‘And in their absence, High Fist, will we manage things any better?’
‘No,’ Paran said, walking past him, ‘but at least then we won’t have the option of blaming someone else.’
Sister Belie scanned the distant walls. Suddenly, not a soldier in sight. ‘They’ve quit,’ she said. ‘Now, the question is, do they leave the way they came, or do they march out from the gate – or what’s left of it – and try to break the siege?’
Standing beside her, Watered Exigent glanced back at the camp. ‘If the latter, Sister, then we are, perhaps, in trouble.’
Sister Belie pretended not to hear him. If his seed of doubt thirsted for water, he would have to find it elsewhere. Another week. That is all we need. And then Brother Serenity will be here, with five thousand heavily armoured foreigners. The besieging forces were damaged – that last assault had been brutal. She was down to half strength. Her hold on them was fragile, and this was not a familiar feeling.
‘I see no movement at the gate, Sister Belie.’
There was a barrier to dismantle, and that would take time. But … I feel it. They’re coming for us. ‘Assemble the companies, Exigent. That gate is the bottleneck. If we can lock them there, we hold them until they’re exhausted, too mauled to force the issue.’
‘And if they break us instead?’
She turned, studied him. ‘Do you doubt the power of my will? Do you imagine that this Master of the Deck can manage anything more than fending me off? I will not yield, Exigent. Understand that. And if it means that every single one of our Shriven – and every single one of their Watered commanders – ends up a corpse on the field, then so be it.’
Watered Exigent paled, and then he saluted. ‘I will inform the commanders that we shall advance.’
‘Have them ready, Exigent. The command to advance shall be mine and mine alone.’
‘Of course, Sister Belie.’
After he had left, she returned her attention to the keep. Still no activity at the barricade. Perhaps my feeling about this is wrong. Perhaps indeed he flees through a warren, and just like that, the siege is done. But he will return. Somewhere – this thorn is yet to leave our side, I am certain of it.
Her eyes narrowed, and she blinked rapidly to clear a sudden blurring of her vision – but the problem was not with her eyes. To either side of the barricaded gate, the massive walls had grown strangely smudged, all along the breadth, as if stone had become water.
And from these places, troops appeared in formation, and then skirmishers and archers, fanning out from main ranks. The five-deep lines then unfolded and began linking up with those to either side. Cavalry thundered into view on the far left flank, riding hard for a rise to the west.
She heard the shouts of confusion from her commanders, felt the recoiling fear of the Shriven. He opened gates through the walls. He knew we would be studying the barricade, waiting for them to begin dismantling it. He knew we wouldn’t advance until they did so. And now we are not ready.
Sister Belie swung round. ‘Form a line! Form a line!’ My voice will take their souls, and I will drive the Shriven forward, like wolves unleashed. They will ignore their wounds. Their fear. They will think only of slaughter. By the time my last soldier falls, the enemy will have ceased to be a military threat. This I swear!
She saw her Watered commanders taking control of their companies, their voices powerful as iron-toothed whips. She could feel it now – the cold, implacable sorcery of Akhrast Korvalain, gathering, and she was pleased at its burgeoning strength.
And then someone shrieked, and Sister Belie staggered. What? I have lost one of my commanders! How?
She saw a swirl of soldiers, closing in to where one of the Watered had been standing a moment earlier. Terror and confusion rippled outward.
Forty paces distant from that scene, another commander suddenly died, his chest blossoming wounds.
They have infiltrated assassins! She awakened her voice. ‘FIND THEM! ASSASSINS! FIND THEM!’
The companies were in chaos. ‘FACING RANKS, PREPARE FOR THE ENEMY!’
She saw Exigent, heard his shouts as he struggled to reassert order on his milling Shriven. As she moved to join him, there was a blossom of darkness behind the man. Sister Belie shrieked a warning, but – too late. Knives sank home. Exigent arched in shock, and then was falling.
Akhrast Korvalain, I call upon your power! She set off down the slope. The darkness had vanished, but then, as magic heightened her vision, she could see its swirling path – there would be no hiding from her, not now. A mage. How dare he! ‘NO POWER BUT MINE!’
