The Thousandfold Thought (The Prince of Nothing, Book 3) by R. Scott Bakker Read Free Book Online Page A

the man’s intellect—even explained the man’s improvements on Ajencis’s logic as proof of his preternatural intelligence. He narrated Kellhus’s inexorable rise to ascendancy in the Holy War, both from what he himself had witnessed and from what he’d subsequently learned through Proyas. Nautzera had heard, apparently through informants near to the Imperial Court, that a man claiming to be a prophet had grown to prominence among the Men of the Tusk, but the name Anasûrimbor had become Nasurius by the time it reached Atyersus. They had dismissed it as simply one more fanatic contrivance.
    Then Achamian described everything that had happened in Caraskand: the coming of the Padirajah, the siege and starvation, the growing tension between the Orthodox and the Zaudunyani, Kellhus’s condemnation as a False Prophet—and ultimately, the revelation beneath dark-boughed Umiaki, where Kellhus had confessed to Achamian even as Achamian confessed now.
    He told Nautzera about everything except Esmenet.
    After he was freed, even the most embittered of the Orthodox fell to their knees before him—and how could they not? The Scylvendi’s duel with Cutias Sarcellus—the First Knight-Commander a skin-spy! Think, Nautzera! The Scylvendi’s victory proved that demons —demons!— had sought the Warrior-Prophet’s death. It was exactly as Ajencis says: Men ever make corruption proof of purity .
    He paused, a peevish part of him convinced Nautzera had never read Ajencis.
    Yes yes, the old sorcerer said with soundless impatience.
    He came upon them like a fever after that. Suddenly the Holy War found itself unified as never before. All of the Great Names—with the exception of Conphas, that is—knelt before him, kissed his knee. Gotian openly wept, offered his bared breast to the Anasûrimbor’s sword. And then they marched. Such a sight, Nautzera! As great and terrible as anything in our Dreams. Starved. Sick. They shambled from the gates—dead men moved to war …
    Images of the already broken flickered through the black. Gaunt swordsmen draped in strapless hauberks. Knights upon the ribbed backs of horses. The crude standard of the Circumfix snapping in the air.
    What happened?
    The impossible. They won the field. They couldn’t be stopped! I still can’t rub the wonder from my eyes …
    And the Padirajah? Nautzera asked. Kascamandri. What of him?
    Dead by the Warrior-Prophet’s own hand. Even now, the Holy War makes ready to march on Shimeh and the Cishaurim. There’s none left who might bar their passage, Nautzera. They’ve all but succeeded!
    But why? the old sorcerer asked. If this Anasûrimbor Kellhus knows of the Consult, if he too believes the Second Apocalypse is nigh, why would he continue this foolish war? Perhaps he said what he said to deceive you. Have you considered that?
    He can see them. Even now, the purges continue. No…I believe him.
    After Sarcellus’s death, over a dozen men of rank and privilege had simply vanished, leaving their clients astonished and delivering even the most fanatical of the Orthodox to the Warrior-Prophet. In the wake of the Padirajah’s overthrow, both Caraskand and the Holy War had been ransacked, but as far as Achamian knew, only two of the abominations had been found and … exorcized.
    This … this is extraordinary, Akka! What you say … soon all the Three Seas will believe!
    Either that or burn.
    There was grim satisfaction in thinking of the dismay and incredulity that would soon greet Mandate embassies. For centuries they’d been a laughingstock. For centuries they’d endured all manner of scorn, even those insults that jnan reserved for the most wretched. But now … Vindication was a potent narcotic. It would swim in the veins of Mandate Schoolmen for some time.
    Yes! Nautzera exclaimed. Which is why we mustn’t forget what’s important. The Consult is never so easily rooted out. They’ll try to murder this Anasûrimbor—there can be no doubt.
    No doubt,