A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

forgive me, you are further down the path than I, First Eunuch. Of my brother – of my brothers – I understand virtually nothing. Alas, it has always been so.'
    Nifadas blinked sleepily, then he nodded. 'Families are odd things, aren't they? Naturally, my own experience precludes many of the subtleties regarding that subject. Yet, if you will, my exclusion has, in the past, permitted me a certain objectivity, from which I have often observed the mechanisms of such fraught relationships with a clear eye.' He looked up and fixed Brys once more with his regard. 'Will you permit me a comment or two?'
    'Forgive me, First Eunuch—'
    Nifadas waved him silent with one plump hand. 'No need. I was presumptuous. Nor have I explained myself. As you know, preparations are well along. The Great Meeting looms. I am informed that Hull Beddict has joined Buruk the Pale and Seren Pedac on the trail to Hiroth lands. Further, it is my understanding that Buruk is charged with a host of instructions – none issued by me, I might add. In other words, it is likely that those instructions not only do not reflect the king's interests, but in fact may contradict our Sire's wishes.' He blinked again, slow and measured. 'Precarious, agreed. Unwelcome, as well. My concern is this. Hull may ... misunderstand ...'
    'By assuming that Buruk acts on behalf of King Diskanar, you mean.'
    'Just so.'
    'He would then seek to counter the merchant.'
    Nifadas sighed his agreement.
    'Which,' Brys continued, 'is itself not necessarily a bad thing.'
    'True, in itself not necessarily a bad thing.'
    'Unless you intend, as the king's official representative and nominal head of the delegation, to counter the merchant in your own way. To deflect those interests Buruk has been charged with presenting to the Edur.'
    The First Eunuch's small mouth hinted at a smile.
    Nothing more than that, yet Brys understood. His gaze travelled to the window behind Nifadas. Clouds swam blearily through the bubbled, wavy glass. 'Not Hull's strengths,' he said
    'No, we are agreed in that. Tell me, Finadd, what do you know of this Acquitor, Seren Pedac?'
    'Reputation only. But it's said she owns a residence here in the capital. Although I have never heard if she visits.'
    'Rarely. The last time was six years ago.'
    'Her name is untarnished,' Brys said.
    'Indeed. Yet one must wonder ... she is not blind, after all. Nor, I gather, unthinking.'
    'I would imagine, First Eunuch, that few Acquitors are.'
    'Just so. Well, thank you for your time, Finadd. Tell me,' he added as he slowly rose, indicating the audience was at an end, 'have you settled well as the King's Champion?'
    'Uh, well enough, First Eunuch.'
    'The burden is easily shouldered by one as young and fit as you, then?'
    'Not easily. I would make no claim to that.'
    'Not comfortable, but manageable.'
    'A fair enough description.'
    'You are an honest man, Brys. As one of the king's advisers, I am content with my choice.'
    But you feel I need the reminder. Why is that? 'I remain honoured, First Eunuch, by the king's faith, and of course, yours.'
    'I will delay you no longer, Finadd.'
    Brys nodded, turned and strode from the office.
    A part of him longed for the days of old, when he was just an officer in the Palace Guard. When he carried little political weight, and the presence of the king was always at a distance, with Brys and his fellow guardsmen standing at attention along one wall at official audiences and engagements. Then again, he reconsidered as he walked down the corridor, the First Eunuch had called him because of his blood, not his new role as King's Champion.
    Hull Beddict. Like a restless ghost, a presence cursed to haunt him no matter where he went, no matter what he did. Brys remembered seeing his eldest brother, resplendent in the garb of Sentinel, the King's Reed at his belt. A last and lasting vision for the young, impressionable boy he had been all those years ago. That moment remained with him, a tableau frozen in time that he wandered into in his dreams, or at reflective moments like these. A painted image. Brothers, man and child, the two of them cracked and yellowed beneath the dust. And he would stand witness, like a stranger, to the boy's wide-eyed, adoring expression, and would follow that uplifted gaze and then shift his own uneasily, suspicious of that uniformed soldier's pride.
    Innocence was a blade of glory, yet it could blind on both sides.
    He'd told Nifadas he did not understand Hull. But he