thought 1 would step forward once she struck? Why? I spoke of trust, yes, but you did not understand. I do indeed trust you, Sheltatha. 1 trust you to lust for vengeance. And that is all I need. For ten thousand lifetimes of slight and disregard… it will be all I need.
His tattooed arms bared in the humid heat, Taxilian walked to the low table where sat Samar Dev, ignoring the curious regard from other patrons in the courtyard restaurant. Without a word he sat, reached for the jug of watered, chilled wine and poured himself a goblet, then leaned closer. ‘By the Seven Holies, witch, this damned city is a wonder-and a nightmare.’
Samar Dev shrugged. ‘The word is out-a score of champions now await the Emperor’s pleasure. You are bound to attract attention.’
He shook his head. ‘You misunderstand. I was once an architect, yes? It is one thing’-he waved carelessly-‘to stand agape at the extraordinary causeways and spans, the bridges and that dubious conceit that is the Eternal Domicile-even the canals with their locks, inflows and outflows, the aqueduct courses and the huge blockhouses with their massive pumps and the like.’ He paused for another mouthful of wine. ‘No, I speak of something else entirely. Did you know, an ancient temple of sorts collapsed the day we arrived-a temple devoted, it seems, to rats-’
‘Rats?’
‘Rats, not that I could glean any hint of a cult centred on such foul creatures.’
‘Karsa would find the notion amusing,’ Samar Dev said with a half-smile, ‘and acquire in such cultists yet another enemy, given his predilection for wringing the necks of rodents-’
Taxilian said in a low voice, ‘Not just rodents, I gather…’
‘Alas, but on that matter I would allow the Toblakai some steerage room-he warned them that no-one was to touch his sword. A dozen or more times, in fact. That guard should have known better.’
‘Dear witch,’ Taxilian sighed, ‘you’ve been careless or, worse, lazy. It’s to do with the Emperor, you see. The weapon destined to cross blades with Rhulad’s own. The touch signifies a blessing-did you not know? The loyal citizens of this empire want the champions to succeed. They want their damned tyrant obliterated. They pray for it; they dream of it-’
‘All right,’ Samar Dev hissed, ‘keep your voice down!’
Taxilian spread his hands, then he grimaced. ‘Yes, of course. After all, every shadow hides a Patriotist-’
‘Careful of whom you mock. That’s a capricious, bloodthirsty bunch, Taxilian, and you being a foreigner only adds to your vulnerability.’
‘You need to eavesdrop on more conversations, witch. The Emperor is unkillable. Karsa Orlong will join all the others in that cemetery of urns. Do not expect otherwise. And when that happens, why, all his… hangers-on, his companions-all who came with him will suffer the same fate. Such is the decree. Why would the Patriotists bother with us, given our inevitable demise?’ He drained the last wine from his goblet, then refilled it. ‘In any case, you distracted me. I was speaking of that collapsed temple, and what I saw of its underpinnings-the very proof for my growing suspicions.’
‘I didn’t know we’re destined for execution. Well, that changes things-although I am not sure how.’ She fell silent; then, considering Taxilian’s other words, she said, ‘Go on.’
Taxilian slowly leaned back, cradling the goblet in his hands. ‘Consider Ehrlitan, a city built on the bones of countless others. In that, little different from the majority of settlements across all Seven Cities. But this Letheras, it is nothing like that, Samar Dev. No. Here, the older city never collapsed, never disintegrated into rubble. It still stands, following street patterns not quite obscured. Here and there, the ancient buildings remain, like crooked teeth. I have never seen the like, witch-it seems no regard whatsoever was accorded those old streets. At least two canals cut right through them-you can see the bulge of stonework on the canal walls, like the sawed ends of long-bones.’
‘Peculiar indeed. Alas, a subject only an architect or a mason would find a source of excitement, Taxilian.’
