The Emperor slowly leaned back in his throne, his eyes hard. ‘Our kin will be set free. This I command. They will be set free. For you, my dear parents, it seems a lesson is required. You left them to rot in darkness. In the ships. In the trench-pits. From these egregious acts, I can only assume that you do not possess any comprehension of the horror of such ordeals. Therefore it is my judgement that you must taste something of what you inflicted upon our kin. You will both spend two months interred in the dungeon crypts of the Fifth Wing. You will live in darkness, fed once a day through chutes in the ceilings of your cells. You will have no-one but each other with whom to speak. You will be shackled. In darkness-do you understand, Uruth? True darkness. No shadows for you to manipulate, no power to whisper in your ear. In that time, I suggest you both think long of what Guest Gift means to a Tiste Edur, of honouring our kin no matter how far they have fallen. Of what it truly means to liberate.’ Rhulad waved his free hand. ‘Send them away, Chancellor. I am made ill by their betrayal of our own kin.’
The Errant, very nearly as stunned as were Tomad and Uruth, missed whatever gesture Triban Gnol used to summon forth the Letherii guards. They appeared quickly, as if conjured from thin air, and closed round Tomad and Uruth.
Letherii hands, iron-scaled and implacable, closed about Tiste Edur arms.
And the Errant knew that the end had begun.
Samar Dev’s hope of ending things before they began did not last long. She was still four strides from Karsa Orlong when he reached Icarium and Taralack Veed. The Toblakai had approached from the side, almost behind the Jhag-who had turned to contemplate the canal’s murky waters
– and she watched as the huge warrior reached out one hand, grasped Icarium by an upper arm, and swung him round.
Taralack Veed lunged to break that grip and his head was snapped by a punch that seemed almost casual. The Gral collapsed onto the pavestones and did not move.
Icarium was staring down at the hand clutching his left arm, his expression vaguely perturbed.
‘Karsa!’ Samar Dev shouted, as heads turned and citizens
– those who had witnessed Taralack Veed’s fate-moved away. ‘If you’ve killed the Gral-’
‘He is nothing,’ Karsa said in a growl, his eyes fixed on Icarium. ‘Your last minder, Jhag, was far more formidable. Now you stand here with no-one to attack me from behind.’
‘Karsa, he is unarmed.’
‘But I am not.’
Icarium was still studying that battered hand gripping his arm-the red weals of scarring left by shackles encircling the thick wrist, the dots and dashes of old tattoos-as if the Jhag was unable to comprehend its function. Then he glanced over at Samar Dev, and his face brightened in a warm smile. ‘Ah, witch. Both Taxilian and Varat Taun have spoken highly of you. Would that we had met earlier
– although I have seen you from across the compound-’
‘She is not your problem,’ Karsa said. ‘I am your problem.’
Icarium slowly turned and met the Toblakai’s eyes. ‘You are Karsa Orlong, who does not understand what it means to spar. How many comrades have you crippled?’
‘They are not comrades. Nor are you.’
‘What about me?’ Samar Dev demanded. ‘Am I not a comrade of yours, Karsa?’
He scowled. ‘What of it?’
‘Icarium is unarmed. If you kill him here you will not face the Emperor. No, you will find yourself in chains. At least until your head gets lopped off.’
‘I have told you before, witch. Chains do not hold me.’
‘You want to face the Emperor, don’t you?’
‘And if this one kills him first?’ Karsa demanded, giving the arm a shake that clearly startled Icarium.
‘Is that the problem?’ Samar Dev asked. And is that why you’re crippling other champions? Not that any will play with you any more, you brainless bully.
‘You wish to face Emperor Rhulad before I do?’ Icarium inquired.
‘I do not ask for your permission, Jhag.’
‘Yet I give it nonetheless, Karsa Orlong. You are welcome to Rhulad.’
Karsa glared at Icarium who, though not as tall, somehow still seemed able to meet the Toblakai eye to eye without lifting his head.
Then something odd occurred. Samar Dev saw a slight widening of Karsa’s eyes as he studied Icarium’s face. ‘Yes,’ he said in a gruff voice. ‘I see it now.’
‘I am pleased,’ replied Icarium.
‘See what?’ Samar Dev demanded.
On the ground behind her Taralack Veed groaned, coughed, then rolled onto his side and was sick.
Karsa released the Jhag’s arm and stepped back. ‘You are good to your word?’
Icarium bowed slightly then said, ‘How could I not be?’
‘That is true. Icarium, I witness.’
The Jhag bowed a second time.
‘Keep your hands away from that sword!’
This shout brought them all round, to see a half-dozen Letherii guards edging closer, their weapons unsheathed.
Karsa sneered at them. ‘I am returning to the compound, children. Get out of my way.’
They parted like reeds before a canoe’s prow as the Toblakai marched forward, then moved into his wake, hurrying to keep up with Karsa’s long strides.
Samar Dev stared after them, then loosed a sudden yelp, before clapping her hands to her mouth.
‘You remind me of Senior Assessor, doing that,’ Icarium observed with another smile. His gaze lifted past her. ‘And yes, there he remains, my very own personal vulture. If 1 gesture him to us, do you think he will come, witch?’
She shook her head, still struggling with an overwhelming flood of relief and the aftermath of terror’s cold clutch that even now made her hands tremble. ‘No, he prefers to worship from a distance.’
‘Worship? The man is deluded. Samar Dev, will you inform him of that?’
‘As you like, but it won’t matter, Icarium. His people, you see, they remember you.’
‘Do they now.’ Icarium’s eyes narrowed slightly on the Senior Assessor, who had begun to cringe from the singular attention of his god.
Spirits below, why was 1 interested in this monk in the first place? There is no lure to the glow of fanatical worship. There is only smug intransigence and the hidden knives of sharp judgement.
‘Perhaps,’ said Icarium, ‘I must speak to him after all.’
‘He’ll run away.’
‘In the compound, then-’
‘Where you can corner him?’
The Jhag smiled. ‘Proof of my omnipotence.’
Sirryn Kanar’s exultation was like a cauldron on the boil, the heavy lid moments from stuttering loose, yet he had held himself down on the long walk into the crypts of the Fifth Wing, where the air was wet enough to taste, where mould skidded beneath their boots and the dank chill reached tendrils to their very bones.
This, then, would be the home of Tomad and Uruth Sengar for the next two months, and Sirryn could not be more pleased. In the light of the lanterns the guards carried he saw, with immense satisfaction, that certain look on the Edur faces, the one that settled upon the expression of every prisoner: the numbed disbelief, the shock and fear stirring in the eyes every now and then, until they were once more overwhelmed by that stupid refusal to accept reality.
He would take sexual pleasure this night, he knew, as if this moment now was but one half of desire’s dialogue. He would sleep satiated, content with the world. His world.
They walked the length of the lowest corridor until reaching the very end. Sirryn gestured that Tomad be taken to the cell on the left; Uruth into the one opposite. He watched as the Edur woman, with a last glance back at her husband, turned and accompanied her three Letherii guards. A moment later Sirryn followed.
‘I know that you are the more dangerous,’ he said to her as one of his guards bent to fix the shackle onto her right ankle. ‘There are shadows here, so long as we remain.’
‘I leave your fate to others,’ she replied.