Midnight Tides
He veered into his draconean form. An enormous taloned foot closed about the motionless Silchas Ruin, and Scabandari Bloodeye rose into the sky, wings thundering.
The tower was less than a hundred leagues to the south, only its low battered wall enclosing the yard revealing that it was not of Jaghut construction, that it had arisen beside the three Jaghut towers of its own accord, in answer to a law unfathomable to god and mortal alike. Arisen… to await the coming of those whom it would imprison for eternity. Creatures of deadly power.
Such as the Soletaken Tiste Andii, Silchas Ruin, third and last of Mother Dark’s three children.
Removing from Scabandari Bloodeye’s path his last worthy opponent among the Tiste.
Mother Dark’s three children.
Three names…
Andarist, who long ago surrendered his power in answer to a grief that could never heal. All unknowing that the hand that delivered that grief was mine…
Anomandaris Irake, who broke with his mother and with his kind. Who then vanished before I could deal with him. Vanished, probably never to be seen again.
And now Silchas Ruin, who in a very short time will know the eternal prison of the Azath.
Scabandari Bloodeye was pleased. For his people. For himself. This world he would conquer. Only the first Andii settlers could pose any challenge to his claim.
A champion of the Tiste Andii in this realm? I can think of no-one… no-one with the power to stand before me…
It did not occur to Scabandari Bloodeye to wonder where, of the three sons of Mother Dark, the one who had vanished might have gone.
But even that was not his greatest mistake…
On a glacial berm to the north, the lone Jaghut began weaving the sorcery of Omtose Phellack. He had witnessed the devastation wrought by the two Soletaken Eleint and their attendant armies. Little sympathy was spared for the K’Chain Che’Malle. They were dying out anyway, for myriad reasons, none of which concerned the Jaghut overmuch. Nor did the intruders worry him. He had long since lost his capacity for worry. Along with fear. And, it must be admitted, wonder.
He felt the betrayal when it came, the distant bloom of magic and the spilling of ascendant blood. And the two dragons were now one.
Typical.
And then, a short while later, in the time when he rested between weavings of his ritual, he sensed someone approaching him from behind. An Elder god, come in answer to the violent rift torn between the realms. As expected. Still… which god? K’rul? Draconus? The Sister of Cold Nights? Osserc? Kilmandaros? Sechul Lath? Despite his studied indifference, curiosity finally forced him to turn to look upon the newcomer.
Ah, unexpected… but interesting.
Mael, Elder Lord of the Seas, was wide and squat, with deep blue skin that faded to pale gold at throat and bared belly. Lank blond hair hung unbound from his broad, almost flat pate. And in Mael’s amber eyes, sizzling rage.
‘Gothos,’ Mael rasped, ‘what ritual do you invoke in answer to this?’
The Jaghut scowled. ‘They’ve made a mess. I mean to cleanse it.’
‘Ice,’ the Elder god snorted. ‘The Jaghut answer to everything.’
‘And what would yours be, Mael? Flood, or… flood?’
The Elder god faced south, the muscles of his jaw bunching. ‘I am to have an ally. Kilmandaros. She comes from the other side of the rent.’
‘Only one Tiste Soletaken is left,’ Gothos said. ‘Seems he struck down his companion, and even now delivers him into the keeping of the Azath Tower’s crowded yard.’
‘Premature. Does he think the K’Chain Che’Malle his only opposition in this realm?’
The Jaghut shrugged. ‘Probably.’
Mael was silent for a time, then he sighed and said, ‘With your ice, Gothos, do not destroy all of this. Instead, I ask that you… preserve .’
‘Why?’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘I am pleased for you. What are they?’
The Elder god shot him a dark look. ‘Impudent bastard.’
‘Why change?’
‘In the seas, Jaghut, time is unveiled. In the depths ride currents of vast antiquity. In the shallows whisper the future. The tides flow between them in ceaseless exchange. Such is my realm. Such is my knowledge. Seal this devastation in your damned ice, Gothos. In this place, freeze time itself. Do this, and I will accept an indebtedness to you… which one day you might find useful.’
Gothos considered the Elder god’s words, then nodded. ‘I might at that. Very well, Mael. Go to Kilmandaros. Swat down this Tiste Eleint and scatter his people. But do it quickly.’