A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

The
sanctuary was under siege – true, by an unsuspecting
enemy, who as yet knew nothing of the catacombs beneath
their feet, but they now ruled, the chosen elites in their
positions of supreme power, from which all manner of
depravity and cruelty descended. From the Emperor, the foul
blood flows down, and down ... No Letherii reign had ever
fallen as far as had Rhulad's and that of his Edur 'nobles'. Pray that it ends. Pray that, one day, historians will write of this
dark period in the history of Letheras as The Nightmare Age, a
title of truth to warn the future.
    He did not believe it. Not a word of the prayer he had
voiced in his head ten thousand times. We saw the path
Rhulad would take. Saw it when the Emperor banished his own
brother – Gods, I was there, in the Nascent. I was one of the
'brothers' of Rhulad, his new extended family of cowering
fawners. May the Black Winged Lord preserve me, I watched as
the one Edur I admired, the one Edur I respected, was broken
down. No, I did more than watch. I added my voice to Rhulad's
ritual shorning of Trull. And Trull's crime? Why, nothing more
than yet one more desperate attempt to bring Rhulad home. Ah,
by the Dark Mother herself ... but Ahlrada Ahn had never
dared, not once, not even in those early days when Trull
struggled to turn the tide, no, he had himself turned away,
rejecting every opportunity to unveil words that he knew
Trull had needed, and would see and cherish as gifts. I was a coward. My soul fled the risk, and there is no going
back.
    In the days following Rhulad's ascension to the Letherii
crown, Ahlrada had led a company of Arapay warriors out
of Letheras, seeking the trail of the new Emperor's betrayers
– his brother Fear, and that slave Udinaas. They had failed
to discover any sign of them, and in that Ahlrada had
found some small measure of victory. Rhulad's rage
had nearly resulted in mass executions, Ahlrada and his
searchers foremost among them, but the wreckage that
remained of Hannan Mosag had managed to impose some
control on Rhulad – the Emperor had great need for Tiste
Edur warriors, not just in the occupation and rule of the
empire, but yet more in the vast expeditions that were even
then being planned.
    Expeditions such as this one. Had he known what these
journeys would entail, Ahlrada might well have elected for
the execution Rhulad had been so eager to provide in those
early days in Letheras.
    Since that time ... all that we have done in his cursed
name ...
    We follow him – what has that made of us? Oh, Trull, you
were right, and not one of us was brave enough to stand at your
side when it mattered most.
    His memories of Trull Sengar haunted Ahlrada Ahn.
No, his memories of everything haunted him, yet they had
converged, found focus in one lone, honourable warrior of
the Tiste Edur.
    He stood on the huge ship, eyes on the tumultuous seas,
his face long since grown numb from the icy spray. Whilst
in the waters to all sides more ships rolled in the heavy
waves, one half of the Third Edur Imperial Fleet seeking a
way round this enormous continent. Below decks and in
the rigging, on each and every ship, laboured Letherii
crews, even the lesser marines. While their overlords did
nothing, beyond consuming wine and the endless courses
of meals; or took to their sumptuous beds Letherii slave
women, and those that they used up, left broken and raving
with the poison of Edur seed, were simply flung over the
rail for the ever-following huge grey sharks and the pods of
yearling dhenrabi.
    One half of the fleet in these seas. Commanded by
Tomad Sengar, the Emperor's father.
    And how well have we done thus far, dear Tomad? A bare
handful of dubious champions, challengers to deliver home and
into the cast of your youngest son's manic gaze.
    And let us not forget the fallen kin we have found. Where
have they come from? Even they don't know. Yet do we treat
them as long-lost kin? Do our arms open wide for them? No,
they are lesser creatures, blood befouled by failure, by
destitution. Our gift is contempt, though we proclaim it
liberation.
    But, I was thinking of champions ... and Rhulad's insatiable
hunger that sends out into this world fleet upon fleet. Tomad.
How well have we done?
    He thought to their latest Guests, down below, and there
was the sense, no more than a whisper in the murk of his
rolled-up, rotted, moth-eaten soul, that perhaps, this time,
they had found someone truly formidable. Someone who
just might make Rhulad choke on