Inside the throne room was an unexpected, unwelcome surprise. Crouched in a desultory heap of twisted bone and mangled flesh was Hannan Mosag and four of his K’risnan. As emblems of the foul sorcery feeding these Edur, there could be no better image to burn its bitter way into the Chancellor’s brain. His father would have appreciated the scene, would indeed have gathered huge chunks of marble from which he would hack out life-sized likenesses, as if in mimicking reality he could somehow discover what lay beneath it, the turgid currents of soul. A waste of time, as far as Triban Gnol was concerned. Besides, some things should never be revealed.
Hannan Mosag’s deformed face seemed to leer at the Chancellor as he strode past the Ceda and his four Tiste Edur warlocks, but there was fear in the Ceda’s eyes.
Sword-tip skittering on the cracked, scarred and gouged tiles, the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths shifted uneasily on his throne. ‘Chancellor,’ Rhulad rasped, ‘how good of you to come. And Letherii mages, a most impressive if useless gathering.’
Triban Gnol bowed, then said, ‘Allied with Hannan Mosag’s formidable Cedance, sire, our sorcerous prowess should be more than sufficient to rid ourselves of these foreign interlopers.’
Coins clicked on Rhulad’s face as he grimaced. ‘And the mages of the Borthen Brigade, were they sufficient? What of the Brigade itself, Chancellor? They have been mauled! Letherii mages, Letherii soldiers! Tiste Edur! Your foreign interlopers are carving through a damned army!’
‘Unanticipated,’ Triban Gnol murmured, eyes downcast, ‘that the imperial fleets in their search for champions should have so riled a distant empire. As to that empire’s belligerence, well, it seems almost unmatched; indeed, virtually insane, given the distances spanned to prosecute vengeance. Odd, as well, that no formal declaration of war was received-although, of course, it is doubtful our fleets ventured the same preceding the slaughter of that empire’s citizens. Perhaps,’ he added, glancing up, ‘negotiation remains possible. Some form of financial compensation, should we prove able to arrange a truce-’
Hacking laughter from Hannan Mosag. ‘You provincial fool, Gnol. Would that you were even capable of expanding that puny, melodramatic theatre of your mind, then mayhap humility would still that flapping tongue of yours.’
Brows raised, the Chancellor half turned to regard the Ceda. ‘And what secret knowledge of this enemy do you possess? And would you care to enlighten myself and your Emperor?’
‘This is not punitive,’ Hannan Mosag said. ‘Although it might seem that way. Empires get their noses bloodied all the time, and there were enough clashes at sea to deliver the message that this Malazan Empire was not to be trifled with. Our fleets were sent scurrying from their waters-Hanradi Khalag was brutally honest in his assessment. Malazan mages are more than a match for us, and for the Letherii.’
‘If not punitive,’ Triban Gnol asked, ‘then what?’
Hannan Mosag faced the Emperor. ‘Sire, my answer is best reserved for you alone.’
Rhulad bared his teeth. ‘I am not deceived by your games, Ceda. Speak.’
‘Sire-’
‘Answer him!’
‘I must not!’
Silence, in which Triban Gnol could hear naught but his own heart, thudding hard against his ribs. Hannan Mosag had made a terrible mistake here, victim of his own self-importance. Seeking to use this information of his as a means to crawl back to the Emperor’s side. But the effort… so clumsy!
‘Tell me,’ Rhulad said in a whisper, ‘why this must be our secret.’
‘Sire, this matter belongs among the Tiste Edur.’
‘Why?’
