Part 22 (2/2)

Somehow, he awoke more ancient.

Once, while raiding the South Bank in s.h.i.+gek, Cnaiur and his men had rested their horses in the ruins of an ancient palace. Since kindling a fire was out of the question, they had unrolled their mats in the darkness beneath a ponderous section of wall. When Cnaiur awoke, the morning sun had bathed the limestone planes above him, and he found himself staring at figures in relief, their faces worn to serenity by the seasons, their poses at once stiff and indolent in the manner of age-old representations. And there, impossibly, at the head of a long file of captives, was a scarred-arm figure kissing the heel of an outland king.

A Scylvendi from another age.

”Do you know,” a voice was saying, ”that I actually felt pity as the last of your people perished at Kiyuth?” It was a voice that liked its own sound-very much. ”No ... pity isn't the right word. Regret. Regret Regret. All the old myths collapsed at that moment. The world became weaker. I studied your people, deeply. Learned your secrets, your vulnerabilities. You see, even as a child I knew I would humble you one day. And there you were! Tiny figures in the distance, loping and howling like panicked monkeys. The People of War! And I thought, 'There's nothing strong in this world. Nothing I cannot conquer.'”

Cnaiur gasped, tried to blink away the tears of pain that clotted his eyes. He lay on the ground, his arms bound so tight he could scarce feel them. A shadow leaned over him, wiped his face with a cool, wet cloth. Who?

”But you,” the shadow continued. It shook its head as though at an endearing yet infuriating child. ”You ...”

His eyes clearing, Cnaiur absorbed his surroundings. He lay in some kind of field tent. Canvas panels bellied into an apex above him. A heap of blood-caked refuse lay in the far corner-his hauberk and accoutrements. A table with four camp chairs framed the man ministering to him, who had to be an officer of some kind given the splendour of his armour and weapons. The blue mantle meant he was a general, but the bruising about his face ...

The man wrung rose-coloured water into a copper basin set near Cnaiur's head. ”The irony,” he was saying, ”is that you mean nothing in this matter. It's this Anasurimbor, this False Prophet, False Prophet, who is the sole object of the Empire's concern. Whatever significance you possess, you derive from him.” A snort. ”I knew this, and still I let you provoke me.” The face momentarily darkened. ”That was a mistake. I can see that now. What are the abuses of flesh compared with glory?” who is the sole object of the Empire's concern. Whatever significance you possess, you derive from him.” A snort. ”I knew this, and still I let you provoke me.” The face momentarily darkened. ”That was a mistake. I can see that now. What are the abuses of flesh compared with glory?”

Cnaiur glared at the stranger. Glory? There was no glory.

”So many dead,” the man said with rueful humour. ”Was it you who devised that strategy? Knocking holes through walls. Forcing us to chase you and your rats into your burrows. Quite remarkable. I almost wish it had been you at Kiyuth. Then I would know, know, wouldn't I?” He shrugged. ”That's how the G.o.ds prove themselves, isn't it? The overthrow of demons?” wouldn't I?” He shrugged. ”That's how the G.o.ds prove themselves, isn't it? The overthrow of demons?”

Cnaiur stiffened. Something involuntary thrashed through him.

The man smiled. ”I know you aren't human. I know that we're kin.”

Cnaiur tried to speak, but croaked instead. He ran his tongue across scabbed lips. Copper and salt. With a concerned frown the man raised a decanter, poured blessed water into his mouth.

”Are you,” Cnaiur rasped, ”a G.o.d?”

The man stood, looked at him strangely. Points of lantern light rolled like liquid across the figures worked into his cuira.s.s. His voice possessed a shrill edge. ”I know you love me ... Men often beat those they love. Words fail them, and they throw their fists into the breach ... I've seen it happen many times.”

Cnaiur rolled his head back, closed his eyes for pain. How had he come to be here? Why was he bound?

”I know also,” the man continued, ”that you hate him.”

Him. There could be no mistaking the word's intensity. The Dunyain. He spoke of the Dunyain-and as though he were his enemy, no less. ”You do not want,” Cnaiur said, ”to raise arms against him ...”

