conversations have been… most enlightening. Of course, what we see here is not a true physical manifestation. A soul, I believe, disconnected from its corporeal self.’
‘With eyes of jade/ Crone noted, beak opening in silent laughter. She hesitated, then asked, ‘What has it told you?’
Baruk smiled.
From the mantel above the fireplace Chillbais wheezed derisively and made insulting gestures with its stubby hands.
‘You should spike that thing to a wall,’ Crone hissed. ‘At the very least send it back up the chimney and thus out of my sight.’
Baruk spoke as if he had not heard Crone’s complaining: ‘Its flesh is very far away indeed. I was granted an image of the flesh-a human, as far as I could tell, which is in itself rather extraordinary. I was able to capture the soul due to its heightened meditative state, one in which the detachment is very nearly absolute.
‘I doubt the original body draws breath ten times a bell. A most spiritual individual, Crone.’
The Great Raven retured her attention to the apparition. Studied its jade eyes, its jagged traceries of crackling filaments, pulsing like a slowed heart. ‘And you know, then,’she said.
‘Yes. The demon is from the realm of the Fallen One. His birthplace.’
‘Meditating, you say. Seeking its god?’
‘That seems likely,’ Baruk murmured. ‘Reaching, touching… recoiling.’
‘From the agony, from the ferocious fires of pain.’
‘I will send it home, soon.’
Crone half spread her wings and hopped down on to the tiles. Cocking her head, she fixed an eye upon the High Alchemist. ‘This is not simple curiosity.’
Baruk blinked, then turned away. ‘I had a guest, not so long ago.’
‘In truth?’
The High Alchemist paused, then shook his head. ‘Half-truth.’
‘Did he sit in a chair?’
‘Well now, that would hardly be appropriate, Crone.’
She laughed. ‘Shadowthrone.’
‘Please, do not act surprised,’ Baruk said. ‘Your master is well aware of such matters. Tell me, where are the rest of them?’
‘Them?’
‘The gods and goddesses. The ones cringing every time the Crippled God clears his throat. So eager for this war, as long as someone else does the fighting. None of this should be set at your Lord’s feet. I don’t know what Shadowthrone has offered Anomander Rake, but you would do well to warn your master, Crone. With Shadow, nothing is as it seems. Nothing.’
The Great Raven cackled, then said, ‘So true, so true.’ And now it was his turn, she noted, to regard her with growing suspicion. ‘Oh, Baruk, people raise standing stones, one after another, only to topple them down one by one. Is it not always the way? They dig holes only to.fill them in again. As for us Great Ravens, why, we build nests only to tear them apart next season, all because the mad lizard in our skulls demands it. See your demon on the dais. It pays nothing to be spiritual, when it is the flesh that ever clamours for attention. So send him back, yes, that he can begin to repair all the severed tendons-whilst his comrades witness the distance of his gaze, and wonder, and yearn to find the same otherworldliness for themselves, fools that they all are.
‘Have you exhorted him to pray all the harder, Baruk? I thought as much, but it’s no use, I tell you, and who better to make such judgement? And consider’this: my master is not bhnd. He has never been blind. He stands before a towering stone, yes, and would see it toppled. So, old friend, be sure to stay a safe distance.’
‘How can I?’ the High Alchemist retorted.
‘Send the soul home,’ Crone said again. ‘Look to the threat that even now creeps closer in the night, that is but moments from plucking the strands of your highest wards-to announce her arrival, yes, to evince her… desperation.’ She hopped towards the nearest window sill. ‘For myself, I must now depart, yes, winging away most quickly.’
‘A moment. You have lingered, Crone, in search of something. And it seems you have found it.’
‘I have,’ she replied, cackling again.
‘Well?’
‘Only confirmation, to ease my master’s mind.’
‘Confirmation? Ah, that Shadowthrone spoke true.’
A third cackle from the sill-as threes were ever preferable to pairs, not that Crone was superstitious of course- but if but two, then a third would sound somewhere, and might that one not be at her own expense? Not to be, oh no, not to be! ‘Farewell, Baruk!’
Moments after he closed the window in the wake of that oily black-tarred hen, Chillbais lifted his head and cried out: ‘She comes! She comes!’
‘Yes,’ Baruk sighed.
‘Deadly woman!’
‘Not this time, little one. Fly to Derudan, and quickly. Tell her, from me, that the one who once hunted us has returned. To discuss matters. Further, Chillbais, invite Derudan to join us as soon as she is able. She will understand, I am sure, the need.’
Chillbais flapped (well, mostly fell) to the floor in front of the fireplace, then scrambled into the embers and vanished up the chimney.
Baruk frowned at the conjured demon spinning above the dais; then, with a single gesture, he released the spirit, watching as the swirling energy dwindled, then winked out. Go home, lost one. With my blessing.
And then he stood, facing the wall she would come through.
Stood, awaiting Vorcan.
No longer afraid of her.
No, the terror he was feeling belonged instead to her reason for coming. As for the Mistress of Assassins herself, damn but he had harsh words awaiting her.
You killed the others, woman. All but myself and Derudan. Yes, only the three of us left. Only three.
To stop, if we can, the return of the Tyrant.
Oh, Vorcan, you toppled far too many stones that night.
Should he have asked Anomander Rake for help? Gods below, it had been as close to offered him as it could have been, if he understood Crone and he was sure that he did-at least in that matter. And if he chose to accept that offer, should he tell Derudan and Vorcan? How could he not?
Neither would be pleased, he was sure. Especially Vorcan. And their fragile (and yes, it would be most fragile) alliance might die in the very moments of its birth.
Oh, Baruk, be open, be honest with them both. Ask them. Simple as that.
Yet, even as he saw the wall before him blurring, seeming to melt, a figure slowly, cautiously stepping through, he knew he would not. Could not.
–
There were but three left, now. Not enough to stop the Tyrant’s return. Even with Rake’s help not enough.
Which means one of us will choose to betray the others. Currying favour for when He returns. Favour, well. Bargaining to stay alive would be more accurate.
One of us will betray the others.
Maybe Derudan. Maybe this one here.
Gods, maybe me.
He stood thirty paces up the street. Beneath the hood his eyes held unwavering on the ill-lit entrance to the Phoenix Inn. On the old steps, on the tattered sign still hanging misaligned above the inset door. For a hundred heartbeats he had watched, as figures entered, others left-no one as yet familiar to him, as if in his absence all that
