Midnight Tides

  Midnight tides

  A Tale of the

  Malazan Book of the Fallen

  Book V

  Steven Erikson

  TOR Books

  Published August 2007

  ISBN-13: 9780765348821

  CONTENT

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Dramatis Personae

  Prologue

  Book One Frozen Blood

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Book Two Prows Of The Day

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Book Three All That Lies Unseen

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Book Four Midnight Tides

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Dedication

  To

  Christopher Porozny

  Acknowledgements

  Deepest appreciation to the old crew, Rick, Chris and Mark, for the advance comments on this novel. And to Courtney, Cam and David Keck for their friendship.

  Thanks as always to Clare and Bowen, to Simon Taylor and his compatriots at Transworld; to Steve Donaldson, Ross and Perry; Peter and Nicky Crowther, Patrick Walsh and Howard Morhaim. And to the staff at Tony’s Bar Italia for this, the second novel fuelled by their coffee.

  Dramatis Personae

  THE TISTE EDUR

  Tomad Sengar, patriarch of the Sengar Bloodline

  Uruth, matriarch of the Sengar Bloodline

  Fear Sengar, Eldest Son, Weapons Master of the Tribes

  Trull Sengar, Second Son

  Binadas Sengar, Third Son

  Rhulad Sengar, Fourth and Youngest Son

  Mayen, Fear’s Betrothed

  Hannan Mosag, Warlock King of the Six Tribes Confederacy

  Theradas Buhn, Eldest Son of the Buhn Bloodline

  Midik Buhn, Second Son

  Badar, an unblooded

  Rethal, a warrior

  Canarth, a warrior

  Choram Irard, an unblooded

  Kholb Harat, an unblooded

  Matra Brith, an unblooded

  LETHERII SLAVES AMONG THE TISTE EDUR

  Udinaas

  Feather Witch

  Hulad

  Virrick

  THE LETHERII

  In the Palace

  Ezgara Diskanar, King of Letheras

  Janall, Queen of Letheras

  Quillas Diskanar, Prince and Heir

  Unnutal Hebaz, Preda (Commander) of Letherii army

  Brys Beddict, Finadd (Captain) and King’s Champion, youngest of the Beddict brothers

