The Crippled God

Past the squad circles, the soldiers still praying, to an empty marshalling area in the centre, and opposite it, two command tents, the one on the right surmounted by a wolf skull atop the centre pole. Grey Helms all right. But … this can’t be all of them. Unless Tavore made them pay dearly for the treachery. But if she did, then she’s probably dead. She never got her chance .



Well then. If vengeance is all we have left, let’s get started …



The other tent was larger, of the same style as those in the besieging camp outside the keep. It was lit from within and two guards flanked the front flap, both Kolansii.



Drawing two throwing knives, Kalam advanced on them, moving fast. At five paces away, he raised both weapons and threw them simultaneously in a single fluid motion. Each found the base of a throat. Bodies buckled, blood splashing down, but before they could fall Kalam had reached them, grasping the knife grips to hold both men up before carefully settling them to the ground.



How much noise? Oh, who cares?



Leaving the daggers where they were, the assassin drew his two long knives, slashed the flap’s draw strings, and then bulled through.



He clearly caught the Pure by surprise – nothing stealthy or subtle in this approach after all – and collided hard with the Forkrul Assail. One long knife plunged deep directly beneath the heart. The other, moving up to slash across the throat, was blocked by a forearm hard as iron. Even as the Assail stumbled back, his hands lashed out.



The first blow caught Kalam high on his right shoulder, spinning him off his feet. The second one slammed into his chest on the left side, crushing chain, breaking at least two ribs and fracturing others. The impact flung the assassin backwards. He rebounded from the tent wall to the left of the entrance.



Half stunned with pain, Kalam watched the Assail pull the long knife from his chest and fling it away.



‘Oh,’ he gasped, ‘did I make you mad?’



Snarling, the Assail advanced on him.



The ground disappeared beneath his feet. With a howl, the Pure plunged from sight. There followed a thud.



Quick Ben materialized just on the other side of the hole. Drew out a small round ball of black clay. Leaned over to peer down. ‘Compliments of the marines,’ he said, and dropped the ball.



The wizard had to lunge backward as a gout of fire shot from the hole, and all at once the tent ceiling was aflame, and Quick Ben was nowhere to be seen.



Swearing, Kalam retrieved his long knife – he’d somehow held on to the other one – and leapt for the entrance.



Rolling clear, groaning at the blinding agony exploding in his chest, he staggered to his feet. On all sides, Perish soldiers were rushing to the burning tent. He saw them drawing their swords.



‘Quick Ben! I’m invisible, right? Quick Ben!’



He heard a hiss: ‘ Sheathe that damned knife! ’



Hood’s breath! Kalam spun and ran from the nearest attacker. Slammed the knife back into its scabbard. ‘Try again!’ he bellowed.



He stumbled, fell with a grunt. There was blood in his mouth. Not good .



A hand settled on his back. ‘Don’t move,’ came Quick Ben’s whisper.



The Perish were retreating now from the raging flames, and the fire was almost close enough to reach out and touch, but Kalam felt no heat. ‘Can we talk?’ he asked.



‘Now we can, aye.’



‘You said a sharper!’



‘I changed my mind. Needed to make certain. Besides, the sharper’s pretty loud.’



‘A Hood-damned burner , though? Now that’s keeping things nice and quiet! Any more Pures?’



‘No. Shh – something’s close. Tracking us.’



‘How?’



‘Don’t know.’



‘I wanted to go after the Perish commander – Krughava or whoever it is.’



‘You’re bubbling blood with every breath, Kalam. You’re in no shape for anything.’



‘Stabbed the bastard in the heart and it didn’t do a damned thing.’



‘I’m sure it did. But they’ve got two hearts.’



‘Thanks for telling me.’ Kalam grimaced, fought down a cough. ‘These are the Perish, aren’t they?’



‘Aye. Now, be quiet, and let me drag you away. That fire’s starting to burn through what I threw up around us.’



But the mage dragged Kalam for only two tugs before the assassin felt Quick Ben’s hands suddenly grip tight. ‘Shit, it’s here.’



Blinking, Kalam twisted, looked round. ‘I don’t see—’



‘Smells like an enkar’l, feels like a Toblakai.’