If anybody want's to comment on or discuss the Glossary, then feel free.

The Men of the Tusk are enveloped by Fanim all along the length of the aqueduct outside Shimeh.  The Shrial Knights charge – they have conviction and fury, but not numbers.  Gotian falls as the Knights sign hymns.

Then the Nansur arrive from the west.  The Inrithi cheer.  So do the Fanim – they think allies are here, but some notice unexpected banners.

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This wasn't the treachery of an Emperor – an Ikurei – come to seal a pact with their Padirajah.  The hated standard of the Exalt-General, with its distinctive Kyranean disc, was nowhere to be seen.
No.  This wasn't Ikurei Conphas.  It was the Blond Beast...
King Saubon.

The Fanim withdraw.  The Holy War follows.

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Horse and man thrashed black in descending fire

Another Tolkien reference?  The Pelennor Fields - specifically the arrival of the 'corsair ships'

Moeghus staggers back against the walls.  Snakes appear and curl about his throat.

Kellhus calls out

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With three voices he sang, one untteral pitched to the world and two inutterals directed to the ground.  What had been an ancient Cant of Calling became something far, far more... A Cant of Tranposing.

As he teleports away he sees Serwe leap out of the darkness.

We see what can be done with a second inutteral. 
A big deal has been made in earlier Chapters about the Cants of Compulsion.  What therefore can Kellhus do to these?  Something far, far more... does this foreshadow the ?

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”These voices”, Moenghus said with slow deliberation, “what do they say of me?”
His father, Kellhus realised had finally grasped the principles of this encounter.  Moenghus had assumed that his son would be the one requiring instruction.  He had not foreseen it as possible, let alone inevitable, that the Thousandfold Thought would outgrow the soul of its incubation – and discard it.
“They warn me”, Kellhus said, “that you are Dunyain still”.
One of the captive skin-spies convulsed against its chains, vomited threads of spittle into the pit below.
“I see.  And this is why I am to die?”
Kellhus looked to the haloes about his hands. “The crimes you've committed, Father... the sins... When you learn of the damnation that awaits you, when you come to believe, you will be no different from the inchoroi.  As Dunyain, you will be compelled to master the consequences of your wickedness.  Like the Consult, you will come to see tyranny in what is holy... And you will war as they war”.
Kellhus fell back into himself, opened his deeper soul to the details of his father's nearly naked form, assessing, appraising.  The strength of limbs.  The speed of reflexes.
Must move quickly
“To shut the World against the Outside”, the pale lips said.  “To seal it through the extermination of mankind...”
“As Ishual is shut against the Wilderness”, Kellhus replied.

For the Dunyain it was axiomatic: what was compliant had to be isolated from was unruly and intractable. Kellhus had seen it many times, wandering the labyrinth of possibilities that was the Thousandfold Thought:  The Warrior-Prophet's assassination.  The rise of Anasurimbor Moenghus to take his place.  The apocalyptic conspiracies.  The counterfeit war against Golgotterath.  The accumulation of premeditated disasters.  The sacrifice of whole nations to the gluttony of the Sranc.  The Three Seas cashing into char and ruin.
The Gods baying like wolves at a silent gate.
Perhaps his father had yet to apprehend this.  Perhaps he simply couldn't see past the arrival of his son.  Or perhaps all this – the accusations of madness, the concern over his unanticipated turn – was imply a ruse.  Either way, it was irrelevant.
“You are Dunyain still, Father”.
“As are-”
The eyeless face, once perfectly obdurate and inscrutable, suddenly twitched in the ghost of a grimace.  Kellhus pulled his knife from his father's chest, retreated several steps.  He watched his father probe the wound with his fingers, a weeping perforation just beneath his rib cage.
“I am more”, the Warrior-Prophet said.

Kellhus' actions and words imply he has planned for this all along.  Moenghus is just a location on his path - something to be mined for information and then got rid of.

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”...We dwarf the worldborn.  They are less than children to us.  No matter what we encounter, be it their philosophy, their medicine, their poetry, or even their faith, we see so much deeper, and our strength is that much greater.
So you assumed taking up the Water would be no different, that becoming one of the Indara-Kishauri would make you godlike in comparison.  And since the Cishaurim themselves scarcely understand the metaphysics of their practice, there was nothing you could learn that would contradict this assumption.  You couldn't know that the Psukhe was a metaphysic of the heart, not the intellect.  Of passion...
So you let them blind you, only to find your powers proportionate to your vestigial passions.  What you thought to be the Shortest Path was in fact a dead end”.