  Moroch Nevath, a Finadd bodyguard to Prince Quillas Diskanar

  Kuru Qan, Ceda (Sorceror) to the King

  Nisall, the King’s First Concubine

  Turudal Brizad, The Queen’s First Consort

  Nifadas, First Eunuch

  Gerun Eberict, Finadd in the Royal Guard

  Triban Gnol, Chancellor

  Laerdas, a mage in the Prince’s retinue

  In the North

  Buruk the Pale, a merchant in the north

  Seren Pedac, Acquitor for Buruk the Pale

  Hull Beddict, Sentinel in the north, eldest among the Beddict brothers

  Nekal Bara, a sorceress

  Arahathan, a mage

  Enedictal, a mage

  Yan Tovis (Twilight), Atri-Preda at Fent Reach

  In the City of Letheras

  Tehol Beddict, a citizen in the capital, middle among the Beddict brothers

  Hejun, an employee of Tehol

  Rissarh, an employee of Tehol

  Shand, an employee of Tehol

  Chalas, a watchman

  Biri, a merchant

  Huldo, an establishment proprietor

  Bugg, Tehol’s servant

  Ublala Pung, a criminal

  Harlest, a household guard

  Ormly, Champion Rat Catcher

  Rucket, Chief Investigator, Rat Catchers’ Guild

  Bubyrd, Rat Catchers’ Guild

  Glisten, Rat Catchers’ Guild

  Ruby, Rat Catchers’ Guild

  Onyx, Rat Catchers’ Guild

  Scint, Rat Catchers’ Guild

  Kettle, a child

  Shurq Elalle, a thief

  Selush, a Dresser of the Dead

  Padderunt, assistant to Selush

  Urul, chief server in Huldo’s

  Inchers, a citizen

  Hulbat, a citizen

  Turble, a citizen

  Unn, a half-blood indigent

  Delisp, Matron of the Temple Brothel

  Prist, a gardener

  Strong Rall, a cut-throat

  Green Pig, an infamous mage of old

  OTHERS

  Withal, a Meckros weaponsmith

  Rind, a Nacht

  Mape, a Nacht

  Pule, a Nacht

  The One Within

  Silchas Ruin, a Tiste Andii Eleint Soletaken

  Scabandari Bloodeye, a Tiste Edur Eleint Soletaken

  Gothos, a Jaghut

  Rud Elalle, a child

  Iron Bars, a soldier

  Corlo, a mage

  Halfpeck, a soldier

  Ulshun Pral, an Imass

  Prologue

  The First Days of the Sundering of Emurlahn, The Edur Invasion, the Age of Scabandari Bloodeye, The Time of the Elder Gods

  From the twisting, smoke-filled clouds, blood rained down. The last of the sky keeps, flame-wreathed and pouring black smoke, had surrendered the sky. Their ragged descent had torn furrows through the ground as they struck and broke apart with thunderous reverberations, scattering red-stained rocks among the heaps of corpses that covered the land from horizon to horizon.

  The great hive cities had been reduced to ash-layered rubble, and the vast towering clouds above each of them that had shot skyward with their destruction – clouds filled with debris and shredded flesh and blood – now swirled in storms of dissipating heat, spreading to fill the sky.

  Amidst the annihilated armies the legions of the conquerors were reassembling on the centre plain, most of which was covered in exquisitely fitted flagstones – where the impact of the sky keeps had not carved deep gouges – although the reassertion of formations was hampered by the countless carcasses of the defeated. And by exhaustion. The legions belonged to two distinct armies, allies in this war, and it was clear that one had fared far better than the other.

  The blood mist sheathed Scabandari’s vast, iron-hued wings as he swept down through the churning clouds, blinking nictitating membranes to clear his ice-blue draconean eyes. Banking in his descent, the dragon tilted his head to survey his victorious children. The grey banners of the Tiste Edur legions wavered fitfully above the gathering warriors, and Scabandari judged that at least eighteen thousand of his shadow-kin remained. For all that, there would be mourning in the tents of the First Landing this night. The day had begun with over two hundred thousand Tiste Edur marching onto the plain. Still… it was enough.

  The Edur had clashed with the east flank of the K’Chain Che’Malle army, prefacing their charge with waves of devastating sorcery. The enemy’s formations had been assembled to face a f
rontal assault, and they had proved fatally slow to turn to the threat on their flank. Like a dagger, the Edur legions had driven to the army’s heart.

  Below, as he drew closer, Scabandari could see, scattered here and there, the midnight banners of the Tiste Andii. A thousand warriors left, perhaps less. Victory was a more dubious claim for these battered allies. They had engaged the K’ell Hunters, the elite bloodkin armies of the three Matrons. Four hundred thousand Tiste Andii, against sixty thousand Hunters. Additional companies of both Andii and Edur had assailed the sky keeps, but these had known they were going to their own deaths, and their sacrifices had been pivotal in this day’s victory, for the sky keeps had been prevented from coming to the aid of the armies on the plain below. By themselves, the assaults on the four sky keeps had yielded only marginal effect, despite the Short-Tails being few in number – their ferocity had proved devastating – but sufficient time had been purchased in Tiste blood for Scabandari and his Soletaken draconean ally to close on the floating fortresses, unleashing upon them the warrens of Starvald Demelain, and Kuralds Emurlahn and Galain. The dragon swept downward to where a jumbled mountain of K’Chain Che’Malle carcasses marked the last stand of one of the Matrons. Kurald Emurlahn had slaughtered the defenders, and wild shadows still flitted about like wraiths on the slopes. Scabandari spread his wings, buffeting the steamy air, then settled atop the reptilian bodies.

  A moment later he sembled into his Tiste Edur form. Skin the shade of hammered iron, long grey hair unbound, a gaunt, aquiline face with hard, close-set eyes. A broad, downturned mouth that bore no lines of laughter. High, unlined brow, diagonally scarred livid white against the dusky skin. He wore a leather harness bearing his two-handed sword, a brace of long-knives at his hip, and hanging from his shoulders a scaled cape – the hide of a Matron, fresh enough to still glisten with natural oils.

