The Crippled God

‘He’s dead.’



The Jaghut faced the queen again. ‘I have heard better insults from my pets, mortal.’ He then pointed at Spax. ‘Speaking of pets, what do you intend to do with yours?’



‘A precaution,’ Abrastal said, shrugging.



The other woman, the one Spax did not know, then spoke. ‘Highness, only a few days ago this Jaghut here bit off the face of a Forkrul Assail.’ She edged a step back to take in the Barghast. ‘Do not clash those blades, warrior – they will shatter.’



Felash said, ‘Mother, we have found a new ally in our … endeavours. The king of the Hold of Ice now stands with us.’



‘Why?’



The other woman said, ‘I don’t think they like the Forkrul Assail, Highness.’



‘You must be Captain Shurq Elalle,’ the queen said. ‘I have heard interesting things about you, but that will have to wait until another time. Fourteenth Daughter, are you once again upon the seas?’



‘We are. On a Ship of the Dead. You think you’re cold?’ One hand fluttered. ‘We’re less than two weeks from the Teeth.’



‘What of the Perish fleet?’



Felash shook her head. ‘No sign. We must assume they have arrived – whether a blockade now exists …’ she shrugged. ‘Mother, be careful. The Forkrul Assail know we are coming – all of us. They know .’



‘Can we maintain this line of communication?’



‘Not much longer,’ Felash replied. ‘Once we draw closer to the Assail’s demesne, their Hold will dominate.’



Spax snorted. ‘Even against the king of the Hold of Ice? Now, how pathetic is that?’



The Jaghut faced him once more. ‘When Draconus stepped on to this world, he missed a few of your kind underfoot. He has grown careless in his old age. When next you and I meet, Barghast, we shall have words on the matter.’



‘Have you a name, Jaghut?’ Spax asked. ‘I want to know who to curse. I want the name of this miserable rotting carcass I’m looking at right now.’



The mouth stretched once more. ‘Can you not guess, Barghast? As you squat shivering in my breath?’



Felash said, ‘Mother, are you sure you want to go on with this? Against the forces now gathering, we’re nothing .’



‘I think,’ said Abrastal, ‘the time has come to be more forthright regarding our allies here in the Wastelands. We seem to have acquired a force of, well, lizards. Large, powerful, well armed. They call themselves the K’Chain Che’Malle, and they are commanded by two Malazans—’



She stopped them, since the Jaghut had begun laughing.



The sound reached into Spax’s bones until he felt them rattling like frozen sticks. His glare, fixed upon the Jaghut, suddenly widened. His breath? But how – no, yes, see that cloak, see that cowl . He straightened, chest swelling. ‘I have never feared you,’ he said.



Hood ceased laughing, regarded the Barghast. ‘Of course not, Warchief Spax of the Gilk. But then, once I am known to you, fear is irrelevant, isn’t it?’



‘Especially when you’re already dead!’



One long, bony finger lifted into view, wagged at the Warchief. ‘Ah, but how would you know? Imagine dying, and then finding yourself asking, “What now?” The day you stand on the wrong side of death, Spax, come and find me, and in the bitter truth of equals you and I shall discuss real fear.’ Hood laughed a second time.



Moments later all three apparitions were gone. The biting chill remained, mists roiling in the chamber. Queen Abrastal fixed Spax with a hard stare. ‘What was all that about, Warchief?’



He scowled. ‘I don’t for an instant doubt that captain’s claim. Bit off an Assail’s face, did he? I’m surprised it wasn’t its whole damned head.’ Spax fought off another shiver. ‘Too many swords in the fire, Highness. Things are going to break. Badly.’



‘Second thoughts?’



‘More than I dare to count.’ Breath gusted from his nostrils. ‘It’s time to offer counsel, whether you like it or not. I know you are committed to this venture, and nothing I can say will dissuade you – we’re about to wage war against the Forkrul Assail.’ He studied her with narrowed eyes. ‘You’ve wanted that for some time. I see the truth of that. But listen, there are times when a course decided upon gathers a power of its own. A momentum that sweeps us all along. Firehair, this river we’re on seems calm enough for now. But the current grows and grows, and soon even if we seek the safety of shore, it will be too late.’