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”These words you speak,” Moenghus said from the black “wicked, corrupted, perverted... why would you use them when you know they are nothing more than mechanisms of control?”

 

Kellhus ignores him and continues.

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“In this world,” Moenghus said, “there's nothing more precious than our blood – as you have no doubt surmised  But the children we bear by worldborn women lack the breadth of our abilities.  Maithanet is not Dunyain.  He could do no more than prepare the way”.
Her name arose like a pang from the darkness: Esmenet

Moenghus lacks passion, but Kellhus clearly does not.  Does he really love Esmenet as he later claims in TAE?

The Tydonni are beset on all sides by the Fanim.  They manage to kill Pilaskanda, King of Girgash and cause his mastodosn to stampede.  The Ainoni have killed Cinganjehoi.  But Fanayal lives, and is the 'doom of the Inrithi'.

The Fanim wept with fury, with outrage, as they cut down the Inrithi invaders.  They cried out glory to Fane and the Solitary Gid, even as they wondered that the Men of Tusk did not flee.

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Akka knocks Esmi clear of the demon with a Cant.  It comes for him

”The voice”...”It says an eye for an eye”

Akka can tell Zioz is not a common demon.  He wonders what Iyokus has let loose.

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Moeghus staggers back against the walls.  Snakes appear and curl about his throat.

Kellhus calls out

With three voices he sang, one untteral pitched to the world and two inutterals directed to the ground.  What had been an ancient Cant of Calling became something far, far more... A Cant of Tranposing.

As he teleports away he sees Serwe leap out of the darkness.

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Esmenet watches Achamian fight with Zioz.

...But the thing was upon him, a raving nightmare, hammering and clawing, blows that cracked the stone about her, that brought blood to her nose.  Wards buckled and fractured.  Achamian called out great concussions and the demon's head was battered.  Hons snapped. Spider-eyes ruptured light.
Its assault became a frenzy, a jerking blur of violence, until it seemed hell itself tore and gnashed at his gates.
Achamian staggered, blinked white-burning eyes, cried out -
An instant of wasted voice.
Rats screamed through its exultant roar.  Achamian falling, his mouth working. The closing of dragon claws...
Achamian falling.
She could not scream.
The monstrosity leapt into the sky, punishing the air with rent wings.
She could not scream.

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“I live!” Ikurei Conphas cried one more time, only to hear nothing above the crack and thunder of sorcerous battle, both near and far.  No resounding cheer, no individual shouts of relief or acclaim. They couldn't see him – that was it!  They mistook him for one of their own.  For a man...

He sees the horsemen getting closer.  A voice shouts from their midst that 'there are no more nations'.  They bear the Circumfix banner, and the Red Lion – Saubon.  And they charge him.  The Nansur will not fight – perhaps they cannot.

He saw the broadsword that took his head

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Eleazaras advance on Seokti the Heresiarch of the Cishaurim- his arch-enemy.  He shout out the most powerful of the Great Anaologies.  He will avenge Sasheoka.

But there is more than one Cishaurim present.

The Grandmaster of the Scarlet Spires grunted, cursed.  Jets of incandescence exploded through his Wards, immolating his left arm even as he screamed deeper defences.  A fissure opened before him.  Light blew across his scalp and brow.  Like a doll, he was thrown backward.
His corpse toppled into the burning tracts below.

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The Men of the Tusk are enveloped by Fanim all along the length of the aqueduct outside Shimeh.  The Shrial Knights charge – they have conviction and fury, but not numbers.  Gotian falls as the Knights sign hymns.

Then the Nansur arrive from the west.  The Inrithi cheer.  So do the Fanim – they think allies are here, but some notice unexpected banners.

This wasn't the treachery of an Emperor – an Ikurei – come to seal a pact with their Padirajah.  The hated standard of the Exalt-General, with its distinctive Kyranean disc, was nowhere to be seen.
No.  This wasn't Ikurei Conphas.  It was the Blond Beast...
King Saubon.

