Out of the white Out of the sun’s brittle dismay We are the grim shapes Who haunt all fate Out of the white Out of the wind’s hoarse bray We are the dark ghosts Who haunt all fate Out of the white Out of the snow’s worldly fray We are the sword’s wolves Who haunt all fate
Jheck Marching Chant
FIFTEEN PACES, NO MORE THAN THAT. BETWEEN EMPEROR AND SLAVE. A stretch of Letherii rugs, booty from some raid a century or more past, on which paths were worn deep, a pattern of stolen colour mapping stunted roads across heroic scenes. Kings crowned. Champions triumphant. Images of history the Edur had walked on, indifferent and intent on their small journeys in this chamber.
Udinaas wasn’t prepared to ascribe any significance to these details. He had come to his own pattern, a gaze unwavering and precise, the mind behind it disconnected, its surface devoid of ripples and its depths motionless.
It was safer that way. He could stand here, equidistant between two torch sconces and so bathed by the light of neither, and in this indeterminate centre he looked on, silently watching as Rhulad discarded his bearskin, to stand naked before his new wife.
Udinaas might have been amused, had he permitted the emotion, to see the coins burned into the emperor’s penis pop off, one, two, two more, then four, as Rhulad’s desire became apparent. Coins thumping to the rug-strewn floor, a few bouncing and managing modest rolls before settling. He might have been horrified at the look in the emperor’s red-rimmed eyes as he reached out, beckoning Mayen closer. Waves of sympathy for the hapless young woman were possible, but only in the abstract.
Witnessing this macabre, strangely comic moment, the slave remained motionless, without and within, and the bizarre reality of this world played itself out without comment.
Her self-control was, at first, absolute. He took her hand and drew it down, pulling her closer. ‘Mayen,’ the emperor said in a rasp, in a voice that reached for tenderness and achieved little more than rough lust. ‘Should I reveal to you that I have dreamed of this moment?’ A harsh laugh. ‘Not quite. Not like this. Not… in so much… detail.’
‘You made your desires known, Rhulad. Before… this.’
‘Yes, call me Rhulad. As you did before. Between us, nothing need change.’
‘Yet I am your empress.’
‘My wife.’
‘We cannot speak as if nothing has changed.’
‘I will teach you, Mayen. I am still Rhulad.’
He embraced her then, an awkward, child-like encirclement in gold. ‘You need not think of Fear,’ he said. ‘Mayen, you are his gift to me. His proof of loyalty. He did as a brother should.’
‘I was betrothed-’
‘And I am emperor! I can break the rules that would bind the Edur. The past is dead, Mayen, and it is I who shall forge the future! With you at my side. I saw you looking upon me, day after day, and I could see the desire in your eyes. Oh, we both knew that Fear would have you in the end. What could we do? Nothing. But I have changed all that.’ He drew back a step, although she still held him with one hand. ‘Mayen, my wife.’ He began undressing her.
Realities. Moments one by one, stumbling forward. Clumsy necessities. Rhulad’s dreams of this scene, whatever they had been in detail, were translated into a series of mundane impracticalities. Clothes were not easily discarded, unless designed with that in mind, and these were not. Her passivity under his ministrations added to the faltering, until this became an event bereft of romance.
Udinaas could see his lust fading. Of course it would revive. Rhulad was young, after all. The feelings of the object of his hunger were irrelevant, for an object Mayen had become. His trophy.
That the emperor sensed the slipping away of any chance of interlocking desires became evident as he began speaking once more. ‘I saw in your eyes how you wanted me. Now, Mayen, no-one stands between us.’
But he does, Rhulad. Moreover, your monstrosity has become something you now wear on your flesh. And now what had to arrive. Letherii gold yields to its natural inclination. Now, Letherii gold rapes this Tiste Edur. Ha.
The emperor’s lust had returned. His own statements had convinced him.
He pulled her towards the bed at the far wall. It had belonged to Hannan Mosag, and so was crafted for a single occupant. There was no room for lying side by side, which proved no obstacle for Rhulad’s intentions. He pushed her onto her back. Looked down at her for a moment, then said, ‘No, I would crush you. Get up, my love. You will descend upon me. I will give you children. I promise. Many children, whom you will adore. There will be heirs. Many heirs.’
An appeal, Udinaas could well hear, to sure instincts, the promise of eventual redemption. Reason to survive the ordeal of the present.
Rhulad settled down on the bed. Arms out to the sides.
She stared down at him.
Then moved to straddle this cruciform-shaped body of gold. Descending over him.
A game of mortality, the act of sex. Reduced so that decades became moments. Awakening, revelling in overwrought sensation, a brief spurt meant to procreate, spent exhaustion, then death. Rhulad was young. He did not last long enough to assuage his ego.
Even so, at the moment before he spasmed beneath her, before his heavy groan that thinned into a whimper, Udinaas saw Mayen’s control begin to crumble. As if she had found a spark within her that she could flame into proper desire, perhaps even pleasure. Then, as he released, that spark flickered, died.
None of which Rhulad witnessed, for his eyes were closed and he was fully inside himself.
He would improve, of course. Or so it was reasonable to expect. She might even gain a measure of control over this act, and so revive and fan into life that spark.
At that moment, Udinaas believed Mayen became the empress, wife to the emperor. At that moment, his faith in her spirit withered – if faith was the right word, that singular war between expectation and hope. Had he compassion to feel, he might have understood, and so softened with empathy. But compassion was engagement, a mindfulness beyond that of mere witness, and he felt none of that.
He heard soft weeping coming from another place of darkness in the chamber, and slowly turned his head to look upon the fourth and last person present. As he had been, a witness to the rape with its hidden, metaphorical violence. But a witness trapped in the horror of feeling.
Among the crisscrossing worn paths of faded colour, one led to her.
Feather Witch huddled, pressed up against the wall, hands covering her face, racked with shudders.
Much more of this and she might end up killed. Rhulad was a man growing ever more intimate with dying. He did not need reminding of what it cost him and everyone around him. Even worse, he was without constraints.
Udinaas considered walking over to her, if only to tell her to be quiet. But his eyes fell on the intervening expanse of rugs and their images, and he realized that the distance was too great.
Mayen had remained straddling Rhulad, her head hanging down.
‘Again,’ the emperor said.
She straightened, began her motions, and Udinaas watched her search for that spark of pleasure. And then find it.
