Midnight Tides

  ‘Not the spat I was talking about,’ the wild-haired woman said. ‘Those Tisteans. They’re coming. Lether has been conquered, and I dread the changes to come. Grey skin, that will be the new fashion – mark my words. But I must maintain my pragmatism,’ she added, suddenly brightening. ‘I’m already mixing a host of foundations to achieve that ghastly effect.’ A pause, a glance over at Shurq Elalle. ‘Working on you was very helpful, Shurq. I thought I’d call the first line Dead Thief of the Night.’

  ‘Cute.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘But don’t think that means you’re taking a cut of my profits, Shurq.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

  ‘I have to be going now,’ Selush said, straightening with her bag slung over one shoulder. ‘I intend to be hiding in my basement for the next few days. And I would advise the same for you two.’

  Tehol looked round. ‘I don’t have a basement, Selush.’

  ‘Well, it’s the thought that counts, I always say. Goodbye!’

  A swish of curtain and she was gone.

  Shurq Elalle asked, ‘How late is it?’

  ‘Almost dawn.’

  ‘Where’s your manservant?’

  ‘I don’t know. Somewhere, I would think.’

  ‘Really?’

  Tehol clapped his hands. ‘Let’s head onto the roof. We can see if my silent bodyguard changes expression upon seeing your beauty.’

  ‘What has he been doing up there all this time?’

  ‘Probably standing directly above the doorway here, in case some unwelcome visitor arrived – which, fortunately, did not happen. Brys’s messenger girl hardly qualified.’

  ‘And what could he have done about some attacker from up there?’

  ‘I imagine he would have flung himself straight down in a flurry of swords, knives and clubs, beating the intruder senseless in an instant. Either that, or he’d shout then run back to the ladder, climb down and exact revenge over our corpses.’

  ‘Your corpse. Not mine.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. My mistake.’

  ‘I am not surprised you are confused now, Tehol,’ Shurq said sweeping back her hair with both hands, the gesture admirably flinging out her chest. ‘Given the pleasure you discovered in my wares earlier.’

  ‘Your “wares” indeed. A good term to use, since it could mean virtually anything. Now, shall we head up to greet the dawn?’

  ‘If you insist. I can’t stay long. Ublala will be getting worried.’

  ‘Harlest will advise him how the dead have no sense of time, Shurq. No need to fret.’

  ‘He was muttering about dismembering Harlest just before I left them.’

  They walked to the ladder, Shurq taking the lead.

  ‘I thought he was trapped in a sarcophagus,’ Tehol pointed out.

  ‘We could still hear him. Dramatic hissing and scratching on the underside of the lid. It was, even for me, somewhat irritating.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope Ublala did nothing untoward.’

  They climbed.

  The sky was paling to the east, but a chill remained in the air. The bodyguard stood facing them until he had their attention, then he pointed towards the river.

  The Edur fleet crowded the span, hundreds of raider craft and transports, a dark sweep of sails. Among the lead ships, oars had appeared, sliding out from the flanks of the hulls. The landings would begin within the bell.

  Tehol studied them for a moment, then he faced northwest. The white columns of the battle the day before were gone, although a stain of dark smoke from the keep lingered, lit high above the horizon by the sun’s first shafts. Above the west road was a streak of dust, drawing closer as the sun rose.

  It was some time before either Tehol or Shurq spoke, then the latter turned away and said, ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Stay low,’ Tehol said.

  She paused at the top of the ladder. ‘And you, Tehol Beddict, stay here. On this roof. With that guard standing close.’

  ‘Sound plan, Shurq Elalle.’

  ‘Given the chance, Gerun Eberict will come for you.’

  ‘And you.’

  From the far west gate, a raucous flurry of bells announced the approach of the Edur army.

  The thief disappeared down through the hatch.

  Tehol stood facing west. His back grew warmer, and he knew that this day would be a hot one.

  ****

  One of her hands rested on the king’s shoulder, but Brys could see that Nisall was near collapse. She had stood vigil over Ezgara Diskanar most of the night, as if love alone could guard the man against all dangers. Exhaustion had taken the king into sleep, and he now sat the throne like a corpse, slumped, head lolling. The crown had fallen off some time in the night and was lying beside the throne on the dais.

