Bones. Burning, plunging from the sky. Bodies exploding where they struck. Crushing pressure, the air roiling and screaming like a thing alive. The sudden muting of all noise, the outrageous cacophony of grunts as a thousand men died all at once. A sound that Moroch Nevath would never forget. What had the bastards unleashed?
****
The Letherii were broken, fleeing down the south slope of the rampart. Wraiths dragged them down. Tiste Edur hacked at their backs and heads as they pursued. Trull Sengar clambered onto a heap of corpses, seeking a vantage point. To the east, on the two berms that he could see, the enemy were shattered. Jheck, veered into silver-backed wolves, had poured up from the gully alongside a horde of wraiths to assault what had survived of the Letherii defences. Mage-fire had ceased.
In the opposite direction, B’nagga had led his own beasts south, skirting the foremost rampart, to attack the reserve positions on the west side of the city. There had been enemy cavalry there, and the horses had been driven to panic by the huge wolves rushing into their midst. A dozen demons had joined the Jheck, forcing the Letherii into a chaotic retreat that gathered up and carried with it the southernmost elements. Companies of Arapay Edur were following in B’nagga’s wake.
Trull swung to face north. And saw his brother standing alone above a body, on the far side of the killing field.
The K’risnan.
‘Trull.’
He turned. ‘Ahlrada Ahn. You are wounded.’
‘I ran onto a sword – held by a dead man.’
The gash was deep and long, beginning just below the warrior’s left elbow and continuing up into his shoulder. ‘Find yourself a healer,’ Trull said, ‘before you bleed out.’
‘I shall. I saw you slay the witch.’ A statement to which Ahlrada added nothing.
‘Where is Canarth?’ Trull asked. ‘I do not see my troop.’
‘Scattered. I saw Canarth dragging Badar from the press. Badar was dying.’
Trull studied the blood and fragments of flesh on the iron point of his spear. ‘He was young.’
‘He was blooded, Trull.’
Trull glanced over at High Fort’s walls. He could see soldiers lining it. The garrison, witness to the annihilation of the Letherii manning the outer defences. The nearest bastion was still launching quarrels, tracking the few demons still in range.
‘I must join my brother, Ahlrada. See if you can gather our warriors. There may be more fighting to come.’
****
Huddled in the lee of the west wall, Moroch Nevath watched a dozen wolves pad from one heap of corpses to another. The beasts were covered in blood. They gathered round a wounded soldier, there was a sudden flurry of snarls, and the twitching body went still.
All over… so fast. Decisive indeed.
He had never found the horses.
On the rampart opposite him, eighty paces distant, a score of Tiste Edur had found Prince Quillas. Dishevelled but alive. Moroch wondered if the queen’s corpse lay somewhere beneath the mounds of broken flesh. Beadwork unstrung and scattered in the welter, her jewelled sword still locked in its scabbard, the ambitious light in her eyes dulled and drying and blind to this world.
It seemed impossible.
But so did all these dead Letherii, these obliterated battalions and brigades.
There had been no negation of magic. The eleven mages had been destroyed by the counter-attack. A battle had been transformed into a slaughter, and it was this inequity that stung Moroch the deepest.
He and his people had been on the delivering end, time and again, until it seemed inherently just and righteous. Something went wrong. There was treachery. The proper course of the world has been… upended. The words repeating in his head were growing increasingly bitter. It is not for us to be humbled. Ever. Failure drives us to succeed tenfold. All will be put right, again. It shall. We cannot be denied our destiny.
It began to rain.
An Edur warrior had seen him and was approaching, sword held at the ready. The downpour arrived with vigour as the tall figure came to stand before Moroch Nevath. In traders’ tongue he said, ‘I see no wounds upon you, soldier.’
‘Torn tendon, I think,’ Moroch replied.
‘Painful, then.’
‘Have you come to kill me?’
A surprised expression. ‘You do not know? The garrison surrendered. High Fort is fallen.’
‘What of it?’
‘We come as conquerors, soldier. What value killing all of our subjects?’
