Midnight Tides

‘Please… Trull…’



Trull shook his head, trying not to hear.



‘All I wanted… you, and Fear, and Binadas. I wanted you to… include me. Not a child any longer, you see? That’s all, Trull’



Hannan Mosag grunted a laugh. ‘Respect, Trull. That is what he wanted. Where does that come from, then? A sword? A wealth of coins burned into your skin? A title? That presumptuous, obnoxious we he’s always using now? None of those? How about stealing his brother’s wife?’



‘Be quiet,’ Trull said.



‘Do not speak to your king that way, Trull Sengar. It will… cost you.’



‘I am to quail at your threats, Warlock King?’



Trull let his hands fall away from his ears. The gesture had been useless. This chamber carried the slightest whisper. Besides, there could be no deafness without when there was none within. He caught slight movement from the Letherii at the far wall and looked over to see that he had turned his head, attention fixed now upon the entranceway. The man suddenly frowned.



Then Trull heard footsteps. Heavy, dragging. A sound of metal, and something like streaming water,



Hannan Mosag twisted round where he lay. ‘What? What comes? Trull – find a weapon, quickly!’



Trull did not move.



Rhulad’s weeping resumed, indifferent to all else.



The thudding footsteps came closer.



A moment later, an apparition shambled into view, blood pouring down from its gauntleted hands. Nearly the size of a Tarthenal, it was sheathed in black, stained iron plates, studded with green rivets. A great helm with caged eye-slits hid the face within, the grille-work hanging ragged on its shoulders and beneath its armoured chin. The figure was encrusted with barnacles at the joins of its elbows, knees and ankles. In one hand it carried a sword of Letherii steel, down which the blood flowed ceaselessly.



Rhulad hissed, ‘What is it, Trull? What has come?’



The monstrosity paused just within the entrance. Head creaking as it looked round, it fixed its focus, it seemed, on the corpse of the King’s Champion. It resumed walking forward, leaving twin trails of blood.



‘Trull!’ Rhulad shrieked.



The creature halted, looked down at the emperor lying on the floor. After a moment, a heavy voice rumbled from within the helm. ‘You are gravely injured.’



Trembling, Rhulad laughed, a sound close to hysteria. ‘Injured? Oh yes. Cut to pieces !’



‘You will live.’



Hannan Mosag said in a growl, ‘Begone, demon. Lest I banish you.’



‘You can try,’ it said. And moved forward once more. Until it stood directly in front of the Champion’s body. ‘I see no wounds, yet he lies dead. This honourable mortal.’



‘Poison,’ said the Letherii at the far wall.



The creature looked over. ‘I know you. I know all your names.’



‘I imagine you do, Guardian,’ the man replied.



‘Poison. Tell me, did you… push him in that direction?’



‘It is my aspect,’ the Letherii said, shrugging. ‘I am driven to… poignancy. Tell me, does your god know you are here?’



‘I will speak to him soon. Words of chastisement are necessary.’



The man laughed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. ‘I imagine they are at that.’



The Guardian looked once more upon the Champion. ‘He held the names. Of all those who were almost forgotten. This… this is a great loss.’



‘No,’ the Letherii said, ‘those names are not lost. Not yet. But they will be… soon.’



‘I need… someone, then.’



‘And you will find him.’



The Guardian regarded the Letherii once more. ‘I am… pushed?’



The man shrugged again.



The Guardian reached down, closed a firm grip on the Champion’s sword-belt, then lifted him from the floor and slung him over its left shoulder. Standing in a spreading pool of blood, it turned about.



And looked upon Rhulad Sengar. ‘They show no mercy, your friends,’ it said.



‘No?’ Rhulad’s laugh became a cough. He gasped, then said, ‘I am beginning to see… otherwise-’



‘I have learned mercy,’ the Guardian said, and thrust down with his sword.



Into Rhulad’s back, severing the spine.



Trull Sengar lurched to his feet, stared, disbelieving-



– as the Letherii man whispered, ‘And… once more.’



The Guardian walked towards the entrance, ignoring Hannan Mosag’s enraged bellow as it passed the Warlock King.