Ah. Because, dear Emperor, these Mahxzans, they are coining for you. Triban Gnol cleared his throat and clasped his hands together above his robe’s belt. ‘This is unnecessary,’ he said in his smoothest voice. ‘I am not so provincial as Hannan Mosag would like to believe. Emperor, your fleets set out across the world in search of champions, and so indeed they have gathered the best, most capable fighters from a host of peoples. What they could not have anticipated is that an entire empire would proclaim itself a champion. And set itself against you, sire. Our reports have made it clear,’ he added, ‘that the enemy is converging on Letheras, on this very city.’ He regarded Hannan Mosag as he added, ‘They are-and yes, Ceda, I see the truth plain on your face-they are coming for the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths. Alas, I do not expect they will elect to challenge him one soldier at a time.’
Rhulad seemed to have shrunk back into the throne. His red-shot eyes were wide with terror. ‘They must be stopped,’ he said in a trembling hiss. ‘You will stop them. You, Hannan Mosag! And you, Chancellor! Our armies must stop them!’
‘And so we shall,’ Triban Gnol said, bowing again, before straightening and glancing across at the Ceda. ‘Hannan Mosag, for all of our… disputes, do not for a moment fear that we Letherii will abandon our Emperor to these foreign dogs. We must unite, you and I, and bring all that we have together, and so annihilate these Malazans. Such audacity must be punished, thoroughly. Truly united, the Tiste Edur and the Letherii cannot be defeated.’
‘Yes,’ said Rhulad. ‘That is true. Array the armies in an unbroken line outside the city-it is clear, isn’t it, that they do not have the numbers to challenge such a thing?’
‘Sire,’ Triban Gnol ventured, ‘perhaps it would be best to advance a little distance nonetheless. Westward. In that way we can, if need be, assemble our reserves in case there is a breach. Two lines of defence, sire, to make certain.’
‘Yes,’ Rhulad said, ‘those tactics are sound. How far away are these Malazans? How long do we have?’
‘Weeks,’ Triban Gnol said.
‘Good. That is well. Yes, we must do that. All of that, as you say. Ceda! You will second yourself and your K’risnan to the Chancellor-’
‘Sire, he is no military commander-’
‘Quiet! You have heard my will, Hannan Mosag. Defy me again and I will have you flailed.’
Hannan Mosag did not quail at the threat. Why would he in that destroyed body? Clearly, the Ceda,.once Warlock King, was familiar with agony; indeed, at times it seemed the deadly magic that poured through him transformed pain into ecstasy, lighting Hannan Mosag’s eyes with fervent fire.
Triban Gnol said to the Emperor, ‘Sire, we shall protect you.’ He hesitated, just long enough, then half raised a hand as if struck by a sudden thought. ‘Emperor, I wonder, perhaps it would be best to begin the Challenges? Soon? Their presence is a distraction, an irritant for my guards. There have been incidents of violence, a growing impatience.’ He paused again, two heartbeats, then said in a lower tone: ‘Speculation, sire, that you fear to face them…’
Hannan Mosag’s sneer produced a bestial growl. ‘You pathetic creature, Gnol-’
‘Not another word, Ceda!’ Rhulad hissed. Spasms rippled across the Emperor’s mottled face. The sword skittered again.
Yes, Rhulad, you understand what it is to fear death more than any of us. Perhaps more than any mortal creature this world has seen. But you flinch not from some vague notion of oblivion, do you? No, for you, dear Emperor, death is something different. Never an end, only that which precedes yet another pain-filled rebirth. Even in death you cannot lose yourself, cannot escape-does anyone else here, apart from me, truly grasp the sheer horror of that?
‘The Challenges,’ said the Emperor, ‘will begin in four days. Chancellor, have your assessors agreed on an order?’
‘Yes, sire. Three of the least skilled to begin. It is likely you will kill all three in a single day. They will tax you, of that we can be sure, but not unduly so. The second day is reserved for one champion. A masked woman. Exceptional speed but perhaps lacking imagination. Yet she will be difficult.’
‘Good.’
‘Sire…’
‘Yes? What is it?’
‘There are the two we have spoken of before. The Tarthenal with the flint sword. Undefeated by any other champion-in fact, no-one dares spar with him any more. He has the habit of breaking bones.’