The Crippled God
He swung the sword again, the impact shivering up his arm.
‘He asked you to fight wars that were not yours to fight. He asked you to bow to causes not your own. A hundred banners, a hundred cities – allies who welcomed you and allies who did not. Allies who blessed you and allies who feared you. And your kin died, oh, how they died – they gave up their lives in causes not their own .’
The sword cracked again, and this time Irind almost buckled beneath the blow. Spinnock could hear his harsh breaths.
‘They were all different, and they were all the same. But the cause – the true cause he offered you – did not change .’
The blow sent Irind to his knees.
Another soldier moved up, readying his own shield. Bodily dragged Irind back, and then took his place. The sounds from the advancing warriors behind Spinnock was a susurration – breaths, armour, boots scrabbling for purchase.
‘Your lord was thinking – each and every time – he was thinking … of this moment .’
Again flashed the sword.
‘Each time, every time. The cause was just .’
Crack!
‘He needed to keep reminding you. For this day!’
Crack!
‘Today, this is not foreign soil! Today, this cause is your own!’
Crack!
‘ Today, the Tiste Andii fight for themselves! ’
And this time other weapons found the rims of shields.
CRACK!
‘ Your home! ’
CRACK!
‘ Your kin! ’
CRACK!
The sword shivered in his hand. The soldier stumbling beside him fell away, his shield split.
Gasping, Spinnock Durav pushed on. Anomander Rake – do you witness this? Do you look into these faces – all these faces behind me?
‘ This time! Strangers fight in your name! Strangers die for you! Your cause – not theirs! ’
CRACK!
The reverberation shoved him forward, shivered through him like something holy. ‘ Children of Dark, humans are dying in your name! ’
CRACK!
The very air trembled with that concussion. A torrent of water – clinging to high branches, to needles and leaves – shook loose and rained down in an answering hiss.
Ahead, Spinnock could hear fighting.
Do you see, Anomander? Old friend, do you see?
This is our war .
CRACK!
Through the boles a glimmer of falling light. A vast shape lifting high. The sudden roar of a dragon.
Gods, no, what have they done?
CRACK!
Anomander Rake entered the throne room. Sandalath Drukorlat stared at him, watching as he strode towards her.
His voice held a hint of thunder outside. ‘Release Silanah.’
‘Where is your sword?’
The Son of Darkness drew up momentarily, brow clouding. One hand brushed the grip of the weapon slung at his belt.
‘Not that one,’ she said. ‘The slayer of Draconus. Show me. Show me his sword! ’
‘Highness—’
‘Stop that! This throne is not mine. It is yours. Do not mock me, Lord. They said you killed him. They said you cut him down.’
‘I have done no such thing, Highness.’
A sudden thought struck her. ‘Where is Orfantal? You took him to stand at your side. Where is my son? My beloved son? Tell me!’
He drew closer. He looked so young, so vulnerable. And that was all … wrong. Ah, this is much earlier. He has not yet killed the Consort. But then … who am I?
‘Release Silanah, Sandalath Drukorlat. The Storm must be freed – the destruction of Kharkanas will make all the deaths meaningless.’
‘Meaningless! Yes! It is what I have been saying all along! It’s all meaningless! And I am proving it! ’
He was standing before her now, his eyes level with her own. ‘Korlat—’
A shriek shattered his next words. Sandalath recoiled, and only then realized that the cry had been torn from her own throat. ‘ Not yet! Where is Orfantal? Where is my beloved son? ’
She saw something in his face then, an anguish he could not hide. She had never known him to be so … weak. So pathetically unguarded. She sneered. ‘Kneel, Anomander, Son of Darkness. Kneel before this Hostage .’
When he lowered himself to one knee, a sudden laugh burst from her. Disbelief. Shock. Delight. ‘I proclaim my beloved son Knight of Darkness – you, I cast out! You’re kneeling! Now,’ and she leaned forward, ‘ grovel .’
‘Release Silanah, Highness, or there can be no Knight of Darkness.’
‘Why not?’