House of Chains

The knife plunging into his back had no chance of delivering a fatal wound. L’oric’s tightly bound defences, his innermost layers of Kurald Thyrllan, defied the thirst of iron. Despite this, the blow drove the High Mage to his knees. Then he pitched forward onto the thick carpets, almost at the Napan’s boots.



And already, he was ignored as he lay there, bleeding into the weave, as Korbolo rose and began bellowing orders. And none were close enough to hear the High Mage murmur, ‘ Blood is the path, you foolish man. And you have opened it. You poor bastard …’



‘ Grim statement. Grey frog must leave your delicious company. ’



Felisin glanced over at the demon. Its four eyes were suddenly glittering, avid with palpable hunger. ‘What has happened?’



‘ Ominous. An invitation from my brother. ’



‘Is L’oric in trouble?’



‘ There is darkness this night, yet the Mother’s face is turned away. What comes cannot be chained. Warning. Caution. Remain here, lovely child. My brother can come to no further harm, but my path is made clear. Glee. I shall eat humans this night. ’



She drew her telaba closer about herself and fought off a shiver. ‘I am, uh, pleased for you, Greyfrog.’



‘ Uncertain admonition. The shadows are fraught-no path is entirely clear, even that of blood. I must needs bob and weave, hop this way and that, grow still under baleful glare, and hope for the best. ’



‘How long should I wait for you, Greyfrog?’



‘ Leave not this glade until the sun rises, dearest she whom I would marry, regardless of little chance for proper broods. Besotted. Suddenly eager to depart. ’



‘Go, then.’



‘ Someone approaches. Potential ally. Be kind. ’



With that the demon scrambled into the shadows.



Potential ally? Who would that be?



She could hear the person on the trail now, bared feet that seemed to drag with exhaustion, and a moment later a woman stumbled into the glade, halting in the gloom to peer about.



‘Here,’ Felisin murmured, emerging from the shelter.



‘Felisin Younger?’



‘Ah, there is but one who calls me that. Heboric has sent you?’



‘Yes.’ The woman came closer, and Felisin saw that she was stained with blood, and a heavy bruise marred her jaw. ‘They tried to kill him. There were ghosts. Defending him against the assassins-’



‘Wait, wait. Catch your breath. You’re safe here. Does Heboric still live?’



She nodded. ‘He heals-in his temple. He heals-’



‘Slow your breathing, please. Here, I have wine. Say nothing for now-when you are ready, tell me your tale.’



Shadow-filled hollows rippled the hills that marked the northwest approach to the oasis. A haze of dust dulled the starlight overhead. The night had come swiftly to Raraku, as it always did, and the day’s warmth was fast dissipating. On this night, there would be frost.



Four riders sat still on motionless horses in one such hollow, steam rising from their lathered beasts. Their armour gleamed pale as bone, the skin of their exposed faces a pallid, deathly grey.



They had seen the approaching horse warrior from a distance, sufficient to permit them this quiet withdrawal unseen, for the lone rider was not their quarry, and though none said it out loud, they were all glad for that.



He was huge, that stranger. Astride a horse to match. And a thousand ravaged souls trailed him, bound by ethereal chains that he dragged as if indifferent to their weight. A sword of stone hung from his back, and it was possessed by twin spirits raging with bloodthirst.



In all, a nightmarish apparition.



They listened to the heavy hoofs thump past, waited until the drumming sound dwindled within the stone forest on the edge of the oasis.



Then Jorrude cleared his throat. ‘Our path is now clear, brothers. The trespassers are camped nearby, among the army that has marched to do battle with the dwellers of this oasis. We shall strike them with the dawn.’



‘Brother Jorrude,’ Enias rumbled, ‘what conjuration just crossed our trail?’



‘I know not, Brother Enias, but it was a promise of death.’



‘Agreed,’ Malachar growled.



‘Our horses are rested enough,’ Jorrude pronounced.



The four Tiste Liosan rode up the slope until they reached the ridge, then swung their mounts southward. Jorrude spared a last glance back over his shoulder, to make certain the stranger had not reversed his route-had not spied them hiding there in that hollow. Hiding. Yes, that is the truth of it, ignoble as the truth often proves to be . He fought off a shiver, squinting into the darkness at the edge of the stone forest.