‘I think,’ Quick Ben croaked, ‘we will have the answer to that when we get there.’
Keneb groaned and slumped back down, burying his face in his hands.
‘Kolanse has been usurped,’ said Tavore. ‘Not in the name of the Crippled God, but in the name of justice. Justice of a most terrible kind.’
Quick Ben said, ‘Ahkrast Korvalain.’
Sinn jumped as if stung, then huddled down once more.
Keneb’s hands dropped away, though the impressions of his fingertips remained, mottling his face. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘The Elder Warren, Fist,’ said the Adjunct, ‘of the Forkrul Assail.’
‘They are preparing the gate,’ Quick Ben said, ‘and for that, they need lots of blood. Lots.’
Lostara finally spoke. She could not help it. She knew more about the cult of Shadow than anyone here, possibly excepting Quick Ben. ‘Adjunct, you say we march at the behest of no god. Yet, I suspect, Shadowthrone will be most pleased when we strike for Kolanse, when we set out to destroy that unholy gate.’
‘Thank you,’ Tavore said. ‘I take it we now comprehend High Mage Quick Ben’s angst. His fear that, somehow, we are playing into Shadowthrone’s hands.’
I think we are.
‘Even when he was Emperor,’ said Keneb, ‘he learned to flinch from the sting of justice.’
‘The T’lan Imass occupation of Aren,’ said Blistig, nodding.
Tavore flicked a glance at Blistig, and then said, ‘Though we may share an enemy it does not mean we are allies.’
Adjunct, that is too brazen. Fiddler’s reading was anything but subtle. But she was awestruck. By what Tavore had done here. Something blistered in this chamber now, touching like fire everyone present-even Blistig. Even that whelp of nightmare, Sinn. If a god showed its face in this chamber at this moment, six fists would vie to greet it.
‘What is the gate for?’ Lostara asked. ‘Adjunct? Do you know that gate’s purpose?’
‘The delivery of justice,’ Quick Ben offered in answer. ‘Or so one presumes.’
‘Justice against whom?’
The High Mage shrugged. ‘Us? The gods? Kings and queens, priests, emperors and tyrants?’
‘The Crippled God?’
Quick Ben’s grin was feral. ‘They’re sitting right on top of him.’
‘Then the gods might well stand back and let the Forkrul Assail do their work for them.’
‘Not likely-you can’t suck power from a dead god, can you?’
‘So, we could either find ourselves the weapon in the hands of the gods after all, or, if we don’t cooperate, trapped between two bloodthirsty foes.’ Even as she spoke those words, Lostara regretted them. Because, once said, everything points to… points to the worst thing imaginable. Oh, Tavore, now I understand your defiance when it comes to how history will judge us. And your words that what we will do will be unwitnessed-that was less a promise, I think now. More like a prayer.
‘It is time,’ the Adjunct said, collecting her gloves, ‘to speak with the King. You can run away now, Sinn. The rest of you are with me.’
Brys Beddict needed a moment alone, and so he held back when the Queen entered the throne room, and moved a few paces away from the two helmed guards flanking the entrance. The Errant was on his mind, a one-eyed nemesis clutching a thousand daggers. He could almost feel the god’s cold smile, icy and chilling as a winter breath on the back of his neck. Inside and outside, in front of him and behind him, it made no difference. The Errant passed through every door, stood on both sides of every barrier. The thirst for blood was pervasive, and Brys felt trapped like a fly in amber.
If not for a Tarthenal’s mallet fist, Brys Beddict would be dead.
He was still shaken.
Since his return to the mortal world, he had felt strangely weightless, as if nothing in this place could hold him down, could keep him firmly rooted to the earth. The palace, which had once been the very heart of his life, his only future, now seemed but a temporary respite. This was why he had petitioned his brother to be given command of the Letherii army-even in the absence of enemies he could justify travelling out from the city, to wander to the very border marches of the kingdom.
What was he looking for? He did not know. Would he-could he-find it in the reaches beyond the city’s walls? Was something out there awaiting him? Such thoughts were like body-blows to his soul, for they sent him reeling back- into brother Hull’s shadow.
Perhaps he haunts me now. His dreams, his needs, slipping like veils in front of my eyes. Perhaps he has cursed me with his own thirst-too vast to be appeased in a single life-no, he will now use mine.
