Midnight Tides by Steven Erikson
Shurq grunted, then said. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’
Kettle pointed up. ‘I like that. In your forehead, Mother. I like that.’
‘And let’s keep it there, shall we?’ Fortunately, no-one seemed to grasp the significance of her comment.
The warrior said to Iron Bars. ‘Your suggestion?’
The Avowed nodded.
****
Tehol Beddict, lying atop the sarcophagus, was sleeping. Bugg had been staring down at him, thoughtful, when he heard the sound of footsteps almost directly behind him. He slowly swung about as the Guardian emerged from the wall of water that marked the tunnel mouth.
The apparition was carrying a body over one shoulder. It halted and was silent as it studied the manservant.
Here, in this tomb emptied of water, in this place where an Elder god’s will held all back, the Guardian did not bleed.
Bugg sighed. ‘Oh, he will grieve for this,’ he said, finally recognizing the Letherii on the Guardian’s shoulder.
‘The Errant says the names remain alive within him,’ the creature said.
‘The names? Ah, yes. Of course.’
‘You abandoned us, Mael.’
‘I know. I am sorry.’
The Guardian stepped past him and stopped beside the sarcophagus. Its helmed head tilted down as it observed Tehol Beddict. ‘This one shares his blood.’
‘A brother, yes.’
‘He shall carry the memory of the names, then.’ It looked over. ‘Do you object to this?’
Bugg shook his head. ‘How can I?’
‘That is true. You cannot. You have lost the right.’
The manservant said nothing. He watched as the Guardian grasped hold of one of Brys’s hands and set it down upon Tehol’s brow. A moment, then it was done. The apparition stepped away, headed towards the far wall of water.
‘Wait, please,’ Bugg said.
It paused, looked back.
‘Where will you take him?’
‘Into the deep, where else, Elder One?’
Bugg frowned. ‘In that place…’
‘Yes. There shall be two Guardians now and for ever more.’
‘Will that eternal service please him, do you think?’
The apparition cocked its head. ‘I do not know. Does it please me?’
With that ambiguous question hanging in the still air, the Guardian carried the body of Brys Beddict into the water.
After a long moment, Bugg turned back to regard Tehol. His friend would wake with a terrible headache, he knew.
Nothing to be done for it, alas. Except, perhaps, for some tea… I’ve a particularly nasty herbal mix that’ll make him forget his headache. And if there is anyone in the world who will appreciate that, it is Tehol Beddict of Letheras.
But first, I’d better get him out of this tomb.
****
There were bodies lying in the throne room of the Eternal Domicile. The one halfway down the dais, face to the bloody tiles, still made Feather Witch’s breath catch, her heart thud loud in her chest. Fear or excitement, she knew not which – perhaps both. King Ezgara Diskanar, flung down from the throne, where Rhulad Sengar of the Tiste Edur now sat, and the darkness in the emperor’s eyes seemed beyond measure.
There had been pain in this chamber – she could feel its bitter wake, hanging still in the air. And Rhulad had been its greatest fount. Betrayals, more betrayals than any mortal could bear. She knew this was truth, knew it in her heart.
Before the emperor stood Tomad and Uruth, flanking the trembling, huddled form of Hannan Mosag, who had paid a dear price for this day of triumph. It seemed that he awaited something, a posture of terrified expectation, his eyes downcast. Yet Rhulad appeared content to ignore the Warlock King. For now, he would indulge his sour triumph.
Even so, where was Fear Sengar? And Trull? Feather Witch had assisted Uruth in tending to Binadas, who remained unconscious and would continue so until the healing was done. But, apart from Rhulad’s parents, the only others of the emperor’s inner court present were a handful of his adopted brothers, Choram Irard, Kholb Harat and Matra Brith. The Buhns were absent, as was the Jheck warchief, B’nagga.
