Midnight tides

Fear had charged in low, a beat behind Trull’s high attack, slashing diagonally down and in to take the Forkrul Assail at the knee.

But the leg folded back, the knee reversing its angle, whilst at the same time Serenity reached down with his left hand and grasped the sword-blade. The Forkrul Assail plucked it from Fear’s hand, fingers clenching, crushing the iron.

For all their failures, Trull and Fear had done what was demanded of them. Their flank attacks had preceded Rhulad’s, with the intention of opening Serenity to the emperor’s attack. Rhulad’s mottled sword was a blur, whistling in the air – yet not once making contact, as the Forkrul Assail seemed to simply flow around it.

Flinging Fear’s bent sword aside, Serenity stepped in.

And plunged his fingers like spikes into Rhulad’s chest, pushing past the coins, sliding between ribs, and piercing his heart, then snapping back out.

The emperor crumpled.

Serenity swung to face Fear.

Then leapt back, eight paces or more through the air, narrowly avoiding a matlock that struck the dirt of the street and sank deep.

Serenity back-pedalled further as the other demon pursued, the massive tulwar dancing like a dagger in its hands.

Trull scrambled to his feet. He spun, intending to collect another spear from the cache he’d left strapped to his horse-

– and found Udinaas rushing towards him, the weapons cradled in his arms.

Trull pulled one free, then turned once more, leaping over Rhulad’s body. Ahead, the Forkrul Assail had darted to the left, ducking beneath a slash of the tulwar, hands lashing out even as the demon kicked it hard in the side.

Serenity was thrown by the blow, thudded on the ground and rolled, twice, before regaining its feet.

But Trull had heard the crack of ribs in that kick.

The demon closed once more from the Forkrul Assail’s right.

A moment before they closed, Trull launched his spear.

Serenity did not see it coming. Struck solidly just below the left collarbone, the creature was spun round by the impact. The demon’s tulwar chopped down into its right thigh, ringing as it bit into bone. The demon wrenched it loose.

Trull reached back and another spear was placed in his hand. He moved closer.

Staggering back, the Forkrul Assail had plucked the spear from its shoulder and was fending off the tulwar slashes with its hands, pushing against the flat of the blade. The other demon was rushing in from the other side, matlock raised high.

Pale bluish blood streaming from the two wounds – which seemed to be closing even as Trull watched – Serenity leapt back once more, then turned and ran.

The KenrylPah prepared to pursue.

‘Halt!’ Trull shouted. ‘Leave it!’

Udinaas was standing above Rhulad’s body. A few paces away stood the K’risnan, his young face frozen into an expression of terror. He was shaking his head in denial, again and again.

‘K’risnan.’

Wild eyes fixed on Trull. ‘It… threw me back. My power… when the emperor died… all, flung back…’

The demons approached.

‘Leave it to us,’ the first one said, whipping blood from the tulwar.

‘Yes,’ nodded the other. ‘We’ve never before heard of these Forkrul Assail, but we’ve decided.’

‘We don’t like them,’ the first demon said.

‘Not in the least.’

‘We will hunt it down and tell it so.’

Fear spoke. ‘Udinaas, how long…’ His eyes were on Rhulad.

‘Not long,’ the slave replied.

‘Do we wait?’

‘It would be best, I think,’ said Udinaas.

Rubbing at his face, Fear walked over to his sword. He picked it up, examined it, then tossed it aside. He looked across at Trull.

Trull said, ‘It broke Blackwood.’

A grimace. ‘I saw. That second spear, that was well thrown, brother.’

Still, the brothers knew. Without the KenrylPah, they would now be dead.

The first demon spoke. ‘May we pursue now?’

Fear hesitated, then nodded. ‘Go.’

The two KenrylPah swung round and headed up the street.

‘We can eat on the way.’

‘Good idea, brother.’

Somewhere in the town, the dog was still barking.

‘We have to help him,’ Sandalath Drukorlat said.

Withal glanced over at her. They were standing on the sward’s verge overlooking the beach. The Tiste Edur youth was curled up in the sand below. Still shrieking. ‘It’s not his first visit,’ Withal said.

‘How is your head?’ she asked after a moment.

‘It hurts.’

The Tiste Edur fell silent, shuddering, then the youth’s head jerked up. He stared at Withal and the Tiste Andii woman standing beside the Meckros weaponsmith. Then back again. ‘Withal!’

The smith’s brows rose, although the motion made him wince, and he said, ‘He normally doesn’t talk to me much.’ To the youth, ‘Rhulad. I am not so cruel as to say welcome.’

‘Who is she? Who is that… betrayer}’

Sandalath snorted. ‘Pathetic. This is the god’s sword-wielder? A mistake.’

‘If it is,’ Withal said in a low voice, ‘I have no intention of telling him so.’

Rhulad clambered to his feet. ‘It killed me.’

‘Yes,’ Withal replied. ‘It did, whatever “it” was.’

‘A Forkrul Assail.’

Sandalath stiffened. ‘You should be more careful, Edur, in choosing your enemies.’

A laugh close to hysteria, as Rhulad made his way up from the beach. ‘Choose, woman? I choose nothing .’

‘Few ever do, Edur.’

‘What is she doing here, Withal?’

‘The Crippled God thought I needed company. Beyond three insane Nachts.’

‘You are lovers?’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Sandalath said, sneering.

‘Like she said,’ Withal added.

Rhulad stepped past them. ‘I need my sword,’ he muttered, walking inland.

They turned to watch him.

‘His sword,’ Sandalath murmured. ‘The one the god had you make?’

Withal nodded. ‘But I am not to blame.’

‘You were compelled.’

‘I was.’

‘It’s not the weapon that’s evil, it’s the one wielding it.’

He studied her. ‘I don’t care if you crack my skull again. I am really starting to hate you.’

‘I assure you my sentiments are identical regarding you.’

Withal turned away. ‘I’m going to my shack.’

‘Of course you are,’ she snapped behind him. ‘To beg and mumble to your god. As if it’d bother listening to such pathetic mewling.’

‘I’m hoping,’ Withal said over his shoulder, ‘that it’ll take pity on me.’

‘Why should it?’

He did not reply, and wisely kept his answering smile to himself.

Standing ten paces to the side of the throne, Brys Beddict watched as King Ezgara Diskanar walked solemnly into the domed chamber. Distracted irritation was on the king’s face, since his journey had required a detour around the prone, shivering form of the Ceda, Kuru Qan, but that was behind him now, and Brys saw Ezgara slowly resume his stern expression.

Awaiting him in the throne room was a handful of officials and guards. First Eunuch Nifadas was positioned to the right of the throne, holding the Lether crown on a blood-red pillow. First Concubine Nisall knelt at the foot of the dais, on the left side. Along with Brys and six of his guardsmen, Finadd Gerun Eberict was present with six of his own soldiers of the Palace Guard.

And that was all. The investiture on this, the day of the Seventh Closure – or close enough since no-one could agree on that specific date – was to be witnessed by these few. Not as originally planned, of course. But there had been more riots, the last one the bloodiest of them all. The king’s name had become a curse among the citizenry. The list of invitations had been truncated as a matter of security, and even then, Brys was nervous about Gerun Eberict’s presence.