The Crippled God

  Brother Grave grunted. ‘Charismatic tyrants, you mean. Indeed, they do appear from time to time, burning bright and deadly and expunged just as quickly. Such individuals, among humans, are inevitably self-corrupting, and for all that they may shape history, that shaping is more often than not simply born out of that tyrant’s indulgence in destruction. Brother Aloft, you may well be right that we face such a person behind all of this. But does it matter in the end? And is it not that unbridled ambition that assures the fool’s demise? I would venture, with considerable amusement, that we now represent that fatal overreaching on that tyrant’s part.’ He faced Sister Freedom. ‘Have you not confirmed that the northern threat is too far away? This grand execution of coordinated invasions has failed, in fact.’

  ‘It may be as you say,’ acknowledged Brother Aloft. ‘But what if our eyes deceive us? What if what we are seeing is in fact precisely what our opponent wants us to see?’

  ‘Now you are too generous by far,’ Sister Freedom admonished him. ‘This is a breakdown in timing, perhaps precipitated by our detecting this western threat almost the instant it stepped out from the Glass Desert, and already being in perfect position to strike them with little delay.’

  ‘I accept the wisdom of your words, Sister.’

  ‘I will not castigate you, Brother, for listening to your instincts. Although, as we all know, if left unrestrained instincts have a way of encouraging panic – as they lie beyond the control of the intellect to begin with, theirs is the shorter path to fear.’

  The three Forkrul Assail were silent then, each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

  And then Sister Freedom said, ‘I shall seek to enslave the soldiers we face. They could prove useful.’

  ‘But not the hundred I hunt,’ said Brother Grave.

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Kill them all, Brother.’

  Ben Adaephon Delat reined in hard, his horse’s hoofs skidding through the parched grasses.

  Cursing, Kalam wheeled his mount round, the beast pitching beneath him in its exhaustion. He glared back his friend. ‘What is it now, Quick?’

  But the wizard held up a hand, shaking his head.

  Settling back to ease his aching spine, Kalam looked round, seeing nothing but empty, rolling land. The taint of green from the jade slashes overhead made the world look sickly, but already he was growing used to that.

  ‘Never mind the Adjunct,’ Quick Ben said.

  Kalam shot him a startled look. ‘What? Her brother—’

  ‘I know – you think this was easy? I felt them pulling apart. I’ve been thinking about that all morning. I know why Ganoes wants us to find her – I know why he sent us ahead. But it’s no good, Kalam. I’m sorry. It’s no good.’

  The assassin stared at his friend for a moment longer, and then he sagged, spat to clear the taste of ashes from his mouth. ‘She’s on her own, then.’

  ‘Aye. Her choice.’

  ‘No – don’t even try that, Quick. This is your choice!’

  ‘She’s forced my hand, damn you!’

  ‘How? What has she done? What’s all this about pulling apart? What in Hood’s name does that even mean?’

  Quick Ben’s horse must have picked up some of its rider’s agitation, for it now shied beneath him and he fought to regain control for a moment. As the animal backed in a half-circle, the wizard swore under his breath. ‘Listen. It’s not with her any more. She’s made herself the sacrifice – how do you think I can even know this? Kalam, she’s given up her sword.’

  Kalam stared. ‘What?’

  ‘But I can feel it – that weapon. It’s the blank place in my vision. That’s where we have to go.’

  ‘So she dies, does she? Just like that?’

  Quick Ben rubbed at his face. ‘No. We’ve been doing too much of this – all of us. From the very start.’

  ‘Back to the fucking riddles.’

  ‘Underestimating her! From damned near the first day I ended up with the Bonehunters, I’ve listened to us all second-guessing her, every damned step she took. I did my share, Hood knows. But it wasn’t just me, was it? Her officers. The marines. The fucking camp cook – what did you tell me a while back? About that moment in Mock’s Hold, when she asked you to save her? You did it, you said, because she just asked you – no bargaining, no reasons or explanations. She just went and asked you, Kalam. Was it hard saying yes? Tell me the truth. Was it?’