  The Chancellor, Triban Gnol, had been present earlier but had left with the last change of guards. Ghost-like since the loss of the queen and the prince, and Turudal Brizad, he had grown suddenly ancient and withered, drifting down corridors speaking to no-one.

  Finadd Moroch Nevath had disappeared, although Brys trusted that the swordsman would arrive when the time came. For all that he had suffered, he was a brave man and none of the rumours concerning his conduct at High Fort were, to Brys’s mind, worth the spit needed to utter them.

  First Eunuch Nifadas, along with Brys Beddict, had assumed the responsibility for what remained of the soldiers in the palace. Each wing entranceway was now barricaded by at least thirty guards, with the exception of the King’s Path, where the Ceda in his madness had forbidden anyone to remain, barring himself. In the city beyond, Finadd Gerun Eberict and the city garrison were positioned throughout Letheras, their numbers insufficient to hold the gates or walls yet prepared to fight none the less – at least, Brys assumed that was the case, since he had not left the throne room in some time, and Gerun had not reappeared since the man assumed command of the garrison.

  Spelled by Nifadas, the King’s Champion had rested on a bench near the throne room’s grand entrance, managing a half-dozen bells of surprisingly sound sleep. Servants had awakened him with breakfast, beginning the day to come with surreal normality. Chilled in sweat-damp clothes beneath his armour, Brys quickly ate, then rose and walked to where Nifadas sat at the bench opposite.

  ‘First Eunuch, it is time for you to rest.’

  ‘Champion, there is no need for that. I have done very little and am not in the least fatigued.’

  Brys studied the man’s eyes. They were sharp and alert, quite unlike the usual sleepy regard with which Nifadas commonly presented. ‘Very well,’ he said.

  The First Eunuch smiled up at him. ‘Our last day, Finadd.’

  Brys frowned. ‘There is no reason to assume, Nifadas, that the Edur will see cause to take your life. As with the Chancellor, your knowledge will be needed.’

  ‘Knowledge, yes. A worthy assumption, Finadd.’

  The First Eunuch added nothing more.

  Brys glanced back at the throne, then strode towards it. He came close to Nisall. ‘First Concubine, he will sleep a while yet.’ He took her arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said as she began to resist, ‘just to that bench over there. No further.’

  ‘How, Brys? How could it all collapse? So fast? I don’t understand.’

  He remembered back to the secret meetings, where Nisall and Unnutal Hebaz and Nifadas and the king planned their moves and countermoves in the all-devouring games of intrigue within the Royal Household. Her confidence then had seemed unassailable the cleverness bright in her eyes. He remembered how the Letherii saw the Tiste Edur and their lands, a pearl ripe for the plucking. ‘I don’t know, Nisall.’

  She let him guide her down from the dais. ‘It seems so… quiet. Has the day begun?’

  ‘The sun has risen, yes.’

  ‘He won’t leave the throne.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He is… frightened.’

  ‘Here, Nisall, lie down here. Use these cushions.
Not ideal, I know—’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Thank you.’

  Her eyes closed as soon as she settled. Brys stared down at her for a moment. She was already sleeping.

  He swung round and walked down to the grand entrance, strode into the low-ceilinged corridor where he intended to make his stand. Just beyond, the Ceda was lying, curled up in sleep, on the centre tile.

  And standing near Kuru Qan was Gerun Eberict. With sword in hand. Staring down at the Ceda.

  Brys edged closer. ‘Finadd.’

  Gerun looked up, expressionless.

  ‘The King’s Leave does not absolve you from all things, Gerun Eberict.’

  The man bared his teeth. ‘He has lost his mind, Brys. It would be a mercy.’

  ‘Not for you to judge.’

  Gerun cocked his head. ‘You would oppose me in this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  After a moment, the Finadd stepped back, sliding his sword back into the scabbard at his hip. ‘Well timed, then. Ten heartbeats later…’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Brys asked.

  ‘My soldiers are all in position. What else would you have me do?’

  ‘Command them.’

