Midnight Tides

‘You do poorly at reading a Letherii’s expression,’ Tehol said sadly.



‘That is too bad, for you.’



‘Yes,’ Tehol replied, ‘I imagine-’



Theradas struck him with a gloved fist.



Pitching Tehol’s head back, his nose cracking loudly. He bent over, both hands to his face, then a foot slammed down diagonally against his right shin, snapping both bones. He fell. A heel crunched down on his chest, breaking ribs.



Tehol could feel his body trying to curl up as heels and fists battered at him. A foot smashed down on his left cheek, crushing bone and bursting that eye. White fire blazed in his brain, swiftly darkening to murky black.



Another kick dislocated his left shoulder.



Beneath yet another heel, his left elbow was crushed. As kicks hammered into his gut, he tried to draw his knees up, only to feel them stamped on and broken. Something burst low in his gut and he felt himself spilling out.



Then a heel landed on the side of his head.



Fifty paces up the street, Hull Beddict approached. He saw a crowd of Tiste Edur, and it was clear they were kicking someone to death. A sudden uneasiness in his stomach, he quickened his pace. There were bodies, he saw, beyond the circle. A soldier in the garb of a palace guard, the shaft of a spear jutting from him. And… an Edur woman.



‘Oh, Errant, what has happened here?’



He made to run-



– and found his path blocked.



A Nerek, and a moment later Hull Beddict recognized him. One of Buruk the Pale’s servants.



Frowning, wondering how he had come to be here, Hull moved to step around the man – who sidestepped once more to block him.



‘What is this?’



‘You have been judged, Hull Beddict,’ the Nerek said. ‘I am sorry.’



‘Judged? Please, I must-’



‘You chose to walk with the Tiste Edur emperor,’ the Nerek said. ‘You chose… betrayal.’



‘An end to Lether, yes – what of it? No more will this damned kingdom destroy people like the Nerek, and the Tarthenal-’



‘We thought we knew your heart, Hull Beddict, but now we see that it has turned black. It is poisoned, because forgiveness is not within you.’



‘Forgiveness?’ He reached out to push the Nerek aside. They’re beating someone. To death. I think -



From behind, two knives slid into his back, one under each shoulder blade, angling upward.



Arching in shock, Hull Beddict stared at the Nerek standing before him, and saw that the young man was weeping. What? Why -



He sank to his knees, weakness rising through him, and the storm of thoughts – the emotions and desires that had haunted him for years – they too weakened, fell away into a grey, calm mist. The mist rising yet higher, a sudden coldness in his muscles. It is… it is… so …



Hull Beddict pitched forward, onto his face, but he never felt the impact with the cobbles.



‘Stop. Please-’



The Tiste Edur turned, to see a Letherii step from where he had been hiding, round the corner of the warehouse. Nondescript, limping, a knout tucked into a rope belt, the man edged forward and continued in the trader tongue, ‘He’s never hurt no-one. Don’t kill him, please. I saw, you see.’



‘You saw what?’ Theradas demanded.



‘The woman, she stabbed herself. Look at the knife, see for yourself.’ Chalas wrung his hands, eyes on the bleeding, motionless form of Tehol. ‘Please, don’t hurt him no more.’



‘You must learn,’ Theradas said, baring his teeth. ‘We heed our emperor’s words. This shall be a day of suffering, old man. Now, leave us, or invite the same fate.’



Chalas surprised them, lunging forward to drape himself over Tehol, shifting to protect as much of him as he could.



Midik Buhn laughed.



Blows rained down, more savage than ever, and it was not long before Chalas lost consciousness. A half-dozen more kicks dislodged the man from Tehol, until the two were lying side by side. With sudden impatience, Theradas slammed his heel down on a head, hard enough to collapse the skull and crush the brain.



Standing on the far side of the bridge, Turudal Brizad felt the malign sorcery wash over him. The soldiers barricading the bridge had died in the grey conflagration a moment earlier, and now it seemed the terrible sorcery would reach out into the rest of the city. Into the nearby buildings, and, for the Errant, enough was enough.



He nudged the wild power coursing through those buildings, angling it ever downward, slipping it past occupied rooms, downward, past the hidden tunnels of the Rat Catchers’ Guild where so many citizens huddled, and into the insensate mud and clays of the long dead swamp. Where it could do nothing, and was slowed, slowed, then trapped.