The Fanim withdraw.  The Holy War follows.

Horse and man thrashed black in descending fire

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Cnaiur gags for breath.  He is there – Moenghus.  They have spent hours in the halls beneath Kyudea.

... And Cnaiur had known that no track could lead him farther from the Steppe...

The skin-spies attack Moenghus.  He – blind and wounded – kills one of them.

Moenghus knows Cnaiur is there.

”Nayu... You have returned to me...” ...
...“Just as I knew you would” ...

...“I am Cnaiur urs Skiotha,” he said. “The most violent of all men”.
“No,” Moenghus said softly.  “That is but a lie that you use to conceal your weakness from other men, just as weak”.
“It is you who lie”.
“But I see it within you.  I see... the truth of you. I see your love”.
I hate!” he screamed, so loud that the halls returned the words to them as a thousand whispers.
Though blind, Moeghus somehow managed to look to the ground in pensive pity.  “So many years”, he said. “So many seasons... Everything I showed you has scarred your heart, set you apart from the People.  Now you hold me accountable for what I taught”.
“Desecration!   Deceit!”  Spittle burned his unshaven chin..
“Then why does it torment you so?  Surely lies, when uncovered, fade like smoke.  It is truth that burns, Nayu – as you know... for you have burned in it for uncounted seasons”.
Suddenly Cnaiur could feel it: the miles of earth heaped above them, the clawing inversion of ground.  he had come too far.  He had crawled too deep.
The sword dropped from the stranger's senseless fingers, rang like something pathetic across the floor.  His face broke, like a thing wrapped about twitching vermin.  The sobs whispered across the pitted stone.
An Moenghus was holding him, enclosing him, healing his innumerable scars.
“Nayu...”
He loved him... this man who has shown him, who had led onto the trackless steppe.

Moenghus tells him he is dying and that he needs Cnaiur's strength.  He kisses him. Cnaiur groans.

He reached beneath his girdle, into his breeches...
His eyes leaden with ardour, he murmured, “I wander trackless ground””
Moenghus gasped, jerked and spasmed as Cnaiur rolled the Chorae across his cheek.  White light flared from his gouged sockets.  For an instant, Cnaiur thought, it seemed the God watched him through a man's skull.
What do you see?
But then his lover fell away, burning as he must, such was the force of what had possessed them.
“Not again!” Cnaiur howled at the sagging form.  He stumbled to his knees, weeping, raving.  “How could you leave me?”

He thinks of the final swazond to be cut into his throat.  And finds Serwe – alive.  They are engulfed by darkness.

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Proyas' vantage point has remained untouched by sorcerous fires.  He has seen it all- the destruction of the Scarlet Spires.  There are five Cishaurim left, 'looking' for survivors.

He turned his face skyward.  Through the haze he glimpsed the first vestiges of blue, a rim of gold about fleecy black.
There was a flash, a sparkle in the corner of his eye.  He looked to the Scared Heights, saw a point of light hanging above the eaves of the First Temple. The point lingered, painting the slate shingles of the dome white, then it burst, so bright that it struck circles across the firmament.  Like sails cut from the mast, sheets of smoke bloomed outward, swept over the hanging Cishaurim and out across the devastation.
And Proyas saw a figure standing where the light had been, so distant he could scarce make out his features, save that his hair was gold and his gown billowed white.
Kellhus!
The Warrior-Prophet

Kellhus draws debris from the ground towards him and makes spin around him in loops.  They protect him from Chorae bowmen.  The Cishaurim attack – one is kills with the Gnosis.  He teleports behind them, and kills one with his sword, then repeats the trick on number three.  A crossbow bolt from below is caught and thrown like a knife to kill number four.

And for the final Cishaurim

There was no escaping the Warrior-Prophet's holy light

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As the sun sets, a small boy is hunched over a shattered white figure, chipping salt away.  A bid with a human head appears

”Would you like to know a secret?” A thin voice cooed. The miniature face grinned, as though finding unexpected pleasure in playing a half-hearted game.
Too numb to be terrified, the young boy nodded, clutched tight the salt that would be his fortune.
“Come closer”

The Fanim are hidden below ground.  Then a Cishaurim blasts a hole through which they can dash outside, through fiery ruins.

