The Crippled God

‘He uses his hands, Maybe.’



‘Well, that’s just great then.’



‘We’re just marching,’ said Crump again, and then he laughed.



Urb glanced back at the squad trudging five paces behind his own. She had nothing to drink now. She was waking up. To who she really was. And maybe she didn’t like what she saw. Wasn’t that what drinking was all about to begin with? He rubbed the back of his neck, faced forward again.



Sober now. Eyes clear. Clear enough to see … well, it wasn’t like she’d really shown any interest. And besides, did he really want to get tangled with someone like that? Standing up only to probably fall down again. It was a narrow path for people like her, and they needed to want to walk it. If they didn’t, off they went again, sooner or later. Every time.



Of course, if what Fid had said was true, what did any of it even matter? They were the walking dead, looking for a place to finish up with all the walking. So in the meantime, if there was a chance at anything, why not take it? She’d not be serious about it, though, would she? She’d just mock the whole idea of love, of what he would end up cutting out and slapping down wet and red on the table between them – she’d just laugh.



He wasn’t brave enough for that. In fact, he wasn’t brave at all, about anything. Not fighting Nah’ruk, or Letherii, or Whirlwind fanatics. Every time he had to draw his sword, he went cold as ice inside. Loose, quaking, dread shivering out from his stomach to steal the heat from his limbs. He drew his sword expecting to die, and die poorly.



But he’d do what he could to keep her alive. Always had. Always would. Usually she was too drunk to even see it, or maybe she was so used to him being there when it counted that he was no different from a stone wall for her to throw her back against. But wasn’t even that enough for him?



It would have to be, because he didn’t have the courage for anything more. Being the walking dead didn’t have a thing to do with bravery. It was just a way of looking at the time left, of ducking down and pushing on and not complaining. He could do that. He’d been doing that all his life, in fact.



I’ve been the walking dead all along, and I didn’t even know it . The thought left him weakened, as if some hidden knife had just pushed deep inside, piercing his soul. I’ve been telling myself this was being alive. This here. This … hiding. Wishing. Dreaming. Wanting. And all the while, what does anyone else see when they look at me?



Quiet Urb. Not much going on in there, is there? But a fair soldier. Adequate. Made sergeant, sure, but don’t ever think he’ll go higher. Hasn’t got it inside, you see. It’s quiet as a cave in there, but you got to, well, admire him. He’s a man without troubles. He’s a man who lives it easy, if you know what I mean .



That’s Sergeant Urb. He’ll do until a better sergeant comes along .



Hiding ain’t living. Hiding’s just walking dead .



He looked up into the jade-lit night sky, studied those grim slashes cleaving the darkness. Huge now, seeming ready to slice into the face of this very world. Urb shivered. But if I’m the walking dead, why am I still so afraid?



Corporal Clasp dropped back from her position alongside Urb, until Saltlick, who’d been taking up the rear, reached her, and she fell in beside him. ‘Can I have a quiet word with you?’ she asked.



He glanced over, blinked. ‘I can be quiet.’



‘I’d noticed, Saltlick. Is that how it is in this squad?’



‘What do you mean?’



She nodded ahead. ‘Sergeant Urb. You and him are the same. You don’t say anything, don’t give yourselves away. You know, we all knew there was a … well, a kind of elite group. Squads and a few heavies. Somehow all closer to Fiddler, back when he was a sergeant. Closer than the rest of us. We knew it. We could see it. Fiddler, and round him Gesler and Stormy, Balm and Hellian, Cord and Shard. And Urb. With Quick Ben dropping in, and then Hedge. And finally, some of you heavies. Shortnose, Mayfly, Flashwit. You. I know, it was all about Fiddler, and the ones he drew in around him. The ones he picked.’



Saltlick was staring at her now.



Clasp grimaced. ‘Look at my soldiers,’ she said under her breath. ‘Look at Sad. You know what she is? A damned Semk witch. Semk . You know what she does when she gets ready for a fight? Never mind. You’ll see for yourself, assuming we survive this desert. Then there’s Burnt Rope. Sapper. But he surprised me at the trench. So did our cutter – you know, he once went and sought out Gesler and Stormy – fellow Falaris, right? We sent him. We sent Lap Twirl to Ges and Stormy, to test them out. To see if we could get in.’