Wanting good, yearning for bad. As simple as that? Was this contradictory, confused map universally impressed upon the minds of men and women? That did not seem a question worth answering, Udinaas decided. He had lost enough already.
‘Shut that bitch up!’
The slave started at the emperor’s hoarse shout.
The weeping had grown louder, probably in answer to Mayen’s audible panting.
Udinaas pushed himself forward, across the rugs to where Feather Witch crouched in the gloom.
‘Get her out of here! Both of you, get out!’
She did not resist as he lifted her to her feet. Udinaas leaned close. ‘Listen, Feather Witch,’ he said under his breath. ‘What did you expect?’
Her head snapped up and he saw hatred in her eyes. ‘From you,’ she said in a snarl, ‘nothing.’
‘From her. Don’t answer – we must leave.’
He guided her to the side door, then through into the servants’ corridor beyond. He closed the door behind them, then pulled her another half-dozen steps down the passage. ‘There’s no cause for crying,’ Udinaas said. ‘Mayen is trapped, just like us, Feather Witch. It is not for you to grieve that she has sought and found pleasure.’
‘I know what you’re getting at, Indebted,’ she said, twisting her arm out of his grip. ‘Is that what you want? My surrender? My finding pleasure when you make use of me?’
‘I am as you say, Feather Witch. Indebted. What I want? My wants mean nothing. They have fallen silent in my mind. You think I still pursue you? I still yearn for your love?’ He shook his head as he studied her face. ‘You were right. What is the point?’
‘I want nothing to do with you, Udinaas.’
‘Yes, I know. But you are Mayen’s handmaiden. And I, it appears, am to be Rhulad’s own slave. Emperor and empress. That is the reality we must face. You and I, we are a conceit. Or we were. Not any more, as far as I am concerned.’
‘Good. Then we need only deal with each other as necessity demands.’
He nodded.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I do not trust you.’
‘I do not care.’
Uncertainty. Unease. ‘What game are you playing at, Udinaas? Who speaks through your mouth?’ She stepped back. ‘I should tell her. About what hides within you.’
‘If you do that, Feather Witch, you will destroy your only chance.’
‘My only chance? What chance?’
‘Freedom.’
Her face twisted. ‘And with that you would purchase my silence? You are foolish, Indebted. I was born a slave. I have none of your memories to haunt me-’
‘My memories? Feather Witch, my memory of freedom is as an Indebted trapped in a kingdom where even death offers no absolution. My memory is my father’s memory, and would have been my children’s memory. But you misunderstood. I did not speak of my freedom. I spoke only of yours. Not something to be recaptured, but found anew.’
‘And how do you plan on freeing me, Udinaas?’
‘We are going to war, Feather Witch. The Tiste Edur will wage war against Lether.’
She scowled. ‘What of it? There have been wars before-’
‘Not like this one. Rhulad isn’t interested in raids. This will be a war of conquest.’
‘Conquer Lether? They will fail-’
‘Yes, they might. The point is, when the Edur march south, we will be going with them.’
‘Why are you so certain of all this? This war? This conquest?’
‘Because the Emperor has summoned the shadow wraiths. All of them.’
‘You cannot know such a thing.’
He said nothing.
‘You cannot,’ Feather Witch insisted.
Then she spun round and hurried down the passage.
Udinaas returned to the door. To await the summons he knew would come, eventually.
Emperor and slave. A score of paces, a thousand leagues. In the span of intractable command and obedience, the mind did not count distance. For the path was well worn, as it always had been and as it would ever be.
The wraiths gathered, in desultory legions, in the surrounding forest, among them massive demons bound in chains that formed a most poignant armour. Creatures heaving up from the sea to hold the four hundred or more K’orthan raider ships now being readied, eager to carry them south. Among the tribes, in every village, the sorcerors awakening to the new emperor’s demand.
A summons to war.
Across a worn rug.
Heroes triumphant.
From beyond the wooden portal came Mayen’s cry.
He emerged from the forest, his face pallid, his expression haunted, and halted in surprise at seeing the readied wagons, Buruk swearing at the Nerek as they scurried about. Seren Pedac had completed donning her leather armour and was strapping on her sword-belt.
She watched him approach.
‘Dire events, Hull Beddict.’
‘You are leaving?’
‘Buruk has so commanded.’
‘What of the iron he sought to sell?’
‘It goes back with us.’ She looked about, then said, ‘Come, walk with me. I need to speak one last time with the First Eunuch.’
Hull slowly nodded. ‘Good. There is much that I must tell you.’
Her answering smile was wry. ‘It was my intent to accord the same to you.’
They set off for the guest house near the citadel. Once more through the ringed divisions of the Edur city. This time, however, the citizens they passed were silent, sombre. Seren and Hull moved among them like ghosts.
‘I visited the old sites,’ Hull said. ‘And found signs of activity.’
‘What old sites?’ Seren asked.
‘North of the crevasse, the forest cloaks what was once a vast city, stretching on for leagues. It was entirely flagstoned, the stone of a type I’ve never seen before. It does not break, and only the action of roots has succeeded in shifting the slabs about.’
‘Why should there be any activity at such places? Beyond that of the usual ghosts and wraiths?’
Hull glanced at her momentarily, then looked away. ‘There are… kill sites. Piles of bones that have long since turned to stone. Skeletal remains of Tiste. Along with the bones of some kind of reptilian beast-’
‘Yes, I have seen those,’ Seren said. ‘They are collected and ground into medicinal powder by the Nerek.’
‘Just so. Acquitor, these sites have been disturbed, and the tracks I found were most disconcerting. They are, I believe, draconic.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘The Hold of the Dragon has remained inactive, according to the casters of the tiles, for thousands of years.’
‘When did you last speak to a caster?’
Seren hesitated, thinking back on Feather Witch’s efforts. When, it was hinted, all was in flux. ‘Very well. Draconic’ The thought of dragons, manifest in this world, was terrifying. ‘But I cannot see how this relates to the Tiste Edur-’
‘Seren Pedac, you must have realized by now that the Tiste Edur worship dragons. Father Shadow, the three Daughters, they are all draconic. Or Soletaken. In the depths of the crevasse a short distance from here can be found the shattered skull of a dragon. I believe that dragon is Father Shadow, the one the Edur call Scabandari Bloodeye. Perhaps this is the source of the betrayal that seems to be the heart of Edur religion. I found tracks there as well. Edur footprints.’
‘And what significance have you drawn from all this, Hull?’
