Toll the Hounds Part 26

'My Lord something is happening.'

'Yes.'

'What must we do?'

'Ah, my friend, you are right to ask that. Never mind the High Priestess and her answer always the same one with her, yes? Who cries the war cry of Kurald Galain? Let us seek the answer between her legs. Even that can grow tiresome, eventually. Although do not repeat my words to Spinnock Durav I would not disaffect his occasional pleasure.'

Endest Silann wanted to shriek, wanted to lunge against his Lord, grasp him by the neck, and force out force out what? He did not know. The Son of Darkness was, to his mind, the smartest creature mortal, immortal, it mattered not that he had ever met. His thoughts travelled a thousand tracks simultaneously, and no conversation with him could be predicted, no path deemed certain.

'I cannot give answer this time,' Anomander Rake then said. 'Nor, I am afraid, can Spinnock. He will be needed . . . elsewhere.' And now his head turned, and his eyes fixed upon Endest Silann. 'It must fall to you, again. Once more.'

Endest felt his soul recoil in horror, shrink back into whatever cave it had clawed out for itself somewhere down in the mined-out pit of his heart. 'Sire, I cannot.'

Anomander seemed to consider that for a time, ten thousand tracks danced across, on to something new that triggered faint surprise on his features. And he smiled. 'I understand. I will not ask again, then.'

'Then . . . then what who? Sire I do not-'

The wryness of Anomander Rake's tone jarred terribly with his words, 'Reborn into fury, oh, would that I could see that.' Then his voice grew sober. 'You were right you cannot stand in my stead. Do not intercede in any way, Endest Silann. Do not set yourself between two forces, neither of which you can withstand. You may well feel the need, but defy it with all your will. You must not be lost.'

'Sire, I do not understand.'

But Anomander Rake raised one hand.

And yes, the emanation was gone. Darkness was silent once more. Whatever had come into their world had vanished.

Endest found he was trembling. 'Will will it return, my Lord?'

The Son of Darkness studied him with strangely veiled eyes, then rose and walked over to the window. 'Look, the seas grow calm once more. A most worthy lesson, I think. Nothing lasts for ever. Not violence, not peace. Not sorrow, old friend, nor rage. Look well upon this black sea, Endest Silann, in the nights ahead. To calm your fears. To offer you guidance.'

And, just like that, he knew he was dismissed.

Bemused, frightened of a future he knew he was not intelligent enough to yet comprehend, he bowed, then departed. Corridors and stairs, and not so much as an echo remained. He recalled an old prayer, the one whispered before battle.

Let Darkness receive my every breath With her own.

Let our lives speak in answer unto death Never alone.

But now, at this moment, he had never felt more more alone. The warriors no longer voiced that prayer, he well knew. Darkness did not wait to receive a breath, nor the last breath that bridged life and death. A Tiste Andii warrior fought in silence, and when he or she fell, they fell alone. More profoundly alone than anyone who was not Tiste Andii could comprehend. alone. The warriors no longer voiced that prayer, he well knew. Darkness did not wait to receive a breath, nor the last breath that bridged life and death. A Tiste Andii warrior fought in silence, and when he or she fell, they fell alone. More profoundly alone than anyone who was not Tiste Andii could comprehend.

A new vision entered his head then, jarring him, halting him halfway down the stairs. The High Priestess, back arching, crying out in ecstasy or desperation, was there truly a difference?

Her search. Her answer that was no answer at all.

Yes, she speaks for us, does she not?

'He is troubled,' Salind murmured, only now shaking off the violent cold that had gripped her. 'The Redeemer stirred awake then, for some reason unknown and, to us, unknowable. But I felt him. He is most troubled . . .'

The half-dozen pilgrims gathered round the fire all nodded, although none possessed her percipience in these matters, too bound up still in the confused obstinacy of mortality's incessant demands, and, of course, there was the dread, now, the one that had stalked them every moment since the Benighted's abandonment, an abandonment they saw as a turning away, which was deemed just, because none there had proved worthy of Seerdomin and the protection he offered. Yes, he was right in denying them. They had all failed him. In some way as yet undetermined.

Salind understood all these notions, and even, to some extent this alone surprising given her few years comprehended the nature of self-abnegation that could give rise to them. People in great need were quick to find blame in themselves, quick to a.s.sume the burden of guilt for things they in truth had no control over and could not hope to change. It was, she had begun to understand, integral to the very nature of belief, of faith. A need that could not be answered by the self was then given over to someone or something greater than oneself, and this form of surrender was a lifting of a vast, terrible weight.

