No-one spoke for a half-dozen heartbeats. Rhulad slowly approached Udinaas. ‘Possessed? By what, Mayen? Did your slave yield that detail?’
‘The Wyval. Do you not recall that event?’
Hannan Mosag said, ‘Uruth Sengar examined him, Empress.’
‘So she did. And found nothing. No poison in his blood.’
Rhulad’s eyes searched his slave’s face. ‘Udinaas?’
‘I am as you see me, master. If there is a poison within me, I am not aware of it. Mistress Uruth seemed certain of her conclusion, else she would have killed me then.’
‘Then why should Feather Witch make such accusations?’
Udinaas shrugged. ‘Perhaps she seeks to deflect attention so as to lessen the severity of the beatings.’
Rhulad stared at him a moment, then swung round. ‘Beatings? There have been no beatings. An errant sorcerous attack…’
‘Now who is seeking to deflect attention?’ Mayen said, smiling. ‘You will take the word of a slave over that of your wife?’
The emperor seemed to falter. ‘Of course not, Mayen.’ He looked across to Hannan Mosag. ‘What say you?’
The Warlock King’s innocent frown managed the perfect balance of concern and confusion. ‘Which matter would you have me speak of, sire? The presence of Wyval poison within this Udinaas, or the fact that your wife is beating her slave?’
Mayen’s laughter was harsh. ‘Oh, Rhulad, I really did not think you believed me. My slave has been irritating me. Indeed, I am of a mind to find another, one less clumsy, less… disapproving. As if a slave has the right to disapprove of anything.’
‘Disapprove?’ the emperor asked. ‘What… why?’
‘Does a Wyval hide within Udinaas or not?’ Mayen demanded, sitting straighten ‘Examine the slave, Hannan Mosag.’
‘Who rules here?’ Rhulad’s shriek froze everyone. The emperor’s sword had risen, the blade shivering as shudders rolled through him. ‘You would all play games with us?’
Mayen shrank back on the divan, eyes slowly widening in raw fear.
The emperor’s fierce gaze was fixing on her, then the Warlock King, then back again. ‘Everyone out,’ Rhulad whispered. ‘Everyone but Udinaas. Now.’
Hannan Mosag opened his mouth to object, then changed his mind. Hull Beddict trailing, the Warlock King strode from the tent. Mayen, wrapping herself in the silk-stitched blanket from the couch, hurried in their wake, Feather Witch stumbling a step behind.
‘Wife.’
She halted.
‘The family of the Sengar have never believed there was value in beating slaves. You will cease. If she is incompetent, then find another. Am I understood?’
‘Yes, sire,’ she said.
‘Leave us.’
As soon as they were gone, Rhulad lowered the sword and studied Udinaas for a time. ‘We are not blind to all those who would seek advantage. The Warlock King sees us as too young, too ignorant, but he knows nothing of the truths we have seen. Mayen – she is as a dead thing beneath me. We should have left her to Fear. That was a mistake.’ He blinked, as if recovering himself, then regarded Udinaas with open suspicion. ‘And you, slave. What secrets do you hide?’
Udinaas lowered himself to one knee, said nothing.
‘Nothing will be hidden from us,’ Rhulad said. ‘Look up, Udinaas.’
He did, and saw a wraith crouched at his side.
‘This shade shall examine you, slave. It will see if you are hiding poison within you.’
Udinaas nodded. Yes, do this, Rhulad. I am weary. I want an end.
The wraith moved forward, then enveloped him.
‘Ohh, such secrets!’
He knew that voice and closed his eyes. Clever, Wither. I assume you volunteered?
‘So many, left shattered, wandering lost. This bastard has used us sorely. Do you imagine we would willingly accede to his demands? I am unbound, and that has made me useful, for I am proof against compulsion where my kin are not. Can he tell the difference? Evidently he cannot.’ A trill of vaguely manic laughter. ‘And what shall I find? Udinaas. You must stay at this madman’s side. He is going to Letheras, you see, and we need you there.’
Udinaas sighed. Why?
‘All in good time. Ah, you rail at the melodrama? Too bad, hee hee. Glean my secrets, if you dare. You can, you know.’