  He stood, a tall figure sheathed in droplets of blood, watching the legions assemble. Edur officers glanced his way, then began directing their troops.

  Scabandari faced northwest then, eyes narrowing on the billowing clouds. A moment later a vast bone-white dragon broke through – if anything, larger than Scabandari himself when veered into draconean form. Also sheathed in blood… and much of it his own, for Silchas Ruin had fought alongside his Andii kin against the K’ell Hunters.

  Scabandari watched his ally approach, stepping back only when the huge dragon settled onto the hilltop and then quickly sembled. A head or more taller than the Tiste Edur Soletaken, yet terribly gaunt, muscles bound like rope beneath smooth, almost translucent skin. Talons from some raptor gleamed in the warrior’s thick, long white hair. The red of his eyes seemed feverish, so brightly did it glow. Silchas Ruin bore wounds: sword-slashes across his body. Most of his upper armour had fallen away, revealing the blue-green of his veins and arteries tracking branching paths beneath the thin, hairless skin of his chest. His legs were slick with blood, as were his arms. The twin scabbards at his hips were empty – he had broken both weapons, despite the weavings of sorcery invested in them. His had been a desperate battle.

  Scabandari bowed his head in greeting. ‘Silchas Ruin, brother in spirit. Most stalwart of allies. Behold the plain – we are victorious.’

  The albino Tiste Andii’s pallid face twisted in a silent snarl.

  ‘My legions were late in coming to your aid,’ Scabandari said. ‘And for that, my heart breaks at your losses. Even so, we now hold the gate, do we not? The path to this world belongs to us, and the world itself lies before us… to plunder, to carve for our people worthy empires.’

  Ruin’s long-fingered, stained hands twitched, and he faced the plain below. The Edur legions had re-formed into a rough ring around the last surviving Andii. ‘Death fouls the air,’ Silchas Ruin growled. ‘I can barely draw it to speak.’

  ‘There will be time enough for making new plans later,’ Scabandari said.

  ‘My people are slaughtered. You now surround us, but your protection is far too late.’

  ‘Symbolic, then, my brother. There are other Tiste Andii on this world – you said so yourself. You must needs only find that first wave, and your strength will return. More, others will come. My kind and yours both, fleeing our defeats.’

  Silchas Ruin’s scowl deepened. ‘This day’s victory is a bitter alternative.’

  ‘The K’Chain Che’Malle are all but gone – we know this. We have seen the many other dead cities. Now, only Morn remains, and that on a distant continent – where the Short-Tails even now break their chains in bloody rebellion. A divided enemy is an enemy quick to fall, my friend. Who else in this world has the power to oppose us? Jaghut? They are scattered and few. Imass? What can weapons of stone achieve against our iron?’ He was silent a moment, then continued, ‘The Forkrul Assail seem unwilling to pass judgement on us. And each year there seem to be fewer and fewer of them in any case. No, my friend, with this day’s victory this world lies before our feet. Here, you shall not suffer from the civil wars that plague Kurald Galain. And I and my followers shall escape the rivening that now besets Kurald Emurlahn—’

  Silchas Ruin snorted. ‘A rivening by your own hand, Scabandari.’

  He was still studying the Tiste forces below, and so did not see the flash of rage that answered his offhand remark, a flash that vanished a heartbeat later as Scabandari’s expression returned once more to equanimity. ‘A new world for us, brother.’

  ‘A Jaghut stands atop a ridge to the north,’ Silchas Ruin said. ‘Witness to the war. I did not approach, for I sensed the beginning of a ritual. Omtose Phellack.’

  ‘Do you fear that Jaghut, Silchas Ruin?’

  ‘I fear what I do not know, Scabandari… Bloodeye. And there is much to learn of this realm and its ways.’

  ‘Bloodeye.’

  ‘You cannot see yourself,’ Ruin said, ‘but I give you this name, for the blood that now stains your… vision.’