In faith could be found release. Relief.

And so this enormous contradiction is laid bare. The believers yield all, into the arms of the Redeemer who by his very nature can release nothing, can find nothing in the way of relief, and so can never surrender.

Where then the Redeemer's reward?

Such questions were not for her. Perhaps indeed they were beyond answering. For now, there was before her a mundane concern, of the most sordid kind. A dozen ex-soldiers, probably from the Pannion Tenebrii, now terrorized the pilgrim encampment. Robbing the new arrivals before they could set their treasures upon the barrow. There had been beatings, and now a rape.

This informal gathering, presumably the camp's representatives, had sought her out, pleading for help, but what could she say to them? We were wrong to believe in the Benighted. I am sorry. He was not what we thought he was. He looked into my eyes and he refused. I am sorry. I cannot help you. We were wrong to believe in the Benighted. I am sorry. He was not what we thought he was. He looked into my eyes and he refused. I am sorry. I cannot help you.

'You say the Redeemer is troubled, Priestess,' said the spokesman, a wiry middle-aged man who had once been a merchant in Capustan fleeing west before the siege, a refugee in Saltoan who had seen with his own eyes the Expulsion, the night when the advance agents of the Pannion Domin were driven out of that city. He had been among the first of the pilgrims to arrive at the Great Barrow and now it seemed he would stay, perhaps for the rest of his life. Whatever wealth he had once possessed was now part of the barrow, now a gift to a G.o.d who had been a man, a man he had once seen with his own eyes. 'Surely this is because of Gradithan and his thugs. The Redeemer was a soldier in his life. Will he not reach out and smite those who prey upon his followers?'

Salind held out her hands, palms up. 'Friend, we do not converse. My only gift is this . . . sensitivity. But I do not believe that the source of the Redeemer's disquiet lies in the deeds of Gradithan and his cohorts. There was a burgeoning of . . . something. Not close at hand, yet of such power to make the ether tremble.' She hesitated, then said, 'It had the flavour of Kurald Galain the warren of the Tiste Andii. And,' she frowned, 'something else that I have felt before. Many times, in fact. As if a storm raged far to the south, one that returns again and again.'

Blank faces stared at her.

Salind sighed. 'See the clouds roll in from the sea can we halt their progress? Can we any of us drive back the winds and rain, the hail? No. Such forces are far above us, far beyond our reach, and they rage as they will, fighting wars in the heavens. This, my friends, is what I am feeling when something ripples through the ether, when a storm awakens to the south, when the Redeemer shifts uneasy and is troubled.'

'Then we are nothing to him,' said the merchant, sorrow br.i.m.m.i.n.g in his eyes. 'I surrendered everything, all my wealth, for yet another indifferent G.o.d. If he cannot protect us, what is the point?'

She wished that she had an answer to such questions. Were these not the very grist of priestly endeavours? To grind out palatable answers, to hint of promising paths to true salvation? To show a benign countenance gifted by G.o.d-given wisdom, glowing as if fanned by sacred breath? 'It is my feeling,' she said, haltingly, 'that a faith that delivers perfect answers to every question is not a true faith, for its only purpose is to satisfy, to ease the mind and so end its questing.' She held up a hand to still the objections she saw awakened among these six honest, serious believers. 'Is it for faith to deliver peace, when on all sides inequity thrives? For it shall indeed thrive, when the blessed walk past blissfully blind, content in their own moral purity, in the peace filling their souls. Oh, you might then reach out a hand to the wretched by the roadside, offering them your own footprints, and you may see the blessed burgeon in number, grow into a mult.i.tude, until you are as an army. But there will be, will ever be, those who turn away from your hand. The ones who quest because it is in their nature to quest, who fear the seduction of self-satisfaction, who mistrust easy answers. Are these ones then to be your enemy? Does the army grow angered now? Does it strike out at the unbelievers? Does it crush them underfoot?

'My friends, is this not describing the terror this land has just survived?' Her eyes fixed on the merchant. 'Is this not what destroyed Capustan? Is this not what the rulers of Saltoan so violently rejected when they drove out the Pannion monks? Is this not what the Redeemer died fighting against?'

'None of this,' growled a woman, 'eases my daughter's pain. She was raped, and now there is nothing to be seen in her eyes. She has fled herself and may never return.

Gradithan took her and destroyed her. Will he escape all punishment for such a thing? He laughed at me, when I picked up my daughter. When I stood before him with her limp in my arms, he laughed at me.' he laughed at me.'