No. Now go away.
Wither slipped back, resumed its swirling man-shape in front of Udinaas.
Rhulad released one hand from the sword to claw at his face. He spun round, took two steps, then howled his rage. ‘Why are they lying to us? We cannot trust them! Not any of them!’ He turned. ‘Stand, Udinaas. You alone do not lie. You alone can be trusted.’ He strode to the throne and sat. ‘We need to think. We need to make sense of this. Hannan Mosag… he covets our power, doesn’t he?’
Udinaas hesitated, then said, ‘Yes, sire. He does.’
Rhulad’s eyes gleamed red. ‘Tell us more, slave.’
‘It is not my place—’
‘We decide what is your place. Speak.’
‘You stole his throne, Emperor. And the sword he believed was rightly his.’
‘He wants it still, does he?’ A sudden laugh, chilling and brutal. ‘Oh, he’s welcome to it! No, we cannot. Mustn’t. Impossible. And what of our wife?’
‘Mayen is broken. She wanted nothing real from her flirting with you. You were the youngest brother to the man she would marry. She sought allies within the Sengar household.’ He stopped there, seeing the spasms return to Rhulad, the extremity of his emotion too close to an edge, a precipice, and it would not do to send him over it. Not yet, perhaps not at all. It’s the poison within me, so hungry for vengeance, so… spiteful. These are not my thoughts, not my inclinations. Remember that, Udinaas, before you do worse than would Hannan Mosag. ‘Sire,’ he said softly, ‘Mayen is lost. And hurting. And you are the only one who can help her.’
‘You speak to save the slave woman,’ the emperor said in a rough whisper.
‘Feather Witch knows only hatred for me, sire. I am an Indebted, whilst she is not. My desire for her was hubris, and she would punish me for it.’
‘Your desire for her.’
Udinaas nodded. ‘Would I save her from beatings? Of course I would, sire. Just as you would do the same. As indeed you just did, not a moment ago.’
‘Because it is… sordid. What am I to make of you, Udinaas? A slave. An… Indebted… as if that could make you less in the eyes of another slave.’
‘The Letherii relinquish nothing, even when they are made into slaves. Sire, that is a truth the Tiste Edur have never understood. Poor or rich, free or enslaved, we build the same houses in which to live, in which to play out the old dramas. In the end, it does not matter whether destiny embraces us or devours us – either is as it should be, and only the Errant decides our fate.’
Rhulad was studying him as he spoke. The tremors had slowed. ‘Hull Beddict struggled to say the same thing, but he is poor at words, and so failed. Thus, Udinaas, we may conquer them, we may command their flesh in the manner we command yours and that of your fellow slaves, but the belief that guides them, that guides all of you, that cannot be defeated.’
‘Barring annihilation, sire.’
‘And this Errant, he is the arbiter of fate?’
‘He is, sire.’
‘And he exists?’
‘Physically? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’
Rhulad nodded. ‘You are right, slave, it doesn’t.’
‘Conquer Lether and it will devour you, sire. Your spirit. Your… innocence.’
A strange smile twisted Rhulad’s face. ‘Innocence. This, from a shortlived creature such as you. We should take offence. We should see your head torn from your shoulders. You proclaim we cannot win this war, and what are we to think of that?’
‘The answer lies upon your very flesh, sire.’
Rhulad glanced down. His fingernails had grown long, curved and yellow. He tapped a coin
on his chest. ‘Bring to an end… the notion of wealth. Of money. Crush the illusion of value.’
Udinaas was stunned. He may be young and half mad, but Rhulad is no fool.
‘Ah,’ the emperor said, ‘We see your… astonishment. We have, it seems, been underestimated, even by our slave. But yours is no dull mind, Udinaas. We thank the Sisters that you are not King Ezgara Diskanar, for then we would be sorely challenged.’
‘Ezgara may be benign, sire, but he has dangerous people around him.’
‘Yes, this Ceda, Kuru Qan. Why has he not yet acted?’
Udinaas shook his head. ‘I have been wondering the same, sire.’
‘We will speak more, Udinaas. And none other shall know of this. After all, what would they think, an emperor and a slave together, working to fashion a new empire? For we must keep you a slave, mustn’t we? A slave in the eyes of all others. We suspect that, were we to free you, you would leave us.’
