CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
An old man emerged from the ditch, a creature Of mud and wild autumn winds capering Like a hare across a bouldered field, across And through the stillness of time unhinged That sprawls patient and unexpectant in the Place where battle lies spent, unmoving and Never again moving bodies strewn and Death-twisted like lost languages tracking Contorted glyphs on a barrow door, and he Read well the aftermath, the disarticulated script Rent and dissolute the pillars of self toppled Like termite towers all spilled out round his Dancing feet, and he shouted in gleeful Revelation the truth he’d found, in these Red-fleshed pronouncements – ‘There is peace!’ He shrieked. ‘There is peace!’ and it was No difficult thing, where I sat in the saddle Above salt-rimed horseflesh to lift my crossbow Aim and loose the quarrel, skewering the madman To his proclamation. ‘Now,’ said I, in the Silence that followed, ‘Now, there is peace.’
ON FACING HILLS, THE SMOULDERING RUINS OF FIRST REACH IN THE low, flat floodplain between, the two armies of the Tiste Edur came within sight of one another. Wraiths swarmed through the ashes, weapons were lifted high, triumphant cries piercing the still morning air.
The convergence was, of course, incomplete. The third, easternmost force, led by Tomad Sengar and Binadas, was still striking south down Mappers’ Road towards White Point. It would join with these two armies, Trull knew, somewhere close to Brans Keep, and there the fate of Lether, and indeed of the Edur empire, would be decided in a single battle.
He stood leaning on his spear, feeling no inclination to join his voice to the fierce tumult buffeting him from all sides. Just north of the ruins in the floodplain below, a hundred or more starlings cavorted and wheeled, their own cries drowned out, a detail that somehow transformed their dance into a fevered, nightmarish display.
In the distant line of warriors opposite, a space was clearing, a single dominant standard bobbing forward, beneath it a figure flashing gold, holding high a sword.
The warcries redoubled.
Trull flinched at the deafening sound. He pulled his gaze away from Rhulad on that far hilltop and saw Fear approaching.
‘Trull! B’nagga, you and I – horses await us – we ride now to our emperor!’
He nodded, uneasy with the ferocity evident in Fear’s eyes. ‘Lead on, brother.’
The ride across to Rhulad’s army was a strange experience. Trull did not like horses that much, and liked riding them even less. He was jolted again and again, jarring the scene on all sides. They rode across burnt ground, heaps of the remains of butchered livestock lining the tracks approaching the town. And the roaring of the warriors was a wave at their backs, pushing them onwards.
Then, halfway across, the sensation shifted, spun entirely round, as the voices of the warriors in the emperor’s army engulfed them. Their horses balked, and it was a struggle to make them resume the approach.
As they climbed the slope, Trull could see his brother Rhulad more clearly. He was barely recognizable, hulking now beneath the weight of the coins. His forehead was exposed, revealing skin the colour of dirty snow, the contrast darkening the pits of his eyes. His teeth were bared, but it seemed as much a grimace of pain as anything else. Hannan Mosag stood on the emperor’s left, the slave Udinaas on the right. Hull Beddict was positioned three paces behind the Warlock King. Mayen and Uruth were nowhere to be seen.
Arriving, they reined in and dismounted. Slaves appeared to lead the horses away.
Fear strode forward to kneel before the emperor. Across the valley, another surge of sound.
‘My brother,’ Rhulad said in his rasping, broken voice. ‘Rise before us.’ The emperor stepped close and settled a coin-backed hand on Fear’s shoulder. ‘There is much I must say to you, but later.’
‘As you command, Emperor.’
Rhulad’s haunted eyes shifted. ‘Trull.’
He kneeled and studied the ground before him. ‘Emperor.’
‘Rise. We have words for you as well.’
No doubt. ‘Mother arrived safely?’
A flash of irritation. ‘She did.’ It seemed he would say something more to Trull, but then he changed his mind and faced B’nagga. ‘The Jheck are well, B’nagga?’
A fierce grin. ‘They are, Emperor.’
‘We are pleased. Hannan Mosag would speak to you regarding the impending lie of battle. A tent has been prepared for such matters. Hull Beddict has drawn us detailed maps.’
B’nagga bowed, then walked to the Warlock King. The two departed, trailed by Hull Beddict.
‘Our brothers,’ Rhulad said, the sword shaking in his left hand. ‘Come, we will take food and drink in our own tent. Udinaas, precede us.’
The slave strode into the mass of warriors. The Edur melted back before the nondescript Letherii, and into his wake walked the emperor, Fear and Trull.
They reached the command tent a short while later, after traversing an avenue walled in flesh, waving weapons and frenzied warcries. Wraiths stood guard to either side of the entrance. As soon as the slave and the three brothers entered, Rhulad spun round and halted Trull with one hand. ‘How far do you intend to push me, Trull?’
He looked down at the hand pressed against his chest. ‘It seems you are the one doing the pushing, Rhulad.’
A moment of taut silence, then his brother barked a laugh and stepped back. ‘Words from our past, yes? As we once were, before…’ a wave of the sword, ‘all this.’ His ravaged gaze fixed on Trull for a moment. ‘We have missed you.’ He smiled at Fear. ‘Missed you both. Udinaas, find us some wine!’
‘A Letherii drink,’ Fear said. ‘I have acquired a taste for it, brother.’
Trull and Fear followed Rhulad into the inner chamber, where the slave was already pouring three cups of dark wine into Letherii-made goblets of silver and gold. Trull felt unbalanced, the sudden breach in Rhulad’s facade shocking him, hurting him somewhere inside for reasons he could not immediately fathom.
Eschewing the throne dominating the centre of the room, the emperor settled down in a leather-slung tripod chair near the food-laden table along one wall. Two identical chairs flanked him. Rhulad gestured. ‘Come, brothers, sit with us. We know, we understand well, it seemed all we were was but ashes, and the love we shared, as brothers, was so sadly strained, then.’
Trull could see that even Fear was stunned, as they sat down in the low chairs.
‘We must not run from our memories,’ Rhulad said, as Udinaas brought him his cup. ‘The blood of kin need not always burn, brothers. There must be times when it simply… warms us.’
Fear cleared his throat. ‘We have… missed you as well, Emperor-’
‘Enough! No titles. Rhulad, so our father named me, as he named all his sons, each in turn from the host of ancestors of the Sengar line. It is too easy to forget.’
Udinaas set a cup into Fear’s hand. Fingers closed of their own accord.
Trull glanced up as the slave approached him with the last cup. He met the Letherii’s eyes, was startled by what he saw in them. He reached out and accepted the wine. ‘Thank you, Udinaas.’
A flinch from Rhulad. ‘He is mine,’ he said in a tight voice.
Trull’s eyes widened. ‘Of course, Rhulad.’
‘Good. Yes. Fear, I must tell you of Mayen.’
Slowly leaning back, Trull studied the wine trembling in the cup in his hands. The slave’s gaze, the message it seemed to convey. All is well.
‘I did not,’ Fear ventured hesitantly, ‘see her earlier…’
‘No, nor our mother. Mayen has been unwell.’ Rhulad shot Fear a nervous glance. ‘I am sorry, brother. I should not have… should not have done that. And now, well, you see…’ He drained his wine in a single motion. ‘Udinaas, more. Tell him. Explain, Udinaas, so that Fear understands.’