The Crippled God smiled at him, with such love, such knowing. The shadow rising behind him was out of place – it could not belong inside those raging fires. Yet Koryk saw it lifting, taking form. He saw two arms rising from that shape, saw the raw, dull gleam of dagger blades. Shadow. Koryk’s scream of warning ripped raw his throat – he flung himself forward— Even as Cotillion’s knives plunged down. To sink into the Crippled God’s back. Shock took that otherworldly face – as if the smile had never been – and the head rocked back, the body arching in agony.
