Midnight Tides by Steven Erikson
‘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 e
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.’
‘Yes, Emperor.’
A scowl. ‘The gift of a life returned.’
‘You are Indebted.’
Rhulad flinched back in his chair, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. ‘We are not the same, slave! Do you understand? I am not one of your Indebted. I am not a Letherii.’ Then he sagged in a rustle of coins. ‘Daughter take me, the weight of this…’
‘I am sorry, Emperor. It is true. You are not an Indebted. Nor, perhaps, are you a slave. Although perhaps it feels that way, at times. When exhaustion assails you.’
‘Yes, that is it. I am tired. That’s all. Tired.’
Udinaas hesitated, then asked, ‘Emperor, does he speak through you now?’
A fragile shake of the head. ‘No. But he does not speak through me. He only whispers advice, helps me choose my words. Orders my thoughts – but the thoughts are mine. They must be. I am not a fool. I possess my own cleverness. Yes, that is it. He but whispers confidence.’
‘You have not eaten,’ Udinaas said. ‘Nor drunk anything. Do you know hunger and thirst, Emperor? Can I get you something to replenish your strength?’
‘Yes, I would eat. And… some wine. Find a servant.’
‘At once, master.’
Udinaas walked to the small curtain covering the entrance to the passage that led to the kitchens. He found a servant huddled in the corridor a dozen paces from the door. Terrified eyes glistened up at him as he approached. ‘On your feet, Virrick. The emperor wants wine. And food.’
‘The god would eat?’
‘He’s not a god. Food and drink, Virrick. Fit for an emperor, and be quick about it.’
The servant scrambled up, seemed about to bolt.
‘You know how to do this,’ Udinaas said in a calm voice. ‘It’s what you have been trained to do.’
‘I am frightened—’
‘Listen to me. I will tell you a secret. You always like secrets, don’t you, Virrick?’
A tentative nod.
‘It is this,’ Udinaas said. ‘We slaves have no reason to fear. It is the Edur who have reason, and that gives us leave to continue laughing behind their backs. Remember doing that, Virrick? It’s your favourite game.’
‘I – I remember, Udinaas.’
‘Good. Now go into the kitchens and show the others. You know the secret, now. Show them, and they will follow. Food, and wine. When you are ready, bring it to the curtain and give the low whistle, as you would do normally. Virrick, we need things to return to normal, do you understand? And that task falls to us, the slaves.’
‘Feather Witch ran—’
‘Feather Witch is young, and what she did was wrong. I have spoken to her and shall do so again.’
‘Yes, Udinaas. You are the emperor’s slave. You have the right of it; there is much wisdom in your words. I think we will listen to you, Indebted though you are. You have been… elevated.’ He nodded. ‘Feather Witch failed us—’
‘Do not be so harsh on her, Virrick. Now, go.’
He watched the servant hurry off down the corridor, then Udinaas swung about and returned to the throne chamber.
‘What took you so long?’ Rhulad demanded in near panic. ‘I heard voices.’
‘I was informing Virrick of your requirements, Emperor.’
‘You are too slow. You must be quicker, slave.’
‘I shall, master.’
‘Everyone must be told what to do. No-one seems capable of thinking for themselves.’
Udinaas said nothing, and did not dare smile even as the obvious observation drifted through his mind.
‘You are useful to us, slave. We will need… reminding… again. At unexpected times. And that is what shall you do for us. That, and food and drink at proper times.’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Now, stand in attendance, whilst we rest our eyes for a time.’
‘Of course, master.’
He stood, waiting, watching, a dozen paces away.
The distance between emperor and slave.
****
As he made his way onto the bridge, Trull Sengar saw the Acquitor. She was standing midway across the bridge, motionless as a frightened deer, her gaze fixed on the main road leading through the village. Trull could not see what had snared her attention.
He hesitated. Then her head turned and he met her eyes. There were no words for what passed between them at that instant. A gaze that began searchingly, then swiftly and ineffably transformed into something else. That locked contact was mutually broken in the next moment, instinctive reactions from them both.
In the awkward wake, nothing was said for a half-dozen heartbeats. Trull found himself struggling against a sense of vast emptiness deep in his chest.
Seren Pedac spoke first. ‘Is there no room left, Trull Sengar?’
And he understood. ‘No, Acquitor. No room left.’
‘I think you would have it otherwise, wouldn’t you?’
The question brushed too close to the wordless recognition they had shared only a few moments earlier, and he saw once again in her eyes a flicker of… something. He mentally recoiled from an honest reply. ‘I serve my emperor.’
The flicker vanished, replaced by a cool regard that slipped effortlessly through his defences, driving like a knife into his chest. ‘Of course. Forgive me. It is too late for questions like that. I must be leaving now, to escort Buruk the Pale back to Trate.’
Each word a twist of that knife, despite their being se
He watched her walk away. Thinking on his life’s journey as much as the Acquitor’s, on the stumbles that occurred, with no awareness of their potential for profundity. Balance reacquired, but the path had changed.
So many choices proved irrevocable. Trull wondered if this one would as well.
Chapter Fourteen
Where is the darkness
In the days gone past
When the sun bathed everything
In godling light
And we were burnished bright
In our youthful ascendancy
Delighted shrieks and
Distant laughter
Carried on the gilden stream
Of days that did not pause
For night with every shadow
Burned through
By immortal fire
Where then is the darkness
Arrived at sun’s death
Arrived creeping and low
To growl revelations
Of the torrid descent
That drags us down
Onto this moment.
Immortal fire
Fisher kel That
A voice spoke from the darkness, ‘i wouldn’t go down that street, old man.’
Bugg glanced over. ‘I thank you for the warning,’ he replied, walking on.
Ten paces into the narrow alley he could smell spilled blood. Footsteps behind him told him the look-out had moved into his wake, presumably to block his avenue of retreat.
‘I warned you.’
‘I’m the one you sent for,’ Bugg said.
Four more figures appeared from the gloom in front of him, cutthroats one and all. They looked frightened.
The look-out came round and stepped close to peer at Bugg’s face. ‘You’re the Waiting Man? You ain’t what I ’spected.’
‘What has happened here? Who’s dead and who killed him?’
‘Not “who” killed ’im,’ one of the four standing before Bugg muttered. ‘More like “what”. An’ we don’t know. Only it was big, skin black as canal water, with spikes on its arms. Eyes like a snake’s, glowing grey.’