Midnight Tides

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And we want you to do it again.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. Only this time, you’ll have the courage to go through with it. All the way.’

  ‘I will?’

  ‘Because we – myself, Hejun and Rissarh – we’re going to be your courage. This time. Now, let’s get out of here, before that server comes back. We’ve purchased a building. We can talk there. It doesn’t smell.’

  ‘Now that’s a relief,’ Tehol said.

  The three women rose.

  He did not.

  ‘I told you,’ Hejun said to Shand. ‘It’s not going to work. There’s nothing left in there. Look at him.’

  ‘It’ll work,’ Shand said.

  ‘Hejun is, alas, right,’ Tehol said. ‘It won’t.’

  ‘We know where the money went,’ Shand said.

  ‘That’s no secret. Riches to rags. I lost it.’

  But Shand shook her head. ‘No you didn’t. Like I said, we know. And if we talk…’

  ‘You keep saying you know something,’ Tehol said, adding a shrug.

  ‘As you said,’ she replied, smiling, ‘we’re from the islands.’

  ‘But not those islands.’

  ‘Of course not – who’d go there? And that’s what you counted on.’

  Tehol rose. ‘As they say, five wings will buy you a grovel. All right, you’ve purchased a building.’

  ‘You’ll do it,’ Shand insisted. ‘Because if it comes out, Hull will kill you.’

  ‘Hull?’ Finally Tehol could smile. ‘My brother knows nothing about it.’

  He savoured the pleasure, then, in seeing these three women knocked off balance. There, now you know how it feels.

  ****

  ‘Hull may prove a problem.’

  Brys Beddict could not hold his gaze on the man standing before him. Those small, placid eyes peering out from the folds of pink flesh seemed in some way other than human, holding so still that the Finadd of the Royal Guard imagined he was looking into the eyes of a snake. A flare-neck, coiled on the centre of the river road when the rains are but days away. Up from the river, three times as long as a man is tall, head resting on the arm-thick curl of its body. ‘Ware the plodding cattle dragging their carts on that road. ’Ware the drover stupid enough to approach.

  ‘Finadd?’

  Brys forced his eyes back to the huge man. ‘First Eunuch, I am at a loss as to how to respond. I have neither seen nor spoken with my brother in years. Nor will I be accompanying the delegation.’

  First Eunuch Nifadas turned away, and walked noiselessly to the high-backed wooden chair behind the massive desk that dominated the chamber of his office. He sat, the motion slow and even. ‘Be at ease, Finadd Beddict. I have immense respect for your brother Hull. I admire the extremity of his conviction, and understand to the fullest extent the motivation behind his… choices in the past.’

  ‘Then, if you will forgive me, you are farther down the path than I, First Eunuch. Of my brother – of my brothers – I understand virtually nothing. Alas, it has always been so.’

  Nifadas blinked sleepily, then he nodded. ‘Families are odd things, aren’t they? Naturally, my own experience precludes many of the subtleties regarding that subject. Yet, if you will, my exclusion has, in the past, permitted me a certain objectivity, from which I have often observed the mechanisms of such fraught relationships with a clear eye.’ He looked up and fixed Brys once more with his regard. ‘Will you permit me a comment or two?’

  ‘Forgive me, First Eunuch—’

  Nifadas waved him silent with one plump hand. ‘No need. I was presumptuous. Nor have I explained myself. As you know, preparations are well along. The Great Meeting looms. I am informed that Hull Beddict has joined Buruk the Pale and Seren Pedac on the trail to Hiroth lands. Further, it is my understanding that Buruk is charged with a host of instructions – none issued by me, I might add. In other words, it is likely that those instructions not only do not reflect the king’s interests, but in fact may contradict our Sire’s wishes.’ He blinked again, slow and measured. ‘Precarious, agreed. Unwelcome, as well. My concern is this. Hull may… misunderstand…’

  ‘By assuming that Buruk acts on behalf of King Diskanar, you mean.’

  ‘Just so.’

  ‘He would then seek to counter the merchant.’

  Nifadas sighed his agreement.

  ‘Which,’ Brys continued, ‘is itself not necessarily a bad thing.’

  ‘True, in itself not necessarily a bad thing.’

