occurred this time. He berated himself for his thoughtless words, the first he had spoken to Lord Anomander. With luck, the First Son would soon forget the introduction had ever happened.
He vowed that he would do better next time, and find the words to make Lord Anomander understand the pledge of service he intended. In time, he sought to become as necessary to the First Son as, it seemed, was Gripp Galas. It had surprised him to see the high regard that had been shown the old man, and he realized that he had been careless in his opinion of Gripp.
For all that, he reminded himself that Gripp was a murderer, cold-blooded and not above treachery. He still remembered that soldier’s look on his face when the old man stabbed him in the back. In that face there had been shock, and disappointment, as if to ask the world why, with all its rules, it could do no better than this. It was a look Orfantal understood. In his games of war he had fallen to a thousand knives in the back a thousand times, and though he had never held up a mirror to gauge his expression at any of those fateful moments, he suspected that he would have looked no different from that poor soldier.
He heard the scrape of claws on the tiles behind him, and a moment later a skinny dog pushed up against his legs. Startled, he paused, and Silchas turned at the same moment.
The dog’s mangled tail was wagging fiercely as the animal circled in front of Orfantal.
Silchas said, ‘Well, already you’ve made a friend, hostage. This dog is from Lady Hish Tulla’s household. For some unknown reason, it came in the company of an Azathanai.’
They continued on, with the dog now close by Orfantal’s side.
‘If such beasts could tell their stories,’ Silchas mused, ‘what do you imagine they might say?’
Orfantal thought of the horse he had killed. ‘I think, milord, they would just ask us to leave them alone.’
‘I see nothing of that sentiment in this animal.’
‘Milord, what if what we see as happiness is in truth begging us not to hurt them?’
‘A dreadful thought, Orfantal.’
The boy nodded agreement. It was a dreadful thought.
Lady Hish watched Gripp Galas approach. The Grand Hall was crowded with servants, with messengers bearing frantic questions and few answers, with Houseblades gathered in clumps like wolves circling an uncertain prey, and priests and priestesses passing to and fro as if desperate to find something to do. She stood near the first of the columns lining a wall, struggling to make sense of the expression on the face of the man she loved.
She spoke the moment he joined her, ‘He demands yet one more task from you? Are we to be delayed then?’
‘Beloved,’ Gripp said, unable to meet her eyes, ‘I must remain at his side. We are to ride this day. I cannot join you, not yet.’
‘He has refused us?’
‘I am sorry.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Summoned into the presence of Mother Dark. I am to meet him at the gate, with our horses prepared.’
‘I will join you in that task.’
She saw his eyes narrow slightly on her, but she was in no mood to offer explanation.
The First Son walked in silence, but Emral could hear the soft, muted beat of his sword’s scabbard against his leg with every stride. The weapon’s presence was already well known, not just in the Citadel, but in all Kharkanas, and she had heard tales twisting the truth of the sword’s origins. Many now spoke as if Lord Anomander had forged the weapon with his own hands, and that the failure to give it a name was proof of the First Son’s chronic indecision.
This latter argument was the conjuring of the worst of the court’s inhabitants, although in nature such people were not exclusive to the Citadel. Bearing the wounds of a thousand small bites, she had once voiced this complaint to the historian and he had but nodded, and spoken of not just this time and place, but of countless others. ‘ It is the habit of the petty-minded to derogate the achievements and status of those who, by any measure, are their superiors. High Priestess, they are the wild dogs in the forest, ever ready for a turned back, but quick to yip and flee when the prey shows its fangs.’
She had considered the analogy for a moment, and then had replied, ‘ When enough such dogs have gathered, historian, they may not flee the bearded beast, and instead show fangs of their own. In any case, any opinion on superiority is subject to challenge.’
‘ I mean not such things as titles, or wealth, or even power, when I speak of superiority, High Priestess. I refer to something more ephemeral. To find a truly superior person, follow the dogs. Or, better still, follow the blood trail. No other gauge is necessary but to observe the viciousness of the eager beasts and see for yourself the beleaguered foe.’
Was the man at her side thus hounded? There was little doubt of that. And was there not something in the assertion that the forging of that weapon was not yet complete? Its edge was well honed to be sure, and the blade bore a fine polish. But it was not yet Anomander’s own, no matter how forceful Hust Henarald’s insistence that the weapon was fit for the hand of but one man.
They reached the door and Emral stepped back.
But Anomander shook his head. ‘I request your presence within, High Priestess.’
‘First Son, I believe it was Mother Dark’s wish-’
‘We will speak of faith, High Priestess. I am informed that High Priestess Syntara is now the centre of a cult that directly opposes that of Mother Dark. With her under the protection of Lord Urusander, the matter is both religious and political.’
She glanced away. ‘I was not aware of this development, First Son.’ A moment later she drew a deep breath and said, ‘But I am not surprised. Not with respect to Syntara’s ambitions. Still, Urusander’s role in this confuses me.’
‘You are not alone in that.’
She opened the door and together they strode into the Chamber of Night.
The darkness hid nothing. Mother Dark was seated on the throne. Facing her from a few paces away but now stepping to one side was the Azathanai, Grizzin Farl, who bowed to both Anomander and Emral, offering them a faint smile.
Lord Anomander wasted no time. ‘Azathanai, I assure you that I have no unreasoning aversion to foreign advisers in this court. Still, I wonder at what of value you can offer us, since we are here to discuss the measures we must take in order to keep our realm from tearing itself apart. The legacy of the Azathanai in this matter is no less dubious than if a Jaghut stood in your place.’
‘With regret, First Son,’ said Grizzin Farl, ‘I agree with you. Although a Jaghut might prove wiser than me and could I find one nearby to stand in these worn moccasins, why, I would give the poor creature good cause to rail at my presumption.’
‘Then what keeps you here?’ Anomander asked.
‘By title I am known as the Protector, but this is no welcome aspect. I appear where I am most needed, yet in hope most distant. My attendance alone is a sour comment on your state of affairs, alas.’
There was a challenge to these words, but Anomander simply tilted his head, as if studying the Azathanai in a new light. ‘We found you tending Kadaspala. Even then, it seems, you could have made shackles of your hands to close on his wrists, and so keep him from his terrible self-mutilation. Instead, you came too late.’
‘This is so, First Son.’
‘Do you stand here before us, then, to announce a threshold already crossed?’
Emral could see how Mother Dark looked between the two men, and there was, at last, alarm in her eyes.
Grizzin Farl bowed. ‘You have the truth of me,’ he said.
‘Mother Dark,’ said Anomander, ‘did you understand this?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It seems that I asked the wrong questions of our guest. Confusion attended me, First Son, with misleading thoughts of the last Azathanai to stand before me.’
‘Of whom we know nothing,’ Anomander said. ‘Did this T’riss speak for the river god? Did you bargain with that rival and so win from it the sacrifice of a thousand souls?’
