The Malazan Empire, page 407
‘I shall not.’
A rustling step forward. ‘Then…kneel.’
‘Rhulad!’
‘Silence, Father! Kneel before me, Hannan Mosag, and pledge your brotherhood. Think not I will simply cast you aside, for I have need of you. We all have need of you. And your K’risnan.’
‘Need?’ Hannan Mosag’s face was ravaged, as if gripped by a physical pain.
Rhulad swung about, glittering eyes fixing on his three brothers, one by one. ‘Come forward, brothers, and pledge your service to me. I am the future of the Edur. Theradas Buhn. Midik Buhn. Come forward and call me your brother. Bind yourselves to me. Power awaits us all, power you cannot yet imagine. Come. I am Rhulad, youngest son of Tomad Sengar. Blooded in battle, and I have known death!’
Abruptly, he turned about, sword-point scraping along the floor. ‘Death,’ he muttered, as if to himself. ‘Faith is an illusion. The world is not as it seems. We are fools, all of us. Such…stupidity.’ In the same low tone he continued, ‘Kneel before me, Hannan Mosag. It is not so much to surrender, is it? We shall know power. We shall be as we once were, as we were meant to be. Kneel, Warlock King, and receive my blessing.’
The head lifted once more, a flash of gold in the gloom. ‘Binadas. You know pain, a wound resisting mending. Come forward, and I will release you from that pain. I will heal the damage.’
Binadas frowned. ‘You know nothing of sorcery, Rhulad—’
‘Come here!’ The shriek echoed in the vast chamber.
Binadas flinched, then limped closer.
Rhulad’s golden hand snapped out, fingers slashing across his brother’s chest. The faintest of touches, and Binadas reeled back. Fear rushed close to hold him upright. Eyes wide, Binadas righted himself. He said nothing, but it was clear as he straightened that the pain in his hip was gone. Tremors shook him.
‘Thus,’ Rhulad said in a whisper. ‘Come, my brothers. It is time.’
Trull cleared his throat. He had to speak. He had to ask his questions, to say what no-one else would say. ‘We saw you dead.’
‘And I have returned.’
‘By the power of the sword you hold, Rhulad? Why would this ally give the Edur such a thing? What does that ally hope to gain? Brother, the tribes have been unified. We have won our peace—’
‘You are the weakest of us, Trull. Your words betray you. We are Tiste Edur. Have you forgotten what that means? I think you have.’ He looked round. ‘I think you all have. Six pathetic tribes, six pathetic kings. Hannan Mosag knew a greater ambition. Sufficient to conquer. He was necessary, but he cannot achieve what must come now.’
Trull could hear the brother he knew in Rhulad’s words, but something new was threaded through them. Strange, poisonous roots—was this the voice of power?
Dull clicking of coin edges, as Rhulad faced the silent crowd beyond the inner circle. ‘The Edur have lost sight of their destiny. The Warlock King would twist you away from what must be. My brothers and sisters—all of you here are that to me, and more. I shall be your voice. Your will. The Tiste Edur have journeyed beyond kings and warlock kings. What awaits us is what we once possessed, yet lost long ago. Of what am I speaking, brothers and sisters? I shall give answer. Empire.’
Trull stared at Rhulad. Empire. And for every empire…there is an emperor.
Kneel, Rhulad had commanded. Of Hannan Mosag. Of everyone here. Tiste Edur do not kneel before mere kings…
Fear spoke. ‘You would be emperor, Rhulad?’
His brother swung to face him and spread his arms in a deprecating gesture. ‘Do I make you want to turn away in horror, Fear? In revulsion? Oh, but did not that slave fashion well? Am I not a thing of beauty?’
There was an edge of hysteria in the tone.
Fear made no reply.
Rhulad smiled and continued, ‘I should tell you, the weight no longer drags at me. I feel…unburdened. Yes, my brother, I find myself pleased. Oh, does that shock you? Why? Can you not see my wealth? My armour? Am I not a bold vision of an Edur warrior?’
‘I am not sure,’ Fear replied, ‘what I am seeing. Is it truly Rhulad who dwells within that body?’
‘Die, Fear, and claw your way back. Then ask yourself if the journey has not changed you.’
‘Did you find yourself among our ancestors?’ Fear asked.