‘There will be war. A fated war, born of a renewed sense of destiny. I fear for Hannan Mosag, for I think he has grasped a dragon’s tail – perhaps more than figuratively. This could prove too much, even for him and his K’risnan.’
‘Hull, the Warlock King no longer rules the Edur.’
Shock; then his expression darkened. ‘Did the delegation arrive with assassins in its company?’
‘He was deposed before the delegation’s arrival,’ she replied. ‘Oh, I don’t know where to begin. Binadas’s brother, Rhulad. He died, then rose again, with in his possession a sword – the gift that Hannan Mosag sought. Rhulad has proclaimed himself emperor. And Hannan Mosag knelt before him.’
Hull’s eyes shone. ‘As I said, then. Destiny.’
‘Is that what you choose to call it?’
‘I hear anger in your voice, Acquitor.’
‘Destiny is a lie. Destiny is justification for atrocity. It is the means by which murderers armour themselves against reprimand. It is a word intended to stand in place of ethics, denying all moral context. Hull, you are embracing that lie, and not in ignorance.’
They had reached the bridge. Hull Beddict halted and rounded on her. ‘You knew me once, Seren Pedac. Enough to give me back my life. I am not blind to this truth, nor to the truth of who you are. You are honourable, in a world that devours honour. And would that I had been able to take more from you than I did, to become like you. Even to join my life to yours. But I haven’t your strength. I could not refashion myself.’ He studied her for a moment, then continued before she could respond. ‘You are right, I am not blind. I understand what it means to embrace destiny. What am I trying to tell you is, it is the best I can do.’
She stepped back, as if buffeted by consecutive blows. Her eyes locked with his, and she saw in them the veracity of his confession. She wanted to scream, to loose her anguish, a sound to ring through the city as if to answer, finally and irrefutably, all that had happened.
But no. I am a fool to think that others feel as I do. This tide is rising, and there are scant few who would stand before it.
With heartbreaking gentleness, Hull Beddict reached out and took her arm. ‘Come, let us pay a visit to the First Eunuch.’
‘At the very least,’ Seren tried as they crossed the bridge, ‘your own position has become less relevant, making you in less danger than you might otherwise have been.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘You don’t?’
‘That depends. Rhulad may not accept my offer of alliance. He might not trust me.’
‘What would you do then, Hull?’
‘I don’t know.’
The guest house was crowded. Finadd Gerun Eberict had arrived, along with the First Eunuch’s own bodyguard, the Rulith, and a dozen other guards and officials. As Seren and Hull entered, they found themselves in the midst of a fierce exhortation from Prince Quillas Diskanar.
‘-sorcerors in both our camps. If we strike now, we might well succeed in cutting out the heart of this treacherous tyranny!’ He swung round. ‘Finadd Moroch Nevath, are our mages present?’
‘Three of the four, my prince,’ the warrior replied. ‘Laerdas remains with the ships.’
‘Very good. Well, First Eunuch?’
Nifadas was studying the prince, expressionless. He made no reply to Quillas, turning instead to regard Hull and Seren. ‘Acquitor, does the rain continue to fall?’
‘No, First Eunuch.’
‘And is Buruk the Pale ready to depart?’
She nodded.
‘I asked you a question, Nifadas!’ Quillas said, his face darkening.
‘Answering it,’ the First Eunuch said slowly, fixing his small eyes on the prince, ‘makes implicit the matter is worth considering. It is not. We are facing more than Hannan Mosag the warlock and his K’risnan. The emperor and his sword. Together, they are something… other. Those accompanying me are here under my guidance, and at present we shall remain in good faith. Tell me, Prince, how many assassins have you brought along with your sorcerors?’
Quillas said nothing.
Nifadas addressed Gerun Eberict. ‘Finadd?’
‘There are two,’ the man replied. ‘Both present in this chamber.’
The First Eunuch nodded, then seemed to dismiss the issue. ‘Hull Beddict, I am hesitant to offer you welcome.’
‘I am not offended by that admission, First Eunuch.’
‘Has the Acquitor apprised you of the situation?’
‘She has.’
‘And?’
‘For what it is worth, I advise you to leave. As soon as possible.’
‘And what will you do?’
Hull frowned. ‘I see no reason to answer that.’
‘You are a traitor!’ Quillas said in a hiss. ‘Finadd Moroch, arrest him!’
There was dismay on the First Eunuch’s features as Moroch Nevath drew his sword and stepped close to Hull Beddict.
‘You cannot do that,’ Seren Pedac said, her heart thundering in her chest.
All eyes fixed on her.
‘I am sorry, my prince,’ she continued, struggling to keep her voice even. ‘Hull Beddict is under the protection of the Tiste Edur. He was granted guest status by Binadas Sengar, brother to the emperor.’
‘He is Letherii!’
‘The Edur will be indifferent to that detail,’ Seren replied.
‘We are done here,’ Nifadas said. ‘There will be no arrests. Prince Quillas, it is time.’
‘Do we scurry at this emperor’s command, First Eunuch?’ Quillas was shaking with rage. ‘He asks for us, well enough. Let the bastard wait.’ He wheeled on Hull Beddict. ‘Know that I intend to proclaim you an outlaw and traitor of Lether. Your life is forfeit.’
A weary smile was Hull’s only reply.
Nifadas spoke to Seren. ‘Acquitor, will you accompany us to our audience with the emperor?’
She was surprised by the offer, and more than a little alarmed. ‘First Eunuch?’
‘Assuming Buruk is prepared to wait, of course. I am certain he will be, and I will send someone to inform him.’ He gestured and one of his servants hurried off. ‘Hull Beddict, I presume you are on your way to speak with Emperor Rhulad? At the very least, accompany us to the citadel. I doubt there will be any confusion of purposes once we enter.’
Seren could not determine the motives underlying the First Eunuch’s invitations. She felt rattled, off balance.
‘As you wish,’ Hull said, shrugging.
Nifadas in the lead, the four Letherii left the guest house and made their way towards the citadel. Seren drew Hull a pace behind the First Eunuch and Prince Quillas. ‘I’m not sure I like this,’ she said under her breath.
Hull grunted, and it was a moment before Seren realized it had been a laugh.
‘What is funny about that?’
‘Your capacity for understatement, Acquitor. I have always admired your ability to stay level.’
‘Indecisiveness is generally held to be a flaw, Hull.’
‘If it is certainty you want, Seren, then join me.’
The offer was uttered low, barely audible. She sighed. ‘I do not want certainty,’ she replied. ‘In fact, certainty is the one thing I fear the most.’
