The Crippled God

grass, dodging boulders and small stones. Her rush startled a grasshopper into the air and she bit it in half in passing. ‘Did you see that? Telor-’

Both creatures veered. Chains cracked like lightning, lifting them skyward.

‘Storm! Five Ancients — now seven!’

‘Eloth greets you, betrayers! Telorast Anthras! Kerudas Karosias!’

‘Eloth! Ampelas! Kalse! They still hate us! Telorast, look what you’ve done!’

Korabas, the Otataral Dragon, was being driven earthward as dragon after dragon crashed down on her from above, their talons raking through her hide, flensing her wings. She had killed hundreds, but now, at last, she was failing. The land beneath her loomed, every detail a bitter language of death. She could no longer give voice to her fury, her crushing frustration, and was too exhausted to strike out at the Eleint harrying her on all sides.

Blood streamed down her flanks, rained like acid on the lifeless earth below.

The summons dragged her forward, but she was blind to its purpose. Perhaps nothing more than a lure. Yet the imperative was absolute and she would strive to answer it. With her last breath, she would seek that fated place. A trap, or a promise? An answer to my prayers, or the making of my barrow? No matter. I fail. I would even welcome chains, but they will not grant me that mercy. I feel Mother awakening. I feel T’iam, so close now — the Storms gathered, the power building. She is coming — she will see me killed!

She pitched as yet another Eleint slammed down on her. With one last surge, she swung her neck round, lacerated jaws stretching wide-

And saw seven dragons, descending from high above the swarm surrounding her. Another Storm. This ends it, then.

The creature clinging to her back tore itself away, flinching from her jaws — she caught a hind limb, ripped the flesh from the bone.

The seven Ancients plunged into the maelstrom — and suddenly Eleint were screaming in shock and pain, bodies twisting as they plummeted, blooms of blood like clouds-

They fight to save me! But why? Do not draw near, friends! I am poison!

But — more — do not die for me!

I, whose touch is death, beg you — do not die for me!

Yet on they fought, but now their foes were recovering, and scores lifted higher to close on them.

And should T’iam manifest — she will take even you.

East, the place of the summons, called to her. Torn fragments of meat falling from her jaws, Korabas fixed her gaze upon that beckoning horizon. Her allies had drawn away her assailants, won her a reprieve with fatal sacrifice. She did not understand, but she would honour them in the only possible manner available to her.

If this be a destiny offered me, I shall meet it. I shall face it, and, if I can, I shall speak to the world.

And if this be the place of my death, so be it.

I was free, even if only for a moment.

I was free.

He had pushed them hard, marching them through half the night and without pause through most of this day, and the marines and heavies were staggering as they came within sight of the hill. The muscles of his legs leaden, Fiddler angled towards it. Vast bands of shadow were still tracking the landscape, cast down by the Jade Strangers spanning the entire sky, leaving the captain with a sense that the world was unravelling before his very eyes.

He had worked hard not to think about the army they had left behind, and the fate that awaited them. Before the captain now was all that mattered. That forlorn hilltop with its fractured flanks, the lone sword of Otataral thrust deep into the ground at its very centre.

He feared that it would not be enough — they had all feared as much, those among them who understood what she was attempting here. The chains that bound the Crippled God had been forged by gods. A single sword to shatter them all? Tavore, you must have believed it was possible. Or that some other force would awaken here, to lend us a blessed hand in this.

Without this — this breaking of chains — all that we do here is for naught.

Tavore, I am trusting you. With the lives of my soldiers — with the meaning to their deaths. I know, it’s unfair, asking this of you. You’re mortal, that and nothing more. But I know — I feel it — I am setting my weight upon your shoulders. We all are, whether we care to admit it or not.

And it’s that unfairness that’s tearing me apart.

He glanced off to his left. Hedge walked there at the head of his own troop — Letherii and Khundryl cast-offs, a mix of half-bloods from a dozen subdued tribes of the Lether Empire. They’d had trouble keeping up, so loaded down were the soldiers — Hood knew why they’d felt the need to carry so much. All those kittens, I expect. Hope they’re worth it.

Hedge had been keeping his distance, and Fiddler knew why — he could feel his own face transforming whenever his friend drew near, becoming a mask, bleak and broken, and the anguish and dread clawed at him with a strength he could not match. So much of this is unfair. So much. But now Hedge shifted his track, came closer.

He pointed at the hill. ‘That’s it? Damned ugly, Fid.’

‘We can defend it.’

‘We’re too thin, even for a knoll as puny as that one. Listen, I’m breaking up my company. I ain’t making too many big promises here, but my Bridgeburners got a secret-’

‘Kittens, aye.’

Hedge scowled at him. ‘You had spies! I knew it!’

‘Gods below, Hedge, never met anyone as hopeless with secrets as you.’

‘Go ahead and think that. You’re in for a surprise, I promise you.’

‘Can they match the Moranth munitions, that’s the only thing I need to know.’

But Hedge shook his head. ‘Not them. Never mind.’ And then he shrugged, as if dismissing something. ‘You was probably too busy last time, but we made a mess of those Short-Tails.’

‘And you didn’t use most of them up? That’s not like you, Hedge.’

‘Bavedict concocted more — the man’s a genius. Deranged and obsessive, the best kind of genius. Anyway, we’re packing them all.’

‘I’d noticed.’

‘Sure, it’s wore us out, all that stuff. Tell me, Fid, we going to get time to rest up first?’

‘Little late asking me that now.’

‘So what? I’m still asking you.’

‘To be honest, I don’t know. Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Whether the Spire’s fallen to us. Whether they got the heart undamaged. Whether they managed to break its own set of chains, or whatever geas is protecting it — could be twenty Kenyll’rah demons for all we know, and imagine the scrap that’d be.’

‘Twenty Kenyll’rah demons? What is this, some bad fairy tale? Why not a demon king? Or a giant three- headed ogre with scorpion tails at the end of every finger, and a big one on his cock for added measure? Breathing fire outa his arse, too.’

‘Fine, so my imagination’s failed. Sorry about that — I ain’t no spinner of decent tales, Hedge.’

‘I’ll say. What else should I know? We got to kiss that fucking heart awake once we get it? Put a hat on it? Dance in fucking circles round it? Gods, not more blood sacrifice — that stuff creeps me out.’

‘You’re babbling, Hedge. It’s what you always do before a fight — why?’

‘To distract you, of course. You keep chewing on yourself there’ll be nothing left but wet gristle and a few pubic hairs I really don’t want to see. Oh, and the teeth that did all the chewing.’

‘You know,’ Fiddler said with a sidelong glance, ‘if you wasn’t here, Hedge, I’d have to invent you.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Just saying thanks, that’s all.’

‘Fine. Now can I babble some more? ’Cause I’m terrified, y’see.’

‘This will work, Hedge. Get your kitten throwers spread out through my squads, and we’ll make a mess of whoever tries to take us down.’