‘It does? How?’
‘Well, you’re supposed to be my manservant. How can I continue the conceit of being in charge?’
‘Just the same as you always have.’
‘Hah hah.’
‘I could make you forget.’
‘Forget what?’
‘Very funny.’
‘No,’ Tehol said, ‘I mean specifically.’
‘Well,’ Bugg rubbed his jaw, ‘the events of this day, I suppose.’
‘So, you killed all those Tiste Edur.’
‘Yes, I am afraid so.’
‘Then carried me under the river.’
‘Yes.’
‘But your clothes are dry.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And your name’s not really Bugg.’
‘No, I guess not.’
‘But I like that name.’
‘Me too.’
‘And your real one?’
‘Mael.’
Tehol frowned, studied his manservant’s face, then shook his head. ‘It doesn’t fit. Bugg is better.’
‘I agree.’
‘So, if you could kill all those warriors. Heal me. Walk under a river. Answer me this, then. Why didn’t you kill all of them? Halt this invasion in its tracks?’.
‘I have my reasons.’
‘To see Lether conquered? Don’t you like us?’
‘Lether? Not much. You take your natural vices and call them virtues. Of which greed is the most despicable. That and betrayal of commonality. After all, whoever decided that competition is always and without exception a healthy attribute? Why that particular path to self-esteem? Your heel on the hand of the one below. This is worth something? Let me tell you, it’s worth nothing. Nothing lasting. Every monument that exists beyond the moment – no matter which king, emperor or warrior lays claim to it – is actually a testament to the common, to co-operation, to the plural rather than the singular.’
‘Ah,’ Tehol interjected, managing to raise a finger to mark his objection, ‘without a king, general or whomever – without a
‘Only because you mortals know only two possibilities. To follow or to lead. Nothing else.’
‘Hold on. I’ve seen consortiums and co-operatives at work, Bugg. They’re nightmares.’
‘Aye, breeding grounds for all those virtues such as greed, envy, betrayal and so on. In other words, each within the group seeks to impose a structure of followers and leaders. Dispense with a formal hierarchy, and you have a contest of personalities.’
‘So what is the solution?’
‘Would you be greatly disappointed to hear that you’re not it?’
‘Who? Me?’
‘Your species. Don’t feel bad. None have been, as of yet. Still, who knows what the future will bring.’
‘Oh, that’s easy for you to say!’
‘Actually, no, it isn’t. Look, I’ve seen all this again and again, over countless generations. To put it simply, it’s a mess, a tangled, irreparable mess.’
‘Some god you are. You are a god, aren’t you?’
The manservant shrugged. ‘Make no assumptions. About anything. Ever. Stay mindful, my friend, and suspicious. Suspicious, but not frightened by complexity.’
‘And I’ve some advice for you, since we’re doling it out here.’
‘And that is?’
‘Live to your potential.’
Bugg opened his mouth for a retort, then shut it again and narrowed his gaze.
Tehol gave him an innocent smile.
It was momentary, as more of the memories of this day stirred awake. ‘Chalas,’ he said after a moment. ‘That old fool.’
‘You have friends, Tehol Beddict.’
‘And that poor guard. He threw himself in front of that spear. Friends – yes, what’s happened to everyone else? Do you know? Is Shurq all right? Kettle?’
Bugg grunted, clearly distracted by something, then said, ‘I think they’re fine.’
‘Do you want to go and see for certain?’
He glanced down. ‘Not really. I can be very selfish at times, you know.’
‘No, I didn’t. But I admit, I do have a question. Only I don’t know how to ask it.’
Bugg studied him for a long moment, then he snorted, said, ‘You have no idea, Tehol, how boring it can be… existing for all eternity.’
‘Fine, but… a
Bugg hesitated, then slowly shook his head, and met Tehol’s gaze. ‘My association with you, Tehol, has been an unceasing delight. You resurrected in me the pleasure of existence, and you cannot comprehend how rare that is.’
‘But… a manservant!’
Bugg drew a deep breath. ‘I think it’s time to make you forget this day, my friend.’
‘Forget? Forget what? Is there anything to eat around here?’
He’d wanted to believe. In all the possible glories. The world could be made simple, there need be no complexity, he’d so wanted it to be simple. He walked through the strangely silent city. Signs of fighting here and there. Dead Letherii soldiers, mostly. They should have given up. As would anyone professing to some rationality, but it seemed this was not the day for what was reasonable and straightforward. On this day, madness held dominion, flowing in invisible currents through this city.
Through these poor Letherii. Through the Tiste Edur.
Fear Sengar walked on, unmindful of where his steps took him. All his life, he had been gifted with a single, easily defined role. To fashion warriors among his people. And, when the need arose, to lead them into battle. There had been no great tragedies to mar his youth, and he’d stridden, not stumbled, into adulthood.
There had been no time when he’d felt alone. Alone in the frightened sense, that is. Solitude was born of decision, and could be as easily yielded when its purpose was done. There had been Trull. And Binadas, and then Rhulad. But, first and foremost, Trull. A warrior with skill unmatched when it came to fighting with the spear, yet without blood-lust – and blood-lust was a curse, he well knew, among the Edur. The hunger that swept away all discipline, that could reduce a well-trained fighter into a savage, weapons swinging wild, that strange, seething silence of the Tiste Edur pulled from cool thought. Among other peoples, he knew, that descent was announced with screams and howls and shrieks. An odd difference, and one that, for some unknown reason, deeply troubled Fear Sengar.
And then, looking upon this Champion of the Letherii king, this brother of Hull Beddict – Fear could not recall if he’d ever heard his name, but if he had, he’d forgotten it. That itself was a crime. He would have to learn that man’s name. It was important to learn it.
Fear was skilled with his sword. One of the finest sword-wielders among the Tiste Edur, a truth he simply accepted, with neither pride nor affected modesty. And, he knew, had he stood face to face with that Champion in the throne room, he would have lasted some time. Some fair time, and might well have, on occasion, surprised the Letherii. But Fear had no illusions about who would have been left standing when all was done.
He wanted to weep. For that Champion. For his king. For Rhulad, the brother he’d failed again and again. For Trull, whom he had now abandoned – to a choice no warrior should be forced to make.
