the rest of you. We’re not even Tiste. What’s your name?’
‘Wreneck.’
‘Send the spirits away, Wreneck.’
‘I can’t. I don’t know how. They can’t do anything. They’re dying.’
‘Dying, but not dead yet.’
‘They’re scared right now.’
The girl smiled. ‘Because of me?’
‘No.’ He gestured. ‘The door, and what’s behind it, I think.’
The smile vanished. ‘Father’s secret room. You can’t open it. It’s locked. Sealed. Warded by magic. If you touch that latch, you’ll die.’
‘What’s a Finnest?’
‘A what?’
‘Finnest. The dying gods keep screaming about a Finnest.’
‘Don’t know. Never heard of it. Do you have anything to eat?’
‘No. Which sister are you?’
‘Envy.’
‘Where’s the other one?’
Envy shrugged. ‘She tried strangling me with my hair. I fought her off. I beat her good. That was this morning. She crawled away and I’ve not seen her since.’
‘You two don’t like each other.’
Envy held out her hand, palm-up. A lurid red glow appeared, floating above it. ‘We’re coming into our power. If I wanted to, I could become a woman. Right here. I could grow up right in front of your eyes.’ The glow now sent out a tendril, curling like a serpent as it entwined her hand and then snaked up her wrist. ‘Or I could make myself look just like … what’s her name again? Oh, like Jinia.’
Wreneck said nothing.
Envy stretched out her other hand, and another serpent of fire appeared to match the first one. ‘I can reach into your mind, Wreneck. I can, if I want, pull things out and crush them. Your love for her. I could kill it.’ Her arms lifted, and the tendrils of flame acquired snakeheads, jaws opening to reveal fangs that glittered like diamonds. ‘My bite is venomous. With it, I can make you my slave. Or make you love me more than you ever loved Jinia.’
‘Why would you do that? I’m just a boy.’
‘A boy blessed by old gods – you might think they’re dying. They might even tell you that. But maybe they’re not dying at all, Wreneck. Maybe you’re keeping them well fed, with your dreams of blood and vengeance. The older things are, the hungrier and thirstier they get.’
‘The only thing hungry and thirsty here is you, Envy.’
‘I told you. I’m older than I look.’ The serpents sank back beneath the skin of her arms and she beckoned. ‘Forget Jinia. I’m much better, Wreneck. With my help, we can banish those old spirits. Back into the black earth. Give yourself to me and I’ll keep you for ever, and as for those soldiers who hurt you and raped Jinia, well, with me at your side, Wreneck, we’ll show them such agony as to shatter their souls.’
‘I’d rather use my spear.’
‘You won’t get close to them.’
‘Lord Anomander will help me.’
‘That pompous fool? He’s frightened of sorcery. I once thought he might be worthy of me, but he isn’t. Sorcery, Wreneck. A new world is coming, and there will be beings in it with such power as to topple mountains—’
‘Why?’
She frowned. ‘Why what?’
‘Why topple mountains?’
‘Because we can! To show our power!’
‘Why do you have to do something just because you can? Why do you have to show your power if you already have it anyway? Aren’t you even more powerful when you don’t bother toppling mountains, when you don’t bother showing off?’
Envy scowled at him. ‘Those old gods are feeding on you,’ she said. ‘Give yourself to me, Wreneck, and together we’ll turn on them. We’ll feed on them instead. We’ll devour them and take their power. With sorcery you can get to those soldiers, no matter where they’re hiding. More to the point, Wreneck, they won’t be able to hide at all.’ She rose and moved down a step. ‘We could go straight to them. We could leave tonight with none to stop us.’
‘I need my spear—’
‘I’ll make you a new one.’
‘I don’t want a new one.’
Her small hands curled into fists. ‘Are you going to mess up everything I’m promising you on account of a damned spear?’
‘Anyway,’ said Wreneck, ‘Ivis said Lord Anomander was going to talk to the Azathanai about catching you and your sister.’
Envy’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve told you too much.’
The serpents of flame reappeared. Writhing, they shot out from her hands, the snake-jaws stretching wide.
Something roiled up in front of Wreneck, luminous and billowing. The twin snakes sank their fangs into it, and Wreneck was rocked back as a scream arced through his skull. He felt the death of the old god like a fist to his chest. All breath knocked from his lungs, he fell against the blackwood door.
Something upon the other side of that door hammered into it, rattling the frame and spilling wet grit from the ceiling. The impact jolted Wreneck and he sagged, stunned and helpless.