Two Letherii remained, apart from the pathetic wreckages of Queen Janall and Prince Quillas. And already the Chancellor, Triban Gnol, had knelt before Rhulad and proclaimed his eternal service. The other Letherii drew Feather Witch’s attention again and again. Consort to the queen, Turudal Brizad gave the appearance of being almost indifferent to all he was witnessing here in the Eternal Domicile.
And he was handsome, extraordinarily handsome. More than once, she had met his gaze, and saw in his eyes – even from across the room – a certain avid interest that sent tremors through her.
She remained a step behind Uruth, her new mistress, ever attentive, whilst commanders came and went with their irrelevant reports. Fighting here, an end to fighting there, the docks secured. The first of the emissaries from the protectorates eagerly awaited audience in the ruined hallway beyond.
The empire was born.
And she had witnessed, and more than witnessed. A knife, pushed into the hands of Mayen, and word had come that she had been found. Dead. No more would Feather Witch cower beneath her fury. The whore was dead.
Rhulad’s first command was to begin a hunt. For Udinaas. His adopted brothers were given a company of warriors each and sent out to find the slave. The search would be relentless, she knew, and in the end, Udinaas would be captured. And made to pay for his betrayal.
She did not know what to think about that. But the thought had run through her once – and only once, quickly driven away afterwards – a hope, a fervent prayer to the Errant that Udinaas would escape. That he would never be found. That at least one Letherii would defy this emperor, defeat him. And in defeating him thus, would break Rhulad’s heart yet again.
The world has drawn breath… and now breathes once more. As steady as ever, as unbroken in rhythm as the tides.
She could see, through the cleverly fashioned, slitted windows high in the dome overhead, the deepening of the light, and she knew the sun was setting on this day.
A day in which a kingdom was conquered, and a day in which that which was conquered began its inevitable destruction of the conquerors.
For such was the rhythm of these particular tides. Now, with the coming of night, when the shadows drew long, and what remained of the world turned away.
For that is what the Tiste Edur believe, is it not? Until midnight, all is turned away, silent and motionless. Awaiting the last tide.
On his throne, Rhulad Sengar sat, draped in the gold of Lether, and the dying light gleamed in his hooded eyes. Darkened the stains on the sword held in his right hand, point to the dais.
And Feather Witch, her eyes cast downward once more after that momentary glance, downward as required, saw, lying in the join of the dais, a severed finger. Small, like a child’s. She stared at it, fascinated, filled with a sudden desire. To possess it. There was power in such things, after all. Power a witch could use.
Assuming the person it had belonged to had been important.
Well, I shall find that out soon enough.
Dusk was claiming the throne room. Someone would have to light lanterns, and soon.
****
She had not left the room. There had been no reason to. She had sat, motionless, empty, numb to the sounds of fighting, to the howling wolves, to the distant screams in the city beyond. And told herself, every now and then, that she waited. The end of one thing brought the birth of another, after all.
Lives and loves, the gamut of existence was marked by such things. A breaking of paths, the ragged, uneven ever-forward stumble. Blood dried, eventually. Turned to dust. The corpses of kings were laid down and sealed in darkness and set away, to be forgotten. Graves were dug for fallen soldiers, vast pits like mouths in the earth, opened in hunger, and all the bodies were tumbled down, each exhaling a last gasp of lime dust. Survivors grieved, for a
Kingdoms and empires, wars and causes, she was sick of them.
She wanted to be gone. Away, so far away that nothing of her life from before mattered in the least. No memories to drive her steps in this direction or that.
Corlo had warned her. Not to fall into the cycle of weeping. So now she sat dry-eyed, and let the city beyond weep for itself. She was done with such things.
A knock upon the door.
Seren Pedac looked down the hallway, her heart lurching.
A heavy sound, now repeated, insistent.
The Acquitor rose from the chair, tottering at the tingling in her legs – she had not moved in a long time – then made her way unevenly forward.
Dusk had arrived. She had not noticed that. Someone has decided. Someone has ended this day. Why would they do that?