Moroch looked away. ‘Letherii conquer. We are never conquered. You think this battle means anything? You have revealed your tactics, Edur. This day shall not be repeated, and before long you will be the subjugated ones, not us.’
The warrior shrugged. ‘Have it your way, then. But know this. The frontier has fallen. Trate, High Fort and Shake Fort. Your famous brigades are routed, your mage cadres dead. Your queen and your prince are our prisoners. And we begin our march on Letheras.’
The Tiste Edur walked away.
Moroch Nevath stared after him for a time, then looked round. And saw Letherii soldiers, stripped of weapons but otherwise unharmed, walking from the fields of battle. Onto the loggers’ road, and south, on the Katter Road. Simply walking away. He did not understand. We will reassemble. Pull back and equip ourselves once more. There is nothing inevitable to this. Nothing. Wincing, he forced himself to move away from the wall—
A familiar voice, shouting his name. He looked up, recognized an officer from the queen’s entourage. The man bore minor wounds, but otherwise seemed hale. He quickly approached. ‘Finadd, I am pleased to see you alive—’
‘I need a horse.’
‘We have them, Finadd—’
‘How was the queen captured?’ Moroch demanded. Why did you not die defending her?
‘A demon,’ the man replied. ‘It was among us in the blink of an eye. It had come to take her – we could not prevent it. We tried, Finadd, we tried—’
‘Never mind. Help me up. We must ride south – I need a healer—’
****
Trull Sengar picked his way across the killing field. The rain was turning the churned ground into a swamp. The bones of the sorcery had vanished. He paused, hearing piteous cries from somewhere off to his right. A dozen paces in that direction, and he came upon a demon.
Four heavy quarrels had pierced it. The creature was lying on its side, its bestial face twisted with pain.
Trull crouched near the demon’s mud-smeared head. ‘Can you understand me?’
Small blue eyes flickered behind the lids, fixed on his own eyes. ‘Arbiter of life. Denier of mercy. I shall die here.’
The voice was thin, strangely childlike.
‘I shall call a healer—’
‘Why? To fight again? To relive terror and grief?’
‘You were not a warrior in your world?’
‘A caster of nets. Warm shoals, a yellow sky. We cast nets.’
‘All of you?’
‘What war is this? Why have I been killed? Why will I never see the river again? My mate, my children. Did we win?’
‘I shall not be long. I will return. I promise.’ Trull straightened, went on to where stood Fear and, now, a dozen others. The K’risnan was alive, surrounded by healers – none of whom seemed capable of doing anything for the figure writhing in the mud. As Trull neared, he saw more clearly the young warlock.
Twisted, deformed, his skin peeling in wet sheets, and eyes filled with awareness.
Fear stepped into Trull’s path and said, ‘It is the sword’s sorcery – the gift-giver’s own, channelled from the weapon into Rhulad, and from Rhulad to whomever he may choose. Yet…’ He hesitated. ‘The body cannot cope. Even as it destroys the enemy, so it changes the wielder. This is what the women are telling me.’
His brother’s face was pale, and nowhere in his expression could Trull see triumph or satisfaction at the victory they had won this day.
‘Will he survive?’
br />
‘They think so. This time. But the damage cannot be reversed. Trull, Hanradi’s son is dead. We have lost a K’risnan.’
‘To this?’ Trull asked. ‘To the sword’s power?’
‘Partly. The Letherii mages mostly, I think, given how badly burned he was. They resisted longer than we expected.’
Trull faced High Fort. ‘It has surrendered?’
‘Yes, a few moments ago. A delegation. The garrison is being disarmed. I was thinking of leaving Hanradi to govern. His spirit is much damaged.’
Trull said nothing to that. He moved past Fear and strode to the women gathered round the K’risnan. ‘One of you, please,’ he said. ‘There is healing I would have you attend to.’
An Arapay woman nodded. ‘Wounded warriors. Yes, preferable. Lead me to them.’
‘Not Edur. A demon.’