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“This voice you hear,” the old Dunyain said, “is not part of the Thousand fold Thought”.
Kellhus ignored these words.  “Take me to them”.
“To whom?”
“To those you hold captive”.
“And if I refuse?”
“Why would you refuse?”
“Because I need to revise my assumptions, to explore these unforeseen permutation.  I had discounted this possibility.”
“What possibility?”
“That the Wilderness would break rather than enlighten.  That you would come to me a madman.”
Water, endlessly dropping, pounded air and stone.  The thunder of inevitability.
“Refuse me anything, and I will kill you, Father.”

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The Fanim are now outside the city, in numbers that are far greater than the reserves the Holy War has left there.

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Moenghus leads Kellhus through the dark halls beneath Kyudea. 

... halls more ancient than the Tusk.

Kellhus tells him what he has inferred about him.

”...We dwarf the worldborn.  They are less than children to us.  No matter what we encounter, be it their philosophy, their medicine, their poetry, or even their faith, we see so much deeper, and our strength is that much greater.
So you assumed taking up the Water would be no different, that becoming one of the Indara-Kishauri would make you godlike in comparison.  And since the Cishaurim themselves scarcely understand the metaphysics of their practice, there was nothing you could learn that would contradict this assumption.  You couldn't know that the Psukhe was a metaphysic of the heart, not the intellect.  Of passion...
So you let them blind you, only to find your powers proportionate to your vestigial passions.  What you thought to be the Shortest Path was in fact a dead end”.

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The Scarlet Spires go to war with the Cishaurim.  Eleazaras appears to have returned to his old self.

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Kellhus continues.  Moenghus is Mallahet – he has a great reputation across the Three Seas, but secretly the other Cishaurim think him cursed – the Water eludes him.  Without his eyes, his ability to discern what comes before is reduced.  His intellect can only get him so far. Then he uncovered the skin-spies.  Whilst the Cishaurim assume the Scarlet Spires, Moenghus knows they are not sorcerous.  The Cishaurim assassinate the Spires Grandmaster.  Moenghus breaks down the skin-spies, and learns of the Consult.
Kellhus uses emotive language when describing Golgottertah and its inhabitants.

”These words you speak,” Moenghus said from the black “wicked, corrupted, perverted... why would you use them when you know they are nothing more than mechanisms of control?”

 

Kellhus ignores him and continues.

”The deeper you probed, the more troubling the story became.  You had read The Sagas, and you had doubted them, thinking them too fanciful.  Destroying the world?  No malice could be so great.  No soul could be so deranged.  After all, what could be gained?  Who follows paths over precipices?
But the skin-spies explained it all.  Speaking in shrieks and howls, they taught you the why and wherefore of the Apocalypse.  You learned that the boundaries between the World and the Outside were not fixed, that if the World could be cleansed of enough souls, it could be sealed shut.  Against the Gods.  Against the heavens and the hells of the Afterlife.  Against redemption.  Nd most importantly, against the possibility of damnation.
The Consult, you realised, were labouring to save their souls.  And what was more, if your captives could be believed, they were drawing near the end of their millennial task”

”Only you knew their secret.  Only you could detect their spies”
“They have to be stopped,” Moenghus replied. “Destroyed”

“You began”, Kellhus said, “contemplating what would become the Thousandfold Thought”.

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The Tydonni charge the Fanim.  They take the riverbank, but the Fanim have rafts, and can bring many men across.  The Tydonni retreat.

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Kelhus creates a sorcerous light.  Moenghus' torture chamber is revealed.  Two skin-spies are hung there – their brains sawn open and punctured with needles.

Moenghus does have some ability with Water, for elements that require subtlety- scrying, calling and translating.  So he could summon Kellhus from Ishual.
Kellhus asks about his half-brother – Maithanet.

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Esmi and Akka sit in the hills.  She wonders what they are to do. As soon as Kellhus sees them, he'll know.
Then... Kidruhil.  Conphas has arrived with the Imperial Army.  Cnaiur has told Akka

”He told me”, Achamian said, his voice so hollow, so dismayed, that her skin prickled in terror.  “And he told me to warn the Great Names...  H-he didn't want any harm to befall the Holy War- for Proyas' sake as much as anything else, I think... B-but... after he left, all I could think about was... was...”...