‘I expected that sort of answer.’
Two K’risnan met the party at the entrance and escorted them into the throne chamber.
Emperor Rhulad was seated once more, his new wife standing at his side, on the left. Apart from the two K’risnan, no-one else was present. Although Mayen’s face was fixed and without expression, something about it, ineffable in the way of the secret language among women, told Seren that a consummation had occurred, a binding that was reflected in Rhulad’s dark eyes, a light of triumph and supreme confidence. ‘Hull Beddict,’ he said in his rough voice, ‘blood brother to Binadas, you arrive in questionable company.’
‘Emperor,’ Hull said, ‘your brother’s faith in me is not misplaced.’
‘I see. And how does your prince feel about that?’
‘He is no longer my prince. His feelings mean nothing to me.’
Rhulad smiled. ‘Then I suggest you step to one side. I would now speak to the official delegation from Lether, such as it is.’
Hull bowed and walked three paces to the right.
‘Acquitor?’
‘Emperor, I come to inform you that I am about to leave, as escort to Buruk the Pale.’
‘We appreciate the courtesy, Acquitor. If that is all that brings you into our presence, best you join Hull.’
She bowed in acquiescence and moved away. Now why did Nifadas want this?
‘Emperor Rhulad,’ Nifadas said, ‘may I speak?’
The Edur regarded the First Eunuch with half-closed lids. ‘We permit it.’
‘The kingdom of Lether is prepared to enter negotiations regarding the debts incurred as a result of the illegal harvest of tusked seals.’
Like a snake whose tail had just been stepped on, Quillas hissed and spat in indignation.
‘The issue of debt,’ Rhulad responded, ignoring the prince, ‘is no longer relevant. We care nothing for your gold, First Eunuch. Indeed, we care nothing for you at all.’
‘If isolation is your desire-’
‘We did not say that, First Eunuch.’
Prince Quillas suddenly smiled, under control once more. ‘An opening of outright hostility between our peoples, Emperor? I would warn you against such a tactic, which is not to say I would not welcome it.’
‘How so, Prince Quillas?’
‘We covet the resources you possess, to put it bluntly. And now you give us the opportunity to acquire them. A peaceful solution could have been found in your acknowledgement of indebtedness to Lether. Instead, you voice the absurd lie that is it we who owe you!’
Rhulad was silent a moment, then he nodded and said, ‘Letherii economics seems founded on peculiar notions, Prince.’
‘Peculiar? I think not. Natural and undeniable laws guide our endeavours. The results of which you will soon discover, to your regret.’
‘First Eunuch, does the prince speak for Lether?’
Nifadas shrugged. ‘Does it matter, Emperor?’
‘Ah, you are clever indeed. Certainly more worthy of conversation with ourselves than this strutting fool whose nobility resides only in the fact of his crawling out from between a queen’s legs. You are quite right, First Eunuch. It no longer matters. We were simply curious.’
‘I feel no obligation to assuage that curiosity, Emperor.’
‘And now you show your spine, at last, Nifadas. We are delighted. Deliver these words to your king, then. The Tiste Edur no longer bow in deference to your people. Nor are we interested in participating in your endless games of misdirection and the poisonous words you would have us swallow.’ A sudden, strange pause, the ghost of some kind of spasm flitting across the emperor’s face. Then he shook himself, settled back. But the look in his eyes was momentarily lost. He blinked, frowned, then the gleam of awareness returned. ‘Moreover,’ he resumed, ‘we choose now to speak for the tribes you have subjugated for the hapless peoples you have destroyed. It is time you answered for your crimes.’
Nifadas slowly tilted his head. ‘Is this a declaration of war?’ he asked in a soft voice.
‘We shall announce our intention with deeds, not words, First Eunuch. We have spoken. Your delegation is dismissed. We regret that you travelled so far for what has turned out to be a short visit. Perhaps we will speak again in the future, although, we suspect, in very different circumstances.’
Nifadas bowed. ‘Then, if you will excuse us, Emperor, we must make ready to depart.’
‘You may go. Hull Beddict, Acquitor, remain a moment.’
Seren watched Quillas and Nifadas walk stiffly from the throne chamber. She was still thinking about that display from Rhulad. A crack, a fissure. I think I saw him then, young Rhulad, there inside.
‘Acquitor,’ Rhulad said as soon as the curtains fell back into place, drawing her attention round, ‘inform Buruk the Pale that he has right of passage for his flight. However, the duration of the privilege is short, so he best make haste.’
‘Emperor, the wagons perforce-’
‘We fear he will not have sufficient time to take his wagons with him.’
She blinked. ‘You expect him to abandon the iron in his possession?’
‘There are always risks in business, Acquitor, as you Letherii are quick to point out when it is to your advantage. Alas, the same applies when the situation is reversed.’
‘How many days do you permit us?’
‘Three. One more detail. The Nerek remain here.’
‘The Nerek?’
‘Are Indebted to Buruk, yes, we understand that. Yet another vagary of economics, alas, under which the poor man must suffer. He has our sympathy.’
‘Buruk is a merchant, Emperor. He is used to travelling by wagon. Three days for the return journey may well be beyond his physical abilities.’
‘That would be unfortunate, for him.’ The dead, cold gaze shifted. ‘Hull Beddict, what have you to offer us?’
Hull dropped to one knee. ‘I swear myself to your cause, Emperor.’
Rhulad smiled. ‘You do not yet know that cause, Hull Beddict.’
‘I believe I comprehend more than you might think, sire.’
‘Indeed
‘And I would stand with you.’
The emperor swung his attention back to Seren. ‘Best take your leave now Acquitor. This discussion is not for you.’
Seren looked across at Hull, and their eyes met. Although neither moved, it seemed to her that he was retreating before her, growing ever more distant, ever further from her reach. The intervening space had become a vast gulf, a distance that could not be bridged.
And so I lose you.
To this… creature.
Her thoughts ended there. As blank as the future now breached, the space beyond naught but oblivion, and so we plunge forward… ‘Goodbye, Hull Beddict.’
‘Fare you well, Seren Pedac.’
Her legs felt wobbly beneath her as she walked to the curtained exit.
Gerun Eberict was waiting for her ten paces from the citadel doors. There was smug amusement in his expression. ‘He remains inside, does he? For how long?’
Seren struggled to compose herself. ‘What do you want, Finadd?’
