Rhulad whimpered, then snapped, ‘Trull! I command you! Your emperor commands you! Stab me with your spear. Stab me!’
Tears filled Trull’s eyes.
‘Brother! Please!’
From the entrance came a low cackle.
Trull turned, saw the bound forms of the queen and the prince, leaning against the wall like two obscene trophies. The sound was coming from the queen, and he saw a glitter from her eyes.
He turned. Watched as the Champion straightened, goblet in his hand. Watched, as the man lifted it to his lips.
Trull’s gaze flicked to the king. To that half-lidded stare. The senseless eyes. The Edur’s head snapped round, to where the First Eunuch sat. Chin on chest, motionless.
‘No!’
As the Champion drank, head tilting back. Two swallows, then three. Lowering the cup, he turned to regard Trull. Frowned. ‘You had better leave,’ he said. ‘Drag your warlock with you. Approach the emperor and I will kill you.’
The Champion looked down at Rhulad. ‘We will… take him somewhere. You will not find him, Edur.’
The queen cackled again, clearly startling the swordsman.
‘It is too late,’ Trull said. ‘For you, in any case. If you have any mercy in you, Champion, best send your guards away now. And have them take the woman with them. My kin will be here at any moment.’ His gaze fell to Rhulad. ‘The emperor is for the Edur to deal with.’
The quizzical expression in the Champion’s face deepened. Then he blinked, shook his head. ‘What… what do you mean? I see that you will not kill your brother. And he must die, mustn’t he? To heal. To… return.’
‘Yes. Champion, I am sorry. I was too late to warn you.’
The swordsman sagged suddenly, and he threw a bloody hand out to the edge of the throne for balance. The sword, still in the other hand, wavered, then dipped until the point touched the floor. ‘What – what-’
Trull said nothing.
But Hannan Mosag cared nothing for compassion, and he laughed once more. ‘I understood your gesture, Champion. The coolness to match that of your king. Besides-’ His words broke into a cough. He spat phlegm, then resumed. ‘Besides, it hardly mattered, did it? Whether you lived or died. That’s how it seemed, anyway. At that brazen, fateful moment, at least.’
The Champion sank down to the floor, staring dully at the Warlock King.
‘Swordsman,’ Hannan Mosag called out. ‘Hear me, these final words. You have lost. Your king is dead. He was dead before you even began your fight. You fought, Champion, to defend a dead man.’
The Letherii, eyes widening, struggled to pull himself round, striving to look up, to the throne, to the figure seated there. But the effort proved too great, and he slid back down, head lolling.
The Warlock King was laughing. ‘He had no faith. Only gold. No faith in you, swordsman-’
Trull stalked towards him. ‘Be silent!’
Hannan Mosag sneered up at him. ‘Watch yourself, Trull Sengar. You are as nothing to me.’
‘You would claim the throne now, Warlock King?’ Trull asked.
An enraged shriek from Rhulad.
Hannan Mosag said nothing.
Trull looked back over his shoulder. Saw the Champion lying sprawled on the dais, at the king’s slippered feet. Lying, perfectly still, a mixture of surprise and dismay on his young face. Eyes staring, seeing nothing.
Trull swung his gaze back down to the Warlock King. ‘Someone will do as he commands,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Do you really think so?’
‘His chosen kin-’
‘Will do… nothing. No, Trull, not even Binadas. Just as your hand is stayed, so too will theirs be. It is a mercy, don’t you see? Of course you do. You see that all too well. A mercy.’
‘Whilst you heave that ruin of a body onto the throne, Hannan Mosag?’
The answer was plain in the eyes of the Warlock King.
A hoarse whisper from Rhulad, ‘Trull… please. I am your brother. Do not… do not leave me. Like this. Please.’
Everything was breaking inside him. Trull stepped away from Hannan Mosag, and sank slowly to his knees.
‘Please, Trull… I never meant, I never meant…’
Trull stared down at his hands. He’d dropped his spear – he did not even know where it was. There were six Letherii guards – he looked up – no, they were gone. Where had they gone? The old man standing beside the body of the First Eunuch – where was he? The woman? Where had everybody gone?
Tehol Beddict opened his eyes. One of them, he noticed, did not work very well. He squinted. A low ceiling. Dripping.
A hand stroked his brow and he turned his head.
‘In a crypt. Under the river.’
‘Did we… get wet?’
‘Only a little.’
‘Oh.’ He thought about that for a time. Then said. ‘I should be dead.’
‘Yes, you should. But you were holding on. Enough, anyway, which is more than can be said for poor Chalas.’
‘Chalas?’
‘He tried to protect you, and they killed him for it. I am sorry, Tehol. I was too late in arriving.’
He thought about that, too. ‘The Tiste Edur.’
‘Yes. I killed them.’
‘You did?’
Bugg nodded, looked briefly away. ‘I am afraid I lost my temper.’
‘Ah.’
The manservant looked back. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘I’m not. I’ve seen you step on cockroaches. You are ruthless.’
‘Anything for a meal.’
‘Yes, and what about that, anyway? We’ve never eaten enough – not to have stayed as healthy as we did.’
‘That’s true.’
Tehol tried to sit up, groaned and lay back down. ‘I smell mud.’
‘Mud, yes. Salty mud at that. There’s footprints here, were here when we arrived. Footprints, passing through.’
‘Arrived. How long ago?’
‘Not long. A few moments…’
‘During which you mended all my bones.’
‘And a new eye, most of your organs, this and that.’
‘The eye doesn’t work well.’
‘Give it time. Babies can’t focus past a nipple, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t. But I fully understand the sentiment.’
They were silent for a time.
Then Tehol sighed and said, ‘But this changes everything.’