  ‘Unless you intend, as the king’s official representative and nominal head of the delegation, to counter the merchant in your own way. To deflect those interests Buruk has been charged with presenting to the Edur.’

  The First Eunuch’s small mouth hinted at a smile.

  Nothing more than that, yet Brys understood. His gaze travelled to the window behind Nifadas. Clouds swam blearily through the bubbled, wavy glass. ‘Not Hull’s strengths,’ he said.

  ‘No, we are agreed in that. Tell me, Finadd, what do you know of this Acquitor, Seren Pedac?’

  ‘Reputation only. But it’s said she owns a residence here in the capital. Although I have never heard if she visits.’

  ‘Rarely. The last time was six years ago.’

  ‘Her name is untarnished,’ Brys said.

  ‘Indeed. Yet one must wonder… she is not blind, after all. Nor, I gather, unthinking.’

  ‘I would imagine, First Eunuch, that few Acquitors are.’

  ‘Just so. Well, thank you for your time, Finadd. Tell me,’ he added as he slowly rose, indicating the audience was at an end, ‘have you settled well as the King’s Champion?’

  ‘Uh, well enough, First Eunuch.’

  ‘The burden is easily shouldered by one as young and fit as you, then?’

  ‘Not easily. I would make no claim to that.’

  ‘Not comfortable, but manageable.’

  ‘A fair enough description.’

  ‘You are an honest man, Brys. As one of the king’s advisers, I am content with my choice.’

  But you feel I need the reminder. Why is that? ‘I remain honoured, First Eunuch, by the king’s faith, and of course, yours.’

  ‘I will delay you no longer, Finadd.’

  Brys nodded, turned and strode from the office.

  A part of him longed for the days of old, when he was just an officer in the Palace Guard. When he carried little political weight, and the presence of the king was always at a distance, with Brys and his fellow guardsmen standing at attention along one wall at official audiences and engagements. Then again, he reconsidered as he walked down the corridor, the First Eunuch had called him because of his blood, not his new role as King’s Champion.

  Hull Beddict. Like a restless ghost, a presence cursed to haunt him no matter where he went, no matter what he did. Brys remembered seeing his eldest brother, resplendent in the garb of Sentinel, the King’s Reed at his belt. A last and lasting vision for the young, impressionable boy he had been all those years ago. That moment remained with him, a tableau frozen in time that he wandered into in his dreams, or at reflective moments like these. A painted image. Brothers, man and child, the two of them cracked and yellowed beneath the dust. And he would stand witness, like a stranger, to the boy’s wide-eyed, adoring expression, and would follow that uplifted gaze and then shift his own uneasily, suspicious of that uniformed soldier’s pride.

  Innocence was a blade of glory, yet it could blind on both sides.

  He’d told Nifadas he did not understand Hull. But he did. All too well.

  He understood Tehol, too, though perhaps marginally less well. The rewards of wealth beyond measure had proved cold; only the hungry desire for that wealth hissed with heat. And that truth belonged to the world of the Letherii, the brittle flaw at the core of the golden sword. Tehol had thrown himself on that sword, and seemed content to bleed to death, slowly and with amiable aplomb. Whatever final message he sough
t in his death was a waste of time, since no-one would look his way when that day came. No-one dared. Which is why, I suspect, he’s smiling.

  His brothers had ascended their peaks long ago – too early, it turned out – and now slid down their particular paths to dissolution and death. And what of me, then? I have been named King’s Champion. Judged the finest swordsman in the kingdom. I believe I stand, here and now, upon the highest reach. There was no need to take that thought further.

  He reached a T-intersection and swung right. Ten paces ahead a side door spilled light into the corridor. As he came opposite it a voice called to him from the chamber within.

  ‘Finadd! Come quick.’

  Brys inwardly smiled and turned. Three strides into the spice-filled, low-ceilinged room. Countless sources of light made a war of colours on the furniture and tables with their crowds of implements, scrolls and beakers.

  ‘Ceda?’

  ‘Over here. Come and see what I’ve done.’

  Brys edged past a bookcase extending out perpendicularly from one wall and found the King’s Sorceror behind it, perched on a stool. A tilted table with a level bottom shelf was at the man’s side, cluttered with discs of polished glass.