‘That is a difficult question to answer, Acquitor. I was asked by Brys Beddict to speak to his brother. But the opportunity seems increasingly remote.’
And if I tell him that Hull is lost to us, what would he do then?
Gerun Eberict smiled, as if he had read the thoughts in her mind.
She looked away. ‘Hull Beddict is under the emperor’s protection.’
‘I am pleased for him.’
She glared. ‘You do not understand. Look around, Finadd. This village is filled with shadows, and in those shadows are wraiths – servants to the Edur.’
His brows rose. ‘You believe I desire to kill him? Where has that suspicion come from, Acquitor? I did say “speak”, did I not? I was not being euphemistic.’
‘Your reputation gives cause for alarm, Finadd.’
‘I have no reason to proclaim Hull my enemy, regardless of his political allegiance. After all, if he proves to be a traitor, then the kingdom possesses its own means of dealing with him. I have no interest in interceding in such a matter. I was but endeavouring to consummate my promise to Brys.’
‘What did Brys hope to achieve?’
‘I’m not sure. Perhaps I was, once, but clearly everything has changed.’
Seren studied him.
‘And what of you, Acquitor?’ he asked. ‘You will escort the merchant back to Trate. Then what?’
She shrugged. There seemed little reason to dissemble. ‘I am going home, Finadd.’
‘Letheras? That residence has seen little of you.’
‘Clearly that is about to change.’
He nodded. ‘There will be no demand for Acquitors in the foreseeable future, Seren Pedac. I would be honoured if you would consider working for me.’
‘Work?’
‘My estate. I am involved in… extensive enterprises, You have integrity, Acquitor. You are someone I could trust.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Do not feel you need to answer here and now. I ask that you think on it. I shall call upon you in Letheras.’
‘I think, Finadd,’ Seren said, ‘that you will find yourself rather preoccupied with your military duties, given what is about to happen.’
‘My position is in the palace. I do not command armies.’ He looked round, and his gap-toothed smile returned. ‘These savages won’t reach Letheras. They’ll be lucky to make it across the frontier. You forget, Acquitor, we’ve faced similar enemies before. The Nerek had their spirit goddess – what was it called?’
‘The Eres’al.’
‘Yes, that’s it. The Eres’al. And the Tarthenal their five Seregahl, the Wrath Wielders. Warlocks and witches, curses and demons, we obliterated them one and all. And the Ceda and his cadre barely broke a sweat.’
‘I fear this time it will be different, Finadd.’
He cocked his head. ‘Acquitor, when you think of the Merchant Tolls, what do you imagine it to be?’
‘I don’t understand-’
‘The commercial core, the heart of the financial system which drives all of Lether, its every citizen, its very way of looking at the world. The Tolls are not simply coins stacked high in some secret vault. Not just traders howling their numbers before the day’s close. The Tolls are the roots of our civilization, the fibres reaching out to infest everything. Everything.’
‘What is your point, Finadd?’
‘You are cleverer than that, Acquitor. You understand full well. That heart feeds on the best and the worst in human nature. Exaltation and achievement, ambition and greed, all acting in self-serving concert. Thus, four facets of our nature, and not one sits well with constraints on its behaviour, on its expression. We win not just with armies, Seren Pedac. We win because our system appeals to the best and worst within all people, not just humans.’
‘Destiny.’
He shrugged. ‘Call it what you will. But we have made it inevitable and all-devouring-’
‘I see little of exaltation and achievement in what we do, Finadd. It would seem there is a growing imbalance-’
His laugh cut her off. ‘And that is the truth of freedom, Seren Pedac.’
She could feel her anger rising. ‘I always believed freedom concerned the granted right to be different, without fear of repression.’
‘A lofty notion, but you won’t find it in the real world. We have hammered freedom into a sword. And if you won’t be like us we will use that sword to kill you one by one, until your spirit is broken.’
‘What if the Tiste Edur surprise you, Finadd? Will you in turn choose to die in defence of your great cause?’
‘Some can die. Some will. Indeed, unlikely as it is, we may all die. But, unless the victors leave naught but ashes in their wake, the heart will beat on. Its roots will find new flesh. The emperor may have his demons of the seas, but we possess a monster unimaginably vast, and it devours. And what it cannot devour, it will smother, or starve. Win or lose, the Tiste Edur still lose.’
She stepped back. ‘Finadd Gerun Eberict, I want nothing to do with your world. And so you need not wait for my answer, for I have just given it.’
‘As you like, but know that I will think no less of you when you change your mind.’
‘I won’t.’
He turned away. ‘Everyone has to work to eat, lass. See you in Letheras.’
Udinaas had stood quietly in the gloom during the audience with the delegation. His fellow Letherii had not marked his presence. And, had they done so, it would not have mattered, for it was the emperor who commanded the exchange. After the dismissal of the delegation and the Acquitor’s departure, Rhulad had beckoned Hull Beddict closer.
‘You swear your fealty to us,’ the emperor said in a murmur, as if tasting each word before it escaped his mangled lips.
‘I know the details you need, Emperor, the location and complement of every garrison, every frontier encampment. I know their tactics, the manner in which armies are arrayed for battle. The way sorcery is employed. I know where the food and water caches are hidden – these are the military repositories, and they are massive.’
Rhulad leaned forward. ‘You would betray your own people. Why?’
‘Vengeance,’ Hull Beddict replied.
The word chilled Udinaas.
‘Sire,’ Hull continued, ‘my people betrayed me. Long ago. I have long awaited an opportunity such as this one.’
‘And so, vengeance. A worthy sentiment?’
‘Emperor, there is nothing else left for me.’
‘Tell us, Hull Beddict, will the mighty Letherii fleet take to the waves to challenge us?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Not at first, anyway.’
‘And their armies?’
‘The doctrine is one of an initial phase of rolling, mobile defence, drawing your forces ever forward. Then counter-attack. Deep strikes to cut your supply lines. Attack and withdraw, attack and withdraw. By the third phase, they will encircle your armies to complete the annihilation. Their fleets will avoid any sea engagement, for they know that to conquer Lether you must make landing. Instead, I suspect they will send their ships well beyond sight of the coastline, then attack your homeland. The villages here, which they will burn to the ground. And every Tiste Edur they find here, old or young, will be butchered.’
Rhulad grunted, then said, ‘They think we are fools.’