  Slowly, Kalam shook his head. ‘But I sometimes wondered … did I just feel sorry for her?’

  Quick Ben reacted as if he’d been slapped. In a soft voice he asked, ‘Do you still think that, Kalam?’

  The assassin was silent, thinking about it. Then he sighed. ‘We know where Ganoes wants us. We even know why – he’s her brother, for Hood’s sake.’

  ‘We know where she wants us, too, Kalam.’

  ‘Do we?’

  Quick Ben slowly nodded.

  ‘So which of the fucking Parans do we obey here?’

  ‘Which one would you rather face – here or other side of the Gates – to tell ’em you failed, that you made the wrong choice? No, I don’t mean brazening it out, either. Just standing there, saying what needs saying?’

  Fuck. ‘I feel like I’m back in Mock’s Hold,’ he said in a growl. ‘I feel as if I never left.’

  ‘And she meets your eyes.’

  Abruptly a sob took the assassin, vicious as a body blow and just as unexpected.

  His friend waited, saying nothing – and Kalam knew that he wouldn’t, because they’d been through it all together. Because true friends knew when to keep silent, to give all the patience needed. Kalam struggled to lock down on his emotions – he wasn’t even sure what had taken him, in that moment. Maybe this unrelenting pressure. This endless howl no one else even hears.

  I stood looking down on the city. I stood knowing I was about to walk a path of blood.

  The betrayal didn’t even matter, not to me; the Claw was always full of shits. Did it matter to her either? No. She’d already dismissed it. Just one more knife in her chest, and she was already carrying plenty of those, starting with the one she stuck there with her own hands.

  Kalam shook himself. ‘Same direction?’

  ‘For now,’ Quick Ben replied. ‘Until we get closer. Then – southwest.’

  ‘To the sword.’

  ‘To the sword.’

  ‘Anyone babysitting it, Quick?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  Kalam gathered his reins, drew a deep breath and slowly eased it back out. ‘Quick – how did she manage to cross that desert anyway?’

  The wizard shook his head, half smiled. ‘Guess we … underestimated her.’

  After a moment, they set out once again.

  Wings crooking, Silchas Ruin slid earthward. After a moment, Tulas Shorn followed. To the south they could see something like a cloud, or a swarm. The air hissing past their wings felt brittle, fraught with distant pain rolling like waves across the sky.

  Silchas Ruin landed hard on the ground, sembled almost immediately, and staggered forward, hands held over his ears.

  Taking his Edur form, Tulas Shorn studied his friend, but drew no closer. Overhead, one of the jade slashes began edging across the face of the sun. A sudden deepening of shadow enveloped them, the gloom eerie and turgid.

  Groaning, Silchas finally straightened, stiff as an old man. He looked across. ‘It’s the Hust sword,’ he said. ‘Its howling was driving me mad.’

  ‘I hear nothing,’ Tulas said.

  ‘In my skull – I swear I could feel bones crack.’

  ‘Unsheathe it, friend.’

  Silchas Ruin looked over with wide eyes, his expression filling with dread.

  ‘Grasp it when you veer.’

  ‘And what will that achieve?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I cannot imagine that this gift was meant to torture you. Your only other choice, Silchas, is to discard it.’ He gestured southward. ‘We are almost upon them – I am, frankly, ast
onished that she still lives. But if we delay here much longer …’

  ‘Tulas, I am afraid.’

  ‘Of dying? A little late for that.’

  Silchas smiled, but it was more of a grimace. ‘Easy for you to say.’

  ‘I dwelt a long time in the House of Death, tormented by the truth that I failed to achieve what I most wanted in my life. That sense, of terrible incompleteness, overwhelmed me many times. But now I stand with you, my brother, and I will fall in your stead if I can in this battle to come. Oblivion does not frighten me – I see only its blessed release.’

  Silchas Ruin studied him. Then he sighed and reached for the sword. Hand closing on its plain grip, he slid the weapon free.

  The Hust sword bucked in his hand, voicing a deafening shriek.

