Midnight Tides

  ‘In the seas,’ Trull replied, ‘there are sharks. And, of course, there are plenty of stories of larger monsters, some big enough to sink ships.’

  ‘The n’purel then crawl onto shore and shed their skins, whereupon they live on land.’

  ‘That is a strange thing,’ Trull said, glancing back at the demon. ‘I gather that casting nets is a dangerous activity, then.’

  Lilac shrugged. ‘No more dangerous than hunting spiders, Denier.’

  ‘Call me Trull’

  ‘You are an Arbiter of Life, a Denier of Freedom. You are the Stealer of my Death—’

  ‘All right. Never mind.’

  ‘What war is this?’

  ‘A pointless one.’

  ‘They are all pointless, Denier. Subjugation and defeat breed resentment and hatred, and such things cannot be bribed away.’

  ‘Unless the spirit of the defeated is crushed,’ Trull said. ‘Absolutely crushed, such as with the Nerek and the Faraed and Tarthenal.’

  ‘I do not know those people, Denier.’

  ‘They are among those the Letherii – our enemy in this war – have conquered.’

  ‘And you think them broken?’

  ‘They are that, Lilac’

  ‘It may not be as it seems.’

  Trull shrugged. ‘Perhaps you are right.’

  ‘Will their station change under your rule?’

  ‘I suspect not.’

  ‘If you understand all this, Denier, why do you fight?’

  The sound of moccasins on gravel behind them. Trull straightened and turned to see Fear approaching. In his hand was a Letherii sword.

  Trull considered readying the spear strapped to his back, then decided against it. Despite what he’d said earlier, he was not prepared to fight his brother.

  ‘This weapon,’ Fear said as he halted five paces from Trull, ‘is Letherii steel.’

  ‘I saw them on the field of battle. They defied the K’risnan sorcery, when all else was destroyed. Swords, spear-heads, undamaged.’ Trull studied his brother. ‘What of it?’

  Fear hesitated, then looked out on the river. ‘It is what I do not understand. How did they achieve such a thing as this steel? They are a corrupt, vicious people, Trull. They do not deserve such advances in craft.’

  ‘Why them and not us?’ Trull asked, then he smiled. ‘Fear, the Letherii are a forward-looking people, and so inherently driven. We Edur do not and have never possessed such a force of will. We have our Blackwood, but we have always possessed that. Our ancestors brought it with them from Emurlahn. Brother, we look back—’

  ‘To the time when Father Shadow ruled over us,’ Fear cut in, his expression darkening. ‘Hannan Mosag speaks the truth. We must devour the Letherii, we must set a yoke upon them, and so profit from their natural drive to foment change.’

  ‘And what will that do to us, brother? We resist change, we do not worship it, we do not thrive in its midst the way the Letherii do. Besides, I am not convinced that theirs is the right way to live. I suspect their faith in progress is far more fragile than it outwardly seems. In the end, they must ever back up what they seek with force.’ Trull pointed to the sword. ‘With that.’

  ‘We shall guide them, Trull. Hannan Mosag understood this—’

  ‘You revise the past now, Fear. He was not intending to wage war on the Letherii.’

  ‘Not immediately, true, but it would have come. And he knew it. So the K’risnan have told me. We had lost Father Shadow. It was necessary to find a new source of faith.’

  ‘A faceless one?’

  ‘Damn you, Trull! You knelt before him – no different from the rest of us!’

  ‘And to this day, I wonder why. What about you, Fear? Do you wonder why you did as you did?’

  His brother turned away, visibly trembling. ‘I saw no doubt.’

  ‘In Hannan Mosag. And so you followed. As did the rest of us, I suspect. One and all, we knelt before Rhulad, believing we saw in each other a certainty that did not in truth exist—’

  With a roar, Fear spun round, the sword lifting high. It swung down—

  —and was halted, suddenly, by the demon, whose massive hand had closed round Fear’s forearm and held it motionless. ‘Release me!’

  ‘No,’ Lilac replied. ‘This warrior stole my death. I now steal his.’ Fear struggled a moment longer, then, seeing it was hopeless, he sagged.