‘The Letherii military is malleable, Emperor. Its soldiers are trained to quick adaptation, should the circumstances warrant it. A formidable, deadly force, exquisitely trained and, employing the raised roads constructed exclusively for it, frighteningly mobile. Worse, they have numerical superiority-’
‘Hardly,’ Rhulad cut in, smiling. ‘The Edur possess new allies, Hull Beddict, as you shall soon discover. Very well, we are satisfied, and we conclude that you shall prove useful to us. Go now to our father’s house, and make greeting with Binadas, who will be pleased to see you.’
The Letherii bowed and strode from the chamber.
‘Hannan Mosag,’ Rhulad called in a low voice.
A side curtain was drawn aside and Udinaas watched the once-Warlock King enter.
‘It would seem,’ Rhulad said, ‘your studies of the Letherii military have yielded you an accurate assessment. His description of their tactics and strategies matches yours exactly.’
‘How soon, Emperor?’
‘Are the tribes readying themselves?’
‘With alacrity.’
‘Then very soon indeed. Tell us your thoughts on Nifadas and the prince.’
‘Nifadas understood quickly that all was lost, but the prince sees that loss as a victory. At the same time, both remain confident in their kingdom’s military prowess. Nifadas mourns for us, Emperor.’
‘Poor man. Perhaps he has earned our mercy for that misguided sentiment.’
‘Given the course you have chosen for our people, Emperor, mercy is a notion dangerous to entertain. You can be certain that none will be accorded us.’
Another spasm afflicted Rhulad, such as the one Udinaas had witnessed earlier. He thought he understood its source. A thousand bindings held together Rhulad’s sanity, but madness was assailing that sanity, and the defences were buckling. Not long ago, no more than the youngest son of a noble family, strutting the village but not yet blooded. In his mind, panoramic visions of glory swinging in a slow turn round the place where he stood. The visions of a youth, crowded with imagined scenarios wherein Rhulad could freely exercise his own certainty, and so prove the righteousness of his will.
And now that boy sat on the Edur throne.
He just had to die to get there.
The sudden manifestation of glory still fed him, enough to shape his words and thoughts and feed his imperial comportment, as if the royal ‘we’ was something to which he had been born. But this was at the barest edge of control. An imperfect facade, bolstered by elaborately constructed speech patterns, a kind of awkward articulation that suited Rhulad’s childlike notions of how an emperor should speak. These were games of persuasion, as much to himself as to his audience.
But, Udinaas was certain, other thoughts remained in Rhulad’s mind, gnawing at the roots and crawling like pallid worms through his necrotic soul. For all the glittering gold, the flesh beneath was twisted and scarred. To fashion the facade, all that lay beneath it had been malformed.
The slave registered all this in the span of Rhulad’s momentary spasm, and was unmoved. His gaze drifted to Mayen, but she gave nothing away, not even an awareness of her husband’s sudden extremity.
Across Hannan Mosag’s face, however, Udinaas saw a flash of fear, quickly buried beneath a bland regard.
A moment’s consideration and Udinaas thought he understood that reaction. Hannan Mosag needed his emperor to be sane and in control. Even power unveiled could not have forced him to kneel before a madman. Probably, the once-Warlock King also comprehended that a struggle was under way within Rhulad, and had resolved to give what aid he could to the emperor’s rational side.
And should the battle be lost, should Rhulad descend completely into insanity, what would Hannan Mosag do then?
The Letherii slave’s eyes shifted to the sword the emperor held like a sceptre in his right hand, the point anchored on the dais near the throne’s ornate foot. The answer hides in that sword, and Hannan Mosag knows far more about that weapon – and its maker – than he has revealed.
Then again, I do as well. Wither, the shadow wraith that had adopted Udinaas, had whispered some truths. The sword’s power had given Rhulad command of the wraiths. The Tiste Andii spirits.
Wither had somehow avoided the summons, announcing its victory with a melodramatic chuckle rolling through the slave’s head, and the wraith’s presence now danced with exaggerated glee in the Letherii’s mind. Witness to all through his eyes.
‘Emperor,’ Hannan Mosag said as soon as Rhulad had visibly regained himself, ‘the warlocks among the Arapay-’
‘Yes. They are not to resist. They are to give welcome.’
‘And the Nerek you have claimed from the merchant?’
‘A different consideration.’ Momentary unease in Rhulad’s dark eyes. ‘They are not to be disturbed. They are to be respected.’
‘Their hearth and the surrounding area has seen sanctification,’ Hannan Mosag said, nodding. ‘Of course that must be respected. But I have sensed little power from that blessing.’
‘Do not let that deceive you. The spirits they worship are the oldest this world has known. Those spirits do not manifest in ways we might easily recognize.’
‘Ah. Emperor, you have been gifted with knowledge I do not possess.’
‘Yes, Hannan Mosag, I have. We must exercise all caution with the Nerek. I have no desire to see the rising of those spirits.’
The once-Warlock King was frowning. ‘The Letherii sorcerors had little difficulty negating – even eradicating – the power of those spirits. Else the Nerek would not have crumbled so quickly.’
‘The weakness the Letherii exploited was found in the mortal Nerek, not in the spirits they worshipped. It is our belief now, Hannan Mosag, that the Eres’al was not truly awakened. She did not rise to defend those who worshipped her.’
‘Yet something has changed.’
Rhulad nodded. ‘Something has.’ He glanced up at Mayen. ‘Begun with the blessing of the Edur woman who is now my wife.’
She flinched and would meet neither Rhulad’s nor Hannan Mosag’s eyes.
The emperor shrugged. ‘It is done. Need we be concerned? No. Not yet. Perhaps never. None the less, we had best remain cautious.’
Udinaas resisted the impulse to laugh. Caution, born of fear. It was pleasing to know that the emperor of the Tiste Edur could still be afflicted with that emotion. Then again, perhaps I have read Rhulad wrongly. Perhaps fear is at the core of the monster he has become. Did it matter? Only if Udinaas endeavoured to entertain the game of prediction.
Was it worth the effort?
‘The Den-Ratha are west of Breed Bay,’ Hannan Mosag said. ‘The Merude can see the smoke of their villages.’
‘How many are coming by sea?’
‘About eight thousand. Every ship. Most of them are warriors, of course. The rest travel overland and the first groups have already reached the Sollanta border.’
‘Supplies?’ the emperor asked.
‘Sufficient for the journey.’
‘And nothing is being left behind?’
‘Naught but ashes, sire.’
‘Good.’
Udinaas watched Hannan Mosag hesitate, then say, ‘It is already begun. There is no going back now.’
