Toll the Hounds

that reminded him of the wolves of his homeland, that tracked him with amber eyes.

‘So,’ Karsa murmured, ‘these are the Hounds of Shadow. You would play games with me, then? Try for me, and when we’re done few of you will leave this place, and none will be free of wounds, this I promise you. Havok, see the black one in the high grasses? Thinks to hide from us.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘The others will feint, but that black one will lead the true charge. My sword shall tap her nose first.’

The two white beasts parted, one trotting a dozen or so paces along the ridge the other turning round and doing the same in the opposite direction in the gap now between them, shadows swirled like a dust-devil.

Karsa could feel a surge of battle lust within him, his skin prickling beneath the fixed attention of seven.savage beasts, yet be held his gaze on that smudge of gloom, where two figures were now visible. Men, one bare-headed and the other hooded and leaning crooked over a knobby cane.

The Hounds to either side maintained their distance, close enough for a swift charge but not so close as to drive Havok into a rage. Karsa reined in six paces from the strangers and eyed them speculatively.

The bare-headed one was plainly featured, pale as if unfamiliar with sunlight, his dark hair straight and loose, almost ragged. His eyes shifted colour in the sun-light, blue to grey, to green and perhaps even brown, a cascade of indecision that matched his expression as he in turn studied the Toblakai.

The first gesture came from the hooded one with the hidden face, a lifting of the cane in a half-hearted waver. ‘Nice horse,’ he said.

‘Easier to ride than a dog,’ Karsa replied.

A snort from the dark-haired man.

‘This one,’ said the hooded man, ‘resists sorcery, Cotillion. Though his blood is old, 1 wonder, will all mortals one day be like him? An end to miracles. Noth-ing but dull, banal existence, nothing but mundane absence of wonder.’ The cane jabbed, ‘A world of bureaucrats. Mealy-minded, sour-faced and miserable as a re-union of clerks. In such a world, Cotillion, not even the gods will visit. Except in pilgrimage to depression.’

‘Quaintly philosophical of you, Shadowthrone,’ replied the one named Cotil-lion. ‘But is this one really the right audience? I can almost smell the bear grease from here.’

‘That’s Lock,’ said Shadowthrone. ‘He was rolling in something a while ago.’

Karsa leaned forward on the strange saddle that Samar Dev had had fitted for Havok back in Letherii. ‘If I am a clerk, then one prophecy will prove true.’

‘Oh, and which one would that be?’ Cotillion asked, seemingly amused that Karsa was capable of speech.

‘The tyranny of the number counters will be a bloody one.’

Shadowthrone wheezed laughter, then coughed into the silence of the others and said, ‘Hmmm.’

Cotillion’s eyes had narrowed. ‘In Darujihstan, a temple awaits you, Toblakai. A crown and a throne for the taking.’

Karsa scowled. ‘Not more of that shit. I told the Crippled God I wasn’t inter-ested. I’m still not. My destiny belongs to me and none other.’

‘Oh,’ said Shadowthrone, cane wavering about once again, like a headless snake, ‘we’re not encouraging you to take it. Far from it. You on that throne would be… distressing. But he will drive you, Toblakai, the way hunters drive a man-eating lion. Straight into the spike-filled pit.’

‘A smart lion knows when to turn,’ Karsa said. ‘Watch as the hunters scatter.’

‘It is because we understand you, Toblakai, that we do not set the Hounds upon you. You bear your destiny like a standard, a grisly one, true, but then, its only distinction is in being obvious. Did you know that we too left civilization behind? The scribblers were closing in on all sides, you see. The clerks with their purple tongues and darting eyes, their shuffling feet and sloped shoulders, their bloodless lists. Oh, measure it all out! Acceptable levels of misery and suffering!’ The cane swung down, thumped hard on the ground. ‘Acceptable? Who the fuck says any level is acceptable? What sort of mind thinks that?’

Karsa grinned. ‘Why, a civilized one.’

‘Indeed!’ Shadowthrone turned to Cotillion. ‘And you doubted this one!’

Cotillion grimaced. ‘I stand corrected, Shadowthrone. If the Crippled God has not yet learned his lesson with this warrior, more lessons are bound to follow. We can leave him to them. And leave this Toblakai, too.’

‘Barring one detail,’ Shadowthrone said in a rasp. ‘Toblakai, heed this warning, if you value that destiny you would seek for yourself. Do not stand in Traveller’s path. Ever.’

Karsa’s grin broadened. ‘We are agreed, he and I.’

‘You are?’

‘I will not stand in his path, and he will not stand in mine.’

Shadowthrone and Cotillion were silent then, considering.

Leaning back, Karsa collected the lone rein. Havok lifted his head, nostrils flar-ing. I killed two Deragoth,’ Karsa said.

‘We know,’ said Cotillion.

‘Their arrogance was their soft underbelly. Easy to reach. Easy to plunge in my hands. I killed them because they thought me weak.’

Cotillion’s expression grew mocking. ‘Speaking of arrogance…’

I was speaking,’ said Karsa as he swung Havok round, ‘of lessons.’ Then he twisted in the saddle. ‘You laugh at those coming to the Crippled God. Perhaps one day I will laugh at those coming to you.’

Cotillion and Shadowthrone, with the Hounds gathering close, watched the To-blakai ride away on his Jhag horse.

A thump of the cane. ‘Did you sense the ones in his sword?’

Cotillion nodded.

‘They were…’ Shadowthrone seemed to struggle with the next word, ‘… proud.’

And again, Cotillion could do little more than nod.

Abruptly, Shadowthrone giggled, the sound making the two new Hounds flinch-a detail he seemed not to notice. ‘Oh,’ he crooned, ‘all those poor clerks!’

‘Is that a cloud on the horizon?’

At Reccanto Ilk’s query, Mappo glanced up and followed the man’s squinting gaze. He rose suddenly. ‘That’s more than a cloud,’ he said.

Sweetest Sufferance, sitting nearby, grunted and wheezed herself upright, brushing sand from her ample behind. ‘Master Qu-ellll!’ she sang.

Mappo watched as the crew started scrabbling, checking the leather straps and fastening rings and clasps dangling from the carrieage. The horses shifted about, sud-denly restless, eyes rolling and ears flattening. Gruntle came up to stand beside the Troll. “That’s one ugly storm,’ he said, ‘and it looks to be bearing down right on us,’

‘These people baffle me,’ Mappo admitted. ‘We are about to get obliterated, and they look… excited.’

‘They are mad, Mappo.’ He eyed the Trell for a long moment, then said, ‘You must be desperate to have hired this mob.’

‘Why is it,’ Mappo asked, ‘that Master Quell seemed indifferent to unleashing an undead dragon into this world?’

‘Well, hardly indifferent. He said oops! At least, I think that’s what I heard, but perhaps that was but my imagination. This Trygalle Guild… these carriages, they must be dragging things across realms all the time Look at yon walking corpse.’

They did so, observing in silence as the desiccated figure, holding a collection of cast-off straps and rope, stood speculatively eyeing one of the carriage’s spoked wheels.

The wind freshened suddenly, cooler, strangely charged.

One of the horses shrilled and began stamping the sand. After a moment the others caught the same feverish anxiety. The carriage rocked, edged forward. Mauler Quell was helping Precious Thimble through the door, hastening things at the end with a hard shove to her backside. He then looked round, eyes slightly wild, until he spied Mappo.

‘Inside you go, good sir! We’re about to leave!’

‘Not a moment too soon,’ Gruntle said.

Mappo set out for the carriage, then paused and turned to Gruntle. ‘Please, be careful.’