slay the Fallen One. When we feed and so free ourselves-’
‘Free?’ growled one in a thick, heavy voice. ‘Mowri, from the legacy of our followers we shall never be free. This is the bargain we made-’
‘I made no such bargain, Dessembrae!’
‘Nevertheless, Beru. Mortal desire gave us shape. Mortal desire dragged us into all their realms. It was not enough that we ascended, not enough that we should seek out our own destinies. I tell you, though most of me still walks a distant world — and his howls of betrayal deafen me — in curse and prayer I am knotted here like a fist. Do I desire worship? I do not. Do I seek ever greater power? I have been shown its futility, and now all my purpose settles like ash upon my soul. Here, we are trapped, and so we shall remain-’
‘Because that fool Master sanctified Kaminsod’s theft! The Fallen One was wounded. Made useless with pain. And with that Master’s cursed blessing he raised the House of Chains, and with those chains he bound us all!’
Dessembrae snorted. ‘Long before the first rattle of those chains, we were in shackles — though we amused ourselves by pretending that they did not exist. The Master of the Deck and the Fallen One dispelled the illusion — no, they dispelled our delusions — and with them all their sweet, precious convenience.’
‘I do not need an upstart like you telling me all I already know!’
‘You do, when you would feed your reason with false indignation. We shall soon gather in another place little different from this one, and there we shall commit murder. Cold, brutal murder. We shall slay a fellow god. Before his heart is sundered, before the Unknowable Woman can ever reach the Fallen One, or attempt whatever it is she intends, we shall kill him.’
‘Do not so easily discard that woman, Dessembrae,’ said a new voice, a woman’s, thin and crackling. ‘She is sibling to the Master of the Deck — a Master who hides himself from us all. How can this be? How has he managed to blind us to his whereabouts? I tell you, he hovers over all of this, as unknowable as his sister. This wretched family from that wretched empire-’
A cane cracked against bones, splintering them, and Silchas turned to see that a new god had arrived. Indistinct, a smear of shadow. ‘Dessembrae,’ this one hissed, ‘and dearest Jhess. Beru, Shedenul, Mowri. Beckra, Thilanda, see how you crowd this Tiste Andii? This brother of Anomander Rake? Do you imagine he cannot hear you?’ The cane jabbed at Dessembrae. ‘Look at us, so fey in reflection of our once-mortal selves. The Empire, yes! Our empire, Dessembrae, or have you forgotten? That wretched family? Our very own children!’
‘Oh, look around, Shadowthrone,’ snarled Jhess, her face of skeined wool, cotton, hemp and silk twisting and knotting as she bared web-shrouded teeth. ‘D’rek has come and gone from this place. She knows and makes for us a true path. Your damned children cannot hope to defeat us. Leave them to the Forkrul Assail! May they devour each other!’
Shadowthrone giggled. ‘Tell me, Jhess, do you see your cousin anywhere near? Where is the Queen of Dreams in this place of death?’
‘She hides-’
‘She is not here, Jhess,’ said Shadowthrone, ‘because she is awake. Awake! Do you understand me? Not sleeping, not dreaming herself here, not plucking all your mad tails, Jhess, to confuse mortal minds. You are all blind fools!’
‘You mean to betray us!’ shrieked Shedenul.
‘I care nothing for any of you,’ Shadowthrone replied, with a laconic gesture of one ethereal hand. ‘Betray? Too much effort over too little of worth.’
‘You come here only to mock us?’
‘I am here, Beru, because I am curious. Not about any of you. You’re nothing but gods, and if the Assail succeed you will all vanish like farts in the wind. No, my curiosity is with our unexpected guest, our Tiste Andii.’ The cane waved at Silchas Ruin. ‘O brother of heroes, why do you bless Coltaine’s Eternal Fall with your presence?’
‘I seek a weapon.’
‘The two you carry are not enough?’
‘For a companion. This battle you all seem so eager to join, I could warn you against it, but I admit that I see little use in that. You are all determined to join the fray, leaving me to wonder.’
‘Wonder what?’ demanded Beru.
‘When the dust settles, how many of your corpses will I see upon that field?’ Silchas Ruin shrugged. ‘Do as you will.’
‘Your brother slew our strongest ally.’
‘He did? And of what significance is that to me, Beru?’
‘You are as infuriating as he was! May you share his fate!’
‘We shall all share his fate,’ Silchas Ruin replied.
Shadowthrone giggled. ‘I have found you a weapon, but only if the one who wields it is worthy.’
Silchas Ruin looked round. ‘From this place?’
‘No, not from here. There is nothing to the weapons here but memories of failure.’ A sword appeared from the shadows swirling round the god and clattered at the Tiste Andii’s feet.
Looking down, he drew a sharp breath. ‘Where did you come by this?’
‘Recognize it?’
‘A Hust … but no.’ He hesitated. ‘I feel that I should, knowing well that sacred forge. The draconic theme is … distinctive. But the ferrules remind me of Hust’s earliest period of manufacture, and I thought I knew all of those so made. Where did you come by this?’
‘Of little relevance, Prince. You note the draconic theme, do you? What is the term? Pattern weld? So you might think, to see those scales glittering so prettily along the length of the blade.’ He giggled. ‘So you might think.’
‘This weapon is too good for the one I intended to arm.’
‘Indeed? How … unfortunate. Perhaps you could convince your friend to take the ones you now wield? And for yourself, this singular weapon. Consider it a gift to you, from Shadowthrone.’
‘And why should you so gift me?’ Silchas Ruin asked.
‘Perhaps the others here bemoan the loss of Hood. I do not. He was hoary and humourless, and ugly besides. Thus. If I cannot convey my best wishes to Hood’s noble slayer, then his brother shall have to do.’
Silchas Ruin looked back down at the Hust sword. ‘When we were children,’ he muttered, ‘he used to steal my things all the time, because he liked to see me lose my temper.’ He paused, remembering, and then sighed. ‘Even then, he was fearless.’
Shadowthrone was silent. The other gods simply watched.
‘And then,’ Silchas Ruin whispered, ‘he stole my grief. And now, what is there, I wonder … what is there left to feel?’
‘If I suggested “gratitude”, would that be insensitive?’
Silchas Ruin shot the god a sharp look, and then said, ‘I accept the gift, Shadowthrone, and in return I offer you this.’ He waved at the other gods. ‘This mob ill suits you. Leave them to their devices, Shadowthrone.’
The god cackled. ‘If I was blood kin to this family, I’d be the uncle slumped drunk and senseless in the corner. Luckily — dare I risk that word? — I am not kin to any of them. Rest assured I will humbly heed your advice, Prince.’
Silchas Ruin picked up the weapon. He looked at the gods, his crimson eyes slowly moving from one ghastly face to the next. And then he vanished.
Dessembrae wheeled on Shadowthrone. ‘What was all that? What scheme are you playing at?’
Shadowthrone’s cane snapped out, caught the Lord of Tragedy flush across the bridge of his nose. He stumbled back, fell on to his backside.
Shadowthrone hissed, and then said, ‘The best part of you wanders the mortal world, old friend. Long ago, he surrendered that emptiness called pride. At last, I see where it fetched up. Well, it seems one more lesson in