  Tulas Shorn was driven back a step, and he stared in shock as enormous ghostly chains appeared, writhing from the sword’s patterned blade. Those chains seemed to be anchored deep into the ground, and suddenly the land beneath them was shaking, pitching them about as if the world was rolling its shoulders. From below, a rising thunder—

  A blast of dirt and stone lifted skyward off to Tulas Shorn’s left, and he bellowed in shock upon seeing a dragon clawing its way free of the steaming earth. And then, off to the right, another erupted in a shower of debris, and then a third – each one chained as it rose from the ground, wings hammering the dust-filled air.

  Their roars – of release – ripped across the plain.

  Silchas Ruin stood, both hands now on the sword, as the ethereal chains snapped taut, scissoring wildly above him like the strands of a wind-whipped thread.

  Eloth. Ampelas. Kalse.

  Tulas Shorn staggered forward. ‘Veer! Silchas Ruin – veer! We have our Storm! He has given us our Storm!’

  Screaming, Silchas Ruin blurred, pungent clouds roiling out from him. Sword and chains vanished – yet the three dragons held close in the air above them.

  Veering, Tulas Shorn launched himself into the sky.

  Eloth’s voice filled his skull. ‘Brothers! It is as Cotillion promised! We are freed once more!’

  ‘Only to die!’ cried another voice – Ampelas – yet there was nothing of frustration in its tone.

  ‘Should we prevail – Silchas Ruin, will you vow to break our chains?’

  And Silchas replied, ‘Eloth, I so swear.’

  ‘Then we have a cause worth fighting for! He bargained true. He is a god with honour!’

  The five Ancient Dragons wheeled then, climbing ever higher as they winged southward. The shadow cast down by one talon slash in the heavens above them marked their path, true as an arrow into the heart of the battle.

  ‘My leg!’ Telorast shrieked. ‘Curdle! I am crippled! Help me!’

  The other skeletal lizard halted so quickly it fell over, rolled once, twice, and then leapt back to its feet. ‘Aaii! See the shadow? It hunts us! It chases us! Webs across the sky! Telorast – you are doomed!’

  ‘I see Eleint! They are coming for us! This was a trap! A lie! A deceit! Betrayal! Bad luck! Help me, Curdle!’

  Curdle leapt up and down as if eating flies on the wing. ‘They only pretended! Those two usurpers – they are venal and vicious, selfish! Not-Apsalar was their servant, was she not? She was! This has been planned from the very start – Telorast, I will weep for you. My sister, my lover, my occasional acquaintance – I promise, I will weep for you.’

  ‘You lying bitch! Carry me! Save me! I would save you in your place if I was you and you were me and I wanted to run because that’s the smart thing to do – except when I’m me and you’re you! Then it’s not smart at all!’ She clawed furiously at the ground, one leg kicking, trying to reach Curdle, her small hands clutching the air, her serrated jaws clacking in a manic frenzy. ‘Come closer, I beg you!’ Snap snap snap. ‘I only want to say goodbye, I swear it!’ Snap snap snap snap.

  ‘The shadow!’ Curdle shrieked. ‘I’ve waited too long! Help!’ She began running, leaping over tufts of dead grass, dodging boulders and small stones. Her rush startled a grasshopper into the air and she bit it in half in passing. ‘Did you see that? Telor—’

  Both creatures veered. Chains cracked like lightning, lifting them skyward.

  ‘Storm! Five Ancients – now seven!’

  ‘Eloth greets you, betrayers! Telorast Anthras! Kerudas Karosias!’

  ‘Eloth! Ampelas! Kalse! They still hate us! Telorast, look what you’ve done!’

  Korabas, the Otataral Dragon, was being driven earthward as dragon after dragon crashed down on her from above, their talons raking through her hide, flensing her wings. She had killed hundreds, but now, at last, she was failing. The land beneath her loomed, every detail a bitter language of death. She could no longer give voice to her fury, her crushing frustration, and was too exhausted to strike out at the Eleint harrying her on all sides.

  Blood streamed down her flanks, rained like acid on the lifeless earth below.