Absurd thoughts, pushed into her mind as if from somewhere outside, in tones of faint irony, drawled out like a secret joke.
At the door now. Flinching as the knock sounded again, at a level opposite her face.
Seren opened it.
To find, standing before her, Fear and Trull Sengar.
****
Trull could not understand it, but it had seemed his steps were being guided, down this alley, along that street, through the vast city with unerring precision until he saw, in the gloom ahead, his brother. Walking with purpose over a minor bridge of the main canal. Turning in surprise at Trull’s hoarse shout. Then waiting until his brother caught up to him.
‘Rhulad is resurrected,’ Trull said.
Fear looked away, squinted into the shadows of the seemingly motionless water of the canal. ‘By your hand, Trull?’
‘No. I… failed in that. Something else. A demon of some sort. It came for the Champion – I don’t know why, but it carried the man’s body away. After killing Rhulad in what it saw as an act of mercy.’ Trull grimaced. ‘A gift of the ignorant. Fear—’
‘No. I will not return.’
Trull stared at him. ‘Listen to me, please. I believe, if we work together, we can guide him back. From madness. For the Sisters’ sake, Fear, we must try. For our people—’
‘No.’
‘You… would leave me to this?’
Sudden pain in Fear’s face, but he refused to meet his brother’s eyes. ‘I must go. I understand something now, you see. This is not of Rhulad’s making. Nor Hannan Mosag’s. It is Father Shadow’s, Trull.’
‘Scabandari Bloodeye is dead—’
‘Not his spirit. It remains… somewhere. I intend to find it.’
‘To what end?’
‘We have been usurped. All of us. By the one behind that sword. No-one else can save us, Trull. I mean to find Scabandari Bloodeye. If he is bound, I mean to free him. His spirit. We shall return together, or not at all.’
Trull knew his brother well enough to cease arguing. Fear had found a new purpose, and with it he intended to flee… from everything, and everyone, else. ‘How will you get out of the city? They will be looking for us – it’s probable they are doing so even now.’
‘Hull once told me that Seren Pedac had her home here.’ Fear shook his head. ‘I don’t know, I don’t understand it myself, but I believe she might help.’
‘Why?’
Fear shook his head.
‘How do you know where she lives?’
‘I don’t. But it’s… this way.’
He began walking. Trull quickly caught up to him and gripped his arm. ‘Listen – no, I don’t mean to prevent you. But listen to me, please.’
‘Very well, but let us walk in the meantime.’
‘All right. Do you not wonder at all this, Fear? How did I find you? It should have been impossible, yet here we are. And now you, and this house – the Acquitor’s house – Fear, something is guiding us. We are being manipulated—’
His brother’s smile was wry. ‘What of it?’
To that, Trull had no answer. Silent, he walked with Fear. Coming upon a score of dead Letherii, he paused to collect a sword and scabbard. He strapped it on, ignoring Fear’s raised brows, not out of some ambivalent emotion, but because he himself did not know why he had picked up the weapon. They walked on.
Until they came to a modest house.
****
Trull’s chest seemed to clench tight upon seeing her standing in the doorway. He could not understand it – no, he could, but it was impossible. Absurd. He’d only seen Seren Pedac a few times. Had but exchanged a few score words, if that. Yet, as he studied her face, the shock writ there, so at odds with the appalling depth in her eyes, he felt himself falling forward in his mind—
‘What?’ she asked, gaze darting between him and Fear. ‘What are you…’
‘I need your help,’ Fear said.
‘I cannot… I don’t see how…’
Sisters take me, I would give my heart to this woman. This Letherii…
Fear said, ‘I am fleeing. My brother, the emperor. I need a guide to take me through the city unseen. Tonight.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even know why… why I have this belief that only you can help me.’
She looked then at Trull, and he saw her eyes hold on his for what seemed a long moment, slowly widening. ‘And you, Trull Sengar?’ she asked. ‘Are coming with us?’