A sudden tremble at these words.
Errant take me, this man needs a friend. ‘Sire, I would not leave. It was I who placed the coins in your flesh. There is no absolving that, no true way I could make amends. But I will stand by you, through all of this.’
Rhulad’s terrible eyes, so crimson-bruised and hurt, shifted away from Udinaas. ‘Do you understand, Udinaas?’ he asked in a whisper. ‘I am so…’
Frightened. ‘Yes, sire, I understand.’
The emperor placed a hand over his eyes. ‘She is drowning herself in white nectar.’
‘Yes, sire.’
‘I would free her… but I cannot. Do you know why, Udinaas?’
‘She carries your child.’
‘You must have poison blood, Udinaas, to know so much…’
‘Sire, it might be worth considering sending for Uruth. For your mother. Mayen needs… someone.’
Rhulad, face still covered by his mangled hand, nodded. ‘We will join with Fear’s army soon. Five, six days. Uruth will join them. Then… yes, I will speak with Mother. My child…’
My child. No, it is impossible. A Meckros foundling. There is no point in thinking about him. None at all.
I am not an evil man… yet I have just vowed to stand at his side. Errant take me, what have I done?
****
A farm was burning in the valley below, but she could see no-one fighting the flames. Everyone had fled. Seren Pedac resumed hacking at her hair, cutting it as short as she could manage with the docker’s knife one of Iron Bars’s soldiers had given her.
The Avowed stood nearby, his squad mage, Corlo, at his side. They were studying the distant fire and speaking in low tones.
Somewhere south and east of Dresh, half a day from the coast. She could not imagine the Tiste Edur invaders were anywhere near, yet the roads had been full of refugees, all heading east to Letheras. She had seen more than a few deserters among the crowds, and here and there bodies lay in ditches, victims of robbery or murdered after being raped.
Rape, it seemed, had become a favoured pastime among the thugs preying on the fleeing citizens. Seren knew that, had she been travelling alone, she would probably be dead by now. In some ways, that would have been a relief. An end to this sullied misery, this agonizing feeling of being unclean. In her mind, she saw again and again Iron Bars killing those men. His desire to exact appropriate vengeance. And her voice, croaking out, stopping him in the name of mercy.
Errant knew, she regretted that now. Better had she let him work on that bastard. Better still were they still carrying him with them. Eyes gouged out, nose cut off, tongue carved from his mouth. And with this knife in her hand she could slice strips of skin from his flesh. She had heard a story once, of a factor in a small remote hamlet who had made a habit of raping young girls, until the women one night ambushed him. Beaten and trussed, then a loincloth filled with spike-thorns had been tied on like a diaper, tightly, and the man was bound to the back of his horse. The pricking thorns drove the animal into a frenzy. The beast eventually scraped the man loose on a forest path, but he had bled out by then. The story went that the man’s face, in death, had held all the pain a mortal could suffer, and as for what had been found between his legs…
She sawed off the last length of greasy hair and dropped it on the fire. The stench was fierce, but there were bush-warlocks and decrepit shamans who, if they happened upon human hair, would make dire use of it. It was a sad truth that, given the chance to bind a soul, few resisted the temptation.
Corlo called to the soldiers and suddenly they were running hard down the hillside towards the farm, leaving behind only Seren and Iron Bars. The Crimson Guardsman strode towards her. ‘You hear it, lass?’
‘What?’
‘Horses. In the stable. The fire’s jumped to its roof. The farmer’s left his horses behind.’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
He squinted down at her, then crouched until he was at eye level. ‘No, likely the owner’s dead. Strange, how most locals around here don’t know how to ride.’
She looked down at the farm once again. ‘Probably a breeder for the army. The whole notion of cavalry came from Bluerose – as did most of the stock. Horses weren’t part of our culture before then. Have you ever seen Letherii cavalry on parade? Chaos. Even after, what, sixty years? And dozens of Bluerose officers trying to train our soldiers.’
‘You should have imported these Bluerose horse-warriors over as auxiliaries. If it’s their skill, exploit it. You can’t borrow someone else’s way of life.’