  The summons dragged her forward, but she was blind to its purpose. Perhaps nothing more than a lure. Yet the imperative was absolute and she would strive to answer it. With her last breath, she would seek that fated place. A trap, or a promise? An answer to my prayers, or the making of my barrow? No matter. I fail. I would even welcome chains, but they will not grant me that mercy. I feel Mother awakening. I feel T’iam, so close now – the Storms gathered, the power building. She is coming – she will see me killed!

  She pitched as yet another Eleint slammed down on her. With one last surge, she swung her neck round, lacerated jaws stretching wide—

  And saw seven dragons, descending from high above the swarm surrounding her. Another Storm. This ends it, then.

  The creature clinging to her back tore itself away, flinching from her jaws – she caught a hind limb, ripped the flesh from the bone.

  The seven Ancients plunged into the maelstrom – and suddenly Eleint were screaming in shock and pain, bodies twisting as they plummeted, blooms of blood like clouds—

  They fight to save me! But why? Do not draw near, friends! I am poison!

  But – more – do not die for me!

  I, whose touch is death, beg you – do not die for me!

  Yet on they fought, but now their foes were recovering, and scores lifted higher to close on them.

  And should T’iam manifest – she will take even you.

  East, the place of the summons, called to her. Torn fragments of meat falling from her jaws, Korabas fixed her gaze upon that beckoning horizon. Her allies had drawn away her assailants, won her a reprieve with fatal sacrifice. She did not understand, but she would honour them in the only possible manner available to her.

  If this be a destiny offered me, I shall meet it. I shall face it, and, if I can, I shall speak to the world.

  And if this be the place of my death, so be it.

  I was free, even if only for a moment.

  I was free.

  He had pushed them hard, marching them through half the night and without pause through most of this day, and the marines and heavies were staggering as they came within sight of the hill. The muscles of his legs leaden, Fiddler angled towards it. Vast bands of shadow were still tracking the landscape, cast down by the Jade Strangers spanning the entire sky, leaving the captain with a sense that the world was unravelling before his very eyes.

  He had worked hard not to think about the army they had left behind, and the fate that awaited them. Before the captain now was all that mattered. That forlorn hilltop with its fractured flanks, the lone sword of Otataral thrust deep into the ground at its very centre.

  He feared that it would not be enough – they had all feared as much, those among them who understood what she was attempting here. The chains that bound the Crippled God had been forged by gods. A single sword to shatter them all? Tavore, you must have believed it was possible. Or that some other force would awaken here, to lend us a blessed hand in this.

  Without this – this breaking of chains – all that we do he
re is for naught.

  Tavore, I am trusting you. With the lives of my soldiers – with the meaning to their deaths. I know, it’s unfair, asking this of you. You’re mortal, that and nothing more. But I know – I feel it – I am setting my weight upon your shoulders. We all are, whether we care to admit it or not.

  And it’s that unfairness that’s tearing me apart.

  He glanced off to his left. Hedge walked there at the head of his own troop – Letherii and Khundryl cast-offs, a mix of half-bloods from a dozen subdued tribes of the Lether Empire. They’d had trouble keeping up, so loaded down were the soldiers – Hood knew why they’d felt the need to carry so much. All those kittens, I expect. Hope they’re worth it.

  Hedge had been keeping his distance, and Fiddler knew why – he could feel his own face transforming whenever his friend drew near, becoming a mask, bleak and broken, and the anguish and dread clawed at him with a strength he could not match. So much of this is unfair. So much. But now Hedge shifted his track, came closer.

  He pointed at the hill. ‘That’s it? Damned ugly, Fid.’

  ‘We can defend it.’

  ‘We’re too thin, even for a knoll as puny as that one. Listen, I’m breaking up my company. I ain’t making too many big promises here, but my Bridgeburners got a secret—’

  ‘Kittens, aye.’

  Hedge scowled at him. ‘You had spies! I knew it!’

  ‘Gods below, Hedge, never met anyone as hopeless with secrets as you.’

  ‘Go ahead and think that. You’re in for a surprise, I promise you.’

  ‘Can they match the Moranth munitions, that’s the only thing I need to know.’