Midnight tides

‘Whitefinder and Riven, I think. They broke when they witnessed the fate of Merchants’ and the King’s, and the pillars began moving towards them.’

Feeling sick, Trull looked away – but there was no direction available to ease him. On all sides, the slowly settling ashes of madness.

‘The Tiste Edur,’ said Ahlrada Ahn, ‘have won themselves an empire.’

His words were heard by Sergeant Canarth, who strode up to them. ‘You deny half your blood, Ahlrada? Do you find this victory bitter? I see now why you stand at Trull Sengar’s side. I see now – we all see’ – he added with a gesture encompassing the warriors behind him – ‘why you so defend Trull, why you refuse to side with us.’ Canarth’s hard eyes fixed on Trull. ‘Oh yes, Trull Sengar, your friend here possesses the blood of the Betrayers. No doubt that is why the two of you are such close friends.’

Trull unslung the spear at his back. ‘I am tired of you, Canarth. Ready your weapon.’

The warrior’s eyes narrowed, then he grinned, reaching for his own spear. ‘I have seen you fight, Trull. I know your weaknesses.’

‘Clear a space,’ Trull said, and the others moved back, forming a ring.

Ahlrada Ahn hesitated. ‘Do not do this. Trull – Canarth, retract your accusations. They are unfounded. It is forbidden to provoke your commander-’

‘Enough,’ Canarth snapped. ‘I will kill you next, Betrayer.’

Trull assumed a standard stance, then settled his weight and waited.

Canarth shifted his grip back a hand’s width, then probed out, the iron tip at throat-level.

Ignoring it for the moment, Trull slid his hands further apart along the shaft of his spear. Then he made contact, wood against wood, and held it as he stepped in. Canarth disengaged by bringing the iron point down and under, perfectly executed, but Trull was already inside, forcing Canarth to pull his weapon back, even as the sergeant swung the butt-end upward to block an expected up-sweep – which did not come. Instead, Trull lifted his spear high and horizontal, and drove it forward to crack against Canarth’s forehead.

The sergeant thumped onto his back.

Trull stood over him, studying the man’s dazed expression, the split skin of his forehead leaking tendrils of blood.

The other warriors were shouting, expressing disbelief with Trull’s speed, with the stunning, deceptive simplicity of the attack. He did not look up.

Ahlrada Ahn stepped close. ‘Finish him, Trull Sengar.’

All of Trull’s anger was gone. ‘I see no need for that-’

‘Then you are a fool. He will not forget-’

‘I trust not.’

‘Fear must be told of this. Canarth must be punished.’

‘No, Ahlrada Ahn. Not a word.’ He raised his gaze, looked northward. ‘Let us greet Binadas and my father. I would hear tales of bravery, of fighting.’

The dark-skinned warrior’s stare faltered, flickered away. ‘Sisters take me, Trull, so would I.’

There were no old women to walk this field, cutting rings from fingers, stripping lightly stained clothing from stiffening corpses. There were no vultures, crows and gulls to wheel down to the vast feast. There was nothing to read of the battle now past, no sprawl of figures cut down from behind – not here, in the centre of the basin – no last stands writ in blood-splashed heaps and encircling rings of bodies. No tilted standards, held up only by the press of cold flesh, with their sigils grinning down. Only bones and gleaming iron, white teeth and glittering coins.

The settling dust was a soft whisper, gently dulling the ground and its random carpet of human and Edur detritus.

The emperor and his chosen brothers were approaching the base of the slope as Udinaas reached them. Their crossing of the field had stirred up a trail of dust that hung white and hesitant in their wake. Rhulad held his sword in his left hand, the blade wavering in the dim light. The uneven armour of gold was dark-tracked with sweat, the bear fur on the emperor’s shoulders the muted silver of clouds.

Udinaas could see in Rhulad’s face that the madness was close upon him. Frustration created a rage capable of lashing out in any direction. Behind the emperor, who began climbing up the slope to where Hannan Mosag waited, scrambled Theradas and Midik Buhn, Choram Irard, Kholb Harat and Matra Brith. All but Theradas had been old followers of Rhulad, and Udinaas was not pleased to see them. Nor, from the dark looks cast in his direction, were they delighted with the slave’s arrival.

Udinaas almost laughed. Just like the palace in Letheras, the factions take shape .

As Udinaas moved to catch up to Rhulad – who’d yet to notice him – Theradas Buhn stepped into his path as if by accident, then straight-armed the slave in the chest. He stumbled back, lost his footing, and fell onto the slope, sliding back down to its base.

The Edur warriors laughed.

A mistake. The emperor spun round, eyes searching, recognizing Udinaas through the clouds of dust. It was not difficult to determine what had just happened. Rhulad glared at his brothers. ‘Who struck down my slave?’

No-one moved, then Theradas said, ‘We but crossed paths, sire. An accident.’

‘Udinaas?’

The slave was picking himself up, brushing the dust from his tunic. ‘It was as Theradas Buhn said, Emperor.’

Rhulad bared his teeth. ‘A warning to you all. We will not be tried this day.’ He wheeled round and resumed his climb.

Theradas glared at Udinaas, and said in a low voice, ‘Do not believe I now owe you, slave.’

‘You will discover,’ the slave said, moving past the warrior, ‘that the notion of debt is not so easily denied.’

Theradas reached for his cutlass, then let his hand drop with a silent snarl.

Rhulad reached the crest.

Those still below heard Hannan Mosag’s smooth voice, ‘The day is won, Emperor.’

‘We found no-one left to fight!’

‘The kingdom lies cowering at your feet, sire-’

‘Thousands of Edur are dead , Warlock King! Demons, wraiths! How many Edur mothers and wives and children will weep this night? What glory rises from our dead, Hannan? From this… dust?’

Udinaas reached the summit. And saw Rhulad advancing upon the Warlock King, the sword lifting into the air.

Sudden fear in Hannan Mosag’s red-rimmed eyes. ‘Emperor!’

Rhulad whirled, burning eyes fixing upon Udinaas. ‘We are challenged by our slave?’ The sword-blade hissed through the air, although ten paces spanned the distance between them.

‘No challenge,’ Udinaas said quietly as he approached. Until he stood directly in front of the emperor. ‘I but called out to inform you, sire, that your brothers are coming.’ The slave pointed eastward, where figures were crossing the edge of the basin. ‘Fear, Binadas and Trull, Emperor. And your father, Tomad.’

Rhulad squinted, blinking rapidly as he studied the distant warriors. ‘Dust has blinded us, Udinaas. It is them?’

‘Yes, Emperor.’

The Edur wiped at his eyes. ‘Yes, that is well. Good, we would have them with us, now.’

‘Sire,’ Udinaas continued, ‘a fragment of Letherii sorcery sought out the encampment of the women during the battle. Your mother and some others defeated the magic. Uruth is injured, but she will live. Three Hiroth women died.’

The emperor lowered the sword, the rage flickering in his frantic, bloodshot eyes, flickering, then fading. ‘We sought battle, Udinaas. We sought… death.’

‘I know, Emperor. Perhaps in Letheras…’

A shaky nod. ‘Yes. Perhaps. Yes, Udinaas.’ Rhulad’s eyes suddenly bored into the slave’s own. ‘Those towers of bone, did you see them? The slaughter, their flesh…’