Picker’s sigh was ragged. Wiping sweat from her eyes, she glared across at the ugly thing in the doorway. ‘Lords above, I hope so.’
And then she discovered the silver torcs.
The waters calmed, as they were wont to do whenever he came up from below deck. Shurq Elalle watched the Jaghut approach. The rest of her crew – the few that still lived – sat or sprawled amidships tracking the tall, ghastly warrior with a fascination she almost envied. Here was the once-god of death and the exquisite irony of her meeting Hood was simply delicious. Back in Letheras, she’d have wagered her entire fortune that this was one encounter she would never have.
Instead, she was captaining Hood’s Ship of the Dead, or whatever it was he called it. Vessel of Souls? Death Ship? Something ominous, anyway. Not that she had much to do by way of giving orders and the like. Whatever propelled the craft wasn’t slave to winds, canvas and cordage. And not an oar in sight.
Suddenly, the seas had become uninteresting. As if all her skills – and possibly it was the same with her crew – all their skills had become irrelevant. And for all the ease and comfort that came with this kind of sailing, her sense was one of tragic loss. At this moment, her respect for the sea wavered, as if fatally weakened, and she wondered if, before long, there would come to humans a true conquest of the waves, spelling the end of humility. And let’s face it, humanity without humility is a dangerous force. Don’t know why I’m thinking as if I’m seeing the future, but that’s how it feels. Some future time when sorcery does too much, when it solves all our problems – only to invent new ones. If this is to be the real future, I don’t want it.
‘There is a darkness upon your thoughts, Captain Elalle.’
She glanced over at him. Burnished tusks, mottled with unimaginable age. Worn, leathery skin stretched gaunt over sharp bones. Deep-set eyes, haunted in shadow, the vertical pupils barely visible – but they’d not been there when he’d first appeared, so it seemed that life was returning to the Jaghut. ‘You can sense such things, Hood?’
‘You are the captain.’
‘I don’t see the relevance of that – the title has lost all meaning.’
‘To the contrary,’ Hood replied. ‘It is by the currents of your thoughts that we find our course.’ He pointed ahead.
She squinted. A smudge building on the horizon. ‘I’ve conjured up a storm?’
‘Out of witless boredom I created ships like this one, and I set captains upon them, choosing those among the dead for whom death has become an obsession.’
‘I imagine you’d have plenty to choose from. How can the dead not obsess over their being dead?’
‘I am not responsible for small minds, Captain Elalle. Indeed, I always possessed a kind of admiration for those who refused their fate, who struggled to escape my dreadful realm.’
‘Enough to let them go?’
‘Go? I can tell you that all those who have escaped my realm now exist in misery. For their path ahead is no longer a mystery, and for them hope does not exist. They know that no paradise awaits them, and that no amount of diligent worship, sacrifice, or piety can change that.’
‘That is … awful.’
‘What it is, Captain, is inexcusable.’
She considered his words, and then considered them some more. ‘The gods take, but give nothing in return.’
‘Ah, see how the storm dissipates? Excellent, Captain … oh dear, it now returns, much more virulent than before. Captain, I would advise—’
‘Advise me nothing! Couldn’t you have forced their hand? Done something?’
The strange, terrible eyes fixed on her. ‘But I have.’
‘Then … was it necessary for you to leave the realm of death? Is that why you’re here? It must be. You have set something in motion.’
‘I have not acted alone, Captain.’
‘I would hear more, Hood. If there is a reason for all this, I – I need to know it.’
Hood said nothing for a time, studying the roiling clouds marring the way ahead. Then he spoke. ‘I so dislike moments of revelation, Captain. One is invited to infer all manner of deliberation leading us to this place, this time. When the truth of it is chance and mischance rule our every step.’ He sighed. ‘Very well, I am not indifferent to your … needs. This possibility only gained life when two usurpers reawakened the remnants of Kurald Emurlahn – the Realm of Shadow – and then set out to travel the warrens, and indeed the Holds. Seeking knowledge. Seeking the truth of things. What they eventually discovered did not please them. And in the boldness of their … youth, they decided that something must be done.’
‘Two new gods,’ Shurq Elalle murmured. ‘They came to you?’
‘Not at first. Instead, they sought out loyal allies among the mortals they had once commanded. Well, perhaps “mortals” is not quite accurate in some instances. No matter. Let us call it a wondrous conflagration of circumstance and character, a kind of audacity which made anything possible. Before long, they found the need to gather additional allies. Shall I list them for you?’
‘Why not?’
‘The Son of Darkness, who understood the true burden of a surrendered future, the fatality of empty faith. The Warlord of the Sleeping Goddess, who would defy the eternal patience of the earth itself, and Stonewielder, the One who stood facing Caladan Brood, ensuring the world’s balance. These two are destined to walk disparate paths, but what they seek is much the same. The Queen of Dreams, whose pool had grown still as death itself. The Lord of Tragedy – and, well, a host of others, all drawn into the fold.’
‘Those you have named – are they gods?’
Hood shrugged. ‘Ascendants. The complexity of this beggars belief, to be honest. The sheer scale of contingencies … well, for all his peculiarities, let no one accuse Shadowthrone of failings in the matter of intelligence. The same can be said for Cotillion, for the patron of assassins well comprehended that just as certain individuals deserve a knife through the heart, so too do certain … ideas.’
‘Yet mortals are part of this plan, too.’
‘Indeed.’
‘The Adjunct Tavore Paran?’
Hood was silent for a moment. ‘This congress, Captain, is not above cruel use of mortals.’
‘That is … unfair.’
‘But consider what may be won here, Shurq Elalle.’
‘I have – I am, Hood. But … no. That is unfair.’
‘The storm, Captain—’
‘Why does that surprise you?’ she retorted. ‘Try telling me something that doesn’t break my heart, then. Try telling me something that doesn’t make me furious – at your arrogance. Your contempt.’
‘We do not hold the Adjunct Tavore Paran in contempt.’
‘Really?’ she asked, the word dripping with derision.
‘Captain, she takes our arrogance and humbles us.’
‘And what’s her reward?’ Shurq demanded.
Hood looked away, and then shook his head. ‘For her, there is none.’
‘Tell me,’ Shurq said in a rasp, ‘tell me she did not agree to this.’
‘To that, Captain, I shall say nothing.’ He stepped past her then and raised his hands. ‘We cannot survive the violence your thoughts have conjured, Captain. Thus, I have no recourse but to intervene. Fortunately,’ he turned to eye her briefly, ‘Mael concurs.’
‘Push it away, then,’ Shurq Elalle snapped. ‘But I will bring it back, I swear it. To so use an innocent woman …’
‘You begin to try me, Captain Elalle. If you intend to fight me for the rest of this voyage, I must find us another captain.’
‘Please do, Hood. I barely knew the Adjunct, but—’
He twisted round. ‘Indeed, you barely know her. I will tell you this, then. I looked out through her sister’s eyes, through a helm’s visor – in the moment that she died – and I stared up at my slayer, the Adjunct Tavore Paran. And the blood dripping from her sword was mine. You will speak to me of innocence? There is no such thing.’