”And why would that be?”

Cnaiur turned to him, blinking. ”He knows the hearts of men. He seizes their beginnings and so wields their ends.”

”So even you,” the nameless General spat, ”even you have succ.u.mbed to the general madness. Religion ...” ...” He turned to the table, poured himself something Cnaiur couldn't see from the ground. ”You know, Scylvendi, I thought I'd found a He turned to the table, poured himself something Cnaiur couldn't see from the ground. ”You know, Scylvendi, I thought I'd found a peer peer in you.” His laugh was vicious. ”I even toyed with the idea of making you my Exalt-General.” in you.” His laugh was vicious. ”I even toyed with the idea of making you my Exalt-General.”

Cnaiur scowled. Who was this man?

”Absurd, I know. Utterly impossible. The Army would mutiny. The mob would storm the Andiamine Heights! But I cannot help but think that, with someone such as you, I could eclipse even Triamis.”

Dawning horror.

”Did you know that? Did you know you stood in the Emperor's Emperor's presence?” He raised his wine bowl in salute, took a deep drink. ”Ikurei Conphas I,” he gasped after swallowing. ”With me the Empire is presence?” He raised his wine bowl in salute, took a deep drink. ”Ikurei Conphas I,” he gasped after swallowing. ”With me the Empire is reborn, reborn, Scylvendi. I am Kyraneas. I am Cenei. Soon all the Three Seas will kiss my knee!” Scylvendi. I am Kyraneas. I am Cenei. Soon all the Three Seas will kiss my knee!”

Blood and grimaces. Roaring shouts. Fire. It all came back to him, the horror and rapture of Joktha. And then there he was ... Conphas Conphas. A G.o.d with a beaten face.

Cnaiur laughed, deep and full-throated.

For a moment the man stood dumbstruck, as though suddenly forced to reckon the dimensions of an unguessed incapacity. ”You play me,” he said with what seemed genuine bafflement. ”Mock me.”

And Cnaiur understood that he'd been sincere, sincere, that Conphas had meant every word he said. Of course he was baffled. He had recognized his brother; how could his brother not recognize him in turn? that Conphas had meant every word he said. Of course he was baffled. He had recognized his brother; how could his brother not recognize him in turn?

The Chieftain of the Utemot laughed harder. ”Brother? Your heart is shrill and your soul is plain. Your claims are preposterous, uttered without any real understanding, like recitations of a mother's daft pride.” Cnaiur spat pink. ”Peer? Brother? You have not the iron to be my brother. You are a thing of sand. Soon you will be kicked to the wind.”

Without a word Conphas strode forward, brought a sandalled heel down on his head. The world flashed dark.

Cnaiur cackled even as the blood spilled hot across his teeth. With what seemed impossible clarity, he heard the Exalt-General retreat, the creak of leather about his stamped cuira.s.s, the rasp of his scabbard across his leather skirts. The man swept aside the flap then strode into the greater camp, already shouting names. And Cnaiur could feel himself slipping between immensities-the earth that pressed so cruelly against his battered frame and the commotion of men and their fatal purposes.

At last, something deep laughed within him. something deep laughed within him. At last it ends At last it ends.

General Sompas entered moments after, his face grim, his knife drawn. Without hesitation he knelt at Cnaiur's side and began sawing through his leather bonds.

”The others await,” he said in hushed tones. ”Your Chorae is on the table.”

Cnaiur could only reply in a cracked whisper. ”Where are you taking me?”

”To Serwe.”

The General had no problem leading the Scylvendi captive to the dark edge of the Nansur camp. They pa.s.sed through a gallery of sentries and boisterous, celebratory camps. No one questioned the fact that the General wore a Captain's uniform. They were the army of a brilliant and eccentric leader. Not once had his strange ways failed to deliver victory and vengeance. And Biaxi Sompas was his his man. man.

”Is it always this easy?” Cnaiur asked the creature.

”Always,” it said.

<script>