Rhulad set a hand on Trull’s shoulder, then stepped past. ‘Hull
Beddict, hear us.’
The Letherii straightened, blinking, searching until his gaze found the emperor. ‘Sire?’
‘We grieve this day, Hull Beddict. These… ignoble deaths. We would rather this had been a day of honourable triumph, of courage and glory revealed on both sides. We would rather, Hull Beddict, this day had been… clean.’
Cold anger indeed. A greater mercy, perhaps, would have been a public beating of Hannan Mosag. The future was falling out here and now, Udinaas realized. And was that my intention? Better, I think, had I let Rhulad cut the bastard down where he stood. Clean and simple – the only one fooled into believing those words is Rhulad himself. Here’s two better words: vicious and subtle.
‘We would retire, until the morrow,’ the emperor said. ‘When we march to claim Letheras, and the throne we have won. Udinaas, attend me shortly. Tomad, at midnight the barrow for the fallen shall be ready for sanctification. Be sure to see the burial done in all honour. And, Father,’ he added, ‘those Letherii soldiers you fought this day, join them to the same barrow.’
‘Sire-’
‘Father, the Letherii are now our subjects, are they not?’
Udinaas stood to one side, watching various Edur departing the hilltop. Binadas spoke with Hannan Mosag for a time, then strode to Hull Beddict for the formal greeting of the blood-bound. Then Binadas guided the Letherii away.
Fear and Tomad departed to arrange the burial details. Theradas Buhn and the other chosen brothers set off for the Hiroth encampments.
In a short time, there were only two left. Udinaas, and Trull Sengar.
The Edur was studying the slave from about fifteen paces away, with sufficient intent to make the slave begin to feel nervous. Finally, Udinaas casually turned away, and stared out towards the hills to the south.
A dozen heartbeats later, Trull Sengar came to stand beside him.
‘It seems,’ the Edur said after a time, ‘that you, for all that you are a slave, possess talents verging on genius.’
‘Master?’
‘Enough of this “master” shit, Udinaas. You are now a… what is the title? A chancellor of the realm? Principal Adviser, or some such thing?’
‘First Eunuch, I think.’
Trull glanced over. ‘I did not know you’d been-’
‘I haven’t. Consider it symbolic’
‘All right, I understand, I think. Tell me, are you so certain of yourself, Udinaas, that you would stand between Rhulad and Hannan Mosag? Between Rhulad and Theradas Buhn and those rabid pups who are the chosen brothers of the emperor? You would stand, indeed, between Rhulad and his own madness? Sister knows, I’d thought the Warlock King arrogant
‘It is not arrogance, Trull Sengar. If it was, I’d be entirely as sure of myself as you seem to think I am. But I am not. Do you believe I have somehow manipulated myself into this position? By choice? Willingly? Tell me, when have any of us last had any meaningful choices? Including your young brother?’
The Edur said nothing for a while. Then he nodded. ‘Very well. But, none the less, I must know your intentions.’
Udinaas shook his head. ‘Nothing complicated, Trull Sengar. I do not want to see anyone hurt more than they already have been.’
‘Including Hannan Mosag?’
‘The Warlock King has not been hurt. But we have seen, this day, what he would deliver upon others.’
‘Rhulad was… distressed?’
‘Furious.’ But not, alas, for admirable reasons – no, he just wanted to fight, and die . The other, more noble sentiments had been borrowed. From me .
‘That answer leaves me feeling… relief, Udinaas.’
Which is why I gave it.
‘Udinaas.’
‘Yes?’
‘I fear for what will come. In Letheras.’
‘Yes.’
‘I feel the world is about to unravel.’
Yes . ‘Then we shall have to do our best, Trull Sengar, to hold it all together.’
The Tiste Edur’s eyes held his, then Trull nodded. ‘Beware your enemies, Udinaas.’
The slave did not reply. Alone once more, he studied the distant hills, the thinning smoke from the fires somewhere in the belly of the fallen keep rising like mocking shadows from earlier this day.
All these wars…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Five wings will buy you a grovel, There at the Errant’s grubby toes The eternal domicile crouching low In a swamp of old where rivers ran out And royal blood runs in the clearest stream Around the stumps of rotted trees Where forests once stood in majesty Five roads from the Empty Hold Will lay you flat on your back With altar knives and silver chased The buried rivers gnawing the roots All aswirl in eager caverns beneath Where kingly bones rock and clatter In the silts, and five are the paths To and from this chambered soul For all you lost hearts bleeding out Into the wilderness.