Midnight Tides
The manservant leaned on a merlon and watched the Edur army approach down the west road. An occasional glance to his left allowed him to monitor the closing of the fleet, and the vast, deadly demon beneath it – a presence spanning the width of the river and stretching back downstream almost half a league. A terrible, brutal creature straining at its sorcerous chains.
The west gate was open and unguarded. The lead elements of the Edur army had closed to within a thousand paces, advancing with caution. Ranging to either side of the column, in the ditches and across the fields, the first of the Soletaken wolves came into view.
Bugg sighed, looked over at the other occupant along the wall. ‘You will have to work fast, I think.’
The artist was a well-known and easily recognized figure in Letheras. A mass of hair that began on his head and swept down to join with the wild beard covering jaw and neck, his nub of a nose and small blue eyes the only visible features on his face. He was short and wiry, and painted with agitated capering – often perched on one leg – smearing paint on surfaces that always seemed too small for the image he was seeking to capture. This failing of perspective had long since been elevated into a technique, then a legitimate style, in so far as artistic styles could be legitimate. At Bugg’s comment he scowled and rose up on one leg, the foot of the other against the knee. ‘The scene, you fool! It is burned into my mind, here behind this eye, the left one. I forget nothing. Every detail. Historians will praise my work this day, you’ll see. Praise!’
‘Are you done, then?’
‘Very nearly, very very nearly, yes, nearly done. Every detail. I have done it again. That’s what they will say. Yes, I have done it again.’
‘May I see?’
Sudden suspicion.
Bugg added, ‘I am something of an historian myself.’
‘Famous? Probably. But I doubt you’ve read me, since I’ve yet to write anything down.’
‘Ah, a lecturer!’
‘A scholar, swimming across the ocean of history.’
‘I like that. I could paint that.’
‘So, may I see your painting?’
A grand gesture with a multicoloured hand. ‘Come along, then, old friend. See my genius for yourself.’
The board perched on its easel was wider than it was high, in the manner of a landscape painting or, indeed, a record of some momentous vista of history. At least two arm-lengths wide. Bugg walked round for a look at the image captured on the surface.
And saw two colours, divided in a rough diagonal. Scratchy red to the right, muddy brown to the left. ‘Extraordinary,’ Bugg said. ‘And what is it you have rendered here?’
Bugg squinted across the distance to the tiny patch of red that was the vanguard’s lead standard. ‘Ah, of course. Now I see.’
‘And my brilliance blinds you, yes?’
‘Oh yes, all comprehension has been stolen from my eyes indeed.’
The artist deftly switched legs and perched pensively, frowning out at the Edur column. ‘Of course, they’re closer now. I wish I’d brought another board, so I could elaborate yet further on the detail.’
‘Well, you could always use this wall.’
Bushy brows arched. ‘That’s… clever. You are a scholar indeed.’
‘I must be going, now.’
‘Yes, yes, stop distracting me. I need to focus, you know. Focus.’
He walked deserted streets, avoiding the major intersections where barricades had been raised and soldiers moved about in nervous expectation. The occasional furtive figure darted into and out of view as he went on.
A short time later the manservant rounded a corner, paused, then approached the ruined temple. Standing near it was Turudal Brizad, who looked over as Bugg reached his side.
‘Any suggestions?’ the god known as the Errant asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The mortal I requested for this task has not appeared.’
‘Oh. That’s not good, since the Jheck are at the gates even as we speak.’
‘And the first Edur from the ships have disembarked, yes.’
‘Why not act for yourself?’ Bugg asked.