Reaper's Gale

Edur held the god’s attention for long. His attention sharpened as the Atri-Preda in command of this fleet’s Letherii Marines strode the length of the gangway, followed by a half-dozen aides and officers, for he sensed, all at once, that there was something fated about the woman. Yet the details eluded him.

The god frowned, frustrated by his diminishing percipience. He should have sensed immediately what awaited Yan Tovis. Five years ago he would have, thinking nothing of the gift, the sheer privilege of such ascendant power. Not since those final tumultuous days of the First Empire-the succession of ghastly events that led to the intercession of the T’lan Imass to quell the fatal throes of Dessimbelackis’s empire-had the Errant felt so disconnected. Chaos was rolling towards Letheras with the force of a cataclysmic wave, an ocean surge that simply engulfed this river’s currents-yes, it comes from the sea. That much 1 know, that much I can feel. From the sea, just like this woman, this Twilight.

Another figure appeared on the plank. A foreigner, the skin of his forearms a swirl of arcane tattoos, the rest of his upper body wrapped in a roughly woven cape, the hood hiding his features. Barbaric, wary, the glitter of eyes taking it all in, pausing halfway down to hawk and spit over the side, a gesture that startled the Errant and, it seemed, most of those standing on the dock.

A moment later another foreigner rose into view, pausing at the top of the gangway. The Errant’s breath caught, a sudden chill flowing through him, as if Hood himself had arrived, his cold breath whispering across the back of the god’s neck.

Abyss take me, all that waits within him. The foment none other here can see, could even guess at. Dear son of Gothos and that overgrown hag, the stain of Azath blood is about you like a cloud. This was more than a curse-all that afflicted this fell warrior. Deliberate skeins were woven about him, the threads of some elaborate, ancient, and deadly ritual. And he knew their flavour. The Nameless Ones.

Two soldiers from Triban Gnol’s Palace Guard moved to await the Jhag as he slowly walked down to the dock.

The Errant’s heart was thudding hard in his chest. They have delivered a champion, a challenger to the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths-

The Jhag stepped onto solid ground.

From the buildings beyond the harbour front, birds rose suddenly, hundreds, then thousands, voicing a chorus of shrieks, and beneath the Errant’s feet the stones shifted with a heavy, groaning sound. Something large collapsed far into the city, beyond Quillas Canal, and distant screams followed. The Errant stepped out from the wall and saw the bloom of a dust cloud rising behind the caterwauling, panicked pigeons, rooks, gulls and starlings.

The subterranean groaning then ceased and a heavy silence settled.

Icarium’s tusked mouth revealed the faintest of smiles, as if pleased with the earth’s welcome, and the Errant could not be sure-at this distance-if that smile was truly as childlike as it seemed, or if it was in fact ironic or, indeed, bitter. He repressed the urge to draw closer seeking an answer to that question, reminding himself that he did not want Icarium’s attention. Not now, not ever.

Tomad Sengar, what your son will face…

It was no wonder, he suddenly realized, that all that was to come was obscured in a maelstrom of chaos. They have brought Icarium… into the heart of my power.,

Among the delegation and other Letherii nearby, it was clear that no particular connection had been made between Icarium’s first touch on solid ground and the minor earthquake rumbling through Letheras-yet such stirrings were virtually unknown for this region, and while the terror among the birds and the bawling of various beasts of burden continued unabated, already the consternation of those within the Errant’s sight was diminishing. Foolish mortals, so quick to disregard unease.

In the river beyond, the water slowly lost its shivering agitation and the gulls further but began to settle once again amidst yet more ships angling towards shore. Yet somewhere in the city, a building had toppled, probably some venerable ancient edifice, its foundations weakened by groundwater, its mortar crumbled and supports rotted through.

There would have been casualties-Icarium’s first, but most assuredly not his last.

And he smiles.

Still cursing, Taralack Veed turned to Yan Tovis. ‘Unsettled lands-Burn does not rest easy here.’

The Atri-Preda shrugged to hide her queasy shock. ‘To the north of here, along the Reach Mountains, the ground shakes often. The same can be said for the north side of the ranges to the far south, the other side of the Draconean Sea.’

She saw the glimmer of bared teeth in the hood’s shadow. ‘But not in Letheras, yes?’

‘I’ve not heard of such before, but that means little,’ she replied. ‘This city is not my home. Not where I was born. Not where I grew up.’