Midnight tides

‘There is no need, sire,’ Trull replied. ‘I am pleased that you found in my actions a fulcrum by which you could shift the sentiments of the council.’

The Warlock King cocked his head. ‘Fulcrum.’ He smiled, but it was strained. ‘Then we shall speak no more of it, Trull Sengar.’ He fixed his attention next upon Rhulad, and his voice hardened slightly as he said, ‘Rhulad Sengar, unblooded, you attend me now because you are a son of Tomad… and my need for his sons includes you. I expect you to listen, not speak.’

Rhulad nodded, suddenly pale.

Ha

They entered the Warlock King’s private chamber. There was no wife attending, nor any slaves. Ha

‘Three moons past,’ the Warlock King began, turning to face them, ‘my soul travelled when I slept, and was witness to a vision. I was on a plain of snow and ice. Beyond the lands of the Arapay, east and north of the Hungry Lake. But in the land that is ever still, something had risen. A violent birth, a presence demanding and stern. A spire of ice. Or a spear – I could not close with it – but it towered high above the snows, glittering, blinding with all the sun’s light it had captured. Yet something dark waited in its heart.’ His eyes had lost their focus, and Trull knew, with a shiver, that his king was once more in that cold, forlorn place. ‘A gift. For the Edur. For the Warlock King.’ He was silent then.

No-one spoke.

Abruptly, Ha

Fear spoke. ‘Theradas and Midik Buhn.’

The Warlock King nodded. ‘Well chosen, yes. Fear Sengar, I charge you as leader of this expedition. You are my will and shall not be disobeyed. Neither you nor any other in your party must touch the gift. Your flesh must not make contact with it, is that understood? Retrieve it from the spire, wrap it in hides if that is possible, and return here.’

Fear nodded. ‘It will be as you command, sire.’

‘Good.’ He sca

All of a sudden a new presence was in the room, sensed simultaneously by the king and the brothers, and they turned as one to the entrance.

A K’risnan stood in the threshold.

Ha

Shadow wraiths had gathered round his soul, for soul was all he was, motionless and vulnerable, seeing without eyes, feeling without flesh as the vague, bestial things closed in, plucking at him, circling like dogs around a turtle.

They were hungry, those shadow spirits. Yet something held them back, some deep-set prohibition. They poked and prodded, but did nothing more.

They scattered – reluctantly – at the approach of something, someone, and Udinaas felt a warm, protective presence settle at his side.

Feather Witch. She was whole, her face luminous, her grey eyes quizzical as she studied him. ‘Son of Debt,’ she said, then sighed. ‘They say you cut me free. Even as the Wyval tore into you. You cared nothing for that.’ She studied him for a moment longer, then said, ‘Your love burns my eyes, Udinaas. What am I to do about this truth?’

He found he could speak. ‘Do nothing, Feather Witch. I know what is not to be. I would not surrender this burden.’

‘No. I see that.’

‘What has happened? Am I dying?’

‘You were. Uruth, wife to Tomad Sengar, came in answer to our… distress. She drew upon Kurald Emurlahn, and has driven the Wyval away. And now she works healing upon us both. We lie side by side, Udinaas, on the blood-soaked earth. Unconscious. She wonders at our reluctance to return.’

‘Reluctance?’

‘She finds she struggles to heal our wounds – I am resisting her, for us both.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I am troubled. Uruth senses nothing. Her power feels pure to her. Yet it is… stained.’

‘I do not understand. You said Kurald Emurlahn-’

‘Aye. But it has lost its purity. I do not know how, or what, but it has changed. Among all the Edur, it is changed.’

‘What are we to do?’

She sighed. ‘Return, now. Yield to her command. Offer our gratitude for her intervention, for the healing of our torn flesh. And in answer to the many questions she has, we can say little. It was confused. Battle with an unknown demon. Chaos. And of this conversation, Udinaas, we will say nothing. Do you understand?’

‘I do.’

She reached down and he felt her hand close about his – suddenly he was whole once more – and its warmth flowed through him.

He could hear his heart now, thundering in answer to that touch. And another heart, distant yet quickly closing, beating in time. But it was not hers, and Udinaas knew terror.

His mother stepped back, the knot of her brow begi

Trull stared down at the two slaves. Udinaas, from his own household. And the other, one of Mayen’s servants, the one they knew as Feather Witch for her divinatory powers. The blood still stained the puncture holes in their shirts, but the wounds themselves had closed. Another kind of blood was spilled across Udinaas’s chest, gold and glistening still.

‘I should outlaw these castings,’ Ha

‘Yet there is value, High King,’ Uruth said, and Trull could see that she was still troubled.

‘And that is, wife of Tomad?’

‘A clarion call, High King, which we would do well to heed.’

Ha

‘Possibly,’ Uruth conceded. ‘Much of that which passes for a soul in a Letherii is concealed from my arts, High King.’

‘A failing that plagues us all, Uruth,’ the Warlock King said, granting her great honour by using her true name. ‘This one must be observed at all times,’ he continued, eyes on Udinaas. ‘If there is Wyval blood within him, the truth shall be revealed eventually. To whom does he belong?’

Tomad Sengar cleared his throat. ‘He is mine, Warlock King.’

Ha

Trull’s mother shook her head. ‘Unimpressive. Or…’

‘Or what?’

Uruth shrugged. ‘Or she hid it well, despite her wounds. And if that is the case, then her power surpasses mine.’

Impossible. She is Letherii. A slave and still a virgin.

Ha

Feather Witch’s eyes fluttered open, revealing little comprehension, and that quickly overwhelmed by animal terror.

Ha