'The Benighted must return,' said the merchant. 'He must defend us. He must explain to us how we failed him.'

Salind studied the faces before her, seeing the fear and the anger, the pain and the growing despair. It was not in her to turn them away, yet what could she do? She did not ask to become a priestess she was not quite sure how it even happened. And what of her own pain? Her own broken history? What of the flesh she had once taken into her mouth? Not the b.l.o.o.d.y meat of a stranger, no. The First Born of the Tenescowri, Children of the Dead Seed, ah, they were to be special, yes, so special willing to eat their own kin, and was that not proof of how special they were? What, then, of the terrible need that had brought her her here? here?

'You must go to him,' said the merchant. 'We know where to find him, in Black Coral I can lead you to him, Priestess. Together, we will demand his help he was a Seerdomin, a chosen sword of the tyrant. He owes us! He owes us all!' He owes us! He owes us all!'

'I have tried-'

'I will help you,' insisted the merchant. 'I will show him our desire to mend our ways. To accord the Benighted the proper respect.'

Others nodded, and the merchant took this in and went on, 'We will help. All of us here, we will stand with you, Priestess. Once he is made to understand what is happening, once we confront him there in that d.a.m.ned tavern with that d.a.m.ned Tiste Andii he games with how can he turn away from us yet again?'

But what of fairness? What of Seerdomin and his own wounds? See the zeal in your fellows see it in yourself, then ask: where is my compa.s.sion when I stand before him, shouting my demands?

Why will none of you defend yourselves?

'Priestess!'

'Very well.' And she rose, drawing her woollen robe tight about herself. 'Lead on, then, merchant, to where he may be found.'

A man huddled against the counter, sneezing fiercely enough to loosen his teeth, and while this barrage went on none at the table attempted to speak. Hands reached for tankards, kelyk glistened on lips and eyes shone murky and fixed with intent upon the field of battle.

Spinnock Durav waited for Seerdomin to make a move, to attempt something unexpected in the shoring up of his buckling defences the man was always good for a surprise or two, a flash of tactical genius that could well halt Spinnock in his tracks, even make him stagger. And was this not the very heart of the contest, its bright hint of glory?

The sneezing fit ended something that, evidently, came of too much kelyk. A sudden flux of the sinuses, followed by an alarmingly dark discharge he'd begun to see stains, on walls and pavestones and cobbles, all over the city now. This foreign drink was outselling even ale and wine. And among the drinkers there were now emerging abusers, stumbling glaze-eyed, mouths hanging, tongues like black worms. As yet, Spinnock had not seen such among the Tiste Andii, but perhaps it was only a matter of time.

He sipped at his cup of wine, pleased to note that the trembling in his fingers had finally ceased. The eruption of power from Kurald Galain that had taken him so unawares had vanished, leaving little more than a vague unease that only slightly soured the taste of the wine. Strange disturbances these nights; who could say their portent?

The High Priestess might have an idea or two, he suspected, although the punctuation of every statement from her never changed, now, did it? Half smiling, he sipped again at his drink.

Seerdomin frowned and sat back. 'This is an a.s.sault I cannot survive,' he p.r.o.nounced. 'The Jester's deceit was well played, Spinnock. There was no antic.i.p.ating that.'

'Truly?' Spinnock asked. 'With these allies here?'

Seerdomin grimaced at the other two players, then grunted a sour laugh. 'Ah, yes, I see your point. That kelyk takes their minds, I think.'

'Sharpens, just so you know,' said Garsten, licking his stained lips. 'Although I'd swear, some nights it's more potent than other times, wouldn't you say so, Fuldit?'

'Eh? Yah, s'pose so. When you gonna move den, Seerdomin? Eh? Resto, bring us another bottle!'

'Perhaps,' muttered Seerdomin, 'it's my my mind that's not sharp. I believe I must surrender.' mind that's not sharp. I believe I must surrender.'

Spinnock said nothing, although he was disappointed no, he was shaken. He could see a decent counter, had been a.s.suming his opponent had seen it immediately, but had been busy seeking something better, something wilder. Other nights, Seerdomin's talent would burst through at moments like these a fearless gambit that seemed to pivot the world on this very tabletop.

Perhaps if I wait a little longer- 'I yield,' said Seerdomin.

Words uttered, a crisis p.r.o.nounced.

'Resto, bring us a pitcher, if you'd be so-' Seerdomin got no further. He seemed to jolt back into his chair, as if an invisible hand had just slammed into his chest. His eyes were on the tavern door.

