Ullsaard swam across the bath with splashing strokes, and settled next to Noran, elbows resting on the wooden side panels.
"What's the matter with you?" said the general. "You look like a man who paid for a whore and got in bed with a goat."
At first Noran took that as a veiled reference to his exploits with Meliu, but slowly realisation dawned as he looked at the general's concerned face. He didn't know! For reasons beyond Noran's understanding, Luia and Meliu had kept Noran's treachery secret.
"Um, nothing in particular," Noran replied. A little voice inside whined at Noran, telling him that it didn't matter that Luia hadn't given him up: now was the time to come clean. He told the inner voice to shut up as a wave of relief bubbled up inside him, flowing through his body like the warmth of the water. "Just a bit tired, I suppose."
Ullsaard nodded and rubbed his face in his hands.
"How was Magilnada?" Noran asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "It must have been good to see Allenya."
"Magilnada was good," replied Ullsaard. "I would have been back sooner, but I took Allenya and the other two up into the mountains to show them that old rebel camp."
"What about Urikh and Jutaar? Are they well?"
"You sound like some old mother," laughed Ullsaard. "Really, you're in an odd mood."
Ullsaard splashed Noran in the face and lunged at him, pushing his head under the water. Noran panicked, thinking that Ullsaard's innocence had been an act. He was going to drown! He thrashed at Ullsaard's thick arms, but there was no give. Bubbles streaming from his mouth, Noran kicked his legs and grabbed Ullsaard's wrists, trying to push to the surface and prise open that iron grip.
Ullsaard dragged Noran back up and let go, swimming away with a laugh.
"This isn't funny!" snapped Noran between gasps. "Just do it, all right?"
Ullsaard didn't seem to understand and paddled to the centre of the pool.
"You know, it was less than a year ago, I was in your baths and you told me to avoid getting into politics. I can't say this was what I had in mind then, but it hasn't turned out so bad."
Noran said nothing. He had been worried about letting slip Prince Kalmud's illness to Nemtun. It seemed such a stupid thing to worry about in hindsight. Less than a year ago, Noran had a loving wife and a child on the way. Now he had neither, and it was Ullsaard's politics that had killed them. Ullsaard must have seen something in Noran's expression. He swam closer and put a hand on Noran's shoulder.
"I'm sorry," said the general. "I didn't mea-"
"No, no, you didn't," Noran said, a wave of sadness sweeping through his thoughts. He grabbed Ullsaard's arm. "It really isn't your fault. And I'm sorry too."
"What are you sorry for?" said Ullsaard. "Apart from Allenya, you're the only other person I've been able to trust through this whole thing. Anglhan always has his own plans; Luia is possessed at the moment with the thought of becoming a queen; Urikh no doubt realises if I win he'll be heir to the Crown. You? You've asked nothing from me. No favours you want done, no whims to indulge. You could have been governor of Magilnada, but you didn't want it. You have nothing to be sorry for. Of everyone, I owe you the most, and if there's anything I can do for you, just tell me."
It was so tempting to Noran to make his confession there and then. After such a promise, there was no way that Ullsaard could refuse if Noran admitted what had happed with Meliu and asked simply for forgiveness.
But Noran could not bring himself to do it. Looking at the face of his friend, seeing the loyalty and gratitude in those eyes, Noran knew that he could not break that trust. After what Ullsaard had just said, Noran could no more confess his break of faith than breathe the water around him. Forgiveness was not an option, because he didn't deserve it.
His punishment would be to endure the guilt, and that was far harsher now than it had been moments before.
Temple
The prayers channelling the power of the eulanui were swallowed by the dust-filled air. Outside the temple, the winds had grown to a gale, lashing the ziggurat with an unending barrage of sand while the dark skies above flickered with multicoloured lightning. Foreboding seeped from every stone and tile; the displeasure of the eulanui as palpable as the storm.
Lakhyri stared at the apparition of Udaan's features in the carved, distorted face of the acolyte on the slab. The high priest had been assailed by a number of long-forgotten emotions recently: fear, irritation, concern. Now he felt anger as the head of the Brotherhood reported events in the world beyond the temple.
"The king's grip is weakening," snarled Lakhyri. "In one season you have lost an empire that took two hundred years to build. I hold you responsible for this failure."
The bloody parody of Udaan's face contorted into a grimace.
"When the governors no longer listen to us, the Brotherhood can do little to shape events. We have tried our best to firm the hearts of the people against these traitors, but Ullsaard has been sly. He starves them and then feeds them, fills their heads with lies. He promises riches and glory to the legions and the governors are afraid of him."
"They should be afraid of the king!" Lakhyri seized the acolyte's throat in his skeletal fingers, pinning him to the stone table, his face a hair's-breadth away. "You should have dealt with this Ullsaard long before now. Your dithering puts everything at risk. I warned you of the consequences."
The acolyte-Udaan squirmed in Lakhyri's grip, hands flapping uselessly at the slab.
"We have tried to get people close to Ullsaard, but it is difficult, his followers are remarkably loyal. I feel there is some truth that he is one of the Blood."
Lakhyri released his hold and stepped back as if struck.
"That is not possible," said the high priest. His expression creased into a deep scowl. "If a child of the Blood has fallen through your fingers, it is just another example of your failure."
"I cannot see how it is possible." There was an edge of pleading in Udaan's voice. "All of the bastards are accounted for. There are no loose ends."
"Either this usurper is lying, or you have made a mistake. Which is it?"
Udaan's answer was a mute look of helplessness.
"You are clearly incapable of addressing this matter properly," said Lakhyri. "You leave me no choice but to intervene directly."
"I… I thought you could not leave the temple?"
"That may be what you wish to believe, but you are wrong."
Lakhyri leaned over the supine form of the acolyte and placed a hand on each side of the youth's head. The high priest chanted deep and slow, his incantation little more than an exhalation. Closing his eyes, Lakhyri spread his fingers across Udaan's puppet-face. Tissue stirred, turning into sinew and blood and fat and skin, the priest's bony fingertips sinking into the writhing flesh.
The carvings in Lakhyri's skin moved, altering their shapes and orientation, darkening, turning his skin into a web of white and black. The necromantic sigils swirled across Udaan's ravaged features, twisting muscle and nerve into their likeness. Darker and deeper the runes burned into Lakhyri's withered flesh, etching into bone and organ, cutting through every part of him.
With a hoarse cry, Lakhyri slumped, the light in his eyes gone.
Askh
Summer, 209th Year of Askh
I
The inner chambers of the Grand Precincts of the Brotherhood rang with a drawn-out scream. The wretched sound seemed to come from the rooms of Brother Udaan, and a crowd of concerned brethren converged quickly to investigate.
Upon opening the door, they found the silver-masked head of their order twitching upon the floor, the parchments from his desk scattered around him. Thinking he was having a fit, as sometimes Udaan was known to, one of the Brothers bent over his spasming form and attempted to lift off his mask to help him breathe.