‘But,’ Errastas looked up at her, ‘how was it possible? Who could have done such a thing? Has Osserc returned-no, we would have sensed that.’ He climbed to his feet. ‘Something has gone wrong. I can feel it.’
Sechul faced him. ‘Master of the Holds, show us your mastery. You need to look to your own hands, and the power within them.’
‘Listen to my son,’ said Kilmandaros. ‘Seek the truth in the Holds, Errastas. We must know where things stand. Who struck him down? Why? And how did the sword break?’
‘There is irony in this,’ Sechul said with a wry smile. ‘The removal of Anomander Rake is like kicking down a gate-in an instant the path beyond runs straight and clear. Only to have Draconus step into the breach. As deadly as Rake ever was, but a whole lot crueller, that much closer to chaos. His appearance is, I think, a harbinger of the madness to come. Squint that lone eye, Errastas, and tell me you see other than ruination ahead.’
But the Errant was shaking his head. ‘I can tell you now who broke Dragnipur. There could be no other. The Warlord.’
Breath hissed from Kilmandaros. ‘Brood. Yes, I see that. The weapon he holds-none other. But that only confuses things all the more. Rake would not have willingly surrendered that weapon, not even to Caladan Brood.’ She eyed the others. ‘We are agreed that the Son of Darkness is dead? Yet his slayer did not take Dragnipur. Can it be that the Warlord killed him?’
Sechul Lath snorted. ‘Centuries of speculation-who was the deadlier of the two? Have we our answer? This is absurd-can any of us even imagine a cause that would so divide those two? With the history they shared?’
‘Perhaps the cause was Dragnipur itself-’
Kilmandaros grunted. ‘Think clearly, Errastas. Brood had to know that shattering the sword would free Draconus, and a thousand other ascendants-’ her hands closed into fists-‘and Eleint. He would not have done it if he’d had a choice. Nothing could have so fractured that ancient alliance, for it was more than an alliance. It was friendship.’ She sighed heavily and looked away. ‘We clashed, yes, but even me-no, I would not have murdered Anomander Rake if the possibility was presented to me. I would not. His existence… had purpose. He was one you could rely upon, when justice needed a blade’s certain edge.’ She passed a hand over her eyes. ‘The world has lost some of its colour, I think.’
‘Wrong,’ said Sechul. ‘Draconus has returned. But listen to us. We swirl round and round this dread pit of truth. Errastas, will you stand there frozen as a hare? Think you not the Master of the Deck is bleeding from the ears right now? Strike quickly, friend-he will be in no condition to intercept you. Indeed, make him fear we planned this-all of it-make him believe we have fashioned the Consort’s escape from Dragnipur.’
Kilmandaros’s eyes were wide on her son.
Errastas slowly nodded. ‘A detour, of sorts. Fortunately, a modest one. Attend me.’
‘I shall remain here,’ announced Kilmandaros. At the surprise and suspicion she saw in the Errant’s face, she raised her fists. ‘There was the danger-so close to the Eleint-that I lose control. Surely,’ she added, ‘you did not intend me to join you when you walked through that last gate. No, leave me here. Return when it’s done.’
Errastas looked round at the shrine’s standing stones. ‘I would not think this place suited you, Kilmandaros.’
‘The fabric is thin. My presence weakens it more-this pleases me.’
‘Why such hatred for humans, Kilmandaros?’
Her brows rose. ‘Errastas, really. Who among all the races is quickest to claim the right to judgement? Over everyone and everything? Who holds that such right belongs to them and them alone? A woodcutter walks deep into the forest, where he is attacked and eaten by a striped cat-what do his fellows say? They say: “The cat is evil and must be punished. The cat must answer for its crime, and it and all its kind must answer to our hate.” Before too long, there are no cats left in that forest. And humans consider that just. Righteous. Could I, Errastas, I would gather all the humans of the world, and I would gift them with my justice-and that justice is here, in these two fists.’
Errastas reached up to probe his eye socket, and he managed a faint smile. ‘Well answered, Kilmandaros.’ He turned to Sechul Lath. ‘Arm yourself, friend. The Holds have grown feral.’
‘Which one will you seek first?’
‘The one under a Jaghut stone, of course.’
She watched as blurry darkness swallowed them. With the Errant’s departure, the ephemeral fragility of the ancient shrine slowly dissolved, revealing the stolid ruins of its abandonment. A slew of toppled, shattered stones, pecked facings hacked and chipped-the images obliterated. She walked closer to the altar stone. It had been deliberately chiselled, cut in two. Harsh breaths and sweat-slick muscles, a serious determination to despoil this place.