‘You have no reason to fret,’ Rhulad replied. ‘I have already sent wraiths to the borderlands. They watch. Soon, they will cross over, into Lether.’
‘The Ceda’s frontier sorcerors will find them.’
‘Eventually, but the wraiths will not engage. Merely flee. I have no wish to show their power yet. I mean to encourage overconfidence.’
The two Edur continued discussing strategies. Udinaas listened, just one more wraith in the gloom.
Trull Sengar watched his father rebuilding, with meticulous determination, a kind of faith. Stringing together words spoken aloud yet clearly meant for himself, whilst his wife looked on with the face of an old, broken woman. Death had arrived, only to be shattered by a ghastly reprise, a revivification that offered nothing worth rejoicing in. A king had been cast down, an emperor risen in his place. The world was knocked askew, and Trull found himself detached, numb, witness to these painful, tortured scenes in which the innumerable facets of reconciliation were being attempted, resulting in exhausted silences in which tensions slowly returned, whispering of failure.
They had one and all knelt before their new emperor. Brother and son, the kin who had died and now sat bedecked in gold coins. A voice ravaged yet recognizable. Eyes that belonged to one they had all once known, yet now looked out fevered with power and glazed with the unhealed wounds of horror.
Fear had given up his betrothed.
A terrible thing to have done.
Rhulad had demanded her. And that was… obscene.
Trull had never felt so helpless as he did now. He pulled his gaze from his father and looked over to where Binadas stood in quiet conversation with Hull Beddict. The Letherii, who had sworn his allegiance to Rhulad, who would betray his own people in the war that Trull knew was now inevitable. What has brought us all to this? How can we stop this inexorable march?
‘Do not fight this, brother.’
Trull looked over at Fear, seated on the bench beside him. ‘Fight what?’
His brother’s expression was hard, almost angry. ‘He carries the sword, Trull.’
‘That weapon has nothing to do with the Tiste Edur. It is foreign, and it seeks to make its wielder into our god. Father Shadow and his Daughters, they are to be cast aside?’
‘The sword is naught but a tool. It falls to us, to those around Rhulad, to hold to the sanctity of our beliefs, to maintain that structure and so guide Rhulad.’
Trull stared at Fear. ‘He stole your betrothed.’
‘Speak of that again, brother, and I will kill you.’
His eyes flinched away, and he could feel the thud of his heart, rapid in his chest. ‘Rhulad will accept no guidance, not from us, Fear, not from anyone. That sword and the one who made it guide him now. That, and madness.’
‘Madness is what you have decided to see.’
Trull grunted. ‘Perhaps you are right. Tell me, then, what you see.’
‘Pain.’
And that is something you share. Trull rubbed at his face, slowly sighed. ‘Fight this, Fear? There was never a chance.’ He looked over again. ‘But do you not wonder? Who has been manipulating us, and for how long? You called that sword a tool – are we any different?’
‘We are Tiste Edur. We ruled an entire realm, once. We crossed swords with the gods of this world-’
‘And lost.’
‘Were betrayed.’
‘I seem to recall you shared our mother’s doubts-’
‘I was mistaken. Lured into weakness. We all were. But we must now cast that aside, Trull. Binadas understands. So does our father. Theradas and Midik Buhn as well, and those whom the emperor has proclaimed his brothers of blood. Choram Irard, Kholb Harat and Matra Brith-’
‘His unblooded friends of old,’ Trull cut in, with a wry smile. ‘The three he always defeated in contests with sword and spear. Them and Midik.’
‘What of it?’
‘They have earned nothing, Fear. And no amount of proclaiming can change that. Yet Rhulad would have us take orders from those-’
‘Not us. We too are brothers of blood, you forget. And I still command the warriors of the six tribes.’
‘And how do you think the other noble warriors feel? They have all followed the time-honoured path of blooding and worthy deeds in battle. They now find themselves usurped-’
‘The first warrior under my command who complains will know the edge of my sword.’
‘That edge may grow dull and notched.’
‘No. There will be no rebellion.’
After a moment, Trull nodded. ‘You are probably right, and that is perhaps the most depressing truth yet spoken this day.’
Fear stood. ‘You are my brother, Trull, and a man I admire. But you walk close to treason with your words. Were you anyone else I would have silenced you by now. With finality. No more, Trull. We are an empire now. An empire reborn. And war awaits us. And so I must know – will you fight at the sides of your brothers?’
Trull leaned his back against the rough wall. He studied Fear for a moment, then asked, ‘Have I ever done otherwise?’
His brother’s expression softened. ‘No, you have not. You saved us all when we returned from the ice wastes, and that is a deed all now know, and so they look upon you with admiration and awe. By the same token, Trull, they look to you for guidance. There are many who will find their decisions by observing your reaction to what has happened. If they see doubt in your eyes…’
‘They will see nothing, Fear. Not in my eyes. Nor will they find cause for doubt in my actions.’
‘I am relieved. The emperor shall be calling upon us soon. His brothers of blood.’
Trull also rose. ‘Very well. But for now, brother, I feel in need of solitude.’
‘Will that prove dangerous company?’
If it does, then I am as good as dead. ‘It hasn’t thus far, Fear.’
‘Leave me now, Hannan Mosag,’ the emperor said, his voice revealing sudden exhaustion. ‘And take the K’risnan with you. Everyone, go – not you, slave. Mayen, you too, wife. Please go.’
The sudden dismissal caused a moment of confusion, but moments later the chamber was vacated barring Rhulad and Udinaas. To the slave’s eyes, Mayen’s departure looked more like flight, her gait stilted as if driven by near hysteria.
There would be more moments like this, Udinaas suspected. Sudden breaks in the normal proceedings. And so he was not surprised when Rhulad beckoned him closer, and Udinaas saw in the emperor’s eyes a welling of anguish and terror.
‘Stand close by me, slave,’ Rhulad gasped, fierce trembling sweeping over him. ‘Remind me! Please! Udinaas-’
The slave thought for a moment, then said, ‘You died. Your body was dressed for honourable burial as a blooded warrior of the Hiroth. Then you returned. By the sword now in your hand, you returned and are alive once more.’
‘Yes, that is it. Yes.’ A laugh that rose to a piercing shriek, stopping abruptly as a spasm ripped through Rhulad. He gaped, as if in pain, then muttered, ‘The wounds…’
‘Emperor?’