  ‘You can let him go now,’ Trull said.

  ‘If he attacks again I will kill him,’ the demon said, releasing Fear’s arm.

  ‘We followed Hannan Mosag,’ Trull said, ‘and yet, what did we know of his mind? He was our Warlock King, and so we followed. Think on this, Fear. He had sought out a new source of power, rejecting Father Shadow. True, he knew, as we did, that Scabandari Bloodeye was dead, or, at best, his spirit lived but was lost to us. And so he made pact with… something else. And he sent you and me, Binadas and Rhulad and the Buhns, to retrieve the gift that… thing… created for him. The fault lies with us, Fear, in that we did not question, did not challenge the Warlock King. We were fools, and all that is before us now, and all that will come, is our fault.’

  ‘He is the Warlock King, Trull.’

  ‘Who arrived at absolute power over all the Edur. He held it and would not lose it, no matter what. And so he surrendered his soul. As did we, when we knelt before Rhulad.’

  Fear’s eyes narrowed on him. ‘You are speaking treason, brother.’

  ‘Against what? Against whom? Tell me, I truly want to know. Have you seen the face of our new god?’

  ‘Were Binadas standing here and not I,’ Fear whispered, ‘you would be dead now.’

  ‘And, in our wondrous new empire, will that be the singular fate of all those who voice dissent?’

  Fear looked down at the sword in his hand. Then let it drop. ‘Your warriors are awaiting you, Trull. In two days’ time we resume our march. South, to Letheras.’ He then turned and walked away.

  Trull watched him for a moment, then looked out on the river once more. For every eddy in the current, in the lees of boulders and notches in the bank, the river rushed on, slave to relentless laws. When he had placed his hand in the water, it had quickly grown numb. ‘Eventually, Lilac, we will make sense of this.’

  The demon said nothing.

  Trull walked to a nearby boulder and sat down on it. He lowered his head into his hands and began to weep.

  After a time the demon moved to stand beside him. Then a heavy hand settled on his shoulder.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Invisible in all his portions

  This thick-skinned thing has borders

  Indivisible to every sentinel

  Patrolling the geography of

  Arbitrary definitions, and yet the

  Mountains have ground down

  The fires died, and so streams

  This motionless strand of sharp

  Black sand where I walk

  Cutting my path on the coarse

  Conclusions countless teeth

  Have grated – all lost now

  In this unlit dust – we are not

  And have never been

  The runners green and fresh

  Of life risen from the crushed

  Severing extinctions (that one past

  this one new) all hallowed and self-sure

  But the dead strand moves unseen,

  The river of black crawls on

  To some wistful resolution

  The place with no meaning

  Inconsequential in absence

  Of strings and shadows

  Charting from then to now

  And these stitched lines

  Finding this in that…

  Excerpt from The Black Sands of Time (In The Collection Suicidal Poets Of Darujhistan) Edited By Haroak

  The corpse beyond the pier was barely visible, a pallid patch resisting the roll of the waves. The shark that rose alongside it to make a sideways lunge was one of the largest ones Udinaas
had yet seen during the time he’d sat looking out on the harbour, his legs dangling from the jetty’s edge.

  Gulls and sharks, the feast lasting the entire morning. The slave watched, feeling like a spectator before nature’s incessant display, the inevitability of the performance leaving him oddly satisfied. Entertained, in fact. Those who owed. Those who were owed. They sat equally sweet in the bellies of the scavengers. And this was a thing of wonder.

  The emperor would summon him soon, he knew. The army was stirring itself into motion somewhere beyond Trate’s broken gates, inland. An oversized garrison of Beneda Edur was remaining in the city, enforcing the restitution of peace, normality. The once-chief of the Den-Ratha had been given the title of governor. That the garrison under his control was not of his own tribe was no accident. Suspicion had come in the wake of success, as it always did.

  Hannan Mosag’s work. The emperor had been… fraught of late. Distracted. Suffering. Too often, madness burned in his eyes.

