The Crippled God

the fire. ‘Wrap up now, in each other’s arms — Absi, go to your sisters. This night will be a cold one.’

‘She took us north.’

‘Yes, Stavi.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know — we couldn’t cross that desert.’ He looked around. ‘This might be a Hold, for all I know. I do not recognize the stars — and those jade spears are gone.’

‘A warren,’ said Storii, with some impatience. ‘We already knew that. But still she took us north.’

‘Go to sleep, all of you.’

When the three children settled down, Torrent threw the one fur skin they possessed over them, and then rose to stretch his legs and back. Glancing over at the witch, huddled fifteen paces away, he was reminded of a corpse he’d once found — one of the old women of the village, who’d walked out in the winter cold to find a place to die in solitude. A few of the old ones still did such things, though for most the custom had faded. A withered creature, rising from the spring thaw’s deep snows, kneeling in the fold of a hillside.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad way to die. Alone, freezing until all feeling went away, and then sleep, offering one last, warm sigh. The winds had torn her up, he recalled, and ice shards had broken through her skin from the inside, and the crows had found her eyes, lips and ears. And what was left …

Olar Ethil lifted her head, regarded him across the distance.

Torrent turned away.

‘Do not wander too far,’ she warned behind him. ‘In this warren, it is easy to get lost — and I will not go looking for you.’

Because we’re almost there, aren’t we?

‘If you choose to run away, pup, do not think I will take you back.’

He set out, with no intention of going too far. Don’t leave us, they begged. I won’t. Promise. Ten paces on, he glanced back. ‘Spirits below!’ The camp had vanished — now, nothing but flat tundra, stretching away into the darkness.

Then he caught a glimmer — the fire. I was just looking in the wrong direction. Torrent ran towards it. Halfway there he slowed, and then halted. Too far away — I never walked this far. I barely walked at all!

But he could see a figure seated before the feeble flames. Shivering, Torrent slowly approached. Olar Ethil? Is that you? No.

Not unless you’ve been hiding that red waistcoat.

The man was reaching into one voluminous sleeve, drawing forth silver wine cups, a large decanter, and then a host of candied fruit and baked desserts.

I am dreaming. All of this. I am sleeping close to the children right now, and my moans are heard by none but the hag.

The man looked up. His face was round, softened by years of indolence. A city dweller’s face. He gestured with a plump hand. ‘Quickly, Kruppe gestures — see? There is little time. Come. Sit. Before Kruppe awakens to a miserable and fraught dawn in his beleaguered city. You are the keeper of my daughters?’

‘What? I-’

‘Kruppe would be there, if he could. Pah! It is ever our excuse, and paltry and pathetic it is. But then, Kruppe is famous for his energetic seed — why, it has been known to swim a league upriver to impregnate a baron’s pretty daughter not three months before her scandalous marriage. Well, the marriage proved scandalous six months later, anyway, and how that husband was castigated and, indeed, disowned! Now, if he’d been as adventurous as she would have liked, why, Kruppe’s seed would have come to the door only to find it barred, yes? So, the husband got all that he deserved, or so Judge Kruppe pronounces.’

‘Your daughters … spirits take me, I see the resemblance — the eyes, the gestures with the hands — but Hetan-’

‘Delicious Hetan, memories return in a stew of desire and alarm — no matter. Grievous the fate of their mother. Perilous the fate of her children — and we must do something about that. Why are you not eating? Drinking? Baruk’s finest fare.’

Torrent pointed. ‘They … vanished.’

‘Oh my. The dread curse of unmindfulness. Perhaps next time, my barbarian friend. But time, it grows short, but Kruppe is shorter still.’ He fluttered a hand. ‘Tell me, what do you now see there?’

Torrent squinted. ‘A bow. Quiver. Arrows.’

‘Rhivi. To this day they yearly ply me with useless gifts, for reasons that, while obscure, are no doubt well deserved. In any case, I give them all away as a measure of my extraordinary generosity. Are these not finer weapons than the ones you now possess?’

‘My bow split. I had nothing with which to repair it. The arrow shafts have dried and warped — I’d intended to harden them one last time but forgot. The fletching-’

‘Before you go on, good sir, by your list Kruppe can conclude that yes, indeed, this Rhivi offering is superior to that which you now possess.’

‘I just said that.’

‘Did you? Excellent. Take them and be off with you. Quickly. Let it never be said that Kruppe is a neglectful father, no matter what that baron’s daughter later claimed in court. And if Kruppe had not dramatically revealed that she was now sleeping with her advocate, why, Kruppe would be a much thinner man than the one you now see fading before you, red waistcoat and all …’

‘Wait! I’m lost! She said-’

‘Behind you, O wily scout.’

New weapons in hand, Torrent slowly turned, to see, twenty paces away, the dying fire, the children knotted up beneath the fur, and Olar Ethil slumped on the far side. He swung back to thank the man, but he was gone, and with him his modest hearth. He lifted the weapons for a closer look. These are from no dream. These are real, and finely made. He set the string and tested the draw. Spirits! These Rhivi must be giants!

Olar Ethil barely stirred when he returned to the fire. ‘Changed your mind, did you?’

Torrent set the bow and quiver down beside him. ‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Just as well, pup. Warrens are dangerous places for fools such as you. If you would honour the vow you made, you would do well to stay close to me.’

Torrent tossed the last chip of dung into the fire, watched sparks lift into the night. ‘I shall, Bonecaster.’

Her head settled once more. He stared across at her. When sleep offers its final sigh, old hag, I’ll be there to wake you.

Absi rolled over in his sleep and in a soft, sing-song voice, said, ‘Kralalalala. Yip.’

But Torrent could see that his eyes were closed, and on his face there was a contented smile. The child licked his lips.

Saved them for him, did you, Kruppe? Well done.

Onos T’oolan halted, slowly turned. Limned in jade light, a thousand T’lan Imass stood facing him. So many? And, swirling there, the dust of hundreds more. Strangers. Summoned by the unveiling of Tellann. Is this what I want? Is this what I need? All at once he felt the weight of their attention, fixed so remorselessly upon him, and almost buckled. Needs, wants, they are irrelevant. This is what I will. And by that power alone, a world can be destroyed. Or shaped anew. He slowly straightened, restored by the thought, and the strength that came with it.

When I am done, dust shall be dust. Nothing more. Not a thing alive with secrets. Or thick with grief and horror. Simply dust. ‘Do you understand me?’

‘We do, First Sword.’

‘I will free you.’

‘Not yet, First Sword.’

‘I would walk alone.’

‘Then you shall.’

His army fell in cascading clouds, save two figures that had been standing well back in the T’lan legion.

Onos considered them for a time, and then beckoned.