Midnight Tides

She fell silent.



Muttered voices from the crowd. This was a cold invitation into the Holds.



Errant guard us, we are in trouble. Dread trouble.



Hulad plucked at his arm, gestured to the far wall where shadows lay thick as muddy water. A figure stood there, back to the dirt-spattered plaster wall. The Acquitor. Seren Pedac.



Feather Witch remained silent, and unease grew.



Udinaas climbed to his feet and threaded his way through the crowd, ignoring the glares from the slaves he edged past. He reached the back wall and made his way along it until he reached the Acquitor’s side.



‘What has gone wrong?’ she asked.



‘I don’t know-’



Feather Witch began speaking once more. ‘ Bone Perch now stands as a throne that none shall occupy, for its shape has become inimical to taming. The throne’s back is now hunched, the ribs drawn downward, the shoulder blades steep and narrow. The arms, upon which a ruler’s arms would rest, are risen now, each in the visage of a wolf, and in their eyes burns savage life .’ She paused, then intoned, ‘ The Hold of the Beast has found Twin Rulers.’



‘That is impossible,’ Seren Pedac murmured.



‘And before us now… the Hold of the Azath. Its stones bleed. The earth heaves and steams. A silent, unceasing scream shakes the branches of the ancient trees. The Azath stands besieged.’



Voices rose in denial, the slaves shifting about.



‘ Ice Hold !’ Feather Witch shouted, head tilted back, teeth bared.



Silence once more, all eyes fixing on her.



‘ Riven tomb! Corpses lie scattered before the sundered threshold . Urquall Jaghuthan taezmalas. They are not here to mend the damage. They are forgotten, and the ice itself cannot recall the weight of their passage .’



‘What language was that?’ Seren Pedac asked.



‘Jaghut,’ Udinaas replied, then snapped his mouth shut.



‘What is Jaghut?’



He shrugged. ‘Forgers of the Ice, Acquitor. It is of no matter. They are gone.’



She gripped his arm and swung him round. ‘How do you know this?’



‘ The Hold of the Dragon ,’ Feather Witch said, her skin glistening with sweat. ‘Eleint Tiam purake setoram n’brael buras-’



‘Draconean words,’ Udinaas said, suddenly revelling in his secret knowledge. ‘ “Children of the Mother Tiam lost in all that they surrendered.” More or less. The poetry suffers in translation-’



‘The Eleint would destroy all in their paths to achieve vengeance,’ Feather Witch said in a grating voice. ‘ As we all shall see in the long night to come. The Queen lies dead and may never again rise. The Consort writhes upon a tree and whispers with madness of the time of his release. The Liege is lost, dragging chains in a world where to walk is to endure, and where to halt is to be devoured. The Knight strides his own doomed path, soon to cross blades with his own vengeance. Gate rages with wild fire. Wyval -’



Her head snapped back as if struck by an invisible hand, and blood sprayed from her mouth and nose. She gasped, then smiled a red smile. ‘ Locqui Wyval waits. The Lady and the Sister dance round each other, each on her own side of the world. Blood-Drinker waits as well, waits to be found. Path-Shaper knows fever in his fell blood and staggers on the edge of the precipice .



‘Thus! The Holds, save one.’



‘Someone stop her,’ Seren Pedac hissed, releasing Udinaas’s arm.



And now it was his turn to grasp her, hold her back. She snapped a glare at him and twisted to escape his grip.



He pulled her close. ‘This is not your world , Acquitor. No-one invited you. Now, stand here and say nothing… or leave !’



‘The Empty Hold has become…’ Feather Witch’s smile broadened, ‘ very crowded indeed. ’Ware the brothers! Listen! Blood weaves a web that will trap the entire world! None shall escape, none shall find refuge! ’ Her right hand snapped out, spraying the ancient tiles onto the floor. From the rafters far above pigeons burst out of the gloom, a wild, chaotic beat of wings. They circled in a frenzy, feathers skirling down.



‘ The Watchers stand in place as if made of stone! Their faces are masks of horror. The Mistresses dance with thwarted desire.’ Her eyes were closed, yet she pointed to one tile after another, proclaiming their identity in a harsh, rasping voice. ‘ The Wanderers have broken through the ice and cold darkness comes with its deathly embrace. The Walkers cannot halt in the growing torrent that pulls them ever onward. The Saviours -’



‘What is she saying?’ Seren Pedac demanded. ‘She has made them all plural – the players within the Hold of the Empty Throne – this makes no sense-’