  A whistling snort from him, then, ‘I have other tasks awaiting me this day.’

  Brys was silent. Wondering if he should kill the man now.

  It seemed Gerun guessed his thoughts, for his scarred sneer broadened. ‘Recall your responsibilities, Brys Beddict.’ He gestured and a dozen of his own estate guards strode into the chamber. ‘You are supposed to die defending the king, after all. In any case,’ he added as he slowly backed away, ‘you have just confirmed my suspicions, and for that I thank you.’

  Blood or honour. ‘I know what you believe, Gerun Eberict. And so I warn you now, you will not be permitted the Leave in this.’

  ‘You speak for the king? Brys Beddict, that is rather presumptuous of you, don’t you think?’

  ‘The king expects you to command the garrison in defence of the city – not abandon your responsibilities in order to conduct your own crusade.’

  ‘Defence of the city? Don’t be an idiot, Brys. If the garrison seeks heroic final stands it is welcome to them. I intend to survive this damned conquest. The Tiste Edur do not frighten me in the least.’ He turned about then and, surrounded by his guards, left the chamber.

  Blood or honour. I have no choice in this, Tehol. I’m sorry.

  ****

  Bugg was not entirely surprised to find himself virtually alone on the wall. His ascent had not been challenged, since it seemed all the garrison guards had withdrawn to various choke-points in the city. Whether those soldiers would rise to stubborn defence remained to be seen, of course. In any case, their presence had kept the streets empty for the most part.

  The manservant leaned on a merlon and watched the Edur army approach down the west road. An occasional glance to his left allowed him to monitor the closing of the fleet, and the vast, deadly demon beneath it – a presence spanning the width of the river and stretching back downstream almost half a league. A terrible, brutal creature straining at its sorcerous chains.

  The west gate was open and unguarded. The lead elements of the Edur army had closed to within a thousand paces, advancing with caution. Ranging to either side of the column, in the ditches and across the fields, the first of the Soletaken wolves came into view.

  Bugg sighed, looked over at the other occupant along the wall. ‘You will have to work fast, I think.’

  The artist was a well-known and easily recognized figure in Letheras. A mass of hair that began on his head and swept down to join with the wild beard covering jaw and neck, his nub of a nose and small blue eyes the only visible features on his face. He was short and wiry, and painted with agitated capering – often perched on one leg – smearing paint on surfaces that always seemed too small for the image he was seeking to capture. This failing of perspective had long since been elevated into a technique, then a legitimate style, in so far as artistic styles could be legitimate. At Bugg’s comment he scowled and rose up on one leg, the foot of the other against the knee. ‘The scene, you fool! It is burned into my mind, here behind this eye, the left one. I forget nothing. Every detail. Historians will praise my work this day, you’ll see. Praise!’

  ‘Are you done, then?’

  ‘Very nearly, very very nearly, yes, nearly done. Every detail. I have done it again. That’s what they will say. Yes, I have done it again.’

  ‘May I see?’

  Sudden suspicion.

  Bugg added, ‘I am something of an historian myself.’

  ‘You are? Have I read you? Are you famous?’

  ‘Famous? Probably. But I doubt you’ve read me, since I’ve yet to write anything down.’

  ‘Ah, a lecturer!’

  ‘A scholar, swimming across the ocean of history.’

  ‘I like that. I could paint that.’

  ‘So, may I see your painting?’

  A grand gesture with a multicoloured hand. ‘Come along, then, old friend. See my genius for yourself.’

  The board perched on its easel was wider than it was high, in the manner of a landscape painting or, indeed, a record of some momentous vista of history. At least two arm-lengths wide. Bugg walked round for a look at the image captured on the surface.

  And saw two colours, divided in a rough diagonal. Scratchy red to the right, muddy brown to the left. ‘Extraordinary,’ Bugg said. ‘And what is it you have rendered here?’

  ‘What is it? Are you blind?’ The painter pointed with a brush. ‘The column! Those approaching Edur, the vast army! The standard, of course. The standard!’

  Bugg squinted across the distance to the tiny patch of red that was the vanguard’s lead standard. ‘Ah, of course. Now I see.’

