Midnight tides

Shurq looked round once more, then said, ‘This city is now ruled by the Tiste Edur. Will they take undue note of you?’

‘Accompanied by a Wyval, a wraith and the unconscious slave he insists on keeping with him, I would imagine so.’

‘Best, then,’ she said, ‘you left Letheras without being seen.’

‘Agreed. Do you have a suggestion?’

‘Not yet-’

‘I have…’

They turned to see the Avowed and his mage, the latter lending the former his shoulder as they slowly approached. It had been Iron Bars who had spoken.

‘You,’ Shurq Elalle said, ‘work for me, now. No volunteering allowed.’

He grinned. ‘Aye, but all I’m saying is they need an escort. Someone who knows all the secret ways out of this city. It’s the least I can do, since this Tiste Andii saved my life.’

‘Thinking of things before I do does not bode well for a good working relationship,’ Shurq Elalle said.

‘Apologies, ma’am. I won’t do it again, I promise.’

‘You think I’m being petty, don’t you?’

‘Of course not. After all, the undead are never petty.’

She crossed her arms. ‘No? See that pit over there? There’s an undead man named Harlest hiding in it, waiting to scare someone with his talons and fangs.’

They all turned to study the pit in the yard of the Azath tower. From which they could now hear faint singing.

‘Hood’s balls,’ Iron Bars muttered. ‘When do we sail?’

Shurq Elalle shrugged. ‘As soon as they let us. And who is Hood?’

The white-skinned warrior replied distractedly, ‘The Lord of Death, and yes, he has balls.’

Everyone turned to stare at the warrior, who shrugged.

Shurq grunted, then said. ‘Don’t make me laugh.’

Kettle pointed up. ‘I like that. In your forehead, Mother. I like that.’

‘And let’s keep it there, shall we?’ Fortunately, no-one seemed to grasp the significance of her comment.

The warrior said to Iron Bars. ‘Your suggestion?’

The Avowed nodded.

Tehol Beddict, lying atop the sarcophagus, was sleeping. Bugg had been staring down at him, thoughtful, when he heard the sound of footsteps almost directly behind him. He slowly swung about as the Guardian emerged from the wall of water that marked the tunnel mouth.

The apparition was carrying a body over one shoulder. It halted and was silent as it studied the manservant.

Here, in this tomb emptied of water, in this place where an Elder god’s will held all back, the Guardian did not bleed.

Bugg sighed. ‘Oh, he will grieve for this,’ he said, finally recognizing the Letherii on the Guardian’s shoulder.

‘The Errant says the names remain alive within him,’ the creature said.

‘The names? Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘You abandoned us, Mael.’

‘I know. I am sorry.’

The Guardian stepped past him and stopped beside the sarcophagus. Its helmed head tilted down as it observed Tehol Beddict. ‘This one shares his blood.’

‘A brother, yes.’

‘He shall carry the memory of the names, then.’ It looked over. ‘Do you object to this?’

Bugg shook his head. ‘How can I?’

‘That is true. You cannot. You have lost the right.’

The manservant said nothing. He watched as the Guardian grasped hold of one of Brys’s hands and set it down upon Tehol’s brow. A moment, then it was done. The apparition stepped away, headed towards the far wall of water.

‘Wait, please,’ Bugg said.

It paused, looked back.

‘Where will you take him?’

‘Into the deep, where else, Elder One?’

Bugg frowned. ‘In that place…’

‘Yes. There shall be two Guardians now and for ever more.’

‘Will that eternal service please him, do you think?’

The apparition cocked its head. ‘I do not know. Does it please me?’

With that ambiguous question hanging in the still air, the Guardian carried the body of Brys Beddict into the water.

After a long moment, Bugg turned back to regard Tehol. His friend would wake with a terrible headache, he knew.

Nothing to be done for it, alas. Except, perhaps, for some tea… I’ve a particularly nasty herbal mix that’ll make him forget his headache. And if there is anyone in the world who will appreciate that, it is Tehol Beddict of Letheras.

But first, I’d better get him out of this tomb.

There were bodies lying in the throne room of the Eternal Domicile. The one halfway down the dais, face to the bloody tiles, still made Feather Witch’s breath catch, her heart thud loud in her chest. Fear or excitement, she knew not which – perhaps both. King Ezgara Diskanar, flung down from the throne, where Rhulad Sengar of the Tiste Edur now sat, and the darkness in the emperor’s eyes seemed beyond measure.

There had been pain in this chamber – she could feel its bitter wake, hanging still in the air. And Rhulad had been its greatest fount. Betrayals, more betrayals than any mortal could bear. She knew this was truth, knew it in her heart.