Rhulad’s answering laugh was brutal. He swung the sword into the air, twisting the blade into a wild salute, revealing a grace with the weapon that Trull had never before seen in his brother. ‘Our ancestors! Proud ghosts. They stood in ranks ten thousand deep! Roaring their welcome! Blooded kin was I, worthy to join them in their stalwart defence of precious memories. Against that vast host of ignorance. Oh yes, Fear, it was a time of such glory.’
‘Then, by your tone, Rhulad, you would challenge all that we hold dear. You would deny our beliefs—’
‘And who among you can gainsay me?’
‘The shadow wraiths—’
‘Are Tiste Andii, brother. Slaves to our will. And I will tell you this: those who serve us died by our hands.’
‘Then where are our ancestors?’
‘Where?’ Rhulad’s voice was a rasp. ‘Where? Nowhere, brother. They are nowhere. Our souls flee our bodies, flee this world, for we do not belong here. We have never belonged here.’
‘And shall you lead us home, then, Rhulad?’
The eyes flashed. ‘Wise brother. I knew you would find the path first.’
‘Why do you demand that we kneel?’
The head tilted to one side. ‘I would you pledge yourself to our new destiny. A destiny into which I will lead the Tiste Edur.’
‘You would take us home.’
‘I would.’
Fear stepped forward, then sank to one knee, head bowing. ‘Lead us home, Emperor.’
In Trull’s mind, he heard a sound.
Like a spine breaking.
And he turned, as did so many others, to face Hannan Mosag and his cadre of sorcerors, to witness the Warlock King descending from the dais. To watch him kneel before Rhulad, before the emperor of the Tiste Edur.
Like a spine breaking.
The water tugging at his shins, swirling around numbed flesh, Udinaas struggled to stand. The waves rocked him, made him totter. Out on the bay, ships. Four in all, pushing through the mist, their dark hulks crouching on the grey water like migratory leviathans, sweeps crabbing the swells. He could hear the chorus of dull creaks and the slap of wooden blades in the water. Hooded, cloaked figures small on the distant decks. The delegation had arrived.
He felt as if he was standing on pegs of ice, the jagged points driven up through his knees. He did not think he was able to walk. In fact, he was moments from falling over, down into the foaming water. So easy, pulled out by the undertow, the cold flooding his lungs, washing black through his mind. Until, in perfect accord with the acceptance of surrender, it was over.
Claws stabbed into his shoulders and lifted him thrashing from the waves. Talons punching through the rain cloak, biting into flesh. Too stunned to scream, he felt himself whipped through the air, legs scissoring in a spray of water.
Flung down onto a bed of wet stones fifteen paces up from the tideline.
Whatever had dragged him was gone, although fire burned in his chest and back where the talons had been. Floundering in a strange helplessness, Udinaas eventually pulled himself round so that he lay on his back, staring up at the colourless clouds, the rain on his face.
Locqui Wyval. Didn’t want me dead, I suppose.
He lifted an arm and felt the fabric of the rain cloak. No punctures. Good. He’d have trouble explaining had it been otherwise.
Feeling was returning to his lower legs. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Wet, shivering. There could be no answer for Rhulad, it was as simple as that. The Warlock King would have to kill him. Assuming that works.
Kill him, or surrender. And what could make Hannan Mosag surrender? To a barely blooded whelp? No, chop off his hands, sever his head and crush it flat. Burn the rest into dusty ashes. Destroy the monstrosity, for Rhulad Sengar was truly a monster.
Footsteps on the stones behind him. Udinaas sat back on his haunches, blinking rain from his eyes. He looked up as Hulad stepped into view.
‘Udinaas, what are you doing here?’
‘Did she cast the tiles, Hulad? Did she?’
‘She tried.’
‘Tried?’
‘It failed, Udinaas. The Holds were closed; she was blind to them. She was frightened. I’ve never seen her so frightened.’
‘What else has happened?’
‘I don’t know. The Edur are still in the citadel.’
‘They can’t all be there.’
‘No, only the nobility. The others are in their homes. They have banished their slaves for now. Most of them had nowhere to go. They’re just huddled in the forest. Soaked through. There seems no end in sight.’ He reached down and helped Udinaas to stand. ‘Let’s go to the longhouse. Get dry and warm.’