Envy struck again, the snakes lashing out.
Another god intervened, took the wounds, and died in agony.
Laughing, Envy stepped down on to the landing. ‘I’ll kill them all, Wreneck! Unless you surrender to me!’
Dimly, Wreneck saw a flash of motion on the stairs behind Envy, and then that form launched itself through the air, landing upon Envy’s back. Arms wrapped tight about her neck, dirty fingers raking red furrows across the girl’s chest, neck and face.
Shrieking, Envy twisted round, as the weight of the other girl, wrapped about her by the neck, dragged them both to the floor.
The other girl howled manic laughter as she clawed at Envy. ‘You can’t have him! You’ll never have him!’
Oh, this must be Spite.
He pulled himself towards the edge of the landing, ignoring the hammering fists upon the door behind him, ignoring the two sisters tearing at each other with snarls and lashing nails. Bruising his elbows and knees, he slid awkwardly down the steps.
Keening, the remaining gods closed in around him.
‘Warn the Azathanai, child! Warn the High Mason! These two, these two … these two …’
The words faded, as if the entire chorus of voices uttering them had been pushed off a cliff’s ledge. Wreneck felt very tired. He was lying upon another landing, half in and half out of the dull light from the corridor beyond. The sounds of fighting and thumping fists echoed down the stone steps still, and he found it hard to believe that no one else in the keep could hear.
He shivered in the icy draught that flowed above the tiled floor of the corridor. From somewhere outside, he could hear the wind, gusting and punching at shutters, beating against stone walls.
A winter storm was upon them.
And the dinner bell was sounding, low, like distant thunder.
Wreneck closed his eyes, and let darkness take him.
* * *
‘The lad’s taken to wandering,’ said Yalad. ‘Hunger will draw him to the table before too long.’
They sat at the dining table with the others from the household staff, along with the Azathanai, awaiting Lord Anomander, Ivis and Wreneck.
Sandalath frowned at the gate sergeant. ‘You describe him as if he was a dog.’
Yalad’s soft smile faltered. ‘My apologies, milady. I meant no disrespect. But Lord Anomander found him half starved, and the boy is not yet fully recovered.’
‘He has known too little comfort in his life,’ she replied. ‘I must accept some responsibility for that. I should have stood against my mother, in whom grief fed cruelty. She struck at Wreneck because he was the most helpless among us.’ She shook her head. ‘There is muc
h to mend here.’
Seated opposite Yalad, Surgeon Prok collected up his goblet. ‘Flesh heals quickly when compared to the spirit. Milady, for the child you will need patience. Perhaps indeed your mother was too free with her whip, but that may prove less damaging, in the long run, than simple neglect. The lad has no reason to trust, and no precedent in which to place any faith in the notion itself.’
‘He need not fear me,’ Sandalath said, her tone hardening. ‘I feel castigated by you, Surgeon Prok, for the boldness of my love.’
Prok blinked at her. ‘You can love a stone, but do not expect it to love you back. Milady, that child has guarded eyes. His wounds now bear scars, and those scars dull all feeling. You may see that as a flaw, but I assure you, just as the body will protect what was damaged, so too will the soul.’ He swallowed down a mouthful of wine, meeting her glare with a calm expression. ‘All too often, in seeking to heal, we reopen wounds. Never a good idea, in my experience.’
‘The fact remains,’ Sandalath said, ‘I don’t know where he has gone, and the dinner bell has sounded.’
At that moment, Lord Anomander and Ivis arrived in the dining hall.
Relieved, Sandalath said to Ivis, ‘Young Wreneck is nowhere to be found, good sir. Both your gate sergeant and the surgeon here believe that I worry without reason, whilst the High Mason and the others say nothing at all. I am made to feel foolish.’
Caladan Brood spoke. ‘Thus far, I have made no effort to quest through the stones of this keep.’
Anomander grunted, and asked, ‘Why the reluctance?’
The Azathanai made no reply.
Ivis swung to Yalad. ‘Gather a squad and inform the patrols – find the lad.’
‘Yes sir,’ Yalad replied, rising from his chair. ‘Milady, again, my apologies.’
‘We shall assist,’ Prok said. ‘Madame Sorca? Bidishan?’
In moments the others, along with Setyl and Venth Direll, had departed the chamber, leaving Sandalath alone with Ivis and their two guests.
‘He shall be found, milady,’ Lord Anomander said, drawing out a chair and settling into it. ‘High Mason, you would not explain your reluctance earlier. Will you do so now?’
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