She had considered the analogy for a moment, and then had replied, ‘ When enough such dogs have gathered, historian, they may not flee the bearded beast, and instead show fangs of their own. In any case, any opinion on superiority is subject to challenge.’
‘ I mean not such things as titles, or wealth, or even power, when I speak of superiority, High Priestess. I refer to something more ephemeral. To find a truly superior person, follow the dogs. Or, better still, follow the blood trail. No other gauge is necessary but to observe the viciousness of the eager beasts and see for yourself the beleaguered foe.’
Was the man at her side thus hounded? There was little doubt of that. And was there not something in the assertion that the forging of that weapon was not yet complete? Its edge was well honed to be sure, and the blade bore a fine polish. But it was not yet Anomander’s own, no matter how forceful Hust Henarald’s insistence that the weapon was fit for the hand of but one man.
They reached the door and Emral stepped back.
But Anomander shook his head. ‘I request your presence within, High Priestess.’
‘First Son, I believe it was Mother Dark’s wish-’
‘We will speak of faith, High Priestess. I am informed that High Priestess Syntara is now the centre of a cult that directly opposes that of Mother Dark. With her under the protection of Lord Urusander, the matter is both religious and political.’
She glanced away. ‘I was not aware of this development, First Son.’ A moment later she drew a deep breath and said, ‘But I am not surprised. Not with respect to Syntara’s ambitions. Still, Urusander’s role in this confuses me.’
‘You are not alone in that.’
She opened the door and together they strode into the Chamber of Night.
The darkness hid nothing. Mother Dark was seated on the throne. Facing her from a few paces away but now stepping to one side was the Azathanai, Grizzin Farl, who bowed to both Anomander and Emral, offering them a faint smile.
Lord Anomander wasted no time. ‘Azathanai, I assure you that I have no unreasoning aversion to foreign advisers in this court. Still, I wonder at what of value you can offer us, since we are here to discuss the measures we must take in order to keep our realm from tearing itself apart. The legacy of the Azathanai in this matter is no less dubious than if a Jaghut stood in your place.’
‘With regret, First Son,’ said Grizzin Farl, ‘I agree with you. Although a Jaghut might prove wiser than me and could I find one nearby to stand in these worn moccasins, why, I would give the poor creature good cause to rail at my presumption.’
‘Then what keeps you here?’ Anomander asked.
‘By title I am known as the Protector, but this is no welcome aspect. I appear where I am most needed, yet in hope most distant. My attendance alone is a sour comment on your state of affairs, alas.’
There was a challenge to these words, but Anomander simply tilted his head, as if studying the Azathanai in a new light. ‘We found you tending Kadaspala. Even then, it seems, you could have made shackles of your hands to close on his wrists, and so keep him from his terrible self-mutilation. Instead, you came too late.’
‘This is so, First Son.’
‘Do you stand here before us, then, to announce a threshold already crossed?’
Emral could see how Mother Dark looked between the two men, and there was, at last, alarm in her eyes.
Grizzin Farl bowed. ‘You have the truth of me,’ he said.
‘Mother Dark,’ said Anomander, ‘did you understand this?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It seems that I asked the wrong questions of our guest. Confusion attended me, First Son, with misleading thoughts of the last Azathanai to stand before me.’
‘Of whom we know nothing,’ Anomander said. ‘Did this T’riss speak for the river god? Did you bargain with that rival and so win from it the sacrifice of a thousand souls?’
‘You insult us both,’ Mother Dark snapped. ‘We bargained peace between us.’
‘And what manner the currency of this exchange?’
‘Nothing of substance.’
‘Then, what manner this peace? Shall I describe it? The forest to the north might burn still, but the huts are surely silent. By that one might assert the blessing of peace, of a sort.’
‘We did not invite death between us!’
Emral saw how the goddess trembled with her rage, but Anomander seemed unaffected. ‘Grizzin Farl, what do you know of this T’riss?’
‘I know of no Azathanai by that name, First Son.’
‘Do you have her description?’
Grizzin Farl shrugged. ‘That signifies nothing. If I so desired, I could hover before you as a bird, or perhaps a butterfly.’ Then he frowned. ‘But you name her born of the Vitr. Two Azathanai set out to explore the mystery of that caustic sea.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is one of them.’
‘And the power she unveiled tells you nothing either?’
‘Only that it was uncommonly careless, and so not like an Azathanai at all. There are proscriptions against such blatant interference.’
‘Why?’
‘It is unhealthy for any Azathanai to invite the resentment of other Azathanai.’
‘And this the one named T’riss has done?’
‘So it seems, First Son.’
‘You are rather passive in your resentment, Grizzin Farl.’
‘I am not the one imposed upon, as the Tiste do not fall under my influence.’
Emral gasped as the implications of that comment settled in her mind. She looked to Mother Dark and was stunned to see no expression of surprise in her features.
Anomander stood like a man nailed to a wall, although nothing but empty air surrounded him. All at once, Emral felt her heart wrench for the First Son. He now stared fixedly at Mother Dark. ‘At last,’ he said, ‘I find the bitter truth to my title, Mother. A son you would have, but one swaddled and helpless, thinking only of your tit’s sweet milk.’
‘I cannot hasten your growth, First Son, by any other means.’
‘Yet you recoil at my sour breath.’
‘Only the hurtful words it carries.’
‘Are you then an Azathanai, Mother, deceitfully attired in the body of a Tiste woman we once all knew?’
‘I am that woman,’ she replied, ‘and no other.’
‘Then where stands your guardian, or has it made its flesh darkness itself?’
‘These questions are of no value,’ Mother Dark said. ‘I have summoned you, First Son, to send you to Lord Urusander. We will have the truth of his motives.’ She paused and then said, ‘Is this not what you wished?’
‘I will indeed march on Urusander,’ Anomander answered. ‘With the arrival of the Hust Legion.’
‘Do not wait for them,’ she said. ‘Ride to him now, beloved son. Meet with him.’
‘To stand within reach of him, Mother, I would need to wear chains with the weight of mountains, to keep my hands from the sword at my side. But then, would it be better if I simply disarmed myself outside his command tent, knelt and offered him the back of my neck?’
‘I do not believe he is in any way responsible for the murders of Lord Jaen and his daughter. Look him in the eye as he tells you the same, and together you may turn your ire upon the true slayers.’
‘Renegades from the disbanded units? Or would you have me offer up the pathetic possibility of Deniers with noble blood on their hands?’
‘It seems that I must do nothing but weather your scorn. Perhaps this is every mother’s lament.’
Anomander turned away, ‘My scorn, Mother, is not yet awakened. Indeed, you see before you a sleeping man, still lost to the night and troubling dreams. If I twitch, it but signals my helplessness. If I voice a moan, it is a sound empty of meaning. No brush of fingertips will prod me awake, and so I yearn for the knife’s sharp jab. The only question that remains is: who will wield that knife?’