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February 19 - March 6, 2014
You desire worship, Errastas, but one where you need give nothing in return. Have I guessed right?’
If you knew where this path led Would you have walked it? If you knew the pain at love’s solemn end Would you have awakened it?
One of the clawed children, a year or two older than Rutt, came up then and gently took Held from Rutt’s arms – he might have resisted, but did not have the strength, and when the babe was in the cradle of the strange boy’s arms Rutt’s own arms remained crooked, as if he still held her, and Badalle saw how the tendons at his elbows had shrunk, drawn tight. And she thought back, trying to recall when she had last seen Rutt not holding Held, and she couldn’t. The baby was a ghost in his arms now.
Rutt, you led us from death and into life. Rutt,’ she stepped close, ‘you can rest now.’ The bearded man – whose name was Fiddler – managed to break Rutt’s fall, but both went down to their knees. The Adjunct took a half-step. ‘Captain? Does he live?’ He looked up after a moment. ‘If his heart still beats, Adjunct, I can neither feel nor hear it.’
How far must one fall, to give thanks for nothing but desire? Empty intent?
‘Of course, drinking is the sweet surrender. The sanctum of cowards – and we’re all cowards, us drunks, and don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise.
A hand brushed her upper arm. ‘That’s a heartbreaking tale, Sergeant.’ ‘Is it?’ I suppose it is. Of course, I just made it up. Tug those heartstrings, see all that sweet sympathy in their sweet little faces. They’ll forgive me anything now. Why do I hate spiders? Gods, who doesn’t? What a stupid question.
‘Long has been his journey, and soon the fate of us all will fall at his feet.
Sometimes, when people speak of forbidding, deadly places, it’s not just a story. Sometimes, it’s all true, and the warnings are honest warnings. There are places that will kill you. And we have found one.
‘It’s not just some damned metal that just happens to devour magic. Otataral is aspected.’ He pushed himself back on to his feet. ‘The next time you draw that weapon, Adjunct, the act will summon. She is loose upon the world now, the dragon that is the source of all Otataral – the living heart of that which takes life. She has been freed.’
She saw suffering on a scale that made long-dead emotions tremble inside her,
My crime was hope. My punishment is to see it fail.
Gods will give and then take away If faith tastes of blood drink deep when you pray
Shadowthrone hissed. ‘Well? Is that it?’ ‘Is what it?’ ‘That’s all you have to say? This is a momentous scene, you fat fool! This is where everything really, truly, finally begins! So squeeze the ale from your brain, mortal, and say something worthy of your kind. You stand before a god! Speak your eloquence for all posterity. Be profound!’ ‘Profound…huh.’ Temper was silent for a long moment, studying the cobbles of the alley mouth. And then he lifted his helmed head, faced Shadowthrone, and said, ‘Fuck off.’
They need do nothing more, because we humans will destroy ourselves. It may take a while, because there’s lots of us, but we’ll do it in the end, because we are nothing if not thorough.
He twisted round. ‘Indeed, you barely know her. I will tell you this, then. I looked out through her sister’s eyes, through a helm’s visor – in the moment that she died – and I stared up at my slayer, the Adjunct Tavore Paran. And the blood dripping from her sword was mine. You will speak to me of innocence? There is no such thing.’ Shurq Elalle stared at Hood. ‘So, in using her now…is this punishment?’ ‘Consider it so, if it eases your conscience.’ ‘She murdered her sister?’ ‘Yes.’
‘The truth may hide at your feet. The truth may lie coiled in high grasses. But it still has claws, it still has fangs. Be careful, Captain, where you step.’
‘Lead on, Skorgen,’ Felash said with a careless wave of one hand. ‘And if you must ogle my tits, try being subtle about it, will you?’ ‘Sorry, Highness. Only got the one good eye, y’know.’
‘Will you come back?’ Draconus hesitated, and then he shook his head. ‘I do not think we will meet again, no. And for that I truly grieve.’ ‘Are you going somewhere to die?’ ‘Do not weep, friend. I do not know what awaits me.’ He stepped close to Ublala. ‘I have left you sufficient food and water for a week’s travel. Beyond that, well.’ He shrugged, and then held out a hand. ‘Now, let us clasp arms.’ Instead, Ublala wrapped the god in a fierce hug. After a moment, Draconus pulled himself free. ‘You give reason, friend, for what I must attempt. If sorcery must die, the magic in the mortal soul
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There could be no convenient rewriting of histories, such as seemed common among humans. No invented myths of past glory and honour that never was. The crimes committed back then were as sordid as those committed now, or those to come.
‘Then, what shall you do? To inspire your warriors?’ He shrugged loose the tension in his shoulders, felt weariness draining in behind it. ‘I believe, Highness, I shall shame them.’
The Age of Justice – and the time of the Forkrul Assail – ended not at the hand of enemies, or foreign races, but at the hands of the Forkrul Assail themselves.’ ‘How?’ ‘They judged their own god, and found him wanting. And for his imperfections, they finally killed him.’
‘The memory of every Matron is passed down in the blood, the oils – the secretions. Nothing is lost. Gunth Mach has offered me some of their flavours. Much of it I cannot be certain of – there was a time, between the stars… I don’t know.
