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‘That won’t be easy,’ Trull observed, watching the T’lan Imass shifting the upright stone, ‘so I suppose I can expect to keep my blood for a while longer.’
Onrack slowly swung his misshapen head to study the Tiste Edur. ‘It is you who should be fleeing, Trull Sengar.’
‘Your bonecaster explained that they needed only a drop or two.’
My bonecaster … No longer . ‘True, if all goes well.’
‘Why shouldn’t it?’
‘The Tiste Liosan. Kurald Thyrllan-this is the name they give their warren. Seneschal Jorrude is not a sorcerer. He is a warrior-priest.’
Trull frowned. ‘It is the same for the Tiste Edur, for my people, Onrack-’
‘And as such, the seneschal must kneel before his power. Whereas a sorcerer commands power. Your approach is fraught, Trull Sengar. You assume that a benign spirit gifts you that power. If that spirit is usurped, you may not even know it. And then, you become a victim, a tool, manipulated to serve unknown purposes.’
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‘That won’t be easy,’ Trull observed, watching the T’lan Imass shifting the upright stone, ‘so I suppose I can expect to keep my blood for a while longer.’
Onrack slowly swung his misshapen head to study the Tiste Edur. ‘It is you who should be fleeing, Trull Sengar.’
‘Your bonecaster explained that they needed only a drop or two.’
My bonecaster … No longer . ‘True, if all goes well.’
‘Why shouldn’t it?’
‘The Tiste Liosan. Kurald Thyrllan-this is the name they give their warren. Seneschal Jorrude is not a sorcerer. He is a warrior-priest.’
Trull frowned. ‘It is the same for the Tiste Edur, for my people, Onrack-’
‘And as such, the seneschal must kneel before his power. Whereas a sorcerer commands power. Your approach is fraught, Trull Sengar. You assume that a benign spirit gifts you that power. If that spirit is usurped, you may not even know it. And then, you become a victim, a tool, manipulated to serve unknown purposes.’
Onrack fell silent, and watched the Tiste Edur… as a deathly pallor stole the life from Trull’s eyes, as the expression became one of horrified revelation. And so I give answer to a question you were yet to ask. Alas, this does not make me all-knowing . ‘The spirit that grants the seneschal his power may be corrupted. There is no way to know… until it is unleashed. And even then, malign spirits are highly skilled at hiding. The one named Osseric is… lost. Osric, as humans know him. No, I do not know the source of Monok Ochem’s knowledge in this matter. Thus, the hand behind the seneschal’s power is probably not Osseric, but some other entity, hidden behind the guise and the name of Osseric. Yet these Tiste Liosan proceed unawares.’
It was clear that Trull Sengar was, for the moment, unable to offer comment, or pose questions, so Onrack simply continued-wondering at the sudden extinction of his own reticence-‘The seneschal spoke of their own hunt. In pursuit of trespassers who crossed through their fiery warren. But these trespassers are not the renegades we hunt. Kurald Thyrllan is not a sealed warren. Indeed, it lies close to our own Tellann-for Tellann draws from it. Fire is life and life is fire. Fire is the war against the cold, the slayer of ice. It is our salvation. Bonecasters have made use of Kurald Thyrllan. Probably, others have as well. That such incursions should prove cause for enmity among the Liosan was never considered. For it seemed there were no Tiste Liosan .
‘Monok Ochem considers this, now. He cannot help but consider this. Where are these Liosan from? How distant-how remote-their home? Why are they now awakened to resentment? What does the one hidden behind the guise of Osseric now seek? Where-’
‘Stop! Please, Onrack, stop! I need to think-I need-’ Trull rose suddenly, flinging a dismissive gesture at the T’lan Imass, then strode off.
‘I think,’ Onrack said quietly to himself as he watched the Tiste Edur storm away, ‘that I will revert to reticence.’
A small chunk of mortared brick had now been positioned in the centre of the ring; its top was being inscribed with slashes and grooves by the bonecaster, and Onrack realized that Monok Ochem had already discerned the celestial patterns of the two suns and the numerous moons that wheeled overhead.
Colours played constantly over this landscape in sullen blood hues, occasionally overwhelmed by deep blues that limned everything in a cold, almost metallic sheen. At the moment, magenta dominated, a lurid tone as of reflected conflagration. Yet the air remained still and damp, eternally pensive.
A world aswarm in shadows. The hounds that Onrack had inadvertently freed from their stone prisons had cast scores of them. The battered warrior wondered where the two beasts had gone. He was fairly certain that they were no longer in this realm, in this place known as the Nascent.
Shadow and spirit reunited… the beasts had possessed something… unusual. As if each was shaped of two distinct powers, two aspects chained together. Onrack had unleashed those hounds, yet, on second consideration, perhaps not freed them. Shadow from Dark. That which is cast… from that which has cast it . The warrior lowered his gaze to study his own multiple shadows. Was there tension between him and them? Clearly, there was a binding. But he was the master and they his slaves.
Or so it seemed… Silent kin of mine. You precede. You follow. You strive on my flanks. Huddle beneath me. Your world finds its shape from my bone and flesh. Yet your breadth and length belong to Light. You are the bridge between worlds, yet you cannot be walked . No substance, then. Only perception.
‘Onrack, you are closed to us.’
