Their ship slowly angled in towards the central imperial dock like a weary beast of burden, and a handful of Edur officers were now on deck, whilst sailors readied the lines along the port rail. The stench of effluent from the murky waters rose thick enough to sting the eyes.

Taralack Veed spat onto his hands and smoothed back his hair yet again. ‘Almost time. I go to collect my champion.’

Noticed by no-one, Turudal Brizad, the Errant, stood with his back to a quayside warehouse thirty or so paces from the main pier. His gaze noted the disembarking of Tomad Sengar-the venerable warrior looking worn and aged-and his expression, as he observed the absence of Tiste Edur among the delegation from the palace, seemed to grow darker by the moment. But neither he nor any of the other

¦ ¦

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.’

Taralack Veed edged closer, facing away from Icarium, who stood listening to the two palace guards as they instructed him in what was to come. ‘You fool,’ he hissed at her. ‘Burn’s flesh flinched, Twilight. Flinched-because of him.’

She snorted.

The Gral cocked his head, and she could feel his contempt. ‘What happens now?’ he asked.

‘Now? Very little. There are secure residences, for you and your champion. As for when the Emperor chooses to face his challengers, that is up to him. Sometimes, he is impatient and the clash occurs immediately. Other times, he waits, often for weeks. But I will tell you what will begin immediately.’

‘What is that?’

‘The burial urn for Icarium, and his place in the cemetery where resides every challenger Rhulad has faced.’

‘Even that place will not survive,’ Taralack Veed muttered.

The Gral, feeling sick to his stomach, walked over to Icarium. He did not want to think of the destruction to come. He had seen it once, after all. Bum, even in your eternal sleep, you felt the stabbing wound that is Icarium-and none of these people here countenanced it, none was ready for the truth. Their hands are not in the earth, the touch is lost-yet look at them: they would call me the savage.

‘Icarium, my friend-’

‘Can you not feel it, Taralack Veed?’ In his unhuman eyes, the gleam of anticipation. ‘This place… I have been here before-no, not this city. From the time before this city was born. I have stood on this ground-’

‘And it remembered,’ growled Taralack Veed.

‘Yes, but not in the way you believe. There are truths here, waiting for me. Truths. I have never been as close to them as I am now. Now I understand why I did not refuse you.’

Refuse me? You considered such a thing? Was it truly so near the edge? ‘Your destiny will soon welcome you, Icarium, as I have said all along. You could no more refuse that than you could the Jaghut blood in your veins.’

A grimace. ‘Jaghut… yes, they have been here. In my wake. Perhaps, even, on my trail. Long ago, and now again-’