#itkovian

let me cook.

K'rul's entire thing was to create the warrens and give everybody access to magic as a way to eliminate disparity, because if everybody can access magic then there's no point in distinguishing mages vs non-mages for example (we know it doesn't work like that but we can't say K'rul did know, originally, I'm talking about his creator's intent towards the warrens). So his warrens are a form of compassion: to help combat discrimination, to have magic be an equaliser.

Contrast that to Itkovian who saw extreme pain in a race and decided to take that into himself so that the grief that made that race different, no longer existed. The Imass could move on because Itkovian took on their grief and pain etc. In this way, Itkovian acted as the equaliser making the Imass "the same as" everybody else, he removed what made them different . It was another act of compassion with the motivation of stopping that grief, so it's different from K'rul's more direct equalising intent, but Itkovian was still moved by compassion and he still made things (more) equal through his actions. Or that's what his intent was, at least.

And there's also the fact that their compassion came at a big, indeed a *HUGE* personal cost, but the books reinforce the fact that compassion is needed and good always, without shying away from how much it can take from someone at the same time. Both Itkovian and K'rul are perfect examples of this. People quote Itkovian's monologue about compassion ("we humans do not understand compassion....") and with good reason! But K'rul is just as central a figure to that thesis statement

Where, now, can I go?

Aye, I am not yet done. I accept this. And when I am? Who awaits me? Who shall embrace me? A shiver ran through him.

Who shall embrace me?

The Shield Anvil pushed the question away, struggled to renew his resolve. He had, after all, no choice. He would be Fener's grief. And his Lord's hand of justice. Not welcome responsibilities, and he sensed the toll they were about to exact.

T'lan Imass. Compassion is priceless in the truest sense of the word. It must be given freely. In abundance.

‘Is that a sort of faith, Lord?’

‘Perhaps it is. Is his ability to forgive truly endless? To take on the pain and guilt of others for all eternity? I admit, I have some serious difficulties with this cult’s root tenets - oh, as I said, I greatly admired Itkovian, the Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords. I even understand, to some extent, his gesture with the Kron T’lan Imass. As the Redeemer, however . . . I cannot but wonder at a god so willing to assume the crimes and moral flaws of its followers, while in turn demanding nothing - no expectation of a change in behaviour, no threat of punishment should they continue to transgress. Absolution - yes, I grasp the notion, but absolution is not the same as redemption, is it? The former is passive. The latter demands an effort, on with implicit sacrifice and hardship, one demanding all the higher qualities of what we call virtues.

‘Yet he is called the Redeemer.’

‘Because he takes on the task of redemption for all who come to him, all who pray to him. And yes, it is an act of profound courage. But he does not expect the same of his people - he appears to possess no expectations whatsoever.’

This was most loquacious of his Lord, evidence of a long, careful condensation of thought, of considerable energy devoted to the nature of the cult clinging to the very edge of Black Coral and Night, all of which seemed . . . unusual.

‘He leads by example, then.’

A sudden glitter of interest in Anomander Rake’s eyes and he studied Spinnock Durav intently. ‘Has any one follower stumbled on to that possibility, Spinnock Durav?’

‘I do not know. I, er, don’t think so - but, Lord, I am too far outside of it all at the moment.’

‘If the Redeemer cannot deny, then he is trapped in a state of imbalance. I wonder, what would be needed to redress that imbalance?’

Spinnock Durav found his mouth dry, and if he’d built proud castles of comprehension, if he’d raised sound fortifications to guard his assumptions, and arrayed vast armies to argue his case and to shift and align and manoeuvre to defend his cherished notions - and if he had done all this to then sit in comfort, secure in his place in this conversation - if this was indeed a game of Kef Tanar, then in one simple question posed, his foe had crashed his empire to ruin.

What would be needed to redress that imbalance?

A man who refuses.

You tell me time is short, my Lord. You lead me to elucidate what bothers me - for you can see that something does - and then, amidst the lofty clouds of religious discussion, you lash a lightning bolt down, striking my very heart.

If I am to do something, I must do it soon.

My Lord, my awe of you is unbounded. My love for you and the compassion you so delicately unveil leads me into this willingness, to storm without hesitation what you would have me storm, to stand for as long as needed, for it is what you need.

‘It is well I am immune to heat,’ Anomander Rake said, ‘for I have scorched my boots most severely.’

And so the fire grows round you, yet you do not flinch.

I will not fail you, my Lord.

Behind him, the Redeemer murmured, ‘Her power grows. Her power over you, Segda Travos.’

‘I do not want to be where she is.’

‘Don’t you?’

Seerdomin turned and eyed the god. ‘Self-awareness can be a curse.’

‘A necessary one.’

‘I suppose so,’ he conceded.

‘Will you still fight her, Segda Travos?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘Why?’

Seerdomin bared his teeth. ‘Don’t you start with me, Redeemer. The enemy never questions motivations - the enemy doesn’t chew the ground out beneath its own feet.’ He jabbed a finger back at the woman kneeling in the basin. ‘She has no questions. No doubts. What she has instead is strength. Power.’

‘That is true,’ said the Redeemer. ‘All of it. It is why those haunted by uncertainty must ever retreat. They cannot stand before the self-righteous. Instead, they must slink away, they must hide, they must slip behind the enemy’s lines - ‘

‘Where every damned one of them is hunted down and silenced - no, Redeemer, you forget, I lived in a tyranny. I kicked in doors. I dragged people away. Do you truly believe unbelievers will be tolerated? Scepticism is a criminal act. Wave the standard or someone else will, and they’ll be coming for you. Redeemer, I have looked in the eyes of my enemy, and they are hard, cold, emptied of everything but hate. I have, yes, seen my own reflection - it haunts me still.’

No further words were exchanged then. Seerdomin looked back down to that woman, the High Priestess who had once been Salind. She was naught but a tool, now, a weapon of some greater force’s will, its hunger. The same force, he now suspected, that drove nations to war, that drove husbands to kill wives and wives to kill husbands. That could take even the soul of a god and crush it into subservience.

When will you rise, Salind? When will you come for me?

This was not the afterlife he had imagined. My fighting should be over. My every need made meaningless, the pain of thoughts for ever silenced.

Is not death’s gift indifference? Blissful, perfect indifference?

She swayed back and forth, gathering strength as only the surrendered could do.