‘No matter. Just the memory. Cold iron pushing into my body. Cold fire. I tried. I tried to curl up around those wounds. Up tight, to protect what I had already lost. I remember…’
Udinaas was silent. Since the emperor would not look at him, he was free to observe. And arrive at conclusions.
The young should not die. That final moment belonged to the aged. Some rules should never be broken, and whether the motivation was compassionate or coldly calculated hardly mattered. Rhulad had been dead too long, too long to escape some kind of spiritual damage. If the emperor was to be a tool, then he was a flawed one.
And what value that?
‘We are imperfect.’
Udinaas started, said nothing.
‘Do you understand that, Udinaas?’
‘Yes, Emperor.’
‘How? How do you understand?’
‘I am a slave.’
Rhulad nodded. His left hand, gauntleted in gold, lifted to join his right where it gripped the handle of the sword. ‘Yes, of course. Yes. Imperfect. We can never match the ideals set before us. That is the burden of mortality.’ A twisted grimace. ‘Not just mortals.’ A flicker of the eyes, momentarily fixing on the slave’s own, then away again. ‘He whispers in my mind. He tells me what to say. He makes me cleverer than I am. What does that make me, Udinaas? What does that make me?’
‘A slave.’
‘But I am Tiste Edur.’
‘Yes, Emperor.’
A scowl. ‘The gift of a life returned.’
‘You are Indebted.’
Rhulad flinched back in his chair, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. ‘We are not the same, slave! Do you understand? I am not one of your Indebted. I am not a Letherii.’ Then he sagged in a rustle of coins. ‘Daughter take me, the weight of this…’
‘I am sorry, Emperor. It is true. You are not an Indebted. Nor, perhaps, are you a slave. Although perhaps it feels that way, at times. When exhaustion assails you.’
‘Yes, that is it. I am tired. That’s all. Tired.’
Udinaas hesitated, then asked, ‘Emperor, does he speak through you now?’
A fragile shake of the head. ‘No. But he does not speak through me. He only whispers advice, helps me choose my words. Orders my thoughts – but the thoughts are mine. They must be. I am not a fool. I possess my own cleverness. Yes, that is it. He but whispers confidence.’
‘You have not eaten,’ Udinaas said. ‘Nor drunk anything. Do you know hunger and thirst, Emperor? Can I get you something to replenish your strength?’
‘Yes, I would eat. And… some wine. Find a servant.’
‘At once, master.’
Udinaas walked to the small curtain covering the entrance to the passage that led to the kitchens. He found a servant huddled in the corridor a dozen paces from the door. Terrified eyes glistened up at him as he approached. ‘On your feet, Virrick. The emperor wants wine. And food.’
‘The god would eat?’
‘He’s not a god. Food and drink, Virrick. Fit for an emperor, and be quick about it.’
The servant scrambled up, seemed about to bolt.
‘You know how to do this,’ Udinaas said in a calm voice. ‘It’s what you have been trained to do.’
‘I am frightened-’
‘Listen to me. I will tell you a secret. You always like secrets, don’t you, Virrick?’
A tentative nod.
‘It is this,’ Udinaas said. ‘We slaves have no reason to fear. It is the Edur who have reason, and that gives us leave to continue laughing behind their backs. Remember doing that, Virrick? It’s your favourite game.’
‘I – I remember, Udinaas.’
‘Good. Now go into the kitchens and show the others. You know the secret, now. Show them, and they will follow. Food, and wine. When you are ready, bring it to the curtain and give the low whistle, as you would do normally. Virrick, we need things to return to normal, do you understand? And that task falls to us, the slaves.’
‘Feather Witch ran-’
‘Feather Witch is young, and what she did was wrong. I have spoken to her and shall do so again.’
‘Yes, Udinaas. You are the emperor’s slave. You have the right of it; there is much wisdom in your words. I think we will listen to you, Indebted though you are. You have been… elevated.’ He nodded. ‘Feather Witch failed us-’
‘Do not be so harsh on her, Virrick. Now, go.’
He watched the servant hurry off down the corridor, then Udinaas swung about and returned to the throne chamber.
‘What took you so long?’ Rhulad demanded in near panic. ‘I heard voices.’
‘I was informing Virrick of your requirements, Emperor.’
‘You are too slow. You must be quicker, slave.’
‘I shall, master.’
‘Everyone must be told what to do. No-one seems capable of thinking for themselves.’
Udinaas said nothing, and did not dare smile even as the obvious observation drifted through his mind.
‘You are useful to us, slave. We will need… reminding… again. At unexpected times. And that is what shall you do for us. That, and food and drink at proper times.’
‘Yes, master.’
‘Now, stand in attendance, whilst we rest our eyes for a time.’
‘Of course, master.’
He stood, waiting, watching, a dozen paces away.
The distance between emperor and slave.
As he made his way onto the bridge, Trull Sengar saw the Acquitor. She was standing midway across the bridge, motionless as a frightened deer, her gaze fixed on the main road leading through the village. Trull could not see what had snared her attention.
He hesitated. Then her head turned and he met her eyes. There were no words for what passed between them at that instant. A gaze that began searchingly, then swiftly and ineffably transformed into something else. That locked contact was mutually broken in the next moment, instinctive reactions from them both.
In the awkward wake, nothing was said for a half-dozen heartbeats. Trull found himself struggling against a sense of vast emptiness deep in his chest.
Seren Pedac spoke first. ‘Is there no room left, Trull Sengar?’
And he understood. ‘No, Acquitor. No room left.’
‘I think you would have it otherwise, wouldn’t you?’
The question brushed too close to the wordless recognition they had shared only a few moments earlier, and he saw once again in her eyes a flicker of… something. He mentally recoiled from an honest reply. ‘I serve my emperor.’
The flicker vanished, replaced by a cool regard that slipped effortlessly through his defences, driving like a knife into his chest. ‘Of course. Forgive me. It is too late for questions like that. I must be leaving now, to escort Buruk the Pale back to Trate.’
Each word a twist of that knife, despite their being seemingly innocuous. He did not understand how they – and the look in her eyes – could hurt him so deeply, and he wanted to cry out. Denials. Confessions. Instead he punctuated the break of that empathy with a damning shrug. ‘Journey well, Acquitor.’ Nothing more, and he knew himself for a coward.
He watched her walk away. Thinking on his life’s journey as much as the Acquitor’s, on the stumbles that occurred, with no awareness of their potential for profundity. Balance reacquired, but the path had changed.
So many choices proved irrevocable. Trull wondered if this one would as well.