He let Hulad guide him back to the Sengar longhouse. ‘Did you see the ships, Hulad?’ he asked as they walked. ‘Did you see them?’
‘Yes. They’re lowering boats, but no welcome seems forthcoming.’
‘I wonder what they’ll think of that?’
Hulad did not reply.
They entered. Sudden warmth, the crackle of flames the only sound. Hulad helped him remove the rain cloak. As he did so, he gasped and pulled at Udinaas’s shirt.
‘Where did you get those?’
Udinaas frowned down at the almost-black bruises where the Wyval’s talons had been. ‘I don’t know.’
‘They remind me of Feather Witch’s wounds, from that demon. Just the same. Udinaas, what is happening to you?’
‘Nothing. I’m going to sleep.’
Hulad said nothing more as Udinaas walked down the length of the main chamber towards his sleeping pallet.
Fighting the outflow, the three scows edged closer to the bank on the south side of the river. Each craft held about a dozen Letherii, most of them bodyguards in full armour, the visors closed on their helms.
Four steps behind Buruk the Pale, Seren followed the merchant down to the strand. It seemed they would be the sole welcoming committee, at least to begin with. ‘What do you intend to tell them?’ she asked.
Buruk glanced back at her, rain dripping from the rim of his hood. ‘I was hoping you would say something.’
She did not believe him, but appreciated the effort. ‘I’m not even certain of the protocol. Nifadas is leading the delegation, but the prince is here as well. Who do I acknowledge first?’
Buruk shrugged. ‘The one most likely to be offended if you bow to other one first.’
‘Assuming,’ she replied, ‘I do not intend a calculated insult.’
‘Well, there is that. Mind you, Acquitor, you are supposed to be neutral.’
‘Perhaps I should direct my bow to a space directly between them.’
‘Whereupon they will both conclude that you have lost your mind.’
‘Which is at least even-handed.’
‘Ah, humour. That is much better, Acquitor. Despair gives way to anticipation.’
They reached the strand and stood side by side, watching the scows approach. The rain elected that moment to fall harder, a growing downpour prattling on the stones and hissing on the current- and tide-twisted water. The scows blurred behind a grey wall, almost vanished entirely, then reappeared suddenly, the first one crunching and lurching as it grounded. Sweeps rose and then descended as the crew stored them. Guards splashed down and clambered onto the strand. One made his way to Buruk and Seren. His expression below the visor and nose-bar was grim.
‘I am Finadd Moroch Nevath, of the Prince’s Guard. Where are the Edur?’
Moroch seemed to be facing Seren, so she spoke in reply, ‘In the citadel, Finadd. There has been an…event.’
‘What in the Errant’s name does that mean?’
Behind the Finadd and his guards, Prince Quillas Diskanar was being carried by servants over the waves. The First Eunuch Nifadas had eschewed any such assistance and was wading onto the strand.
‘It’s rather complicated,’ Seren said. ‘Buruk’s guest camp is just on the other side of the bridge. We can get under cover from the rain—’
‘Never mind the rain,’ Moroch snapped. Then he swung about and saluted as Quillas Diskanar, sheltered beneath a four-point umbrella held aloft by two servants, strode to halt before Buruk and Seren. ‘My prince,’ the Finadd said in a growl, ‘it would appear the Tiste Edur have chosen this moment to be preoccupied.’
‘Hardly an auspicious beginning,’ Quillas snapped, turning a sneer on Seren Pedac. ‘Acquitor. Has Hull Beddict elected the wise course and departed this village?’
She blinked, struggling to disguise her alarm at the preeminence the question of Hull had assumed. Do they fear him that much? ‘He is nearby, my prince.’
‘I intend to forbid his attendance, Acquitor.’
‘I believe an invitation has been extended to him,’ she said slowly, ‘by the Warlock King.’
‘Oh? And will Hull speak for the Edur now?’
Buruk spoke for the first time. ‘My prince, that is a question we would all like answered.’
Quillas shifted his attention. ‘You are the merchant from Trate.’
‘Buruk the Pale.’ With a deep bow from which Buruk had difficulty recovering.
‘A drunk merchant at that.’
Seren cleared her throat. ‘Your arrival was sudden, my prince. The Edur have been sequestered in the citadel for a day and a half. We’ve had little to do but wait.’
