Midnight tides

‘So will my regret. No, I’m afraid I cannot oblige you, Toblakai.’

‘You have taken one step too many, stranger. It is too late. You we shall use-’

A surge of power, rushing into Bugg’s mind, seeking domination – then gone.

‘No. Not you. Come no closer.’

‘I am sorry you found me so unpalatable.’

‘Go away.’

‘You and your brothers are in for a fight,’ Bugg said. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘We cannot be defeated.’

‘Oh, how often those words are spoken. How many of your fellow Prisoners said much the same, at one time or another? Always the conceit of the moment.’

‘Hone of this is your concern.’

‘You are right, none of it is. But you should be warned, the child, Kettle, is not to be harmed.’

‘She is nothing to us.’

‘Good. Make sure it stays that way.’

‘Be careful with your threats, stranger.’

‘Ah. You don’t understand, do you? Attack the child, and the one hiding within her will awaken. And that one will annihilate you, and probably everyone else just for good measure.’

‘Who is it that hides within the child?’

‘Its name? I don’t know. But it is Forkrul Assail.’

‘You are lying.’

The manservant shrugged, swung about and made his way back to where Kettle waited. There was time still, he decided, to go shopping.

King Ezgara Diskanar sat on his throne, motionless, pale as dusted marble, the lids of his eyes half lowered as he regarded First Eunuch Nifadas. The scene belonged to an artist, Brys decided. Heavy with gravitas, the colours dark and saturated, a great fall imminent. All here, in this frozen moment. The Eve before the Seventh Closure, the painter might call it, with quiet pleasure at the multitude of meanings hidden in the title.

But there was no artist, no vulture to sit on the wings of civilization’s tottering construct, red-eyed and clucking. The audience consisted of Brys, First Concubine Nisall, Preda Unnutal Hebaz and four of the King’s Guard.

The sun had dropped low enough outside to send shafts of lurid light through the stained glass panels set in the dome, brushing the motes with ugly hues. The air smelled of sweat and lantern smoke.

‘And this,’ King Ezgara finally said, ‘is what awaits my people.’

The First Eunuch’s small eyes blinked. ‘Sire, the soldiers do not welcome the notion of new overlords. They will fight to defend you.’

‘I have seen scant evidence of that thus far, Nifadas.’

The Preda spoke to that. ‘Sire, it quickly became evident that we could not match the enemy in the traditional manner, given the sorcery available to them. It was tactically incumbent that we withdraw, avoiding engagement-’

‘But now our backs are to the city’s wall, Preda.’

‘With time to prepare, as we have been doing since the first unit arrived at Brans Keep. Sire, we have never before fielded such a large army as that which is assembling there right now. Over two thousand trebuchets, fifteen hundred mangonels and three hundred triple-mounted Dresh ballistae. We have dug pits, trenches, traps. The mages have woven rituals across the entire battlefield. Our auxiliaries alone number over ten thousand-’

‘Untrained fodder, Preda. A terrible waste of citizenry. Are they even armed?’

‘Spears and shields, sire. Leather armour.’

The king leaned back. ‘Nifadas. Still no word on the fate of my wife and son?’

‘Our emissaries do not return, sire.’

‘What does he want with them?’

‘I am at a loss to answer that,’ the First Eunuch admitted. ‘This Tiste Edur emperor is… unpredictable. Sire, despite the Preda’s confidence, I believe it would be wise to begin plans for your temporary displacement-’

‘My what?’

‘Leaving Letheras, sire. Southeast, perhaps. Tallis on the Isle, or Truce.’

‘No.’

‘Sire-’

‘Nifadas, if I am to fall, then it will be here. I shall not bring destruction upon other cities, for it is destruction my presence will invite. The protectorates, should I be usurped, will fall in line. Peacefully, with no loss of life. This Tiste Edur emperor shall have his empire. For myself, if I must die, it will be here, on this very throne. Or, rather,’ he said with a wry smile, ‘on the one in the Eternal Domicile.’

Silence. Then the Preda turned slowly to face Brys.

He returned her regard dispassionately. The king had made his wishes known. If he would die on his throne, then his Champion would of necessity already be dead. There was no other path to Ezgara Diskanar, after all.

‘It is my intention, sire,’ Unnutal said, ‘that the situation you describe does not arise. The Tiste Edur will be thrown back. Beaten and broken.’

‘As you say,’ the king replied.