‘You still don’t understand. That ancient pattern, that mostly hidden gridwork and the remaining structures adhering to it-witch, none of it is accidental.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I should probably not tell you this, but among masons and architects there are secrets of a mystical nature. Certain truths regarding numbers and geometry reveal hidden energies, lattices of power. Samar Dev, there are such courses of energy, like twisted wires in mortar, woven through this city. The collapse of Scale House revealed it to my eyes: a gaping wound, dripping ancient blood-nearly dead blood, I’ll grant you, but undeniable.’
‘Are you certain of this?’
‘I am, and furthermore, someone knows. Enough to ensure that the essential constructs, the buildings that form a network of fulcra-the fixing-points to the lattice of energy-they all remain standing-’
‘Barring this Scale House.’
A nod. ‘Not necessarily a bad thing-indeed, not necessarily accidental, that collapse.’
‘Now you have lost me. That temple fell down on purpose?’
‘I would not discount that. In fact, that accords precisely with my suspicions. We approach a momentous event, Samar Dev. For now, that is as far as I can take it. Something is going to happen. I only pray we are alive to witness it.’
‘You’ve done little to enliven my day,’ she said, eyeing her half-finished breakfast of bread, cheeses and unfamiliar fruit. ‘At the very least you can order us another carafe of wine for your sins.’
‘I think you should run,’ Taxilian said under his breath, not meeting her eyes. ‘I would, barring the event I believe is coming. But as you say, my interest is perhaps mostly professional. You, on the other hand, would do better to look to your own life-to maintaining it, that is.’
She frowned. ‘It’s not that I hold to an unreasoning faith in the martial prowess of Karsa Orlong. There have been enough hints that the Emperor has fought other great champions, other warriors of formidable skill, and none could defeat him. Nonetheless, I admit to a feeling of. well, loyalty.’
‘Enough to join him at Hood’s Gate?’
‘I am not sure. In any case, don’t you imagine that we’re being watched? Don’t you think that others have tried to flee their fate?’
‘No doubt. But Samar Dev, to not even try…’
‘I will think on it, Taxilian. Now, I’ve changed my mind-that second carafe of wine will have to wait. Let us walk this fair city. I am of a mind to see this ruined temple for myself. We can gawk like the foreigners we are, and the Patriotists will think nothing of it.’ She rose from her seat.
Taxilian followed suit. ‘I trust you’ve already paid the proprietor.’
‘No need. Imperial largesse.’
‘Generosity towards the condemned-that runs contrary to my sense of this fell empire.’
‘Things are always more complex than they first seem.’
Tracked by the eyes of a dozen patrons, the two left the restaurant.
The sun devoured the last shadows in the sand-floored compound, heat rising in streaming waves along the length of the rectangular, high-walled enclosure. The sands had been raked and smoothed by servants, and that surface would remain unmarred until late afternoon, when the challengers in waiting would troop out to spar with each other and gather-those who shared a language-to chew and gnaw on these odd, macabre circumstances. Yet, leaning against a wall just within the inner entranceway, Taralack Veed watched Icarium move slowly alongside the compound’s outer wall, one hand out to brush with fingertips the bleached, dusty stone and its faded frieze.
On that frieze, faded images of imperial heroes and glory-soaked kings, chipped and scarred now by the weapons of unmindful foreigners sparring with each other, each and every one of those foreigners intent upon the murder of the Emperor now commanding the throne.
Thus, a lone set of footprints now, tracking along that wall, a shadow diminished to almost nothing beneath the tall, olive-skinned warrior, who paused to look skyward as a flock of unfamiliar birds skittered across the blue gap, then continued on until he reached the far end, where a huge barred gate blocked the way into the street beyond. The figures of guards were just visible beyond the thick, rust-pitted bars. Icarium halted facing that gate, stood motionless, the sunlight bleaching him as if the Jhag had just stepped out from the frieze on his left, as faded and worn as any hero of antiquity.
But no, not a hero. Not in anyone’s eyes. Not ever. A weapon and nothing more. Yet… he lives, he breathes,
