The veteran studied Paran's face for a moment, then sighed. 'We've received news from the empire, Captain.'
'How, sir?'
Dujek shrugged. 'Nothing direct, of course, but our sources are reliable. Laseen's cull of the nobility proved … efficient.' He hesitated, then said, 'The Empress has a new Adjunct. '
Paran slowly nodded. There was nothing surprising in that. Lorn was dead. The position needed to be filled. 'Have you news of my family, sir?'
'Your sister Tavore salvaged what she could, lad. The Paran holdings in Unta, the outlying estates … most of the trade agreements. Even so … your father passed away, and, a short while later, your mother elected … to join him on the other side of Hood's Gate. I am sorry, Ganoes …'
Yes, she would do that, wouldn't she? Sorry? Aye, as am I. 'Thank you, sir. To be honest, I'm less shocked by that news than you might think.'
'There's more, I'm afraid. Your, uh, outlawry left your House exposed. I don't think your sister saw much in the way of options. The cull promised to be savage. Clearly, Tavore had been planning things for some time. She well knew what was coming. noble-born children were being. raped. Then murdered. The order to have every noble-born child under marrying age slain was never made official, perhaps indeed Laseen was unaware of what was going on-'
'I beg you sir, if Felisin is dead, tell me so and leave out the details.'
Dujek shook his head. 'No, she was spared that, Captain. That is what I am trying to tell you.'
'And what did Tavore sell to achieve that … sir?'
'Even as the new Adjunct, Tavore's powers were limited. She could not be seen to reveal any particular. favouritism — or so I choose to read her intentions…'
Paran closed his eyes. Adjunct Tavore. Well, sister, you knew your own ambition. 'Felisin?'
'The Otataral Mines, Captain. Not a life sentence, you can be sure of that. Once the fires cool in Unta, she will no doubt be quietly retrieved-'
'Only if Tavore judges it to be without risk to her reputation-'
Dujek's eyes widened. 'Her rep-'
'I don't mean among the nobility — they can call her a monster all they want, as I'm sure they are doing right now — she does not care. Never did. I mean her professional reputation, Commander. In the eyes of the Empress and her court. For Tavore, nothing else will matter. Thus, she is well suited to be the new Adjunct.' Paran's voice was tone' less, the words measured and even. 'In any case, as you said, she was forced to make do with the situation, and as to that situation … I am to blame for all that's happened, sir. The cull — the rapes, the murders, the deaths of my parents, and all that Felisin must now endure.'
'Captain-'
'It is all right, sir.' Paran smiled. 'The children of my parents are, one and all, capable of virtually anything. We can survive the consequences. Perhaps we lack normal conscience, perhaps we are monsters in truth. Thank you for the news, Commander. How went the parley?' Paran did all he could to ignore the quiet grief in Dujek's eyes.
'It went well, Captain,' the old man whispered. 'You will depart in two days, barring Quick Ben who will catch up later. No doubt your soldiers are ready for-'
'Yes, sir, they are.'
'Very good. That is all, Captain.'
'Sir.'
Like the laying of a silent shroud, darkness arrived. Paran stood atop the vast barrow, his face caressed by the mildest of winds. He had managed to leave the encampment without running into Whiskeyjack and the Bridgeburners. Night had a way of inviting solitude, and he felt welcome on this mass grave with all its echoing memories of pain, anguish and despair. Among the dead beneath me, how many adult voices cried out for their mothers?
Death and dying makes us into children once again, in truth, one last time, there in our final wailing cries. More than one philosopher has claimed that we ever remain children, far beneath the indurated layers that make up the armour of adulthood.
Armour encumbers, restricts the body and soul within it. But it also protects. Blows are blunted. Feelings lose their edge, leaving us to suffer naught but a plague of bruises, and, after a time, bruises fade.
Tilting his head back triggered sharp protests from the muscles of his neck and shoulders. He stared skyward, blinking against the pain, the tautness of his flesh wrapped around bones like a prisoner's bindings.
But there's no escape, is there? Memories and revelations settle in like poisons, never to be expunged. He drew the cooling air deep into his lungs, as if seeking to capture in the breath of the stars their coldness of regard, their indifferent harshness. There are no gifts in suffering. Witness the Tiste Andii.
