‘Then let us-’
The Toblakai’s words were cut short as Iron Bars rushed forward.
A roar, a keening sweep of a wooden sword flung into the path of the Avowed’s own weapon, which slid under, point gliding back round and over the warrior’s enormous wrist, following in its swishing wake, to intercept the instinctive back-swing. Slashing through hard, thick skin, the edge scoring against muscle tough as wood.
A huge presence lunging in from the Avowed’s right. But Iron Bars continued forward, ducking beneath the first Toblakai’s arm, then pivoting round as the second attacker slammed into the first warrior. Disengaging his sword, thrusting upward, seeking the soft space between the lower mandibles – a jerk of the giant’s head, and the Avowed’s sword point speared its right eye, plunging deep in a spurt of what seemed to be swamp water.
A shriek.
Iron Bars found himself scrambling over the ruined barrow, the other Toblakai stumbling as they swung round to face him again – with a heap of boulders, mud and ripped-up roots in the way.
The Avowed leapt down onto level ground once more.
Black blood dripping from one arm, a hand pressed over a gouged socket and burst eye, the Toblakai he had attacked was staggering back.
The other four were spreading out, silent now, intent.
Until they could edge round the entire barrow, their approach would be difficult, the footing treacherous.
One down. Iron Bars was pleased-
And then the fifth one shook itself and straightened. One-eyed, but turning to face the Avowed once more.
‘You hurt our brother,’ one said.
‘There’s more to come,’ Iron Bars said.
‘It’s not good, hurting gods.’
‘We are the Seregahl,’ the lead Toblakai said. ‘Before you hurt us, you might have begged for mercy. You might have knelt in worship, and perhaps we would have accepted you. But not now.’
‘No,’ the Avowed agreed, ‘I suppose not.’
‘That is all you would say?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing else comes to mind.’
‘You are frowning. Why?’
‘Well, I’ve already killed a god today,’ Iron Bars said. ‘If I’d known this was going to be a day for killing gods, I might have paced myself better.’
The five were silent for a moment, then the first one said, ‘What god have you killed this day, stranger?’
‘The Pack.’
A hiss from the Toblakai on the far right. ‘The ones that escaped us! The fast ones!’
‘They were fast,’ Iron Bars said, nodding. ‘But not, it seems, fast enough.’
‘D’ivers.’
‘Yes,’ the Avowed said. ‘Six of them… and only five of you.’
The first Toblakai said to its brothers, ‘Careful with this one, then.’
‘We are free,’ the one-eyed one growled. ‘We must kill this one to remain so.’
‘True. This is cause enough.’
They began advancing again.
Iron Bars inwardly sighed. At least he’d made them nervous. And that might serve to keep him alive a little while longer. Then again, he reminded himself, he’d faced worse.
He shifted his weight, rising to the balls of his feet, readying himself to begin the dance. The dance of staying alive.
Until help came.
Unseen storms, raging through the streets, battering the city. Bugg’s head was aching with the chaos of power, of the clash of fierce wills.
He could still feel the impotent fury of the ancient god trapped beneath the ice of Settle Lake – the Ceda’s trap had worked well indeed, and even now the ice was slowly thickening, closing in around the creature in the sealed cavern, and before the sun set it would find itself encased in the ice, feeling the unbearable cold seeping into its being, stealing sensation, stealing its life.
Good things came of being nice to a Jaghut, something the T’lan Imass never understood.
Bugg made his way towards the end of the alley beyond which the old Azath tower was visible. He hoped Iron Bars had not done anything precipitous, such as entering the yard alone. Kettle would have warned him against that in any case. With luck, the child’s buried ally was buried no longer. The Avowed was intended to give support, that was all, and only if necessity demanded it. This wasn’t that man’s fight, after all-
His steps slowed suddenly, as a cold dread swept through him. He quested out with his senses, and detected movement where there should not be movement, an awakening of wills, intentions burning bright, threads of fate converging…
The manservant turned round, and began running.
Four of his ablest killers approached Gerun Eberict from up the street. The Finadd raised a hand to halt those behind him.
‘Finadd,’ the squad leader said upon arriving, ‘we had some luck. The brother at the far lookout was flushed out into the street by a pack of Edur. He took six of the bastards down with him. Once the Edur left I sent Crillo out to make sure he was dead-’
‘He was cut to pieces,’ Crillo interrupted, grinning.
‘-and he was at that,’ the squad leader resumed, with a glare at Crillo, whose grin broadened.
‘And the other?’ Gerun asked, scanning the vicinity. It wouldn’t do to run into a company of Tiste Edur right now.
The squad leader scowled. ‘Crillo got ’im. A damned lucky knife-throw-’
‘No luck at all,’ Crillo cut in. ‘Poor bastard never knew it was coming-’
‘Because he’d caught out the rest of us-’
‘They’re both dead?’ Gerun asked. Then shook his head. ‘Luck indeed. It should not have been that easy. All right, that leaves the one on the roof. He’ll have been looking for signals from his brothers and he won’t be seeing them now. Meaning, he’ll know we’re coming.’
‘It’s just one man, Finadd-’
‘A Shavankrats, Crillo. Don’t get overconfident just because the Errant’s nudged our way so far. All right, we stay as a group now-’ He stopped, then gestured everyone low.
Thirty paces ahead and coming from a side alley, a lone figure ran into the street. A Tiste Edur woman. Like a startled deer she froze, head darting. Before she had a chance to look their way, she heard something behind her and bolted. A metallic flash in her right hand revealed that she carried a knife of some sort.
Gerun Eberict grunted. She was heading the same direction as he was. An undefended Tiste Edur woman. He would enjoy her before killing her. Once his other business was out of the way, of course. Might let the lads have a go, too. Crillo first, for the work he’d already done getting rid of Brys’s damned guards.
The Finadd straightened. ‘After her, then, since it’s on the way.’
Dark laughs from his troop.
‘Take point, Crillo.’
They set out.
Faces behind shutters at second floor windows – the whole city cowered like half-drowned rats. It was disgusting. But they were showing him, weren’t they, showing him how few deserved to live. This new empire of the Tiste Edur would be little different, he suspected. There would need to be controllers, deliverers of swift and incorruptible justice. People would continue to be rude. Would continue to litter the streets. And there would still be people who were just plain ugly, earning the mercy of Gerun’s knife. He would have his work, as before, to make this city a place of beauty-