And she saw that whirling black cloud stagger, saw it pinned in place, writhing in sudden panic.
Hands twitching in anticipation, she advanced on it. Off to her right, she could hear the enemy’s horns announce the attack – she would deal with that later. I can still save this. I must!
The darkness convulsed in the grip of her power.
Now only six paces between her and the hidden mage. ‘NO POWER BUT MINE!’
The sorcery erupted, vanished with a thunderous detonation, and she saw before her a man staggering, sinking down to his knees. Dark-skinned, bald, gaunt – not the Master of the Deck. No matter. She would rend him limb from limb.
Four paces, her boots crunching on gravel, and he looked up at her.
And smiled. ‘Got you.’
She did not even hear her killer as he came up behind her, but the long knives that burst from her chest lifted her from her feet. She twisted, balanced on two hilts, as her slayer raised her yet higher. Then, with a low grunt, he flung her to one side. She was thrown through the air, landing hard, rolling across sharp stones.
The bastard had severed the veins beneath both her hearts. And now, lying in her last moments, her head lolled and she saw him. Burly, ebon-skinned, the long-bladed knives dripping in his hands.
Her Watered were all dead. She heard the enemy ranks smashing into her disordered forces. She heard the slaughter begin.
Faintly, she caught the mage speaking to the assassin. ‘Sheathe that Otataral blade, Kalam, and be quick about it.’
And he rumbled a reply, ‘Done. Now … make me invisible again.’
Their voices grew more distant. ‘Do you think it’s easy? She damned near broke my back with that command.’ They were walking away.
‘Just feeling a tad exposed here, Quick – behind enemy lines and all.’
‘What lines?’
Sister Belie closed her eyes. Otataral? You unsheathed Otataral? Oh, you fool. And these, her last thoughts, bubbled with a kind of dark pleasure.
The enemy broken, routed, Warleader Mathok rode up to Paran’s position near the westernmost rise, and reined in. ‘High Fist! The last have fled east, down into the valley. Shall we pursue?’
‘No,’ Paran replied, watching as Quick Ben and Kalam approached from across the killing field. ‘Mathok, begin gathering up forage for your horses. Send parties deeper into the valley if needed – but for resupply only, no chasing down. I fear we shall have to ride hard now.’
‘Where?’
‘South, Mathok. South.’
The Warleader wheeled his mount round, yelling commands at his second, T’morol, who waited a short distance back with a wing of cavalry, and then rode off in the direction of his main force. Mathok’s raiders had been eager, and they had acquitted themselves well. Watching the Warleader ride away, Paran rubbed at the back of his neck. ‘No wonder you winced at every move, Dujek,’ he said under his breath. ‘I’m a mass of knotted ropes.’ Still, the enemy broke at first contact, and what could have been a nasty scrap turned into a slaughter. A mere handful of casualties, and most of those from idiots falling on weapons in their haste to pursue. Ensorcelled voices were all very well, but if that was where all the discipline and courage came from … now, we can see the flaw in that, can’t we?
‘High Fist,’ said Quick Ben, walking up like a man who’d taken a beating. His face was drawn, his eyes skit
tish with something that might be pain.
Paran nodded. ‘High Mage. Was it as bad as it looks?’
‘Not really. Just out of practice. Lost touch with being subtle, I think.’
A curious thing to say, Paran reflected, and then he faced Kalam. The assassin’s weapons were sheathed, and he looked rather pleased with himself. For no reason he cared to discover, Paran found he wanted to take that smugness down a notch or two. You’ve been killing people, after all. He regarded him for a moment longer before saying, ‘Your wife wishes your attention.’
The man scowled. ‘Now?’
That was easy. ‘Since you’re covered in blood, Corporal, you might want to wash first.’
Quick Ben snorted. ‘I’d forgotten, Kalam. You’re a lowly corporal – meaning I can order you around.’
‘Just try it, you Hood-bitten snake.’
After the assassin had left them, the High Mage turned to Paran. Hesitated, and then said, ‘Felt something, far to the southwest …’
‘As did I, Quick Ben.’