  ‘And my brilliance blinds you, yes?’

  ‘Oh yes, all comprehension has been stolen from my eyes indeed.’

  The artist deftly switched legs and perched pensively, frowning out at the Edur column. ‘Of course, they’re closer now. I wish I’d brought another board, so I could elaborate yet further on the detail.’

  ‘Well, you could always use this wall.’

  Bushy brows arched. ‘That’s… clever. You are a scholar indeed.’

  ‘I must be going, now.’

  ‘Yes, yes, stop distracting me. I need to focus, you know. Focus.’

  Bugg quietly made his way down the stone stairs. ‘A fine lesson,’ he muttered under his breath as he reached street level. Details… so many things to do this day.

  He walked deserted streets, avoiding the major intersections where barricades had been raised and soldiers moved about in nervous expectation. The occasional furtive figure darted into and out of view as he went on.

  A short time later the manservant rounded a corner, paused, then approached the ruined temple. Standing near it was Turudal Brizad, who looked over as Bugg reached his side.

  ‘Any suggestions?’ the god known as the Errant asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The mortal I requested for this task has not appeared.’

  ‘Oh. That’s not good, since the Jheck are at the gates even as we speak.’

  ‘And the first Edur from the ships have disembarked, yes.’

  ‘Why not act for yourself?’ Bugg asked.

  ‘I cannot. My aspect enforces certain… prohibitions.’

  ‘Ah, the nudge, the pull or the push.’

  ‘Yes, only that.’

  ‘You have been about as direct as you can be.’

  The Errant nodded.

  ‘Well, I see your dilemma,’ Bugg said.

  ‘Thus my query – do you have any suggestions?’

  The manservant considered for a time, whilst the god waited patiently, then he sighed and said, ‘Perhaps. Wait here. If I am successful, I will send someone to you.’

  ‘All right. I trust you will not be overlong.’

  ‘I hope not. Depends on my powers of persuasion.’ br />
  ‘Then I am encouraged.’

  Without another word, Bugg headed off. He quickened his pace as he made his way towards the docks. Fortunately, it was not far, and he arrived at Front Street to see that only the main piers had been commandeered by the landing warriors of the Tiste Edur. They were taking their time, he noted, a sign of their confidence. No-one was opposing their landing. Bugg hurried along Front Street until he came to the lesser berths. Where he found his destination, a two-masted, sleek colt of a ship that needed new paint but seemed otherwise relatively sound. There was no-one visible on its deck, but as soon as he crossed the gangway he heard voices, then the thump of boots.

  Bugg had reached the mid-deck when the cabin door swung open and two armed women emerged, swords out.

  Bugg halted and held up his hands.

  Three more figures appeared once the two women stepped to either side. A tall, grey-maned man in a crimson surcoat, and a second man who was clearly a mage of some sort. The third arrival Bugg recognized.

  ‘Good morning, Shand. So this is where Tehol sent you.’

  ‘Bugg. What in the Errant’s name do you want?’

  ‘Well said, lass. And are these fine soldiers Shurq Elalle’s newly hired crew?’

  ‘Who is this man?’ the grey-haired man asked Shand.

  She scowled. ‘My employer’s manservant. And your employer works for my employer. His arrival means there’s going to be trouble. Go on, Bugg, we’re listening.’

  ‘First, how about some introductions, Shand?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Iron Bars—’

  ‘An Avowed of the Crimson Guard,’ Bugg cut in, smiling. ‘Forgive me. Go on, please.’

  ‘Corlo—’

  ‘His High Mage. Again, forgive me, but that will have to do. I have very little time. I need these Guardsmen.’

  ‘You need us for what?’ Iron Bars asked.

  ‘You have to kill the god of the Soletaken Jheck.’

  The Avowed’s expression darkened. ‘Soletaken. We’ve crossed paths with Soletaken before.’

  Bugg nodded. ‘If the Jheck reach their god, they will of course protect it—’

  ‘How far away?’

  ‘Just a few streets, in an abandoned temple.’

  Iron Bars nodded. ‘This god, is it Soletaken or D’ivers?’