She halted. ‘Don’t be a fool. There are Edur who require my skills – I have no time for a demon. Let it die. We can always acquire more.’
Something snapped in Trull, and before he was even aware of it the back of his right hand was stinging and the woman was on the ground, a stunned expression on her suddenly bloodied face. Then rage flared in her eyes.
Fear pushed Trull back a step. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I want a demon healed,’ Trull said. He was trembling, frightened at the absence of remorse within him even as he watched the woman pick herself up from the mud. ‘I want it healed, then unbound and sent back to its realm.’
‘Trull—’
The woman snarled, then hissed, ‘The empress shall hear of this! I will see you banished!’ Her companions gathered, all looking on Trull with raw hatred.
He realized that his gesture had snapped something within them as well. Unfortunate.
‘How badly injured is it?’ Fear asked.
‘It is dying—’
‘Then likely it has already done so. No more of this, Trull.’ He swung to the women. ‘Go among our warriors, all of you. I will see the K’risnan carried to our camp.’
‘We will speak of this to the empress,’ the first healer said, wiping at her face.
‘Of course. As you must.’
They stalked off into the rain.
‘The battle lust is still upon you, brother—’
‘No it isn’t—’
‘Listen to me. It is how you will excuse your actions. And you will ask for forgiveness and you will make reparations.’
Trull turned away. ‘I need to find a healer.’
Fear pulled him roughly round, but Trull twisted free. He headed off-He would find a healer. A Hiroth woman, one who knew his mother. Before word carried.
The demon needed healing. It was as simple as that.
An indeterminate time later, he found himself stumbling among bodies. Dead Edur, the ones killed by the sorcerous attack he recalled from earlier. Scorched, burnt so fiercely their faces had melted away. Unknown to his eyes and unknowable. He wandered among them, the rain pelting down to give the illusion of motion, of life, on all sides. But they were all dead.
A lone figure nearby, standing motionless. A woman, her hands hanging at her sides. He had seen her before, a matron. Hanradi Khalag’s elder sister, tall, hawk-faced, her eyes like onyx. He halted in front of her. ‘I want you to heal a demon.’
She did not seem to see him at all. ‘I can do nothing for them. My sons. I cannot even find them.’
He took one of her hands and held it tight. ‘Come with me.’
She did not resist as he led her away from the strewn corpses. ‘A demon?’
‘Yes. I do not know the name by which they call themselves.’
‘KenylPrah. It means “To Sleep Peacefully” or something like that. The Merude were charged with making their weapons.’
‘They have been sorely used.’
‘They are not alone in that, warrior.’
He glanced back at her, saw that awareness had returned to her eyes. Her hand held his now, and tightly. ‘You are the emperor’s brother, Trull Sengar.’
‘I am.’
‘You struck an Arapay woman.’
‘I did. It seems such news travels swiftly – and mysteriously.’
‘Among the women. Yes.’
‘And yet you will help me.’
‘Heal this demon? If it lives, I shall.’
‘Why?’
She did not reply.
It took some time, but they finally found the creature. Its cries had ceased, but the woman released Trull’s hand and crouched down beside it. ‘It lives still, Trull Sengar.’ She laid her palms on the demon’s massive chest and closed her eyes.
Trull watched the rain streaming down her face, as if the world wept in her stead.
‘Take the first of the quarrels. You will pull, gently, while I push. Each one, slowly.’
‘I want it released.’
‘I cannot do that. It will not be permitted.’
‘Then I want it placed in my charge.’
‘You are the emperor’s brother. None will defy you.’
‘Except, perhaps, one of the emperor’s other brothers.’ He was pleased to see the crease of a smile on her thin features.
‘That trouble will be yours, not mine, Trull Sengar. Now, pull.
Carefully.’
****
The demon opened its small eyes. It ran its massive hands over the places where wounds had been, then it sighed.
The healer stepped back. ‘I am done. There are bodies to gather.’
‘Thank you,’ Trull said.
She made no reply. Wiping rain from her face, she walked away.
The demon slowly climbed to its feet. ‘I will fight again,’ it said.