That skittish look returned. ‘Do you know what it was?’
‘Do you?’
The High Mage sighed. ‘Back to that, then, is it?’
Paran cocked his head. ‘When I asked Shadowthrone for Kalam, I admit that I didn’t expect you to be the delivery man. My last sense of you was in the company of my sister’s army, keeping your head down.’
Quick Ben nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘You were able to sniff out things like that? I’m impressed, Ganoes Paran. You have come a long way from the nervous, gut-sick captain I remember from Black Coral.’
‘I’m still gut-sick, High Mage,’ he said. ‘And as for sensing distant powers, alas, that’s been growing ever more uncertain. And obviously, since coming within the influence of the Assail warren I have been effectively blind. But with my sister, it was never easy in the best of circumstances—’
‘Her sword.’
‘Her sword, yes. And … other things.’
Quick Ben’s nod was sympathetic. ‘Sisters, aye.’ Then his gaze sharpened. ‘That … manifestation we felt. Do you think … was it her?’
Paran frowned. Just the mention of his stomach had delivered a nip of pain, and then vague nausea, reluctant to fade. And look at us, still stepping round each other. Forget all that, Paran. Be honest, see what happens. ‘I don’t know, High Mage. But I mean to find out.’
Quick Ben studied the mass of soldiers moving through the enemy supplies, and then he rubbed at his eyes. ‘Ganoes Paran, what are we? Here, what are we?’
Paran felt his face twisting as anxiety gnawed again at his stomach. ‘Quick Ben, we’re soldiers of the Emperor. It’s all we ever have been.’
Quick Ben shot him a look. ‘You were just a child when he ruled.’
Paran shrugged. ‘Nonetheless.’
‘Aye,’ the High Mage muttered like a man trying to swallow bad news, ‘nonetheless. But … that empire is gone, Paran. If it ever existed at all.’
Now that’s a sharp observation. ‘Nothing lasts, Quick Ben. Speaking of which, how do you warrant Kalam and Minala’s chances?’
Quick Ben grunted and the sound might have been wry laughter, or sympathy. ‘I don’t. And while I think they’d be good together, they keep trying to wear each other’s skin, if you know what I mean.’
‘Sort of.’
‘It’s not love that’s the problem.’
‘It’s all the rest.’
Quick Ben nodded, and then he shrugged. ‘So tell me, O Master of the Deck of Dragons, what awaits us now?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘Gods below, where do I begin?’
‘Start with the worst it could get.’
The worst? ‘How much do you already know?’
Quick Ben rubbed vigorously at his face, as if trying to rearrange his own features. And, maybe, become someone else. ‘Not as much as you might believe,’ he said. ‘Shadowthrone’s not yet gotten over some past slight I offered him – though for the life of me I can’t recall what it might have been. In any case, we’re not exactly whispering in each other’s ear.’
‘Still,’ Paran said, not quite convinced.
‘Well. You have to understand – I usually work alone. And if I need help, I make sure the bargain I make is mutually beneficial … to keep down the chances of taking a knife in the back. I admit it, High Fist, I really trust no one.’
‘No one at all?’
‘The trust I have … for some people … comes down to how well I know them, and then it’s a matter of my trusting them to do what I think they’re going to do.’
‘That’s a rather cynical take on trust,’ Paran observed.
‘It’s the safest. It doesn’t take much insight to realize that most people are only looking out for themselves. And once you figure out what they want, you can—’
‘Manipulate them?’
The wizard shrugged. ‘Am I that much of a mystery? I have twelve souls in me. Think about that. All those lives, all those desires, regrets, hurts. Whatever you feel about your life, I have that a dozen times over. And some of those souls in me … are old.’
‘Yet, of necessity, you all have to work together, for a common purpose.’
‘If you say so.’
Paran studied the man. Mystery? What mystery? ‘Right. Very well. The worst? Here goes, then. Kurald Galain falls to vengeful Tiste Liosan, and they walk that path right into the heart of Shadow, ousting Shadowthrone, and from there they march onward, to this world, joining with the Forkrul Assail in a tide of slaughter, until not one city is left standing, not one field planted, not one human child born into the world. Do you want the rest?’