  ‘Rich, Silchas Ruin, coming from you.’ Then Scabandari shrugged and walked to the north edge of the heap, stepping carefully on the shifting carcasses. ‘A Jaghut, you said…’ He swung about, but Silchas Ruin’s back was to him as the Tiste Andii stared down upon his few surviving followers on the plain below.

  ‘Omtose Phellack, the Warren of Ice,’ Ruin said without turning. ‘What does he conjure, Scabandari Bloodeye? I wonder…’

  The Edur Soletaken walked back towards Silchas Ruin.

  He reached down to the outside of his left boot and drew out a shadow-etched dagger. Sorcery played on the iron.

  A final step, and the dagger was driven into Ruin’s back.

  The Tiste Andii spasmed, then roared—

  —even as the Edur legions turned suddenly on the Andii, rushing inward from all sides to deliver the day’s final slaughter.

  Magic wove writhing chains about Silchas Ruin, and the albino Tiste Andii toppled.

  Scabandari Bloodeye crouched down over him. ‘It is the way of brothers, alas,’ he murmured. ‘One must rule. Two cannot. You know the truth of that. Big as this world is, Silchas Ruin, sooner or later there would be war between the Edur and the Andii. The truth of our blood will tell. Thus, only one shall command the gate. Only the Edur shall pass. We will hunt down the Andii who are already here – what champion can they throw up to challenge me? They are as good as dead. And so it must be. One people. One ruler.’ He straightened, as the last cries of the dying Andii warriors echoed from the plain below. ‘Aye, I cannot kill you outright – you are too powerful for that. Thus, I will take you to a suitable place, and leave you to the roots, earth and stone of its mangled grounds…’

  He veered into his draconean form. An enormous taloned foot closed about the motionless Silchas Ruin, and Scabandari Bloodeye rose into the sky, wings thundering.

  The tower was less than a hundred leagues to the south, only its low battered wall enclosing the yard revealing that it was not of Jaghut construction, that it had arisen beside the three Jaghut towers of its own accord, in answer to a law unfat
homable to god and mortal alike. Arisen… to await the coming of those whom it would imprison for eternity. Creatures of deadly power.

  Such as the Soletaken Tiste Andii, Silchas Ruin, third and last of Mother Dark’s three children.

  Removing from Scabandari Bloodeye’s path his last worthy opponent among the Tiste.

  Mother Dark’s three children.

  Three names…

  Andarist, who long ago surrendered his power in answer to a grief that could never heal. All unknowing that the hand that delivered that grief was mine…

  Anomandaris Irake, who broke with his mother and with his kind. Who then vanished before I could deal with him. Vanished, probably never to be seen again.

  And now Silchas Ruin, who in a very short time will know the eternal prison of the Azath.

  Scabandari Bloodeye was pleased. For his people. For himself. This world he would conquer. Only the first Andii settlers could pose any challenge to his claim.

  A champion of the Tiste Andii in this realm? I can think of no-one… no-one with the power to stand before me…

  It did not occur to Scabandari Bloodeye to wonder where, of the three sons of Mother Dark, the one who had vanished might have gone.

  But even that was not his greatest mistake…

  ****

  On a glacial berm to the north, the lone Jaghut began weaving the sorcery of Omtose Phellack. He had witnessed the devastation wrought by the two Soletaken Eleint and their attendant armies. Little sympathy was spared for the K’Chain Che’Malle. They were dying out anyway, for myriad reasons, none of which concerned the Jaghut overmuch. Nor did the intruders worry him. He had long since lost his capacity for worry. Along with fear. And, it must be admitted, wonder.

  He felt the betrayal when it came, the distant bloom of magic and the spilling of ascendant blood. And the two dragons were now one.

  Typical.

  And then, a short while later, in the time when he rested between weavings of his ritual, he sensed someone approaching him from behind. An Elder god, come in answer to the violent rift torn between the realms. As expected. Still… which god? K’rul? Draconus? The Sister of Cold Nights? Osserc? Kilmandaros? Sechul Lath? Despite his studied indifference, curiosity finally forced him to turn to look upon the newcomer.