  Mayen had beaten Feather Witch senseless, as close to killing the slave outright as was possible. In the vast tent that now served as Edur headquarters – stolen from the train that had belonged to the Cold Clay Battalion – there had been rapes. Slaves, prisoners. Perhaps Mayen simply did to others what Rhulad did to her. A compassionate mind might believe so. And as for the hundreds of noble women taken from the Letherii by Edur warriors, most had since been returned at the governor’s command, although it was likely that many now carried half-blood seeds within them.

  The governor would soon accept the many requests to hear delegations from the various guilds and merchant interests. And a new pattern would take shape.

  Unless, of course, the frontier cities were liberated by a victorious Letherii counter-attack. Plenty of rumours, of course. Clashes at sea between Edur and Letherii fleets. Thousands sent to the deep. The storm seen far to the west the night before had signalled a mage-war. The Ceda, Kuru Qan, had finally roused himself in all his terrible power. While Letherii corpses crowded the harbour, it was Edur bodies out in the seas beyond.

  Strangest rumour of all, the prison island of Second Maiden Fort had flung back a succession of Edur attacks, and was still holding out, and among the half-thousand convicted soldiers was a sorceror who had once rivalled the Ceda himself. That was why the Edur army had remained camped here – they wanted no enemy still active behind them.

  Udinaas knew otherwise. There might well be continued resistance in their wake, but the emperor was indifferent to such things. And the Letherii fleet had yet to make an appearance. The Edur ships commanded Katter Sea as far south as the city of Awl.

  He drew his legs up and climbed to his feet. Walked back down the length of the pier. The streets were quiet. Most signs of the fighting had been removed, the bodies and broken furniture and shattered pottery, and a light rain the night before had washed most of the bloodstains away. But the air still stank of smoke and the walls of the buildings were smeared with an oily grit. Windows gaped and doorways that had been kicked in remained dark.

  He had never much liked Trate. Rife with thugs and the dissolute remnants of the Nerek and Fent, the market stalls crowded with once-holy icons and relics, with ceremonial artwork now being sold as curios. The talking sticks of chiefs, the medicine bags of shamans. Fent ancestor chests, the bones still in them. The harbour front streets and alleys had been crowded with Nerek children selling their bodies, and over it all hung a vague sense of smugness, as if this was the proper order of the world, the roles settled out as they should be. Letherii dominant, surrounded by lesser creatures inherently servile, their cultures little more than commodities.

  Belief in destiny delivered its own imperatives.

  But here, now, the savages had arrived and a new order had been asserted, proving that destiny was an illusion. The city was in shock, with only a few malleable merchants venturing forth in the faith that the new ways to come were but the old ways, that the natural order in fact superseded any particular people. At the same time, they believed that none could match the Letherii in this game of riches, and so in the end they would win – the savages would find themselves civilized. Proof that destiny was anything but illusory.

  Udinaas wondered if they were right. There were mitigating factors, after all. Tiste Edur lifespans were profoundly long. Their culture was both resilient and embedded. Conservative. Or, so it was. Until Rhulad. Until the sword claimed him.

  A short time later he strode through the inland gate and approached the Edur encampment. There seemed to be little organization to the vast array of tents. This was not simply an army, but an entire people on the move – a way of life to which they were not accustomed. Wraiths patrolled the outskirts.

  They ignored him as he passed the pickets. He had not heard from Wither, his own companion shade, in a long time, but he knew it had not gone away. Lying low with its secrets. Sometimes he caught its laughter, as if from a great distance, the timing always perverse.

  Rhulad’s tent was at the centre of the encampment, the entrance flanked by demons in boiled leather armour stained black, long-handled maces resting heads to the ground before them. Full helms hid their faces.

  ‘How many bodies have they dragged out today?’ Udinaas asked as he walked between them.

  Neither replied.

  There were four compartments within, divided by thick-clothed walls fixed to free-standing bronze frames. The foremost chamber was shallow but ran the breadth of the tent. Benches had been placed along the sides. The area to the right was crowded with supplies of various sorts, casks and crates and earthen jars. Passage into the main room beyond was between two dividers.