‘There’s more?’
‘The Elder Gods, having at last freed the Otataral Dragon, succeed in the annihilation of magic, barring that paid for in blood – unless of course Korabas is killed, but if that happens it will mean that the Eleint, who are now or will soon be loose in this realm, will have killed it – and they will in turn seek domination, not just of this realm, but of all realms, delivering chaos wherever they go. And so, even with us wiped from the earth, terrible powers will contest the claim to our legacy. The gods will be dead, magic a thirst only fools would dare invite, and … well, should I go on?’
Quick Ben licked dry lips. ‘Parts of Burn are dying – on our way here, whenever we touched the soil of this world, I could feel her skin searing, drying and shrivelling into something … lifeless.’
‘The Otataral Dragon, yes.’
‘I probably already knew that,’ Quick Ben muttered. ‘Just trying not to think about it and hoping it would all go away. Hood’s breath! Ganoes Paran – tell me what we can do to prevent all this?’
The High Fist’s brows rose. ‘How unfortunate. That is the question I was going to ask you, Quick Ben.’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘Wasn’t meant to be.’
‘Your sister—’
‘Aye, my sister. You were with her, wizard. She must have explained her plan.’
Quick Ben looked away. ‘She would free the Crippled God.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘How should I know? Was your whole family like her? Nobody saying a damned thing to each other? Dead silence at the dinner table? Is that how you managed to get along, assuming you got along in the first place?’
Paran grimaced. ‘Can’t say we did, much. Got along, I mean.’
‘What might she be holding inside?’
‘I wish I knew.’
Quick Ben’s growing agitation was evident in his waving hands, his sudden pacing, the sharp, wide-eyed looks he threw at Paran. ‘I thought you two had this planned!’
‘Had what planned?’
‘You’re the Master of the Deck of Dragons!’
‘So I am. Why, you want to play?’
For a moment it seemed Quick Ben’s eyes would burst from their sockets. And then, with sudden hope: ‘A reading! Yes
– that’s it! I’d take a damned reading right now – why not?’
But Paran was shaking his head. ‘You don’t want that, High Mage. Trust me, you don’t. There are too many rogue players in this game. Icarium. Draconus. The First Sword of the T’lan Imass. Olar Ethil, Silchas Ruin, Tulas Shorn, Kilava – even Gruntle, the Mortal Sword of Treach. And now the Eleint, and how many dragons have come or are coming through the gate? A hundred? A thousand? Oh, and the Elder Gods: Errastas, the past Master of the Tiles, and Kilmandaros and her son …’
Quick Ben was staring as if Paran had lost his mind.
Paran scowled. ‘What now?’
‘They – they’re all here?’
‘I have the Deck of Dragons in my damned skull, remember. I caught the first winds of convergence some time ago. Trust me when I say this will be the biggest the world has ever seen, bigger even than the chaining of the Crippled God. Nobody said it’d be easy, High Mage. The question is, what do you have to offer me?’
Quick Ben snarled. ‘Why, more good news, what did you think?’
‘What do you mean?’
The High Mage threw up his hands. ‘Let’s just add the K’Chain Che’Malle and the Jaghut, and oh, we should probably mention Hood himself – no longer dragging the Throne of Death by one ankle. And who knows how many slavering fanatics of the Wolves of Winter! And what about the Crippled God himself – will he go quietly? Why should he? If I was him, even if you showed me the inviting door at the far end, I’d be slicing throats all the way down the corridor. I’d have damn well earned the right to as much vengeance as I could muster!’
Paran grunted. ‘All right, it’s rather more complicated than I had imagined, then.’
Quick Ben seemed to choke on his reply. After a bout of coughing, and then spitting, he shook his head and, eyes watering, he rubbed at his face again. Then he took a deep, settling breath, and said, ‘We need a secret weapon, Paran.’
‘I have a gut feeling about that—’
‘The one burning a hole in your stomach?’