  ‘Your step has changed, Finadd,’ Kuru Qan said, ‘since becoming the King’s Champion.’

  ‘I was not aware of that, Ceda.’

  Kuru Qan spun on his seat and raised a strange object before his face. Twin lenses of glass, bound in place side by side with wire. The Ceda’s broad, prominent features were made even more so by a magnifying effect from the lenses. Kuru Qan set the object against his face, using ties to bind it so that the lenses sat before his eyes, making them huge as he blinked up at Brys.

  ‘You are as I imagined you. Excellent. The blur diminishes in importance. Clarity ascends, achieving pre-eminence among all the important things. What I hear now matters less than what I see. Thus, perspective shifts. The world changes. Important, Finadd. Very important.’

  ‘Those lenses have given you vision? That is wonderful, Ceda!’

  ‘The key was in seeking a solution that was the antithesis of sorcery. Looking upon the Empty Hold stole my sight, after all. I could not effect correction through the same medium. Not yet important, this detail. Pray indeed it never becomes so.’

  Ceda Kuru Qan never held but one discourse at any one time. Or so he had explained it once. While many found this frustrating, Brys was ever charmed.

  ‘Am I the first to be shown your discovery, Ceda?’

  ‘You would see its importance more than most. Swordsman, dancing with place, distance and timing, with all the material truths. I need to make adjustments.’ He snatched the contraption off and hunched over it, minuscule tools flicking in his deft hands. ‘You were in the First Eunuch’s chamber of office. Not an altogether pleasing conversation for you. Unimportant, for the moment.’

  ‘I am summoned to the throne room, Ceda.’

  ‘True. Not entirely urgent. The Preda would have you present… shortly. The First Eunuch enquired after your eldest brother?’

  Brys sighed.

  ‘I surmised,’ Kuru Qan said, glancing up with a broad smile. ‘Your unease tainted your sweat. Nifadas is sorely obsessed at the moment.’ He set the lenses against his eyes once more. Focused on the Finadd’s eyes – disconcerting, since it had never happened before. ‘Who needs spies when one’s nose roots out all truths?’

  ‘I hope, Ceda, that you do not lose that talent, with this new invention of yours.’

  ‘Ah, see! A swordsman indeed. The importance of every sense is not lost on you! What a measurable delight – here, let me show you.’ He slid down from the stool and approached a table, where he poured clear liquid into a translucent beaker. Crouched low to check its level, then nodded. ‘Measurable, as I had suspected.’ He plucked the beaker from its stand and tossed the contents back, smacking his lips when he was done. ‘But it is both brothers who haunt you now.’

  ‘I am not immune to uncertainty.’

  ‘One should hope not! An important admission. When the Preda is done with you – and it shall not be long – return to me. We have a task before us, you and I.’

  ‘Very well, Ceda.’

  ‘Time for some adjustments.’ He pulled off the lenses once more. ‘For us both,’ he added.

  Brys considered, then nodded. ‘Until later, then, Ceda.’

  He made his way from the sorceror’s chamber.

  Nifadas and Kuru Qan, they stand to one side of King Diskanar. Would that there was no other side.

  The throne room was misnamed, in that the king was in the process of shifting the royal seat of power to the Eternal Domicile, now that the leaks in its lofty roof had been corrected. A few trappings remained, including the ancient rug approaching the dais, and the stylized gateway arching over the place where the throne had once stood.

  When Brys arrived, only his old commander, Preda Unnutal Hebaz, was present. As always, a dominating figure, no matter how exalted her surroundings. She stood taller than most women, nearly Brys’s own height. Fair-skinned, with a burnished cast to her blonde hair yet eyes of a dark hazel, she turned to face him at his approach. In her fortieth year, she was none the less possessed of extraordinary beauty that the weather lines only enhanced.

  ‘Finadd Beddict, you are late.’

  ‘Impromptu audiences with the First Eunuch and the Ceda—’

  ‘We have but a few moments,’ she interrupted. ‘Take your place along the wall, as would a guard. They might recognize you, or they might assume you are but one of my underlings, especially given the poor light now that the sconces have been taken down. Either way, you are to stand at attention and say nothing.’

