Many sank, or encountered some fatal obstacle on their long, arduous journey to the sea. Others were raided by adult vinik dwelling in the depths of the main river. Of those nests that made it to sea, the eggs hatched, the hatchlings fed on the bird embryos, then slipped out into the salty water. Only upon reaching juvenile age-sixty or seventy years-would the new generation of vinik begin the years-long journey back up the river, to those distant, murky ponds of the Bluerose boreal forest.
Nests bobbed in the waters of the Lether River as it flowed past the Imperial City, Letheras, seat of the Emperor. Local fisher boats avoided them, since large vinik males sometimes tracked the nests just beneath the surface-and provided they weren’t hungry enough to raid the nest, they would defend it. Few fisher folk willingly challenged a creature that could weigh as much as a river galley and was capable of tearing such a galley to pieces with its beak and its clawed forearms.
The arrival of the nests announced the beginning of summer, as did the clouds of midges swarming over the river, the settling of the water level and the reek of exposed silts along the banks.
On the faint rise behind the Old Palace, the dishevelled expanse where stood the foundations of ancient towers, and one in particular constructed of black stone with a low-walled yard, a hunched, hooded figure dragged himself towards the gateway step by aching, awkward step. His spine was twisted, pushed by past ravages of unconstrained power until the ridge of each vertebra was visible beneath the threadbare cloak, the angle forcing his shoulders far forward so that the unkempt ground before him was within reach of his arms, which he used to pull his broken body along.
He came searching for a nest. A mound of ragged earth and dying grasses, a worm-chewed hole into a now dead realm. Questing with preternatural senses, he moved through the yard from one barrow to the next. Empty… empty… empty.
Strange insects edged away from his path. Midges spun in cavorting swirls over him, but would not alight to feed, for the searcher’s blood was rotted with chaos. The day’s dying light plucked at his misshapen shadow, as if seeking sense of a stain so malign on the yard’s battered ground.
Empty…
But this one was not. He allowed himself a small moment of glee. Suspicions confirmed, at last. The place that was dead… was not entirely dead. Oh, the Azath was now nothing more than lifeless stone, all power and all will drained away. Yet some sorcery lingered, here, beneath this oversized mound ringed in shattered trees. Kurald for certain. Probably Galain-the stink of Tiste Andii was very nearly palpable. Binding rituals, a thick, interwoven skein to keep something… someone… down.
Crouched, the figure reached with his senses, then suddenly recoiled, breath hissing from between mangled lips.
It has begun unravelling! Someone has been here-before me! Not long. Sorcery, working the release of this imprisoned creature. Father of Shadows, I must think!
Hannan Mosag remained motionless, hunched at the very edge of this mound, his mind racing.
Beyond the ruined grounds, the river flowed on, down to the distant sea. Carried on its current, vinik nests spun lazily; milky green eggs, still warm with the day’s heat, enclosed vague shapes that squirmed about, eager for the birth of light.
She lifted her head with a sharp motion, blood and fragments of human lung smearing her mouth and chin, sliding then dripping down into the split-open ribcage of her victim-a fool who, consumed by delusions of domination and tyranny no doubt, had chosen to stalk her all the way from Up Markets. It had become a simple enough thing, a lone, seemingly lost woman of high birth, wander-ing through crowds unaware of the hooded looks and expressions of avarice tracking her. She was like the bait the fisher folk used to snare brainless fish in the river. True, while she remained hooded, her arms covered in shimmering silk the hue of raw ox-heart, wearing elegant calf-leather gloves, as well as close-wrapped leggings of black linen, there was no way anyone could see the cast of her skin, nor her unusual features. And, despite the Tiste Edur blood coursing diluted in her veins, she was not. uncommonly tall, which well suited her apparent vulnerability, for it was clear that these Edur occupiers in this city were far too dangerous to be hunted by the common Letherii rapist.
She had led him into an alley, whereupon she drove one hand into his chest, tearing out his heart. But it was the lungs she enjoyed the most, the pulpy meat rich with oxygen and not yet soured by the rank juices of violent death.
The mortal realm was a delightful place. She had forgotten that.
But now, her feeding had been interrupted. Someone had come to the Azath grounds. Someone had probed her rituals, which had been dissolving the binding wards set by Silchas Ruin. There could be trouble there, and she was not inclined to suffer interference in her plans.
Probably the Errant, that meddling bastard. Or, even more alarming, that Elder God, Mael. A miserably crowded city, this Letheras-she had no intention of tarrying over-long here, lest her presence be discovered, her schemes knocked awry.
Wiping her mouth and chin with the back of one sleeved forearm, she straightened from her feast, then set off.
Rautos Hivanar, head of the Liberty Consign, squatted on the muddy bank of the river, the work crews finishing the day’s excavation directly behind him, the pump crews already washing down, the sounds from the estate’s back kitchen rising with the approaching demands of supper. He was making a point of feeding his diggers well, as much to ease their bemusement as to keep them working. They were now excavating way below the river level, after all, and if not for the constantly manned pumps, they would be working chest-deep in muddy water. As it was, the shoring on the walls needed continual attention, prone as they were to sag inward.
Eyes tracking a half-dozen vinik nests rafting down the river, Rautos Hivanar was lost in thought. There had been more mysterious objects, buried deep and disconnected, but he had begun to suspect that they all belonged together; that in an as yet inconceivable way they could be assembled into a kind of mechanism. Some central piece remained undiscovered, he believed. Perhaps tomorrow…
He heard slippered feet on the plank walkway leading down to the river, and a moment later came Venitt Sathad’s voice. ‘Master.’
‘Venitt, you have allotted yourself two house guards for the journey. Take two more. And, accordingly, two more packhorses. You will travel without a supply wagon, as agreed, but that need not be a reason to reduce your level of comfort.’
‘Very well, Master.’
And remember, Venitt. Letur Anict is in every way the de facto ruler of Drene, regardless of the Edur governor’s official status. I am informed that you will find Orbyn Truthfinder, the Invigilator’s agent, a reliable ally. As to Letur Anict… the evidence points to the Factor’s having lost… perspective. His ambition seems without restraint, no longer harnessed to reason or, for that matter, common sense.’
‘I shall be diligent in my investigation, Master.’
Rautos Hivanar rose and faced his servant. ‘If needs must, Venitt, err on the side of caution. I would not lose you.’