The Crippled God

Mathok reined in, dust and stones scattering from his horse’s hoofs. As the cloud lifted around him he cursed, spat and then said, ‘They’re in the pass, High Fist. The bastards! How did they anticipate us?’

‘Calm down,’ Paran said, turning to glance back at the column. ‘We are in the manifestation of Akhrast Korvalain. The Assail can track our every move.’ He faced the Warleader again. ‘Mathok — are they well placed?’

‘Dug in, sir. And these ones, High Fist, are heavily armoured. Not local — the Assail have hired mercenaries.’

Fist Rythe Bude, standing beside Paran — somewhat too close, as he could smell the spices in her hair — asked, ‘Could you see their standards, Warleader?’

Mathok made a face. ‘Wolf furs, Fist. Wolf skulls too. I didn’t get close enough, but if they had the carcasses of wolf puppies hanging from their ear lobes it wouldn’t have surprised me.’

Paran sighed. ‘Togg and Fanderay. Now that complicates things.’

‘Why should it complicate things?’ Noto Boil demanded, withdrawing the fish spine from his mouth and studying its red tip. ‘There’s nothing complicated about any of this, right, High Fist? I mean, we’re marching double-quick for who knows where but wherever it is it won’t be pretty, and once we get there we’re aiming to link forces with someone who might not even be there, to fight a war against an Elder race and their human slaves for no particular reason except that they’re damned ugly. Complicated? Nonsense. Now Seven Cities … that was complicated.’

‘Are you done, Boil?’

‘Noto Boil, sir, if you please. And yes, I am. For now.’

‘What makes this complicated,’ Paran resumed, ‘is that I have no real interest in fighting worshippers sworn to the Wolves of Winter. In fact, I sympathize with their cause, and while I might disagree with the means by which they intend to express their particular faith-’ He turned to Rythe Bude. ‘Gods, listen to me. I’m starting to sound like Boil!’

‘Noto Boil.’

‘The point is, we need to get through that pass. Mathok — any other routes through the south mountains?’

‘How the Hood should I know? I’ve never been here before!’

‘All right, never mind. Silly question.’

‘Let’s just pound right through ’em, High Fist. I figure just under five thousand-’

Fist Rythe Bude choked, coughed and then said, ‘Five thousand? Entrenched? Gods, this will be a bloodbath!’

Noto Boil cleared his throat. ‘High Fist, a modest suggestion.’

‘Go on.’

‘You’re Master of the Deck of Dragons, sir. Talk to the Wolves of Winter.’

Paran lifted a brow. ‘Talk to them? Tell you what — the next pit full of wolves you get thrown into, try a little negotiating, Noto.’

‘Noto Boil.’

‘You could swap bones.’ This from Gumble, where he was lying sprawled atop a flat rock. ‘Sniff their butts — they like that, I’m told. Lie on your back, maybe.’

‘Somebody find us a big snake,’ Mathok growled, glaring at the toad.

Gumble sighed loudly, his bloated body deflating to half its normal size. ‘I sense my comments are not viewed as constructive, leading me to conclude that I am in the company of fools. What’s new about that, I wonder?’

Paran withdrew his helm and wiped grimy sweat from his forehead. ‘So we do this the hard way. No, Fist Bude, not straight-into-the-teeth kind of hard way. Signal the corps — we’re marching straight through the night. I want us formed up opposite the enemy come the dawn.’

‘Sounds like straight into the teeth, sir.’

‘And that’s what it will look like, too. There might end up being some fighting, but with luck, not much.’

‘And how’s that going to work out, sir?’

‘I intend to make them surrender, Fist. Gumble, get your fat lump off that rock and find your erstwhile artist and tell him it’s time. He’ll know what that means.’

‘He’s hardly mine, High Fist, and as for erstwhile-’

‘Go, before Mathok decides to skewer you with that lance.’

‘To raucous cheers from friend and foe alike,’ Noto Boil muttered, the fish spine working up and down with every word.

‘Look at him go,’ Rythe Bude commented. ‘Didn’t know he could scramble that fast.’

Paran walked back to his horse, took the reins from one of the foundling children now accompanying the army. Swinging into the saddle, he looked down at the dirty-faced boy. ‘Still want your reward?’

A swift nod.

Paran reached down, lifted the boy up behind him. ‘Hold tight, we’re going to canter. Maybe even gallop. You ready for this?’

Another nod, but the thin arms closing about Paran were tight.

‘Let’s go see this pass, then.’ Kicking his horse forward, Paran glanced across at Mathok as the Warleader pulled up alongside him. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’ the warrior growled.

‘That’s hardly a happy expression you’re wearing.’

‘You got a sharp eye there, High Fist.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘There’s only a problem, sir, if you pull this off.’

‘Are you always this hungry for a fight, Mathok?’

‘Sharp eye, dumb mouth.’

Paran grinned. ‘Can’t have everything, you know.’

‘So I’m learning, High Fist.’

‘Would’ve made us a decent captain,’ Kalam observed, as he walked with Quick Ben. They were watching Paran, flanked by a mob of Seven Cities horse-raiders, ride off towards the foot of the raw, worn range of mountains ahead. The assassin drew his cloak tighter over his broad shoulders. ‘Too bad he came to us too late.’

‘Did he?’ the wizard wondered. ‘If he’d arrived before Pale, he would’ve been down in the tunnels when they collapsed.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Why are you walking with me, Kalam? Where’s Minala?’

The assassin’s only answer was a low growl.

‘Well,’ Quick Ben said, ‘it’s just as well that you’re here. We need to work out our next moves.’

‘Our next what? We’re here to kill Forkrul Assail. There’s no other moves to talk about, and those ones don’t need talking about.’

‘Listen, that last Pure damn near killed me.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘Well, all right. It hurt, then.’

‘Get over it, wizard. We’re back fighting a real war. Old style. Ugly magic, toe to toe, the works. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to do this.’

‘I haven’t. But … where’s Fiddler? Hedge? Mallet, Trotts, Whiskeyjack? Where are all the ones we need to cover our backs? Paran’s sending us out into the enemy camp, Kalam. If we get in serious trouble, we’re finished.’

‘So fix it so that we can get back out if we have to.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

Sighing, Kalam scratched at the stubble on his jaw, and then said, ‘Something happened, Quick, back in Malaz City. In Mock’s Hold. In that damned chamber with Laseen and the Adjunct. Well, just afterwards. Tavore and me … she asked me to make a choice. Laseen had already offered me whatever I wanted, pretty much. Just to turn away.’