‘Thus,’ Rhulad said in a whisper. ‘Come, my brothers. It is time.’

Trull cleared his throat. He had to speak. He had to ask his questions, to say what no-one else would say. ‘We saw you dead.’

‘And I have returned.’

‘By the power of the sword you hold, Rhulad? Why would this ally give the Edur such a thing? What does that ally hope to gain? Brother, the tribes have been unified. We have won our peace-’

‘You are the weakest of us, Trull. Your words betray you. We are Tiste Edur. Have you forgotten what that means? I think you have.’ He looked round. ‘I think you all have. Six pathetic tribes, six pathetic kings. Hannan Mosag knew a greater ambition. Sufficient to conquer. He was necessary, but he cannot achieve what must come now.’

Trull could hear the brother he knew in Rhulad’s words, but something new was threaded through them. Strange, poisonous roots – was this the voice of power?

Dull clicking of coin edges, as Rhulad faced the silent crowd beyond the inner circle. ‘The Edur have lost sight of their destiny. The Warlock King would twist you away from what must be. My brothers and sisters – all of you here are that to me, and more. I shall be your voice. Your will. The Tiste Edur have journeyed beyond kings and warlock kings. What awaits us is what we once possessed, yet lost long ago. Of what am I speaking, brothers and sisters? I shall give answer. Empire.’

Trull stared at Rhulad. Empire. And for every empire… there is an emperor.

Kneel, Rhulad had commanded. Of Hannan Mosag. Of everyone here. Tiste Edur do not kneel before mere kings…

Fear spoke, ‘You would be emperor, Rhulad?’

His brother swung to face him and spread his arms in a deprecating gesture. ‘Do I make you want to turn away in horror, Fear? In revulsion? Oh, but did not that slave fashion well? Am I not a thing of beauty?’

There was an edge of hysteria in the tone.

Fear made no reply.

Rhulad smiled and continued, ‘I should tell you, the weight no longer drags at me. I feel… unburdened. Yes, my brother, I find myself pleased. Oh, does that shock you? Why? Can you not see my wealth? My armour? Am I not a bold vision of an Edur warrior?’

‘I am not sure,’ Fear replied, ‘what I am seeing. Is it truly Rhulad who dwells within that body?’

‘Die, Fear, and claw your way back. Then ask yourself if the journey has not changed you.’

‘Did you find yourself among our ancestors?’ Fear asked.

Rhulad’s answering laugh was brutal. He swung the sword into the air, twisting the blade into a wild salute, revealing a grace with the weapon that Trull had never before seen in his brother. ‘Our ancestors! Proud ghosts. They stood in ranks ten thousand deep! Roaring their welcome! Blooded kin was I, worthy to join them in their stalwart defence of precious memories. Against that vast host of ignorance. Oh yes, Fear, it was a time of such glory.’

‘Then, by your tone, Rhulad, you would challenge all that we hold dear. You would deny our beliefs-’

‘And who among you can gainsay me?’

‘The shadow wraiths-’

‘Are Tiste Andii, brother. Slaves to our will. And I will tell you this: those who serve us died by our hands.’

‘Then where are our ancestors?’

‘Where?’ Rhulad’s voice was a rasp. ‘Where? Nowhere, brother. They are nowhere. Our souls flee our bodies, flee this world, for we do not belong here. We have never belonged here.’

‘And shall you lead us home, then, Rhulad?’

The eyes flashed. ‘Wise brother. I knew you would find the path first.’

‘Why do you demand that we kneel?’

The head tilted to one side. ‘I would you pledge yourself to our new destiny. A destiny into which I will lead the Tiste Edur.’

‘You would take us home.’

‘I would.’

Fear stepped forward, then sank to one knee, head bowing. ‘Lead us home, Emperor.’

In Trull’s mind, he heard a sound.

Like a spine breaking.

And he turned, as did so many others, to face Hannan Mosag and his cadre of sorcerors, to witness the Warlock King descending from the dais. To watch him kneel before Rhulad, before the emperor of the Tiste Edur.

Like a spine breaking.

The water tugging at his shins, swirling around numbed flesh, Udinaas struggled to stand. The waves rocked him, made him totter. Out on the bay, ships. Four in all, pushing through the mist, their dark hulks crouching on the grey water like migratory leviathans, sweeps crabbing the swells. He could hear the chorus of dull creaks and the slap of wooden blades in the water. Hooded, cloaked figures small on the distant decks. The delegation had arrived.

He felt as if he was standing on pegs of ice, the jagged points driven up through his knees. He did not think he was able to walk. In fact, he was moments from falling over, down into the foaming water. So easy, pulled out by the undertow, the cold flooding his lungs, washing black through his mind. Until, in perfect accord with the acceptance of surrender, it was over.

Claws stabbed into his shoulders and lifted him thrashing from the waves. Talons punching through the rain cloak, biting into flesh. Too stunned to scream, he felt himself whipped through the air, legs scissoring in a spray of water.

Flung down onto a bed of wet stones fifteen paces up from the tideline.

Whatever had dragged him was gone, although fire burned in his chest and back where the talons had been. Floundering in a strange helplessness, Udinaas eventually pulled himself round so that he lay on his back, staring up at the colourless clouds, the rain on his face.

Locqui Wyval. Didn’t want me dead, I suppose.

He lifted an arm and felt the fabric of the rain cloak. No punctures. Good. He’d have trouble explaining had it been otherwise.

Feeling was returning to his lower legs. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Wet, shivering. There could be no answer for Rhulad, it was as simple as that. The Warlock King would have to kill him. Assuming that works.

Kill him, or surrender. And what could make Hannan Mosag surrender? To a barely blooded whelp? No, chop off his hands, sever his head and crush it flat. Burn the rest into dusty ashes. Destroy the monstrosity, for Rhulad Sengar was truly a monster.

Footsteps on the stones behind him. Udinaas sat back on his haunches, blinking rain from his eyes. He looked up as Hulad stepped into view.

‘Udinaas, what are you doing here?’

‘Did she cast the tiles, Hulad? Did she?’

‘She tried.’

‘Tried?’

‘It failed, Udinaas. The Holds were closed; she was blind to them. She was frightened. I’ve never seen her so frightened.’

‘What else has happened?’

‘I don’t know. The Edur are still in the citadel.’

‘They can’t all be there.’

‘No, only the nobility. The others are in their homes. They have banished their slaves for now. Most of them had nowhere to go. They’re just huddled in the forest. Soaked through. There seems no end in sight.’ He reached down and helped Udinaas to stand. ‘Let’s go to the longhouse. Get dry and warm.’

He let Hulad guide him back to the Sengar longhouse. ‘Did you see the ships, Hulad?’ he asked as they walked. ‘Did you see them?’

‘Yes. They’re lowering boats, but no welcome seems forthcoming.’

‘I wonder what they’ll think of that?’

Hulad did not reply.

They entered. Sudden warmth, the crackle of flames the only sound. Hulad helped him remove the rain cloak. As he did so, he gasped and pulled at Udinaas’s shirt.

‘Where did you get those?’

Udinaas frowned down at the almost-black bruises where the Wyval’s talons had been. ‘I don’t know.’

‘They remind me of Feather Witch’s wounds, from that demon. Just the same. Udinaas, what is happening to you?’

‘Nothing. I’m going to sleep.’

Hulad said nothing more as Udinaas walked down the length of the main chamber towards his sleeping pallet.