‘Not if I have any say in the matter,’ Trull replied. ‘I would place you in my charge.’
‘To not fight? That would be unfair, Denier. I would witness the death of my kind, yet not share the risk, or their fate. It is sad, to die so far from home.’
‘Then one among you must remain, to remember them. That one will be you. What is your name?’
‘Lilac’
Trull studied the sky. It seemed there would be no let-up in the downpour. ‘Come with me. I must speak to my brother.’
Tiste Edur warriors were entering the city. No Letherii soldiers were visible on the walls, or at the bastions. The gates had been sundered some time during the battle, struck by sorcery. Twisted pieces of bronze and splintered wood studded the muddy ground, amidst strewn corpses.
The demon had collected a double-bladed axe near the body of one of its kind and now carried it over a shoulder. For all its size, Lilac moved quietly, shortening its stride to stay alongside Trull. He noted that the pattern of its breathing was odd. After a deep breath it took another, shorter one, followed by a faintly whistling exhalation that did not seem to come from its broad, flattened nose.
‘Lilac, are you fully healed?’
‘I am.’
Ahead lay the rampart where four mages had stood. Three of them had been obliterated in the first wave of sorcery. On the berm’s summit now were gathered Fear and a number of officers. And two prisoners.
The slope was treacherous underfoot as Trull and the demon made their ascent. Red, muddy streams, bodies slowly sliding down. Wraiths moved through the rain as if still hunting victims. From the west came the low rumble of thunder.
They reached the rampart’s summit. Trull saw that one of the prisoners was Prince Quillas. He did not seem injured. The other was a vvoman in mud-spattered armour. She wore no helmet and had taken a head wound, staining the left side of her face with streaks of blood. Her eyes were glazed with shock.
Fear had turned to regard Trull and the demon, his expression closed. ‘Brother,’ he said tonelessly, ‘it seems we have captured two personages of the royal family.’
‘This is Queen Janall?’
‘The prince expects we will ransom them,’ Fear said. ‘He does not seem to understand the situation.’
‘And
what is the situation?’ Trull asked.
‘Our emperor wants these two. For himself.’
‘Fear, we are not in the habit of parading prisoners.’
A flicker of rage in Fear’s eyes, but his voice remained calm. ‘I see you have had your demon healed. What do you want?’
‘I want this KenylPrah in my charge.’
Fear studied the huge creature. Then he shrugged and turned away. ‘As you like. Leave us now, Trull. I will seek you out later… for a private word.’
Trull flinched. ‘Very well.’
The world felt broken now, irreparably broken.
‘Go.’
‘Come with me, Lilac,’ Trull said. He paused to glance over at Prince Quillas, and saw the terror in the young Letherii’s visage. Rhulad wanted him, and the queen. Why?
****
They walked the killing field, the rain pummelling down in a soft roar, devastation and slaughter on all sides. Figures were moving about here and there. Tiste Edur seeking fallen comrades, wraiths on senseless patrols. The thunder was closer.
‘There is a river,’ Lilac said. ‘I smelled it when we first arrived. It is the same river as ran beneath the bridge.’
‘Yes,’ Trull replied. ‘The Katter River.’
‘I would see it.’
‘Why not?’
They angled northwest. Reached the loggers’ road that ran parallel to the forest and followed its three-rutted track until the treeline thinned on their right, and the river became visible.
‘Ah,’ Lilac murmured, ‘it is so small…’
Trull studied the fast-flowing water, the glittering skin it cast over boulders. ‘A caster of nets,’ he said.
‘My home, Denier.’
The Tiste Edur walked down to the river’s edge. He reached and plunged his bloodstained hand into the icy water.
‘Are there not fish in there?’ Lilac asked.
‘I am sure there are. Why?’
‘In the river where I live, there are n’purel, the Whiskered Fish. They can eat a Kenyll’rah youth whole, and there are some in the deep lakes that could well eat an adult such as myself. Of course, we never venture onto the deeps. Are there no such creatures here?’