Toll the Hounds

‘We are, yes.’



Another quick nod. ‘Saemankelyk. The word comes from a dialect common south of God’s Walk Mountains. “Saeman” means “Dying God” and.”kelyk” means-’



‘Blood.’



A sigh. ‘Yes.’



Second Sister cleared her throat, and then said, ‘Surely you do not mean to suggest that the meaning is literal?’



The witch licked her lips-an instinctive gesture rather than anything ironic-and said, ‘I have applied some… arts, er, to examining this Saemankelyk. There are unnatural properties, that much is certain. In any case, the outlaws have made addicts of the pilgrims. Including Salind, the Redeemer’s High Priestess.’



Third Sister spoke. ‘If this foul drink is in any way blessed, then one might well see its poisonous influence as a corruption of the Redeemer’s worshippers. If one kneels before Saemenkelyk… well, one cannot kneel before two masters, can one?’



Not without physically splitting in half, no. ‘Witch, what is it you wish of us?’



‘This corruption, High Priestess. It could… spread.’



Silence round the table.



It was clear now to the High Priestess that the witch had given this meeting considerable thought, until arriving at the one suggestion she considered most likely to trigger alarm. As if we Tiste Andii are but taller, black-skinned versions of humans. As if we could so easily be… stolen away.



Emboldened, the witch resumed. ‘High Priestess, Salind-she needs help. We need help. There was a warrior, one among you, but he has disappeared. Now that Seerdomin is dead, I sought to find him. Spinnock Durav.’



The High Priestess rose. ‘Come with me, Witch,’ she said. ‘Just you and me. Come, it’s not far.’



The old woman levered herself upright, confusion in her small eyes.



To a side passage, a narrow corridor of twenty paces, and then down a short flight of stairs, the air still smelling of fresh-chiselled basalt, into a large but low-vaulted octagonal chamber devoid of any furniture, the floor of which was inlaid with onyx tesserae, irregular in shape and size. A journey of but a few moments for most people; yet for the witch it was an ordeal, striking the High Priestess with the poignancy of the old woman’s desperation-that she should so subject herself to such a struggle. The trek from her home through the city to the keep must have been an epic undertaking.



These thoughts battered at the High Priestess’s impatience, and so she weathered the delay saying nothing and without expression on her smooth, round face.



As soon as the witch tottered into the chamber, she gasped.



‘Yes, you are clearly an adept,’ observed the High Priestess. ‘There are nodes of power in this temple. Kurald Galain, the cleansing darkness.’ She could see that the witch was breathing hard and fast, and there was a look of wonder on that sweat-sheathed face, ‘Do not be alarmed at what you feel inside,’ she said, ‘By en-tering here, you have drawn Kurald Galain into your body, in your breaths, through the very pores of your skin. The sorcery is now within you.’



‘B-but… why? Why have you done this to me?’



‘[could sense the labouring of your heart, Witch. Your trek to my temple would have been your last-’



‘Oh, I knew that!’ snapped the witch.



The sudden irritation shocked the High Priestess for a moment. She reassessed this woman tottering before her. ‘I see. Then…’



‘Then yes, I prayed my sacrifice would be worth it. Salind is so precious-what has been done to her is despicable. Is… evil.’



‘Then you have not come in the name of the Redeemer, have you?’



‘No. I came for a friend.’



A friend. ‘Witch, Spinnock Durav is no longer in Black Coral. It grieves me to hear of Seerdomin’s death. And it grieves me more to learn of Salind’s fate. Tell me, what else are you feeling?’



The witch was hunched over, as if in visceral pain. ‘Fine,’ she hissed reluctantly. ‘I can see that there is no risk of the poison spreading. I never thought there was.’



‘I know that,’ said the High Priestess, her voice soft.



‘But I needed to bargain for your help.’



‘That is ever the assumption among you humans. Do you know, when the delegates from the Free Cities came to treat with us, when the Rhivi and the man who pretended to be Prince K’azz D’Avore of the Crimson Guard came to us-they all thought to bargain. To buy our swords, our power. To purchase our alliance. Lord Anomander Rake but lifted one hand-before any of them could even so much as say one beseeching word. And he said this: “We are the Tiste Andii. Do not seek to bargain with us. If you wish our help, you will ask for it. We will say yes or we will say no. There will be no negotiations.”‘