line before the prince, and mages replete with a host of wards.’
‘To the latter, your highness,’ Kuru Qan said, ‘I can attest. I have lost a number of skilled students to the queen’s command.’
‘Thus,’ Ezgara Diskanar said, ‘we seek balance in the threat, and rely upon the wisdom of the players. Should one party decide on preemptive action, however, the scenario fast unravels.’
‘True, sire.’
‘Finadd Brys Beddict, is Moroch Nevath capable of advising restraint?’
‘I believe so, sire.’
‘The question remaining, however,’ Ezgara said, ‘is whether my son is capable of receiving it.’
Neither the Ceda nor Brys made response to that.
Their king eyed them both for a long moment, then settled his attention on Brys. ‘I look forward to your return to duties, Champion, and am relieved that you are recovering from your adventures.’
Ezgara Diskanar strode from the chamber. At the doorway’s threshold he said – without turning or pausing – ‘Gerun Eberict will need to reduce his own entourage, I think…’
The door was closed by one of Kuru Qan’s servants, leaving the two men alone. The Ceda glanced over at Brys, then shrugged.
‘If wherewithal was an immortal virtue…’ Brys ventured.
‘Our king would be a god,’ Kuru Qan finished, nodding. ‘And upon that we now stake our lives.’ The lenses covering his eyes flashed with reflected light. ‘Curious observation to make at this time. Profoundly prescient, I think. Brys Beddict, will you tell me more of your journey?’
‘Only that I sought to right a wrong, and that, as a consequence, the Tiste Edur will be unable to bind any more forgotten gods.’
‘A worthwhile deed, then.’
‘Such is my hope.’
‘What do the old witches in the market always say? “The end of the world is announced with a kind word.” ’
Brys winced.
‘Of course,’ the Ceda continued distractedly, ‘they just use that as an excuse to be rude to inquisitive old men.’
‘They have another saying, Ceda,’ Brys said after a moment. ‘ “Truth hides in colourless clothes.” ’
‘Surely not the same witches? If so, then they’re all the greatest liars known to the mortal world!’
Brys smiled at the jest. But a taste of ashes had come to his mouth, and he inwardly quailed at the first whispers of dread.
CHAPTER SEVEN
You see naught but flesh in the wrought schemes that stitch every dance in patterns of rising – the ritual of our days our lives bedecked with precious import as if we stand unbolstered before tables feast-heavy and tapestries burdened with simple deeds are all that call us and all that we call upon as would flesh blood-swollen by something other than need. But my vision is not so privileged and what I see are the bones in ghostly motion, the bones who are the slaves and they weave the solid world underfoot with every stride you take.
ACQUITOR SEREN PEDAC WATCHED EDUR CHILDREN PLAYING AMONG the sacred trees. The shadows writhing in the black bark of the boles were a chaotic swirl of motion surrounding the children, to which they seemed entirely indifferent. For some ineffable reason, she found the juxtaposition horrifying.
She had, years ago, seen young Nerek playing amidst the scattered bones of their ancestors, and it had left her more shaken than any battlefield she had walked. The scene before her now resonated in the same manner. She was here, in the Warlock King’s village, and in the midst of people, of figures in motion and voices ringing through the misty air, she felt lost and alone.
Encircling the holy grove was a broad walkway, the mud covered with shaggy strips of shredded bark, along which sat logs roughly carved into benches. Ten paces to Seren’s left was Hull Beddict, seated with his forearms on his knees, hands anchoring his head as he stared at the ground. He had neither moved nor spoken in some time, and the mundane inconsequentiality of their exchanged greetings no longer echoed between them, barring a faint flavour of sadness in the mutual silence.
The Tiste Edur ignored the two Letherii strangers in their midst. Lodgings had been provided for them and for Buruk the Pale. The first meeting with Hannan Mosag was to be this night, but the company had already been here for five days. Normally, a wait of a day or two was to be expected. It was clear that the Warlock King was sending them a message with this unprecedented delay.
A more dire warning still was to be found in the many Edur from other tribes now resident in the village. She had seen Arapay, Merude, Beneda and Sollanta among the native Hiroth. Den-Ratha, who dwelt in the northernmost regions of Edur territory, were notoriously reluctant to venture from their own lands. Even so, the fact of the unified tribes could be made no more apparent and deliberate than it had been, and a truth she had known only in the abstract was given chilling confirmation in its actuality. The divisive weaknesses of old were no more. Everything had changed.
The Nerek had pulled the wagons close to the guest lodge and were now huddled among them, fearful of venturing into the village. The Tiste Edur had a manner of looking right through those they deemed to be lesser folk. This frightened the Nerek in some way, as if the fact of their own existence could be damaged by the Edur’s indifference. Since arriving they had seemed to wither, immune to Buruk’s exhortations, barely inclined to so much as feed themselves. Seren had gone in search of Hull, in the hope of convincing him to speak to the Nerek.
Upon finding him, she had begun to wonder whether he’d been inflicted with something similar to the enervating pall that had settled on the Nerek. Hull Beddict looked old, as if the journey’s end had carried with it a fierce cost, and before him waited still heavier burdens.
Seren Pedac pulled her gaze from the playing children and walked back to where Hull sat on the log bench. Men were quick and stubborn with their barriers, but she’d had enough. ‘Those Nerek will starve if you don’t do something.’
There was no indication that he’d heard her.
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘What’s a few more Nerek deaths to your toll?’
She’d wanted anger. Outrage. She’d wanted to wound him with that, if only to confirm that there was still blood to flow. But at her vicious words, he slowly looked up and met her eyes with a soft smile. ‘Seren Pedac. The Nerek await acceptance by the Tiste Edur, just as we do – although we Letherii are far less sensitive to the spiritual damage the Edur want us to suffer. Our skin is thick, after all-’
‘Born of our fixation on our so-called infallible destiny,’ she replied. ‘What of it?’
‘I used to think,’ he said, smile fading, ‘that the thickness of our… armour was naught but an illusion. Bluster and self-righteous arrogance disguising deep-seated insecurities. That we lived in perpetual crisis, since self- avowed destinies wear a thousand masks and not one of them truly fits-’
‘How can they, Hull Beddict, when they’re modelled on perfection?’
He shrugged, looked down and seemed to study his hands. ‘But in most ways our armour is indeed thick. Impervious to nuances, blind to subtlety. Which is why we’re always so suspicious of subtle things, especially when exhibited by strangers, by outsiders.’
‘We Letherii know our own games of deceit,’ Seren said. ‘You paint us as blundering fools-’
‘Which we are, in so many ways,’ he replied. ‘Oh, we visualize our goals clearly enough. But we ignore the fact that every step we take towards them crushes someone, somewhere.’
‘Even our own.’
‘Yes, there is that.’ He rose, and Seren Pedac was struck once more by his bulk. A huge, broken man. ‘I will endeavour to ease the plight of the Nerek. But the answer rests with the Tiste Edur.’
‘Very well.’ She stepped back and turned round. The children played on, amidst the lost shadows. She
