Toll the Hounds

What would come?



He needed to be there. In its midst. Such things were what kept him going, af-ter all. Such things were what made life worth living.



I am the High King of Failures, am I not? Who else deserves the Broken Throne? Who else personifies the misery of the Crippled God? No, it will be mine, and as for all the rest, ‘well, we’ll see, won’t we?



He walked on, alone once more. Satisfying, to be reminded-as he had been when travelling in the company of those pathetic Tiste Andii-that the world was crowded with idiots. Brainless, stumbling, clumsy with stupid certainties and convictions.



Perhaps, this time, he would dispense with empires. This time, yes, he would crush everything, until every wretched mortal scrabbled in the dirt, fighting over grubs and roots. Was that not the perfect realm for a broken throne?



Yes, and what better proof of my right to claim that throne? Kallor alone turns his back on civilization. Look on, Fallen One, and see me standing before you. Me and none other.



I vow to take it all down. Every brick. And the world can look on, awed, in wonder. The gods themselves will stare, dumbfounded, amazed, bereft and lost. Curse me to fall each and every time, will you? But I will make a place where no fall is possible. I will defeat that curse, finally defeat it.



Can you hear me, K’rull?



No matter. You will see what there is to see, soon enough.



xx



These were, he decided, glorious times indeed.



Push it on to the next moment



Don’t think now, save it



For later when thinking will show



Its useless face



When it’s too late and worry is wasted



In the rush for cover



Push it past into that pocket



So that it relents its gnawing presence



And nothing is worth doing



In pointless grace



When all the valid suppositions



Smother your cries



Push it over into the deep hole



You don’t want to know



In case it breaks and makes you feel



Cruel reminders



When all you could have done is now past



No don’t bother



Push it well into the corner



It’s no use, so spare me the grief.



You didn’t like the cost so bright, so high



The bloodiest cut



When all you sought was sweet pleasure



To the end of your days



Push it on until it pushes back



Shout your shock, shout it



You never imagined you never knew what



Turning away would do



Now wail out your dread in waves of disbelief



It’s done it’s dead



Push your way to the front



Clawing the eyes of screaming kin



No legacy awaits your shining children



It’s killed, killed



Gone the future all to feed some holy glory



The world is over. Over.



– Siban’s Dying Confession, Siban Of Aren



We watched him approach from a league away



Staggering beneath the weight of all he held



In his arms



We thought he wore a crown but when he came near



The circlet was revealed as the skin of a serpent



Biting its tail



We laughed and shared the carafe when he fell



Cheering as he climbed back upright



In pleasing charm



We slowed into silence when he arrived



And saw for ourselves the burden he carried



Kept from harm



We held stern in the face of his relieved smile



And he said this fresh young world he had found



Was now ours



We looked on as if we were grand gods



Contemplating a host of undeserved gifts



Drawing knives



Bold with pride we cut free bloodied slices



And ate our fill



We saw him weep then when nothing was left



Backing away with eyes of pain and dismay



Arms falling



But wolves will make of any world a carcass



We simply replied with our natures revealed



In all innocence



We proclaimed with zeal our humble purity



Though now he turned away and did not hear



As the taste soured



And the betrayal of poison crept into our limbs



We watched him walk away now a league maybe more



His lonely march



His mourning departure from our kindness



His happy annihilation of our mindless selves



Snake-bit unto death



– The Last Days Of Our Inheritance , Fisher Kel That



The vast springs of the carriage slammed down to absorb the thundering impact , then, as the enormous conveyance surged back up, Gruntle caught a momentary glimpse of one of the Bole brothers, his grip torn loose, wheeling through the grainy air. Arms scything, legs kicking, face wide with bemused surprise.