  He entered to see the emperor standing before his raised throne. Mayen lounged on a looted couch to the left of the wooden dais, her expression strangely dulled. Feather Witch stood in the shadows against the wall behind the empress, her face swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. Hannan Mosag and Hull Beddict were facing the emperor, their backs to Udinaas. The Warlock King’s wraith bodyguard was not present.

  Hannan Mosag was speaking. ‘… of that there is no doubt, sire.’

  Coins had fallen from Rhulad’s forehead, where the soldier’s palm had struck when it broke his neck. The skin revealed was naught but scar tissue, creased where the skull’s frontal bone had caved inward – that internal damage had healed, since the dent was now gone. The emperor’s eyes were so bloodshot they seemed nothing but murky red pools. He studied Hannan Mosag for a moment, apparently unaware of the spasms crossing his ravaged features, then said, ‘Lost kin? What does that mean?’

  ‘Tiste Edur,’ Hannan Mosag replied in his smooth voice. ‘Survivors, from when our kind were scattered, following the loss of Scabandari Bloodeye.’

  ‘How are you certain of this?’

  ‘I have dreamed them, Emperor. In my mind I have been led into other realms, other worlds that lie alongside this one—’

  ‘Kurald Emurlahn.’

  ‘That realm is broken in pieces,’ Hannan Mosag said, ‘but yes, I have seen fragment-worlds. In one such world dwell the Kenyll’rah, the demons we have bound to us. In another, there are ghosts from our past battles.’

  Hull Beddict cleared his throat. ‘Warlock King, are these realms the Holds of my people?’

  ‘Perhaps, but I think not.’

  ‘That is not relevant,’ Rhulad said to Hull as he began pacing. ‘Hannan Mosag, how fare these lost kin?’

  ‘Poorly, sire. Some have lost all memory of past greatness. Others are subjugated—’

  The emperor’s head swung round. ‘Subjugated?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We must deliver them,’ Rhulad said, resuming his pacing, the macabre clicking sounds of coin edges snapping together the only sound to follow his pronouncement.

  Udinaas moved unobtrusively to stand behind the throne. There was something pathetic, to his mind, about the ease with which the Warlock King manipulated Rhulad. Beneath all those coins and behind that mottled s
word was a marred and fragile Edur youth. Hannan Mosag might have surrendered the throne in the face of Rhulad’s power, but he would not relinquish his ambition to rule.

  ‘We will build ships,’ the emperor resumed after a time. ‘In the Letherii style, I think. Large, seaworthy. You said there were Tiste Andii enclaves as well? We will conquer them, use them as slaves to crew our ships. We shall undertake these journeys once Lether has fallen, once our empire is won.’

  ‘Sire, the other realms I spoke of – some will allow us to hasten our passage. There are… gateways. I am seeking the means of opening them, controlling them. Provided there are seas, in those hidden worlds, we can achieve swift travel—’

  ‘Seas?’ Rhulad laughed. ‘If there are no seas, Hannan Mosag, then you shall make them!’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘Open one realm upon another. An ocean realm, released into a desert realm.’

  The Warlock King’s eyes widened slightly. ‘The devastation would be… terrible.’

  ‘Cleansing, you mean to say. After all, why should the Edur empire confine itself to one world? You must shift your focus, Hannan Mosag. You are too limited in your vision.’ He paused, winced at some inner tremor, then continued in a strained tone, ‘It is what comes of power. Yes, what comes. To see the vastness of… things. Potentials, the multitude of opportunities. Who can stand before us, after all?’ He spun round. ‘Udinaas! Where have you been?’

  ‘At the harbour front, Emperor.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Watching the sharks feeding.’

  ‘Hah! You hear that, Hannan Mosag? Hull Beddict? He is a cold one, is he not? This slave of ours. We chose well indeed. Tell us, Udinaas, do you believe in these secret realms?’

  ‘Are we blind to hidden truths, Emperor? I cannot believe otherwise.’

  A start from Hannan Mosag, his eyes narrowing.

  Mayen suddenly spoke, in a low drawl. ‘Feather Witch says this one is possessed.’