With us. She will do this. Why? What need within her does this answer? The pressure in his chest constricted suddenly, even as the fateful words left him, ‘I cannot, Acquitor. I failed Rhulad this day. I must try… again. I must try to save him.’
Something like resignation filled her eyes.
As if he had wounded something that already bore a thousand scars.
And Trull wanted to cry out. Instead, he said, ‘I am sorry. But I will await your return – both of you—’
‘We shall return here?’ she asked, glancing at Fear. ‘Why?’
‘To end this,’ Fear said.
‘To end what?’
‘The tyranny born here tonight, Seren Pedac.’
‘You would kill Rhulad? Your own brother?’
‘Kill him? That would not work, as you know. No. But I shall find another way. I shall.’
Oh, who has grasped hold of my soul this night? He found himself unhitching the sword, heard himself saying, ‘I don’t know if you have a weapon, Acquitor,’ and knew his own disbelief at the absurdity of his own words, the shallowness of his reasoning, ‘so I will give you mine…’ And he was holding the sheathed sword out to her.
At the threshold of her home.
Fear turned, studied him, but Trull could not look away from her, not even to see what must be realization dawning in his face.
Letherii though she was, Seren Pedac clearly understood, her gaze becoming confused, then clearing. ‘Just that, I take it. A weapon… for me to use.’
No. ‘Yes… Acquitor. A weapon…’
She accepted it, but the gesture was without meaning now.
Trull found himself stepping back. ‘I have to go now. I will tell Rhulad I saw you, Fear, down at the docks.’
‘You cannot save him, brother,’ Fear said.
‘I can but try. Go well, Fear.’
And he was walking away. It was best, he decided through sudden tears. They would probably never return. Nor would she have accepted the sword. Which was why she asked him before reaching out for it. A weapon to use. Only that.
He was being a fool. A moment of profound weakness, a love that made no sense, no sense at all. No, better by far the way it had played out. She’d understood, and so she’d made certain. No other meaning. No proclamation. Simply a gesture in the night.
A weapon to use. Only that.
****
They remained standing at the threshold. Trull was gone, his footsteps swallowed by
‘Your brother… startled me. For a moment, I thought… never mind.’
Then why, Seren Pedac, is there such pain in your eyes? Fear hesitated, was about to speak, when a child’s voice spoke behind him.
‘Are you Seren Pedac?’
He spun round, sword hissing from its scabbard.
The Acquitor stepped past, holding out a hand to stay him. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked the small girl standing at the gate.
‘I am Kettle. Iron Bars said you would help us. We need to leave the city. With no-one seeing.’
‘We?’
The girl walked forward, and behind her came a tall, robed and hooded figure. Then a shadow wraith, dragging a body.
A startled sound from Seren. ‘Errant fend, this is about to get a lot harder.’
Fear said to her, ‘Acquitor, I would berate you for your generosity this night, had it not included me. Can you still manage this?’
She was studying the tall, hooded figure as she replied, ‘Probably. There are tunnels…’
Fear faced the girl and her party once more. His gaze focused on the wraith. ‘You, why are you not serving the emperor this night?’
‘I am unbound, Fear Sengar. You are fleeing? This is… unexpected.’
He disliked the amusement in its voice. ‘And who is that you are pulling behind you?’
‘The slave Udinaas.’
Fear said to Seren, ‘They will be hunting in earnest for these ones, Acquitor. For that slave.’
‘I remember him,’ she said.
‘His betrayal of the emperor has exacted a high price,’ Fear said. ‘More, I believe he killed Mayen—’
‘Believe what you like,’ the wraith said, ‘but you are wrong. You forget, Fear Sengar, this man is a slave. A thing to be used, and used he has been. By me, by the Wyval that even now circles us in the dark overhead. For what befell Rhulad, for Mayen – neither of these tragedies belong to Udinaas.’
As you say.
‘We can argue this later,’ Seren said. ‘Kettle, who is this disguised man?’
She was about to answer when the figure said, ‘I am Selekis, of the Azath tower.’