The Crippled God

Wondering, Korlat crouched down, lifted back the lid. The chest was empty. Baffled, she straightened, met the Adjunct’s eyes.



And saw a wry smile. ‘They were marines. Everything of value they’ve already left behind. In fact, Korlat of the Tiste Andii, if Gesler and Stormy could, they’d be the first ones to loot their own grave goods.’



‘And then bitch about how cheap we were,’ Fiddler said behind them.



‘We are here to see the barrow sealed,’ said the Adjunct. ‘And, if we can, get that Wickan demon to yield, before it starves to death.’



A thousand paces away from this scene, a gathering of Jaghut warriors stood facing a barrow raised to embrace the fallen Imass.



They were silent, as befitted the moment – a moment filled with respect and that bone-deep loss for comrades fallen in a battle shared, a time lived to the hilt – but for all that, it was a silence riotous with irony.



After a time, a small creature looking like a burst pillow of rotted straw came up to lie down at the feet of one of the Jaghut. From the filthy tangle out came a lolling tongue.



One of the warriors spoke, ‘Varandas, our commander never tires of pets.’



‘Clearly,’ replied another, ‘he has missed us.’



‘Or does the once-Lord of Death return with alarming appetites?’



‘You raise disquiet in me,’ said Sanad.



‘You promised to never speak of that – oh, you mean my query on appetites. Humblest apologies, Sanad.’



‘She lies, Gathras, this I swear!’



‘The only one lying here is the dog, surely!’



The warriors all stared down at the creature.



And then roared with laughter. That went on, and on.



Until Hood whirled round. ‘ Will you all shut up! ’



In the sudden silence that followed, someone snorted.



When Hood reached for the sword at his hip, his warriors all found somewhere else to look. Until the ratty dog rose and lifted a leg.



Weathering their raucous laughter and the steady stream tapping his ankle, Hood slowly closed his eyes. This is why Jaghut chose to live alone .



Brys Beddict turned at the sound of distant laughter. Squinted at the Jaghut warriors standing at the Imass barrow. ‘Errant’s nudge, but that’s hardly fitting, is it?’



Aranict frowned. ‘Theirs is an odd humour, my love. I do not think disrespect is the intention. Indifference would have managed that succinctly enough. Instead, they walked out there, and requested solitude.’



‘Ah,’ murmured Brys, taking her hand, ‘it is, I believe, time.’



He led her towards the Adjunct, where Queen Abrastal, Felash and Spax now joined Tavore. Just beyond them, Aranict saw, was Ganoes – not one to join in these moments, yet never far from his sister.



Brys spoke as soon as they drew near. ‘There was some tension at the barrow, Adjunct. I trust all is well?’



‘A misunderstanding, Prince.’



‘The cattledog—’



‘No – once the barrow was sealed, the beast joined Destriant Kalyth, and at her side I believe it will stay until its life is done.’



‘There is word,’ said Abrastal, ‘of a tribe on the plateau north of Estobanse, remote kin of Kalyth’s Elan. Bhederin herders.’



‘They will journey alone?’ Brys asked in concern.



‘With only a few hundred K’ell Hunters as escort, yes,’ replied the Bolkando queen.



‘Prince Brys,’ said Felash, ‘your brother the king’s fleet is only days away.’ Her languid gaze flicked to Aranict.



‘I’ve not yet told him,’ Aranict replied, lighting a stick. ‘Beloved,’ she now said, ‘your brother is with that fleet.’



‘Tehol hates the sea – are you certain of that?’



But Felash was coughing, her eyes wide on the prince. ‘Excuse me, King Tehol hates the sea? But – rather, I mean, forgive me. Bugg – his— Oh, never mind. My pardon, Prince Brys.’



Abrastal was regarding her daughter sidelong. ‘You’re as plump as you ever were,’ she said. ‘Smoke more, girl!’



‘Yes, mother. At once.’



‘And where is your handmaid?’



‘Down with Captain Elalle, Mother, shipshaping a boat or whatever they call it.’



Brys spoke to Tavore. ‘Adjunct … there were times when I … well, I doubted you. This seemed so vast – what you sought—’



‘Forgive me for interrupting, Highness,’ Tavore replied. ‘The deeds that have won us this victory belong to every soul on this journey, and it has been a rather long journey. A sword’s tip is nothing without the length of solid steel backing it.’ She hesitated. ‘There have been many doubts to weather, but this is a weakness we all share.’