Where Tehol went left.
And Ublala went right.
Alarms resounded in the night.
* * *
The answering of his prayers was nothing like Bruthen Trana had imagined. Not through the grotesque creature that was Hannan Mosag, the Warlock King. The very man who had started the Edur down this path of dissolution. Ambition, greed and betrayal-it was all Bruthen could manage to stand still before Hannan Mosag, rather than strangle the life from the Warlock King.
Yet from that twisted mouth had come… hope. It seemed impossible. Macabre. Mocking Bruthen Trana’s visions of heroic salvation. Rhidad falls-the whole Sengar bloodline obliterated-and then… Hannan Mosag. For his crimes. Honour can be won-1 will see to that.
This is how it must be.
He was not unduly worried over the Letherii. The Chancellor would not live much longer. The palace would be purged. The Patriotists would be crushed, their agents slain, and those poor prisoners whose only crime, as far as he could tell, was to disagree with the practices of the Patriotists-those prisoners, Letherii one and all, could be freed. There was no real sedition at work here. No treason. Karos Invictad used such accusations as if they encompassed a guilt that needed no proof, as if they justified any treatment of the accused he desired. Ironically, in so doing he subverted humanity itself, making him the most profound traitor of all.
But not even that mattered much. Bruthen Trana did not like the man, a dislike that seemed reason enough to kill the bastard. Karos Invictad took pleasure in cruelty, making him both pathetic and dangerous. If he were permitted to continue, there was the very real risk that the Letherii people would rise up in true rebellion, and the gutters in every city of the empire would run crimson. No matter. I do not like him. For years I was witness to his contempt for me, there in his eyes. I will brook the affront no longer.
This, more than anything else, dismayed Bruthen Trana. Hannan Mosag’s insisting he leave immediately-for some place where the sun dies. West. But no, not west. The Warlock King misunderstood his own vision-
A sudden thought, slowing his steps as he made his way down into the subterranean corridors and chambers beneath the Old Palace. Who answered his prayers? Who showed him this path? He suggested it was not this Crippled God. Father Shadow? Has Scabandari Bloodeye returned to us?
No, he has not. Then… who?
A moment later, Bruthen Trana scowled, then cursed under his breath and resumed his journey. I am given hope and what do I do? Seek to kill it with my own hands. No, I understand the path-better than Hannan Mosag himself.
Where the sun dies is not to the west.
It is beneath the waves. In the depths.