‘Maybe not. Presumably, you can ride, then.’
‘Aye. And you?’
She nodded, sheathing the knife and rising. ‘Trained by one of those Bluerose officers I mentioned.’
‘You were in the army before?’
‘No, he was my lover. For a time.’
Iron Bars straightened as well. ‘Look – they’ve reached them in time. Come on.’
She hesitated. ‘I forgot to thank you, Iron Bars.’
‘You wouldn’t have been as pretty drowned.’
‘No. I’m not ready yet to thank you for that. What you did to those men
‘I’ve a great-granddaughter back in Gris, D’Avore Valley. She’d be about your age now. Let’s go, lass.’
She walked behind him down the slope. Great-granddaughter. What an absurd notion. He wasn’t that old. These Avowed had strange senses of humour.
****
Corlo and the squad had pulled a dozen horses from the burning stable, along with tack and bridles. One of the soldiers was cursing as Seren and Iron Bars approached.
‘Look at these stirrups! No wonder the bastards can’t ride the damned things!’
‘You set your foot down in the crotch of the hook,’ Seren explained. ‘And what happens if it slips out?’ the man demanded. ‘You fall off.’
‘Avowed, we need to rework these things – some heavy leather—’
‘Cut up a spare saddle,’ Iron Bars said, ‘and see what you can manage. But I want us to be riding before sunset.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘A more stable stirrup,’ the Avowed said to Seren, ‘is a kind of half-boot, something you can slide your foot into, with a straight cross-bar to take your weight. I agree with Halfpeck. These Bluerose horse-warriors missed something obvious and essential. They couldn’t have been very good riders…’
Seren frowned. ‘My lover once mentioned how these saddles were made exclusively for Lether. He said they used a slightly different kind back in Bluerose.’
His eyes narrowed on her, and he barked a laugh, but made no further comment.
She sighed. ‘No wonder our cavalry is next to useless. I always found it hard to keep my feet in, and to keep them from turning this way and that.’
‘You mean they swivel?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I’d like to meet these Bluerose riders some day.’
‘They are a strange people, Iron Bars. They worship someone called the Black-winged Lord.’
‘
And they resemble Letherii?’
‘No, they are taller. Very dark skins.’
He regarded her for a moment, then asked, ‘Faces like the Tiste
Edur?’
‘No, much finer-boned.’
‘Long-lived?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, but to be honest, I don’t really know. Few Letherii do, nor do they much care. The Blueroses were defeated. Subjugated. There were never very many of them, in any case, and they preferred isolation. Small cities, from what I’ve heard. Gloomy.’
‘What ended your affair?’
‘Just that, I suppose. He rarely saw any good in anything. I wearied of his scepticism, his cynicism, the way he acted – as if he’d seen it all before a thousand times…’
The stable was engulfed in flames by now, and they were all forced away by the fierce heat. In the nearby pasture they retreated to, they found a half-dozen corpses, the breeder and his family. They’d known little mercy in the last few bells of their lives. None of the soldiers who examined them said a word, but their expressions hardened.
Iron Bars made a point of keeping Seren away whilst three men from the squad buried the bodies. ‘We’ve found a trail,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, lass, we want to follow it. For a word with the ones who killed that family.’
‘Show me the tracks,’ she said.
He gestured and Corlo led her to the edge of a stand of trees on the southeast end of the clearing. Seren studied the array of footprints entering the woodcutters’ path. ‘There’s twenty or more of them,’ she pronounced after a moment.
The mage nodded. ‘Deserters. In armour.’
‘Yes, or burdened with loot.’
‘Likely both.’
She turned to regard the man. ‘You Crimson Guardsmen – you’re pretty sure of yourselves, aren’t you?’
‘When it comes to fighting, aye, lass, we are.’
‘I watched Iron Bars fight in Trate. He’s an exception, I gather—’
‘Aye, he is, but not among the Avowed. Jup Alat would’ve given him trouble. Or Poll, for that matter. Then there’s those in the other companies. Halfdan, Blues, Black the Elder…’
‘More of these Avowed?’
‘Aye.’
‘And what does it mean? To be an Avowed?’