  Frowning, Brys strode to his old guard’s niche, turned about to face the chamber, then edged back into the shadows until hard stone pressed against his shoulders. He saw the Preda studying him for a moment, then she nodded and swung to face the doorway at the far corner of the wall behind the dais.

  Ah, this meeting belongs to the other side…

  The door slammed open to the gauntleted hand of a Prince’s Guardsman, and the helmed, armoured figure of that man strode warily into the chamber. His sword was still in its scabbard, but Brys knew that Moroch Nevath could draw it in a single beat of a heart. He knew, also, that Moroch had been the prince’s own candidate for King’s Champion. And well deserved too. Moroch Nevath not only possesses the skill, he also has the presence… And, although that bold manner irritated Brys in some indefinable way, he found himself envying it as well.

  The Prince’s Guard studied the chamber, fixing here and there on shadowed recesses, including the one wherein Brys stood – but it was a momentary thing, seeming only to acknowledge the presence of one of the Preda’s guards – and Moroch finally settled his attention on Unnutal Hebaz.

  A single nod of acknowledgement, then Moroch stepped to one side.

  Prince Quillas Diskanar entered. Behind him came Chancellor Triban Gnol. Then, two figures that made Brys start. Queen Janall and her First Consort, Turudal Brizad.

  By the Errant, the entire squalid nest.

  Quillas bared his teeth at Unnutal Hebaz as would a dog at the end of his chain. ‘You have released Finadd Gerun Eberict to Nifadas’s entourage. I want him taken back, Preda. Choose someone else.’

  Unnutal’s tone was calm. ‘Gerun Eberict’s competence is above reproach, Prince Quillas. I am informed that the First Eunuch is pleased with the selection.’

  Chancellor Triban Gnol spoke in an equally reasonable voice, ‘Your prince believes otherwise, Preda. It behoves you to accord that opinion due respect.’

  ‘The prince’s beliefs are his own concern. I am charged by his father, the king, in this matter. Regarding what I do and do not respect, Chancellor, I strongly suggest you retract your challenge.’

  Moroch Nevath growled and stepped forward.

  The Preda’s hand snapped out – not to the Prince’s Guardsman, but towards the niche where Brys stoo
d, halting him a half-stride from his position. The sword was already in his hand, and its freeing from the scabbard had been as silent as it had been fast.

  Moroch’s gaze flashed to Brys, the startled expression giving way to recognition. The man’s own sword was but halfway out of its scabbard.

  A dry chuckle from the queen. ‘Ah, the Preda’s decision for but one guard is… explained. Step forward, if you please, Champion.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ Unnutal said.

  Brys nodded and slowly stepped back, sheathing his sword as he did so.

  Queen Janall’s brows rose at the Preda’s brusque countermand. ‘Dear Unnutal Hebaz, you rise far above your station.’

  ‘The presumption is not mine, Queen. The Royal Guard answer to the king and no-one else.’

  ‘Well, forgive me if I delight in challenging that antiquated conceit.’ Janall fluttered one thin hand. ‘Strengths are ever at risk of becoming weaknesses.’ She stepped close to her son. ‘Heed your mother’s advice, Quillas. It was folly to cut at the Preda’s pedestal, for it has not yet turned to sand. Patience, beloved one.’

  The Chancellor sighed. ‘The queen’s advice—’

  ‘Is due respect,’ Quillas mimed. ‘As you will, then. As you all will. Moroch!’

  Bodyguard trailing, the prince strode from the chamber.

  The queen’s smile was tender as she said, ‘Preda Unnutal Hebaz, we beg your forgiveness. This meeting was not of our choice, but my son insisted. From the moment our procession began, the Chancellor and I both sought to dissuade him.’

  ‘To no avail,’ the Chancellor said, sighing once more.

  The Preda’s expression did not change. ‘Are we done?’

  Queen Janall wagged a single finger in mute warning, then gestured to her First Consort, slipping her arm through his as they left.

  Triban Gnol remained a moment longer. ‘My congratulations, Preda,’ he said. ‘Finadd Gerun Eberict was an exquisite choice.’

  Unnutal Hebaz said nothing.

  Five heartbeats later and she and Brys were alone in the chamber.

  The Preda turned. ‘Your speed, Champion, never fails to take my breath away. I did not hear you, only… anticipated. Had I not, Moroch would now be dead.’