Midnight Tides

The kneecap still speared on Brys’s sword-point, he darted in again as the emperor drove his own sword down and to the left in an effort to stay upright, and slashed lightly across the tendons of the Edur’s right arm, just above the elbow.



Rhulad fell back, thudded hard on the tiles, coins snapping free. The sword should have dropped from the Edur’s hands, yet it remained firm within two clenched fists. But Rhulad could do nothing with it.



Trying to sit up, eyes filling with rage, he strained to lift the weapon. Brys struck the floor with his sword-tip, dislodging the patella, stepped close to the emperor and severed the tendons and ligaments in the Edur’s right shoulder, sweeping the blade across to slice a neck tendon, then, point hovering a moment, thrusting down to disable the left shoulder in an identical manner. Standing over the helpless emperor, Brys methodically cut through both tendons above Rhulad’s heels, then sliced diagonally across his victim’s stomach, parting the wall of muscles there. A kick sent Rhulad over, exposing his back.



Slashes above each shoulder blade, two more neck tendons. Lower back, ensuring that the sheets of muscle there fully separated, rolling up beneath the coin-studded skin. Back of shoulders, coins dancing away to bounce across the floor.



Brys then stepped back. Lowered his sword.



Rebounding shrieks from the emperor lying face down on the floor, limbs already curling of their own accord, muscles drawing up. The only movement in the chamber.



A slow settling of dust from the corridor.



Then, from one of the Edur warriors, ‘Sisters take me…’



King Ezgara Diskanar sighed, leaned drunkenly forward, then said, ‘Kill him. Kill him ’



Brys looked over. ‘No, sire.’



Disbelief on the old man’s face. ‘What?’



‘The Ceda was specific on this, sire. I must not kill him.’



‘He will bleed out,’ Nifadas said, his words strangely dull.



But Brys shook his head. ‘He will not. I opened no major vessels, First Eunuch.’



The Edur warrior named Trull then spoke. ‘No major vessels… how – how could you know? It is not possible… so fast…



Brys said nothing.



The king suddenly slumped back on his throne. Rhulad’s shrieks had fallen away, and now he wept. Heaving, helpless cries. A sudden gasp, then, ‘Brothers! Kill me!’



Trull Sengar recoiled at Rhulad’s command. He shook his head, looked across at Fear, and saw a terrible realization in his brother’s eyes.



Rhulad was not healing. Leaking blood onto the polished tiles. His body… destroyed. And he was not healing. Trull turned to Hannan Mosag, and saw the ugly gleam of satisfaction in the Warlock King’s eyes.



‘Hannan Mosag,’ Trull whispered.



‘I cannot. His flesh, Trull Sengar, is beyond me. Beyond all of us. Only the sword… and only by the sword. You, Trull Sengar. Or Fear.’ A weak wave of one hand. ‘Oh, call in someone else, if you’ve not the courage…’



Courage.



Fear grunted at that. As if punched in the chest.



Trull studied him – but Fear had not moved, not a single step. He dragged his eyes away, fixed them once more on Rhulad.



‘My brothers.’ Rhulad wept where he lay. ‘Kill me. One of you. Please. ’



The Champion – that extraordinary, appalling swordsman – walked over to where the wine jug sat near the foot of the throne. The king looked half asleep, indifferent, his face flushed and slack. Trull drew a deep breath. He saw the First Eunuch, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall. Another man, elderly, stood near Nifadas, hands to his eyes – a posture both strange and pathetic. The woman standing behind the throne was backing away, as if in sudden realization of something. There had been another man, young, handsome, but it seemed he had vanished.



Along the walls, the six palace guards had all drawn their weapons and held them across their chest, a silent salute to the King’s Champion. A salute Trull wanted to match. His gaze returned once more to Brys. So modest in appearance, so… his face. Familiar… Hull Beddict. So like Hull Beddict. Yes, his brother. The youngest. He watched the Letherii pour wine from the jug into the goblet the king had used earlier.



Sisters, this Champion – what has he done? He has given us this… this answer. This… solution .



Rhulad screamed. ‘Fear!’



Hannan Mosag coughed, then said, ‘He is gone, Emperor.’



Trull spun round, looked about. Gone? No - ‘Where? Hannan Mosag, where-’



‘He… walked away.’ The Warlock King’s smile was bloodstained. ‘Just that, Trull Sengar. Walked. You understand, now, don’t you?’