Spinnock twisted in his seat to see that strangers had arrived at the Scour. A young woman wearing a rough-woven russet robe, her hair cut short shorter even than the High Priestess's yet the same midnight black. A pale face both soft and exquisite, eyes of deep brown, now searching through the gloom, finding at last the one she sought: Seerdomin. Behind her crowded others, all wearing little more than rags, their wan faces tight with something like panic.

The woman in the lead walked over.

Seerdomin sat like a man nailed to his chair. All colour had left his face a moment earlier, but now it was darkening, his eyes flaring with hard anger.

'Benighted-'

'This is my refuge,' he said. 'Leave. Now.'

'We-'

'"We"? Look at your followers, Priestess.'

She turned, in time to see the last of them rush out of the tavern door.

Seerdomin snorted.

Impressively, the young woman held her ground. The robe fell open lacking a belt and Spinnock Durav judged she was barely adolescent. A priestess? Ah, the Great Barrow, the Redeemer. Ah, the Great Barrow, the Redeemer. 'Benighted,' she resumed, in a voice that few would find hard to listen to, indeed, at length, 'I am not here for myself. Those who were with me insisted, and even if their courage failed them at the end, this makes their need no less valid.' 'Benighted,' she resumed, in a voice that few would find hard to listen to, indeed, at length, 'I am not here for myself. Those who were with me insisted, and even if their courage failed them at the end, this makes their need no less valid.'

'They came with demands,' Seerdomin said. 'They have no right, and they realized the truth of that as soon as they saw me. You should now do the same, and leave as they have.'

'I must try-'

Seerdomin surged to his feet, suddenly enough to startle Garsten and Fuldit despite their addled senses, and both stared up wide-eyed and frightened.

The priestess did not even flinch. 'I must try,' she repeated, 'for their sake, and for my own. We are beset in the camp-'

'No,' cut in Seerdomin. 'You have no right.'

'Please, will you just listen?'

The hard edge of those words clearly surprised Seerdomin. Garsten and Fuldit, collecting their tankards and bottles, quickly left the table.

Spinnock Durav rose, bowed slightly to both, and made for the exit. As he pa.s.sed Resto who stood motionless with a pitcher in his hand he said under his breath, 'On my tab, please this entire night. Seerdomin will have no thought of you when he leaves.'

Res...o...b..inked up at him, then nodded.

In the darkness opposite the Scour's door, Spinnock Durav waited. He had half expected to see the pilgrims waiting outside, but the street was empty they had fled indeed, at a run, probably all the way back to the camp. There was little spine in the followers of the Redeemer.

With at least one exception, he corrected himself as the priestess stepped outside.

Even from ten paces away, he saw her sag slightly, as if finding herself on suddenly watery legs. Tugging the robe tight round herself, she set off, three, four strides, then slowed and finally halted to turn and face Spinnock Durav.

Who came forward. 'My pardon, Priestess,' he said.

'Your friend took that pitcher for himself,' she said. 'Expect a long night. If you have a care you can collect him in a few bells I'd rather he not spend a senseless night lying on that filthy floor.'

'I would have thought the possibility might please you,' Spinnock said.

She frowned. 'No. He is the Benighted.'

'And what does that mean?'

She hesitated, then said, 'Each day, until recently, he came to the Great Barrow and knelt before it. Not to pray, not to deliver a trinket.'

Confused, Spinnock Durav asked, 'What, then?'

'He would rather that remain a secret, I suspect.'

'Priestess, he is my friend. I see well his distress-'

'And why does that bother you so? More than a friend might feel I can sense that. Most friends might offer sympathy, even more, but within them remains the stone thought that they are thankful that they themselves do not share their friend's plight. But that is not within you, not with this Seerdomin. No,' she drew a step closer, eyes searching, 'he answers a need, and so wounded as he now is, you you begin to bleed.' begin to bleed.'

'Mother Dark, woman!'

She retreated at his outburst and looked away. 'I am sorry. Sir, the Benighted kneels before the Great Barrow and delivers unto the Redeemer the most precious gift of all. Company. Company. Asking for nothing. He comes to relieve the Redeemer's loneliness.' She ran a hand back through her short hair. 'I sought to tell him something, but he would not hear me.' Asking for nothing. He comes to relieve the Redeemer's loneliness.' She ran a hand back through her short hair. 'I sought to tell him something, but he would not hear me.'

'Can I-'