The Crippled God

‘Have already caught up to us.’

His eyes widened, but for once he did not question her. ‘The Wolves must be sent against them, Destriant! We cannot hope to-’

‘Now that our soldiers can barely stand, no, you’re right: we cannot.’

He drew himself up. ‘This threat was ever present in my mind, Destriant. It was my hope that the K’Chain Che’Malle would be content with escorting the Letherii and Bolkando. But I knew that I could not gamble the lives of my brothers and sisters on that assumption. This is why I drove my soldiers as hard as I did — we must reach the safety of the Forkrul Assail as soon as possible.’

‘But you have failed to do so, Shield Anvil. And what manner of welcome, do you imagine, will the Assail accord us when we arrive with an army already half-dead?’

He was pale and she could see the venom in his eyes. ‘I had no choice.’

‘You were impatient, Shield Anvil. You exulted in your betrayal and in so doing you revealed your true nature too soon — your once-allies know the truth of you now. And they have had time to adjust their tactics.’

‘This is Krughava’s fault! All of it!’

‘There shall be no more executions, Shield Anvil. Worse, your denial of their embrace has made a mockery of your title. I look upon you and I can see, at last, the path that led to the Forkrul Assail.’

Shock twisted his face. ‘What does that mean? I am sworn to the Wolves of Winter!’

‘You are drunk on justice, Shield Anvil, and for all that you imagine you walk a straight line, in truth you stumble and weave. Now you stand before me, deluded in your righteousness, and upon the path where you walked’ — she gestured back towards the bodies in the trench — ‘the corpses of the innocent.’

‘The delusions,’ he said in a low rasp, ‘are not mine, child.’

Setoc smiled. ‘Go on. I am intrigued.’

‘Do you truly believe you can withstand the will of the Forkrul Assail? We shall be brought to heel — but that is not how it was supposed to be. Their aims are petty compared to ours. For all their claims, Destriant, the truth is, I intended to use them. They demand that we kneel? So be it. It matters not. The Wolves are blind to all of this — we think in ways they cannot comprehend, and this game will not be won with slavering jaws and berserk rage. Against us, that has never worked. No, the Wolves of Winter are better off hiding in the forest, in the dark shadows. Leave us to do what must be done, and when all the players are weakened, then shall come the time for our gods to attack — after all, is that not the way of the wolves in the wild?’

‘Tanakalian,’ said Setoc, ‘I agree with you. But alas, I cannot choose the times when the gods speak through me. I will have no control over their power the day it steals my will. Their anger will overwhelm, and through their eyes they will see nothing but blood.’

‘That is not how to fight a war.’

‘I know.’

He stepped forward, a sudden hope in his eyes. ‘Then you must work with me, Destriant! We can win this — win it in truth! Warn the Wolves — if they manifest, within reach of the Forkrul Assail, they will be murdered. Or worse, enslaved.’

‘Then stand before me now as a true Shield Anvil. It is not for you to judge, not for you to deny your brothers and sisters. And above all, it is not for you to take their lives.’

Tanakalian pointed back to the bodies in the trench. ‘They would have deserted, Destriant. They would have fled back to Krughava, carrying with them vital information. Their crime was treason.’

‘They sought to raise a new Mortal Sword,’ she said. ‘For the field of battle, they sought a veteran to command them. You killed them because of a personal slight, Tanakalian.’

‘Matters were far more complicated than you realize.’

She shook her head. ‘You face a crisis, Shield Anvil. Your soldiers have lost confidence in you. It is crucial that you understand — if not for me, this army would return to Krughava.’

‘Unleash the Wolves upon the K’Chain Che’Malle — buy us the time we need.’

‘It will not be.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they refuse, Shield Anvil.’

‘But … why?’

Setoc shrugged. ‘The K’Chain Che’Malle were never the enemy of the beasts. They were never so insecure as to feel the need to slaughter everything in sight. They were never so frightened, so ignorant, so … pathetic. I believe the Wolves do not see them as deserving of slaughter.’

‘And will they change their minds when those lizards attack us?’

She fixed on him a sharp, searching stare. ‘What will the Wolves witness? K’Chain Che’Malle cutting down … humans.’

‘But we Perish are to be their swords of vengeance!’

‘Then we can only hope that we do not face the K’Chain Che’Malle on a field of battle.’

‘Do you finally comprehend the necessity, the burden upon us, Destriant? We must stand in the shadow of the Forkrul Assail. We must be free to choose where and when to fight, and indeed whom we shall face. Let the Assail believe they have us well shackled and compliant, eager even.’

‘You balance everything on the thinnest knife edge, Shield Anvil.’

‘We are the Grey Helms, Destriant, and we shall serve the Wolves.’

‘Indeed.’

‘And that is why we must continue marching at this pace — leave the lizards no time to think about what to do about us. And if they chase our tails right into the Assail army, well, the moment those two ancient foes set sight upon each other …’

‘We need only step aside.’

He nodded.

Dismissing him for the moment, Setoc turned away. Perhaps. Is this the treachery I sense in Tanakalian? And if I cannot agree with his methods, must I then reject his intentions? But the game he would play … poised between two such deadly enemies … is it possible?

No, ask yourself this instead, Setoc: what alternative do we have? When she turned he was standing as he had been, facing her, and in his face, blind need. ‘Are you clever enough for this, Shield Anvil?’

‘I see no other way, Destriant.’ He hesitated, and then he said, ‘Each night, I pray to the Wolves of Winter-’

She turned away again, and this time with finality. ‘You waste your breath, Shield Anvil.’

‘What?’

‘They don’t understand worshippers,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘They never did.’

Once more, staggering lost — the darkness and the unbearable pressure, the raging currents that sought to rend the flesh from his bones, and on all sides the half-buried wreckage of the lost. He stumbled over rotted planks from broken hulls, kicked up bleached bones that flashed and spun in milky clouds. Silt-painted amphorae, ingots of tin and lead, a scattering of hundreds of round shields, hammered bronze over crumbling wood. Banded chests collapsed and spilling out their gems and coins — and everywhere the remains of sea creatures, their insensate bodies dragged down into the depths, and the rain from above was unending.

Brys Beddict knew this world. Was this yet another dream? A haunting from his memories? Or had his soul at last returned, to this place he would learn to call home?

Above all, the greatest pressure he felt, the one force which neither the strength of his legs nor the stolid stubbornness of his will could withstand, was that of immense, devastating loneliness. Into death we step alone. Our last journey is made in solitude. Our eyes straining, our hands groping — where are we? We do not know. We cannot see.

It was all he needed. It was all anyone needed. A hand to take ours. A hand reaching out from the gloom. To welcome us, to assure us that our loneliness — that which we knew all our lives and so fought against with each breath we took — that loneliness has at last come to an end.

Making death the most precious gift of all.