A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

in the normal proceedings. And so he was not surprised when Rhulad beckoned him closer, and Udinaas saw in the emperor's eyes a welling of anguish and terror.
    'Stand close by me, slave,' Rhulad gasped, fierce trembling sweeping over him. 'Remind me! Please! Udinaas—'
    The slave thought for a moment, then said; 'You died. Your body was dressed for honourable burial as a blooded warrior of the Hiroth. Then you returned. By the sword now in your hand, you returned and are alive once more.'
    'Yes, that is it. Yes.' A laugh that rose to a piercing shriek, stopping abruptly as a spasm ripped through Rhulad. He gaped, as if in pain, then muttered, 'The wounds ...'
    'Emperor?'
    'No matter. Just the memory. Cold iron pushing into my body. Cold fire. I tried. I tried to curl up around those wounds. Up tight, to protect what I had already lost. I remember...'
    Udinaas was silent. Since the emperor would not look at him, he was free to observe. And arrive at conclusions.
    The young should not die. That final moment belonged to the aged. Some rules should never be broken, and whether the motivation was compassionate or coldly calculated hardly mattered. Rhulad had been dead too long, too long to escape some kind of spiritual damage. If the emperor was to be a tool, then he was a flawed one.
    And what value that?
    'We are imperfect.'
    Udinaas started, said nothing.
    'Do you understand that, Udinaas?'
    'Yes, Emperor.'
    'How? How do you understand?'
    'I am a slave.'
    Rhulad nodded. His left hand, gauntleted in gold, lifted to join his right where it gripped the handle of the sword. 'Yes, of course. Yes. Imperfect. We can never match the ideals set before us. That is the burden of mortality.' A twisted grimace. 'Not just mortals.' A flicker of the eyes, momentarily fixing on the slave's own, then away again. 'He whispers in my mind. He tells me what to say. He makes me cleverer than I am. What does that make me, Udinaas? What does that make me?'
    'A slave.'
    'But I am Tiste Edur.'
    'Yes, Emperor.'
    A scowl. 'The gift of a life returned.'
    'You are Indebted.'
    Rhulad flinched back in his chair, his eyes flashing with sudden rage. 'We are not the same, slave! Do you understand? I am not one of your Indebted. I am not a Letherii.' Then he sagged in a rustle of coins. 'Daughter take me, the weight of this ...'
    'I am sorry, Emperor. It is true. You are not an Indebted. Nor, perhaps, are you a slave. Although perhaps it feels that way, at times. When exhaustion assails you.'
    'Yes, that is it. I am tired. That's all. Tired.'
    Udinaas hesitated, then asked, 'Emperor, does he speak through you now?'
    A fragile shake of the head. 'No. But he does not speak through me. He only whispers advice, helps me choose my words. Orders my thoughts – but the thoughts are mine. They must be. I am not a fool. I possess my own cleverness. Yes, that is it. He but whispers confidence.'
    'You have not eaten,' Udinaas said. 'Nor drunk anything. Do you know hunger and thirst, Emperor? Can I get you something to replenish your strength?'
    'Yes, I would eat. And ... some wine. Find a servant.'
    'At once, master.'
    Udinaas walked to the small curtain covering the entrance to the passage that led to the kitchens. He found a servant huddled in the corridor a dozen paces from the door. Terrified eyes glistened up at him as he approached. 'On your feet, Virrick. The emperor wants wine. And food.'
    'The god would eat?'
    'He's not a god. Food and drink, Virrick. Fit for an emperor, and be quick about it.'
    The servant scrambled up, seemed about to bolt.
    'You know how to do this,' Udinaas said in a calm voice. 'It's what you have been trained to do.'
    'I am frightened—'
    'Listen to me. I will tell you a secret. You always like secrets, don't you, Virrick?'
    A tentative nod.
    'It is this,' Udinaas said. 'We slaves have no reason to fear. It is the Edur who have reason, and that gives us leave to continue laughing behind their backs. Remember doing that, Virrick? It's your favourite game.'
    'I – I remember, Udinaas.'
    'Good. Now go into the kitchens and show the others. You know the secret, now. Show them, and they will follow. Food, and wine. When you are ready, bring it to the curtain and give the low whistle, as you would do normally. Virrick, we need things to return to normal, do you understand? And that task falls to us, the slaves.'
    'Feather Witch ran—'
    'Feather Witch is young, and what she did was wrong. I have spoken to her and shall do so