Midnight Tides - Page 186/344

Seren Pedac spoke first. ‘Is there no room left, Trull Sengar?’

And he understood. ‘No, Acquitor. No room left.’

‘I think you would have it otherwise, wouldn’t you?’

The question brushed too close to the wordless recognition they had shared only a few moments earlier, and he saw once again in her eyes a flicker of… something. He mentally recoiled from an honest reply. ‘I serve my emperor.’

The flicker vanished, replaced by a cool regard that slipped effortlessly through his defences, driving like a knife into his chest. ‘Of course. Forgive me. It is too late for questions like that. I must be leaving now, to escort Buruk the Pale back to Trate.’

Each word a twist of that knife, despite their being seemingly innocuous. He did not understand how they – and the look in her eyes – could hurt him so deeply, and he wanted to cry out. Denials. Confessions. Instead he punctuated the break of that empathy with a damning shrug. ‘Journey well, Acquitor.’ Nothing more, and he knew himself for a coward.

He watched her walk away. Thinking on his life’s journey as much as the Acquitor’s, on the stumbles that occurred, with no awareness of their potential for profundity. Balance reacquired, but the path had changed.

So many choices proved irrevocable. Trull wondered if this one would as well.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Where is the darkness In the days gone past When the sun bathed everything In godling light And we were burnished bright In our youthful ascendancy Delighted shrieks and Distant laughter Carried on the gilden stream Of days that did not pause For night with every shadow Burned through By immortal fire Where then is the darkness Arrived at sun’s death Arrived creeping and low To growl revelations Of the torrid descent That drags us down Onto this moment.

Immortal fire Fisher kel Tath
A VOICE SPOKE FROM THE DARKNESS, ‘I WOULDN’T GO DOWN THAT street, old man.’

Bugg glanced over. ‘I thank you for the warning,’ he replied, walking on.

Ten paces into the narrow alley he could smell spilled blood. Footsteps behind him told him the look-out had moved into his wake, presumably to block his avenue of retreat.

‘I warned you.’

‘I’m the one you sent for,’ Bugg said.

Four more figures appeared from the gloom in front of him, cutthroats one and all. They looked frightened.

The look-out came round and stepped close to peer at Bugg’s face. ‘You’re the Waiting Man? You ain’t what I ’spected.’

‘What has happened here? Who’s dead and who killed him?’

‘Not “who” killed ’im,’ one of the four standing before Bugg muttered. ‘More like “what”. An’ we don’t know. Only it was big, skin black as canal water, with spikes on its arms. Eyes like a snake’s, glowing grey.’

Bugg sniffed the air, seeking something beyond the blood.

‘It ripped Strong Rall to pieces, it did, then went into that building.’

The manservant swung his gaze to where the man pointed. A derelict temple, sunken down at one corner, the peaked roof tilted sharply on that side. Bugg grunted. ‘That was the last temple of the Fulcra, wasn’t it?’

‘Don’t ask us.’

‘That cult’s been dead a hundred years at least,’ the manservant continued, scowling at the dilapidated structure. The entranceway, wide and gaping, capped in a solid lintel stone, was once three steps higher than street level. Back when this alley had been a street. He could just make out the right corner of the top step. There seemed to be a heap of rubbish piled up just within, recently disturbed. Bugg glanced back at the five thugs. ‘What were you doing skulking around here, anyway?’

An exchange of looks, then the look-out shrugged. ‘We was hiding.’

‘Hiding?’

‘This little girl… well, uh…’

‘Ah. Right.’ Bugg faced the entrance once again.

‘Hold on, old man,’ the man said. ‘You ain’t goin’ in there, are you?’

‘Well, why else did you call for me?’

‘We expected you to, uh, to get the city guards or something. Maybe a mage or three.’

‘I might well do that. But first, better to know what we’re dealing with.’ Bugg then clambered into the ruined temple. Thick, damp air and profound darkness. A smell of freshly turned earth, and then, faintly, the sound of breathing. Slow and deep. The manservant fixed his gaze on the source of that sound. ‘All right,’ he said in a murmur, ‘it’s been some time since you last breathed the night air. But that doesn’t give you the right to kill a hapless mortal, does it?’