Draconus halted his advance. ‘If you come to the flames of our campfires, Olar Ethil, even once, we shall do battle. Until but one of us remains alive.’
The woman’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Well now,’ she murmured, ‘all that armour… for naught. Death, Draconus? Be careful — the word alone is an unholy summons these days.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean an Azathanai has taken a life. Spilled the blood of a very powerful… innocent. Around this deed, chaos now dances like carrion flies — why do you think I returned?’
‘An Azathanai has committed murder?’ The belligerence was gone from Draconus now, and when he stepped closer to Olar Ethil, Rint understood — as well as she evidently did — that no threat was intended.
Her expression was now grave. ‘Not a Tiste, Draconus, which absolves you of vengeance. Nor a Dog-Runner, or so I have since discovered, which absolves me of the same. Nor a Thel Akai — although that would have been interesting. Neither Jheck nor Jheleck. Jaghut, beloved. Karish, mate to Hood, is dead. Slain.’
The sudden anguish in the Lord’s face was terrible to behold. Rint edged back, pulling Feren with him. He saw the boy watching from a dozen or so paces away, but not watching his father; nor was he watching Olar Ethil. Instead, Arathan’s eyes were fixed on Feren.
Abyss take us all. He’s made a child with her. A girl.
Feren had half turned, only to be snared by Arathan’s eyes.
Rint heard her whisper, ‘I’m sorry.’
In a harsh voice Draconus spoke. ‘Olar Ethil, come to my fires.’
The woman nodded, strangely formal. ‘I would never have done so,’ she said, ‘if not invited, Suzerain. Forgive me. I have been too long among the Dog-Runners, who prove so easy to bait that I cannot help myself.’ She cocked her head. ‘It seems that I am a cruel goddess.’
‘Be more mindful, then,’ Draconus replied, but there was no bite in his words; rather, a kind of tenderness. ‘They are vulnerable to deep hurts, Olar Ethil.’
She sighed regretfully. ‘I know. I grow careless in my power. They feed me with such desperation, such yearning! The Bonecasters voice prayers in my name, like biting ants beneath the furs. It drives me mad.’
Draconus settled a hand upon her shoulder, but said nothing.
She sank against him, resting her head against his chest.
Rint was dumbfounded. Draconus… who are you?
‘And,’ Olar Ethil continued, her voice muffled, ‘they make me fat.’
With an amused snort Draconus stepped away. ‘Do not blame them for your appetites, woman.’
‘What will you do?’ she asked him.
‘Where is Hood?’
‘I have heard that his grief has driven him mad. Lest he proclaim war upon the Azathanai, he was subdued by kin and is now chained in a cell in the Tower of Hate.’
‘The Jaghut have gathered? To what end?’
‘None can say, Draconus. The last time they gathered they argued themselves into the abandonment of their realm.’
Draconus seemed distracted for a moment, and then he shook his head. ‘I will speak to the Lord of Hate. Tell me, do we know the slayer among the Azathanai?’
‘Not yet, Suzerain. Some are missing, or in hiding.’
Draconus grunted. ‘Nothing new in that.’
‘No.’
As they were speaking, Feren had been pulling at Rint’s grip on her arm. Finally her efforts drew his attention. But she was not interested in leaving his side. Instead, as he released her, she sagged to the ground, leaning hard against his legs. He felt the shudder of her silent weeping.
Rint felt sick inside. He wished they had never agreed to accompany the Consort. He wished that Ville and Galak would finally catch up with them, so they could all leave — break this contract and to the Abyss with the consequences. He wanted no more of this.
Draconus said, ‘Rint, help your sister tend to her wound, and then make camp upon the hill.’
‘Yes, Lord.’
‘Arathan.’
‘Sir?’
‘Find Raskan. Help him.’
‘Help?’ The boy’s eyes were wide with sudden fear.
Draconus frowned. ‘I meet your eyes. You are the son of Draconus. Go to him.’
Arathan found Sergeant Raskan crumpled against a wall, his face ravaged by grief. As he drew nearer, the man looked up, wiped roughly at his eyes and made to stand, only to sag once more on the wall. He looked away as if shamed.
‘Rint and Feren are going to where we will make camp,’ said Arathan. ‘They have all the horses.’
‘Go away, boy.’
‘I cannot.’
‘I said go away!’
Arathan was silent for a long moment, and then he said, ‘I wish that I could, sergeant. This should be a time for you to be alone. I do not know what she did, but I can see that it was cruel.’
‘Keep your distance,’ Raskan said in a low rasp, ‘lest I harm you.’
‘Sergeant, my father has met my eyes. I am his son. I am not here to ask you. I am here to command you. I will lead you to the camp. It is my father’s wish.’
Raskan looked up, eyes hooded in the gloom, his cheeks streaked and his beard glittering. ‘Your father,’ he hissed, making the words a curse. ‘This was Ivis’s task, not mine! Maybe he could have weathered it, but I cannot!’
‘What did she take from you?’
His laugh was harsh and bitter, but he straightened from the wall. ‘I am not the fool he thinks I am. She knows him from long ago. I begin to see.’
‘What do you mean? What do you see? Sergeant Raskan, tell me — what do you see?’
‘Azathanai blood is what I see. It needs chaining and that’s what he’s done. Chained it down. By his will alone you are held back, made normal to our eyes. You fool — not once did she look at you!’
Arathan stared at the man, trying to comprehend. And then he backed away a step. ‘Why should she? Raskan! Why should she look at me at all?’
But the man levered himself from the wall and staggered in the direction of the hill beyond the village. After a moment, Arathan stumbled after him. He heard the sergeant muttering under his breath.
‘How can it be a secret when even I did not know it? No, I have dreamed no sordid dreams, longed for nothing immoral. There is no cause for disgust. I could kneel above the water — I could look down on my face. And see nothing evil. She lied. I deserve no shame!’
The man was speaking nonsense. Arathan wondered if his mind had been broken by the witch’s magic. His own thoughts felt unhinged. My father knew her long ago. I don’t know what that means — it means nothing. It seems all of the Azathanai know my father. Grizzin Farl. Old Man. And now this witch. Each one we meet knows him. They call him the Suzerain of Night. They fear him.
I am his son. Bastard no longer.
Why did he wait? Why did he bring me out here to say that?
They clambered over the last of the settlement’s walls. Ahead the track resumed, climbing to a crossroads flanked on one side by a humped, rounded hill on which stood half a dozen trees, forming a half-ring. In the cup they formed stood Rint and Feren. Neither Draconus nor Olar Ethil could be seen — he wondered where they had gone. Were they still at the pool?
The horses were tied to the trees and stood with heads lowered beneath gnarled boughs that seemed tangled with black lichen.
Raskan ascended the hillside as if it were the face of a hated enemy, tearing at the grasses, pulling aside rocks and leaving them to tumble and roll so that Arathan had to jump from their path. The manic fury of the man was frightening.
Halfway up Raskan halted and wheeled to glare down at him. ‘Some truths should never be revealed! Look at me!’
‘There is nothing to see, sergeant,’ Arathan replied. ‘Nothing but anger.’
The man stared as if in shock.