Reaper's Gale

She had long since discovered a host of truths in time’s irresistible progression. Raw became refined, and with refinement, power grew ever deadlier. All that was simple would, in time and under sufficient pressure-and if random chance proved benign rather than malignant-

acquire greater complexity. And yet, at some point, a threshold was crossed, and complexity crumbled into dissolution. There was nothing fixed in this; some forms rose and fell with astonishing rapidity, while others could persist for extraordinarily long periods in seeming stasis.

Thus, she believed she comprehended more than most, yet found that she could do little with that knowledge. Standing in the overgrown, battered yard, her cold un-human eyes fixed on the malformed shape squatting at the edge of the largest sundered barrow, she could see through to the chaos inside him, could see how it urged dissolution within that complex matrix of flesh, blood and bone. Pain radiated from his hunched, twisted back as she continued studying him.

He had grown aware of her presence, and fear whispered through him, the sorcery of the Crippled God building. Yet he was uncertain if she presented a threat. In the mean-time, ambition rose and fell like crashing waves around the island of his soul.

She could, she decided, make use of this one.

‘I am Ha

She approached. ‘Betrayal belongs to the one buried beneath, Ha

You work to free her.’

‘I always worked better with Sheltatha Lore than I did with Menandore… although that may not be the case now. The buried one has her… obsessions.’

The Tiste Edur grunted. ‘Don’t we all.’

‘How long have you known your most cherished protectress was entombed here?’

‘Suspicions. For years. I had thought-hoped-that I would discover what remained of Scabandari Bloodeye here as well.’

‘Wrong ascendant,’ Sukul Ankhadu said, her tone droll. ‘Had you got it right as to who betrayed whom back then, you would have known that.’

‘I hear the contempt in your voice.’

‘Why are you here? So impatient as to add your power to the rituals I unleashed below?’

‘It may be,’ Ha

‘What would be the value in that?’

The Tiste Edur shifted to look up at her. ‘It seems obvious. Even now, Silchas Ruin hunts for the one I’d thought here. I doubt that either you or Sheltatha Lore would be pleased should he succeed. I can guide you onto his trail. I can also lend you… support, at the moment of confrontation.’

‘And in return?’

‘For one, we can see an end to your killing and eating citizens in the city. For another, we can destroy Silchas Ruin.’

She grunted. ‘I have heard that determination voiced before, Ha

‘With allies… yes.’

She considered his proposal. There would be treachery, but it would probably not occur until after Ruin was disposed of-the game would turn over the disposition of the Fi

‘No. He has a handful of followers, but of them, only one is cause for concern. A Tiste Edur, the eldest brother of the Sengar, once commander of the Edur Warriors.’

‘A surprising alliance.’

‘Shaky is a better way of describing it. He too seeks the Fi

‘Ah, expedience plagues us all.’ Sukul Ankhadu smiled. ‘Very well, Ha

‘You will hot be abandoned, Sukul Ankhadu. As for the Fi

She laughed. ‘To fight over it between us? No, we’d rather see it destroyed.’

‘I see. Would you object, then, to the Crippled God’s making use of its power?’

‘Will such use achieve eventual destruction?’

‘Oh yes, Sukul Ankhadu.’

She shrugged. As you like.’ You must truly think me a fool, Ha

Ha

If there was hidden significance to that distinction, Sukul Ankhadu was unable to discern it. Her gaze lifted, fixed on the river to the south. Wheeling gulls, strange islands of sticks and grasses spi

She was drawn to a rumble of power from the broken barrow and looked down once more. ‘She’s coming, Ha

‘Shall I leave? Or will she be amenable to our arrangement?’

‘On that, Edur, I ca

She watched as the malformed warlock dragged himself away. After all, you are much more her child than you are mine, and I’d rather she was, for the moment, without allies.

It was all Menandore’s doing, anyway.

Chapter Six

The argument was this: a civilization shackled to the strictures of excessive control on its populace, from choice of religion through to the production of goods, will sap the will and the ingenuity of its people-for whom such qualities are no longer given sufficient incentive or reward. At face value, this is accurate enough. Trouble arrives when the opponents to such a system institute its extreme opposite, where individualism becomes godlike and sacrosanct, and no greater service to any other ideal (including community) is possible. In such a system rapacious greed thrives behind the guise of freedom, and the worst aspects of human nature come to the fore, a kind of intransigence as fierce and nonsensical as its maternalistic counterpart.

And so, in the clash of these two extreme systems, one is witness to brute stupidity and blood-splashed insensitivity; two belligerent faces glowering at each other across the unfathomed distance, and yet, in deed and in fanatic regard, they are but mirror reflections.

This would be amusing if it weren’t so pathetically idiotic…

Dead pirates were better, Shurq Elalle mused. There was a twisted sort of justice in the dead preying upon the living, especially when it came to stealing all their treasured possessions. Her pleasure in prying those ultimately worthless objects from their hands was the sole reason for her criminal activities, more than sufficient incentive to maintain her new’found profession. Besides, she was good at it.

The hold of the Undying Gratitude was filled with the cargo from the abandoned Edur ship, the winds were fresh and steady, pushing them hard north out of the Draconean Sea, and it looked as if the huge fleet in her wake was not getting any closer.