The First Eunuch was standing a pace back, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, his small, glittering eyes fixed on the citadel. He appeared equally indifferent to the rain pummelling his hood and cape-clad shoulders. It occurred to Seren that here was a different kind of power, and in silence the weight was being stolen from Prince Quillas Diskanar.
Proof of that was sudden, as the prince swung round to Nifadas and said, ‘What do you make of all this, then, First Eunuch?’
Expressionless eyes settled on Quillas. ‘My prince, we have arrived at a moment of crisis. The Acquitor and the merchant know something of it, and so we must needs await their explanation.’
‘Indeed,’ Quillas said. ‘Acquitor, inform us of this crisis.’
Whilst you stand beneath that umbrella and we get soaked and chilled to the bone. ‘Of course, my prince. The Warlock King despatched a party of warriors into the ice wastes to retrieve what turned out to be a sword. They were, however, set upon by Jheck Soletaken. One of the warriors, who was wielding that sword, was slain. The others brought his body back for burial, but the corpse would not release its grip upon the sword. The Warlock King was greatly animated by this detail, and made his demand for the weapon plain and unequivocal. There was a public clash between him and the dead warrior’s father.’
‘Why not just cut off the body’s fingers?’ Quillas Diskanar demanded, his brows lifted in contemptuous disbelief.
‘Because,’ Nifadas replied, laconic and overly patient, ‘there is traditional sanctity accorded a fallen warrior among the Edur. Please, Acquitor, go on. It is hard to believe this impasse is yet to be resolved.’
She nodded. ‘It was but the beginning, and indeed it became something of a moot point. For the corpse returned to life.’
Quillas snorted. ‘What manner of jest is this, woman?’
‘No jest,’ Buruk the Pale answered. ‘My prince, we saw him with our own eyes. He was alive. The truth was announced by his screams, such terrible screams, for he had been dressed—’
‘Dressed?’ the prince asked, looking around.
The First Eunuch’s eyes had widened. ‘How far along, Merchant Buruk?’
‘The coins, First Eunuch. And the wax.’
‘Errant defend,’ Nifadas whispered. ‘And this sword—he will not yield it?’
Seren shook her head. ‘We don’t know, First Eunuch.’
‘Describe the weapon, if you would, Acquitor.’
‘Two-handed grip, but a thin blade. Some kind of alloy, yet reluctant to fuse. There is iron, and some sort of black metal that appears in elongated shards.’
‘Origin? Can you discern anything from the style?’
‘Not much, First Eunuch. The bell-hilt bears some resemblance to the drawn twist technique used by the Meckros—’
‘The Meckros?’ Quillas asked. ‘Those traders from the floating cities?’
‘Yes, although the pattern on that bell-hilt has been shaped to resemble links of chain.’
Buruk faced her with a wry expression. ‘You’ve sharp eyes, Acquitor. All I saw was a sword.’
‘I suggest,’ Nifadas said, ‘we retire to the merchant’s camp.’
Quillas hissed, ‘You will swallow this insult, First Eunuch?’
‘There is no insult,’ Nifadas replied easily, striding past the prince to hook arms with a surprised Seren Pedac. ‘Escort me, please, Acquitor.’
‘Of course, First Eunuch.’
The others had no choice but to trail after them.
Nifadas walked quickly. After a dozen or so paces, he asked in a quiet, conversational tone, ‘Was Hull Beddict witness to all this?’
‘No. At least I don’t think so. He’s been gone for some time.’
‘But he will return.’
‘Yes.’
‘I have left the majority of my guard aboard the Risen Pale, including Finadd Gerun Eberict.’
‘Gerun—oh.’
‘Indeed. Would it be, do you think, propitious that I send for him?’
‘I—I am not sure, First Eunuch. It depends, I imagine, on what you would have him do.’
‘Perhaps a word or two with Hull, upon his return?’
‘Is the Finadd a persuasive man?’
‘Not by way of personality, no…’
She nodded, struggled to repress a shiver—unsuccessfully, it turned out.
‘Chilled, Acquitor?’
‘The rain.’
‘Of course. I trust Buruk’s servants are feeding a fire of some sort?’
‘Rather too eagerly.’
