‘This was not what was agreed.’
Kellaras said nothing.
‘Who has taken command of them, captain?’
‘Lord Anomander has chosen to set aside Mother Dark’s prohibition. He commands the forces of the Tiste Andii.’
‘And the highborn?’
‘They too assemble for the battle, milord. All are in attendance, with their Houseblades. Also, the Hust Legion returns to us, not as it once was, but nonetheless …’
Draconus moved past the captain, swinging open the door. When he set out down the corridor, Kellaras followed.
A damned pup again, rushing to someone else’s pace. Would I could take any door, to either side of this passage, and simply step out of this mess. Find myself in an empty room, a place of silence, big enough to swallow the echoes of my raging mind. Instead, he said, ‘Milord, will you ride after them?’
‘I will have what is mine,’ Draconus said.
‘In the Chamber of Night, milord, you acceded to Silchas Ruin’s request—’
‘He has deceived me, and I will know if his brother was part of that.’
‘Sir, your presence—’
Reaching the door leading into the hall, Draconus halted and turned to Kellaras. ‘Anomander understands honour. At least, he once did.’
‘He will yield to you your Houseblades, milord. I am certain of it.’
‘And see us withdraw from this farce?’
Kellaras nodded. ‘So I believe of my master, milord.’
Draconus bared his teeth. ‘If only to keep the loyalty of the highborn.’
‘Sir, will you make him choose?’
Draconus swung round again and moments later they were crossing the hall, the Consort indifferent to the Terondai beneath his boots.
They were not alone in the vast chamber. The High Priestess and the historian stood nearby, still in their outdoor garb, halted now by the abrupt appearance of Draconus. Kellaras saw in both faces a sudden, misplaced unease, and he wondered at that, even as both bowed to the Consort.
‘Milord,’ said Emral Lanear. ‘Does Mother Dark stir at last? Will she advise me on what must be done next?’
Draconus strode past her without replying.
Kellaras saw the shock on Lanear’s drawn face, followed swiftly by indignation. Beside her, the historian smiled without much humour, and rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
‘High Priestess, is it not clear? He rides to the Valley now.’
She spun to face him, but said nothing – and then Kellaras too was past, stepping swiftly to catch up to Draconus.
This farce spills out. It mocks its way through the Citadel, dancing down the corridors. Soon, it will howl.
Once outside, they headed for the stables, Kellaras trailing Draconus like a man on a leash.
* * *
The streets were clear when the companies of Houseblades set out, each from their highborn’s respective holding in the city. Most were on foot, ordered into a slow jog as they headed first eastward and then, once beyond the outer gates, on to the northeast road, where company upon company linked up to form a column.
At the very head and forming a vanguard rode the highborn themselves. Vanut Degalla, Venes Turayd, Aegis, Manalle, Baesk, Drethdenan, Trevok and Raelle. Immediately behind them, also mounted, the masters- and mistresses-at-arms, along with a score of lesser officers, aides, signallers and message-bearers.