Chapters (35)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Maps
- Dramatis Personae
- The Tiste: Holds, Greater and Lesser Houses, Priesthood and Court
- Prelude
- Part One : In These Gifts the Shapes of Adoration
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Part Two : The Solitude of This Fire
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Part Three : The Proofs of Your Ambition
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Part Four : The Forge of Darkness
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- About the Author
- Also by Steven Erikson
- Copyright
They saw his body and thought his mind crippled. And they were fools to think that way.
He intended to use that in bringing down House Dracons, and then his rival scholars in their rich homes and crowded lecture halls, and then, if he could, Mother Dark herself.
Yes, everything has changed. There is a virtue to imperfection, a place of hidden strength and will. The broken find cunning in the confession. The wounded unveil their wounds and sup well on the pity. See this hitching gait. Follow me down into death.
He reached the front doors and paused. Red blushes filled his head in pulsing waves. He was layered in sweat and its smell was wretched. His remaining leg quivered under him. None to carry me. They will pay for that. He struggled with the latch. Nothing was easy any more. They should have given him a servant.
I’ve fallen through the ice.
The thought made him scowl. He finally managed to open the door. Beyond, in radiating heat, the packed white dust of the compound was blinding, making Sagander flinch. He waited for his eyes to adjust, but it seemed that he could not slow his breathing, which remained fast and tight.
Thirty paces opposite him was the main gate. A small grilled window was at head-height and the mistress stood at it, with armed monks flanking her. More of the brothers lined the wooden walkways near the top of the defensive wall. On the crenellated roofs of the corner towers, the arbalests were loose on their swivels, bolts loaded and the heavy weapons held at the ready by watchful crews. The raw belligerence of the scene shocked him.
He made his way out, angling slightly sideways to take the steps. He saw a brother standing nearby. The young man was rethreading a strap on his left vambrace. Sagander lurched over to him. ‘Are we at war, brother?’
The man glanced up. ‘Tutor. You have made quite a journey to come out here. I commend you, sir.’
Sagander fought back a sneer. ‘Next you’ll be expecting me to join you hoeing the rows.’ The answering smile was simply irritating. ‘You did not answer my question, brother.’
‘Our faith is being tested,’ he replied, shrugging.
‘With whom does the mistress treat?’
‘An officer of the Legion company, I would imagine.’
‘Urusander’s Legion – yes, I know that. But which company? Who commands? Is this one of the disbanded companies or a garrison gone astray?’
The man shrugged a second time. ‘If you will excuse me, sir, we’re to make a showing along the wall.’ He set off at a jog.
Sagander reached up and wiped sweat from his brow. The sun and heat were making him feel ill.
The window’s door thudded shut at the gate and he looked over to see the mistress wheel about and march back towards the abbey. She comes straight to me. I could have stayed in the doorway, in the shade. Watching her approach, he saw fury in her dark visage and almost quailed before it.