Akka has to stop the Nansur.  Esmi is Kellhus' wife – he remembers what they did to Serwe.

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Conphas looks on as Shimeh burns.  He fantasises about marching onto the gates of Zeum – the next Aspect Emperor of the Three Seas.

Then Achamian arrives,

... his eyes and mouth ablaze

.

The Saik cannot match him.  Conhas has a Chorae – and runs screaming.

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'Something' appears at the Umbilica -looking for Achamian.

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The Spires and the Cishaurim continue their battle. 

  The slaughter was great.

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The Tydonni retreat turns into a rout.  But their footmen assemble beneath the aqueduct to take a defensive position, as do the Ainoni.

“Here!” Earl Gothyelk of Agansanor roared.  “Here we stand!”
But the Fanim parted before them, content to release storms of whirring arrows.  The knights of Kishyat, their faces painted dread white above their square-plaited beards, had exacted a terrible toll on their flank. But even more, Cinganjehoi recalled well the obstinacy of the idolaters once their heels touched ground.  As yet only a fraction of the Fanim army had crossed the Jeshimal.
Fanayal ab Kascamadri was coming. Lord of the Cleansed Lands.  Padirajah of Holy Kian.

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The Conriyans battle their way through the streets of Shimeh.

... Proyas had long since abandoned any attempt to impose order or restraint on his men. The madness of battle was on them, and though his heart grieved it, he understood what it meant to wager one's life, and the bestial licence that men took as their prize.
Shimeh, it seemed, was no exception.

He finds a house with a Tusk painted on the door.  There is a dead man inside and two live women.  He thinks about hitting the young one, and the text suggest raping her as well.  He tells the m to run and find a better place to hide.

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“In this world,” Moenghus said, “there's nothing more precious than our blood – as you have no doubt surmised  But the children we bear by worldborn women lack the breadth of our abilities.  Maithanet is not Dunyain.  He could do no more than prepare the way”.
Her name arose like a pang from the darkness: Esmenet

Moeghnus claims the Thousandfold Thought is a living thing.  He goes on to speak of viramsata, a Nilnameshi game, where lies are acted out to make them true.

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... They tell lies about who said what to whom, about who makes love to whomever, and so on.  They do this continually , and what is more, they are at pains to act out the lies told by others, especially when they are elegant, so that they might make them true.  And so it goes from tongue to tongue, until no distinction remains between what is a lie and what is true...
...Do you see?  The viramsata, they become living things, and we are their battle-plain”
Kellhus nodded.  “Like Inrithism and Fanimry”.

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”And the Thousandfold Thought?”
Moenghus turned to him, as precisely as if he could see.  “An instigator that goads them, that bleeds them even as we speak.  A formula of events that will rewrite the very course of history.  A great transition rule that will see Inrithism and Fanimry transformed.  The Thousandfold Thought is all these things.
Beliefs beget action, Kellhus.  If men are to survive the dark years to come, they must all act of one accord.  So long as there are Inrithi and Fanim, this will not be possible.  They must yield before a new delusion, a new Breath-that-is-Ground.  All souls must be rewritten... There is no other way”.
“And the Truth?” Kellhus asked.  “What of that?”
“There is no Truth for the worldborn.  They feed and they couple, cozening their hearts with false flatteries, easing their intellects with pathetic simplifications.  The Logos, for them is a tool of their lust, nothing more... They excuse themselves and heap blame upon others.  They glorify their people over other peoples, their nation over other nations.  They focus their fears on the innocent.  And when they hear words such as these, they recognise them – but as defects belonging to others.  They are children who have learned to disguise their tantrums from their wives and their fellows, and from themselves most of all...
No man says, 'They are chosen and we are damned'.  No worldborn man.  They have not the heart for Truth.
Stepping from between his faceless captives, Moenghus approached, his expression a mask of blind stone.  He reached out as though to clasp Kellhus' wrist of hand, but halted the instant Kellhus shrank back.
“But why, my son?  Why ask me what you already know?”

A very strong contrast between the extremely dispassionate Moenghus and the highly emotional members of the Holy War - for example Eleazaras, Akka and Esmi etc

Also

For all the signs he betrayed, this man who was his father could be a statue of stone.  He seemed a face without a soul.

Yet another correspondence between the Dunyain and the Consult