homeland-was perturbing.
He knew the invading Letherii, after all. The numerous legions with their peculiar names and fierce rivalries; he knew as well the fearless cavalry of the Bluerose. And the still-free kingdoms and territories bordering the Awl’dan, the rival D’rhasilhani, the Keryn, the Bolkando Kingdom and the Saphinand State-he had treated with or crossed blades with them all, years ago, and none were as these soldiers here.
Pale-skinned, hair the colour of straw or red as rust. Eyes of blue or grey. And… so many women.
His gaze settled upon one such soldier, a woman near the hill’s summit. Mangled by sorcery, her armour melded with the twisted flesh-there were sigils visible on that armour…
Dismounting, he ascended the slope, picking his way round bodies, moccasins skidding on blood-soaked mud, until lie crouched down at her side.
Paint on the blackened bronze hauberk. Wolf heads, a I pair. One was white-furred and one-eyed, the other furred silver and black. A sigil he had not seen before.
Strangers indeed.
Foreigners. Here, in the land of his heart.
Behind the mask, he scowled. Gone. Too long. Am I now the stranger?
Heavy drumbeats reverberated through the ground heneath his feet. He straightened. His companions were returning.
So, no vengeance after all.
Well, there was time yet.
The mournful howl of wolves had awakened him this morning, their calls the first to draw him here, to this place, as if they sought a witness, as if indeed they had summoned him. While their cries had urged him on, he had not caught sight of the beasts, not once.
The wolves had fed, however, some time this morning. Dragging bodies from the press.
His steps slowed as he made his way down the slope, slowed until he stood, his breath drawn in and held as he looked more closely at the dead soldiers on all sides.
The wolves have fed. But not as wolves do… not like… like this.
Chests torn open, ribs jutting… they had devoured hearts. Nothing else. Just the hearts.
The drumbeats were louder now, closer, the rake of talons hissing through grass. Overhead, the ravens, screaming, fled in all directions.
Book One
The lie stands alone, the solitary deceit with its back turned no matter the direction of your reluctant approach, and with each step your goal is driven on, your stride carried astray, the path enfolding upon itself, round and round you walk and what stood alone before you, errant as mischance, an accidental utterance, now reveals its legion of children, this mass seething in threads and knots and surrounded, you cannot draw breath, cannot move.
The world is of your making and one day, my friend, you will stand alone amidst a sea of dead, the purchasing of your words all about you and the wind will laugh you a new path into unending torment-the solitary deceit is its solitude, the lie is the lie standing alone, the threads and knots of the multitude tighten in righteous judgement with which you once so freely strangled every truthsayer, every voice of dissent.
So now ease your thirst on my sympathy and die parched in the wasteland.
Chapter One
Two forces, once in vicious opposition, now found themselves virtual bedmates, although neither could decide which of them had their legs pried open first. The simple facts are these: the original hierarchical structure of the Tiste Edur tribes proved well-suited to the Letherii system of power through wealth. The Edur became the crown, settling easy upon the bloated gluttony of Lether, but does a crown possess will? Does the wearer buckle beneath its burden? Another truth is now, in hindsight, self-evident. As seamless as this merging seemed to be, a more subtle, far deadlier conjoining occurred below the surface: that of the specific flaws within each system, and this blending was to prove a most volatile brew.
— The Hiroth Dynasty (Volume XVII),
‘Where is this one from?’
Tanal Yathvanar watched the Invigilator slowly rotating the strange object in his pudgy hands, the onyx stones in the many rings on the short fingers glimmering in the shafts of sunlight that reached in through the opened window. The object Karos Invictad manipulated was a misshapen collection of bronze pins, the ends bent into loops that were twisted about one another to form a stiff cage. ‘Bluerose, I believe, sir,’ Tanal replied. ‘One of Senorbo’s. The average duration for solving it is three days, although the record is just under two-’
‘Who?’ Karos demanded, glancing up from where he sat behind his desk.
‘A Tarthenal half-blood, if you can believe that, sir. Here in Letheras. The man is reputedly a simpleton, yet possesses a natural talent for solving puzzles.’
‘And the challenge is to slide the pins into a con-figuration to create a sudden collapse.’
‘Yes sir. It flattens out. From what I have heard the precise number of manipulations is-’
‘No, Tanal, do not tell me. You should know better.’ The Invigilator, commander of the Patriotists, set the object down. ‘Thank you for the gift. Now,’ a brief smile, ‘have we inconvenienced Bruthen Trana long enough, do you think?’ Karos rose, paused to adjust his crimson silks-the only colour and the only material he ever wore-then collected the short sceptre he had made his official symbol of office, black bloodwood from the Edur homeland with silver caps studded in polished onyx stones, and gestured with it in the direction of the door.
Tanal bowed then led the way out into the corridor, to the broad stairs where they descended to the main floor, then strode through the double doors and out into the compound.
The row of prisoners had been positioned in full sunlight, near the west wall of the enclosure. They had been taken from their cells a bell before dawn and it was now shortly past midday. Lack of water and food, and this morning’s searing heat, combined with brutal sessions of questioning over the past week, had resulted in more than half of the eighteen detainees losing consciousness.
Tanal saw the Invigilator’s frown upon seeing the motionless bodies collapsed in their chains.
The Tiste Edur liaison, Bruthen Trana of the Den-Ratha tribe, was standing in the shade, more or less across from the prisoners, and the tall, silent figure slowly turned as Tanal and Karos approached.
‘Bruthen Trana, most welcome,’ said Karos Invictad. ‘You are well?’
‘Let us proceed, Invigilator,’ the grey-skinned warrior said.
‘At once. If you will accompany me, we can survey each prisoner assembled here. The specific cases-’
‘I have no interest in approaching them any closer than I am now,’ Bruthen said. ‘They are fouled in their own wastes and there is scant breeze in this enclosure.’
Karos smiled. ‘I understand, Bruthen.’ He leaned his sceptre against a shoulder then faced the row of detainees. ‘We need not approach, as you say. I will begin with the one to the far left, then-’
‘Unconscious or dead?’