In clouds of spinning dust and pelting rubble, in the wild fires of chaotic magic, the dragons returned to the world.
She looked over to see the two sabre-toothed cats lying down beside Gruntle’s carcass. As if to give him warmth. As if to make him their own.
One of them was shrieking, as if seeking to tear her own voice to pieces, to destroy it for all time.
In the eternity before dawn. When among mortals courage is at its weakest, when fear sinks talons on the threshold and will not let go. When one awakens to such loneliness as to twist a moan from the chest. But then…you feel it, breath catching. You feel it. You are not alone.
‘Today, the Tiste Andii fight for themselves!’ And this time other weapons found the rims of shields. CRACK! ‘Your home!’ CRACK! ‘Your kin!’ CRACK! The sword shivered in his hand. The soldier stumbling beside him fell away, his shield split. Gasping, Spinnock Durav pushed on. Anomander Rake – do you witness this? Do you look into these faces – all these faces behind me? ‘This time! Strangers fight in your name! Strangers die for you! Your cause – not theirs!’ CRACK! The reverberation shoved him forward, shivered through him like something holy. ‘Children of Dark, humans are dying in your
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Sharl, who had failed in keeping her brothers alive, and who had, thus far, failed in joining them, stood beside Captain Brevity. She held a sword, the point dug into a corpse under her feet, and knew she would not be able to lift it, not again. There was nothing left, nothing but raging agony in her joints, her muscles, her spine. Thirst clawed at her throat, and every desperate breath she drew deep into her lungs was foul with the stench of the dead and the dying.
There were all kinds of love, and, with wonder, she realized that she now knew them all.
The woman nodded. ‘Yes, there shall be peace. Lord Kadagar Fant, on behalf of the Tiste Andii, welcome to Darkness.’ The knife flashed up towards his eye. A sudden sting of pain and then…
‘Withal,’ said Nimander, his voice hoarse, almost broken. ‘You found your people,’ Withal said. The head cocked. ‘And you yours.’
And then she saw. The muscles of his jaw were no longer taut, bunched by that incessant clench. And suddenly he seemed young, younger than she’d ever seen him before. Yedan Derryg, you are beautiful. From all sides, she now heard, there rose a keening sound. Her Shake and her Letherii were now mourning for their fallen prince. She let the sound close round her like a shroud. Welcome home then, brother.
‘Does not the father kneel before the mother? In the time of birth? Does he not bow to the strength he himself does not possess? Does he not look into the eyes of the woman he loves, only to see a power strange and terrible – how it does not even see him, how it looks past – or no, how it looks within? Does not a man need to be humbled? Tell me, Gall, that you refuse to see that again – one final time in your life! Witness it!’
‘Mother, when will you let yourself feel?’
Women were stronger in ways no man dared admit. But then they had to be.
Those kinds of dreams were honey on the tongue, heady with the juices of pleasure and satisfaction. She suspected such dreams hid in the hearts of everyone. Desires for justice, for redress, for a settling of the scales. And of course, that sour undercurrent of knowledge, that none of it was possible, that so much would rise in opposition, in self-preservation even, to crush that dream, its frail bones, its pattering heart – even that could not take away the sweet delight, the precious hope.
Nostalgia was like a disease, one that crept in and stole the colour from the world and the time you lived in. Made for bitter people. Dangerous people, when they wanted back what never was.
Faxx
that evil, lying, murdering bastard was like a friend you didn’t want any more who just kept showing up with a stupid grin on his ugly face. He was covered in dust, too, and he had no idea why and no, he didn’t care either.
I’m working for Master-Sergeant Lieutenant Quartermaster Pores.
And she stepped forward then, that old woman, that mother with her last ever child, this stranger, and gently laid her baby into Rutt’s waiting arms. A gift beyond measure, and when she settled an arm about his shoulders, drawing him forward, so that he could walk with them – her and her husband – and they set out, slowly as it was all she could manage, in the wake of the nearest wagon, and all the Khundryl began to move… Badalle stood unmoving. Saddic, I will tell you to remember this. These are the Khundryl, the givers of gifts. Remember them, won’t you? And Rutt walked like a king.
‘Hedge is where we want him, Fid.’ What? ‘We sent him to you… to this, I mean. He’s walked a lonely path back, sapper.’ Mallet then spoke. ‘Bet he thought he’d made it all the way, too, when he stood before you, Fiddler. Only to have you back away.’
Tavore Paran suddenly looked small. A person none would notice on a street, or in a crowd. The world was filled with such people. They bore no proof of gifts, no lines of beauty or grace, no bearing of confidence or challenge. The world is filled with them. Filled. For ever unnoticed. For ever…unwitnessed.
And beside her, in a voice that could crush stones, Tavore Paran said, ‘Haven’t you drunk enough?’
Thick as blood, the smell of water filled the air.
‘He was not a modest man. Contemplating suicide, he summoned a dragon.’
All it takes is one betrayal to steal away an entire future.
‘There are too many gods of war.’ And then he took up his sword, and inside the hut a woman began weeping. ‘And not one of them understands the truth.’ ‘Karsa—’ His teeth were bared as he said, ‘When it comes to war, woman, who needs gods?’
‘The gods have been kicking us around for a long time. When do we say enough?’ ‘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.’
‘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,
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