The Crippled God

The man’s answering smile was terrible. ‘No. Stone sober, Blistig. As befits your one — your only — witness.’

‘Hood take your damned executioner! I will have none of this!’ Blistig appealed to his fellow Fists. ‘Knowing what you now know, will you lead your soldiers to their deaths? If this Glass Desert doesn’t kill us, the Assail will. And all for what? A feint? A fucking feint?’ He spun to the Adjunct. ‘Is that all we’re worth, woman? A rusty dagger for one last thrust and if the blade snaps, what of it?’

Krughava spoke. ‘Adjunct Tavore. This thing that is wounded, this thing in the temple upon the Spire — what is it that you wish freed?’

‘The heart of the Crippled God,’ Tavore replied.

The Mortal Sword seemed visibly rocked by that. Behind her, with eyes shining, Tanakalian asked, ‘Why?’

‘The Forkrul Assail draw upon its blood, Shield Anvil. They seek to open the Gates of Justice upon this world. Akhrast Korvalain. To unleash the fullest measure of power, they intend to drive a blade through that heart when the time is right-’

‘And when is that?’ Abrastal demanded.

‘When the Spears of Jade arrive, Highness. Less than three months from now, if Banaschar’s calculations are correct.’

The ex-priest grunted. ‘D’rek is coiled about time itself, friends.’

Clearing his throat, Brys asked, ‘The Jade Spears, Adjunct. What are they?’

‘The souls of his worshippers, Prince. His beloved believers. They are coming for their god.’

Chills tracked Aranict’s spine.

‘If the heart is freed,’ said Krughava, ‘then … he can return to them.’

‘Yes.’

‘He will leave pieces behind no matter what,’ said Banaschar. ‘Pulling him down tore him apart. But there should be enough. As for the rest, well, “for the rotted flesh, the Worm sings”.’ His laugh was bitter. He stared at Tavore. ‘See her? Look well, all of you. She is the madness of ambition, friends. From beneath the hands of the Forkrul Assail, and those of the gods themselves, she means to steal the Crippled God’s heart.’

Queen Abrastal gusted out a breath. ‘My Fourteenth Daughter is even now approaching the South Kingdoms. She is a sorceress of considerable talent. If we are to continue this discussion of tactics, I will seek to open a path to her-’

The Adjunct cut in. ‘Highness, this is not your war.’

‘Forgive me, Adjunct Tavore, but I believe it is.’ She turned to her Barghast Warchief. ‘Spax, your warriors hunger for a scrap — what say you?’

‘Where you lead, Highness, the White Face Gilk shall follow.’

‘The Otataral sword I wear-’

‘Forgive me again, Adjunct, but the power my daughter is drawing upon now happens to be Elder. Omtose Phellack.’

Tavore blinked. ‘I see.’

Brys Beddict then spoke. ‘Mortal Sword Krughava, if you will accept the alliance of Queen Abrastal, will you accept mine?’

The grey-haired woman bowed. ‘Prince — and Highness — the Perish are honoured. But …’ she hesitated, then continued, ‘I must tell you all, I shall be harsh company. Knowing what the Bonehunters face … knowing that they will face it alone, as wounded as the very heart they would see freed … ah, my mood is grim indeed, and I do not expect that to change. When at last I strike for the Spire, you will be hard pressed to match my determination.’

Brys smiled. ‘A worthy challenge, Mortal Sword.’

The Adjunct walked to stand once more before Hanavat. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘I would ask this of you: will the Khundryl march with the Bonehunters?’

Hanavat seemed to struggle finding her voice. ‘Adjunct, we are few.’

‘Nonetheless.’

‘Then … yes, we shall march with you.’

Queen Abrastal asked, ‘Adjunct? Shall I call upon Felash, my Fourteenth Daughter? There are matters of tactics and logistics awaiting us this day. By your leave, I-’

‘I am done with this!’ Blistig shouted, turning to leave.

‘Stand where you are, Fist,’ Tavore said in a voice like bared steel.

‘I resign-’

‘I forbid it.’

He stared at her, mouth open in shock.

‘Fists Blistig, Kindly and Faradan Sort, our companies need to be readied for tomorrow’s march. I shall call upon you all at dusk to hear reports of our status. Until then, you are dismissed.’

Kindly grasped Blistig by one arm and marched him out, Sort following with a wry smile.

‘Omtose Phellack,’ muttered Banaschar once they’d left. ‘Adjunct, I was chilled enough the last time. Will you excuse me?’

Tavore nodded. ‘Captain Yil, please escort our priest to his tent, lest he get lost.’ She then shot Aranict a glance, as if to ask Are you ready for this? To which Aranict nodded.

Abrastal sighed. ‘Very well, shall we begin?’

Aranict saw that the dung had burned down to dull ashes. She flicked away the gutted butt of her last stick, and then stood, lifting her gaze to the Spears of Jade.

We’ll do what we can. Today, we promised as much. What we can.

One battle. Oh, Tavore …

Sick and shaken as she had been, her hardest journey this day had been back through the Bonehunter camp. The soldiers, their faces, the low conversations and the occasional laugh — each and every scene, each and every sound, struck her heart like a dagger’s point. I am looking upon dead men, dead women. They don’t know it yet. They don’t know what’s awaiting them, what she means to do with them.

Or maybe they do.

Unwitnessed. I’ve heard about this, about what she told them. Unwitnessed … is what happens when nobody survives.

He’d intended to call them all together during the Adjunct’s parley, but re-forming the squads had taken longer than he’d thought it would — a notion which, he decided, had been foolishly optimistic. Even with spaces in each campfire’s circle yawning like silent howls, marines and heavies might as well have been rooted to the ground. They’d needed pulling, kicking, dragging out of their old places.

To fit into a new thing you had to leave the old thing behind, and that wasn’t as easy as it sounded, since it meant accepting that the old thing was dead, for ever gone, no matter where you tried standing or how stubbornly you held fast.

Fiddler knew he’d been no different. As bad as Hedge in that regard, in fact. The heavies and the marines were a chewed-up mess. Standing over them, like some cutter above a mauled patient, trying to work out exactly what he was looking at — desperate for something even remotely recognizable — he’d watched them trickle slowly into the basin he’d chosen for this meeting. As the sun waned in the sky, as pairs of squad-mates set out to find some missing comrade, eventually returning with a scowling companion in tow — aye, this was a rough scene, resentment thickening in the dusty air.

He’d waited, weathering their impatience, until at last, with dusk fast rushing in, the final recalcitrant soldier walked into the crowd — Koryk.

Well. You can try all the browbeating you want, when the skull’s turned into a solid stone wall there’s no getting in.

‘So,’ Fiddler said, ‘I’m captain to you lot now.’ He stared at the faces — only half of which seemed to be paying him any attention. ‘If Whiskeyjack could see me right now, he’d probably choke — I was never cut out for anything more than what I was in the beginning. A sapper-’

‘So what is it,’ a voice called out, ‘you want us to feel sorry for you?’

‘No, Gaunt-Eye. With you all feeling so sorry for yourselves I wouldn’t stand a chance, would I? I look out at