Kadagar let go, stepped back. ‘Aparal – is it true?’
‘Lord?’
‘The laughter—’
‘Yes, Lord. A Hust waits for us, in the hands of a Shake warrior.’ He pointed at the carcass of the dragon. ‘Two passes of the blade, to slice through Iparth Erule’s neck.’
‘He must be killed! This Shake warrior!’
‘Yes, Lord.’
Kadagar lifted one hand to his brow, reminding Aparal of the father, of poor, lost Krin Ne Fant. ‘But … how?’
Aparal cocked his head. ‘Lord? Why, when all the others have fallen, when he alone remains. When twelve dragons break through. Sire, this is not a legion of Hust. It is one sword.’
And Kadagar was nodding now, eyes flooding with relief. ‘Just so, brother.’ He glanced back at the carcass. ‘Poor Iparth Erule.’
‘Poor Iparth Erule.’
Kadagar Fant, Lord of Light, then licked his lips. ‘Such a terrible waste.’
In every echo that reached Sandalath Drukorlat, she heard ghosts laughing. Withal sat close, down on the stone of the dais, almost at her feet, but it seemed he was dozing, exhaustion making a mockery of his vigil. She did not mind. Mortal failure was ever tinged with irony, was it not?
She closed her eyes, listening, waiting for the visions to return. Were these sendings from Mother Dark? Or just the cluttered rag-ends of all those lives surrendered to these walls and floors of stone?
Mother, I doubt there is anything of you in these scenes. The gloom is of their own making, and those hard voices rocking so back and forth in my skull, well, I know them all
.
One side crimson with blood, Anomander Rake straightening to face the Hust Legion. ‘The invasion has just begun,’ he told the waiting warriors. ‘We risk being overwhelmed.’ He drew a slow, deep breath, jaws briefly clenching in pain. ‘I shall wait for them beyond the Rent,
to deny them the Throne of Shadow. This leaves the gate itself. Hust Legion! You shall march to the gate. You shall march through it. You shall take the battle to them, and hold them there. And,’ he scanned the rows of helmed faces, ‘when the last five of you remain, you must give your lives to sealing that wound. You shall, Hust-armed and Hust-armoured, for ever close Starvald Demelain.’
Wailing shrieks from blades and scaled breastplates, from helms, from greaves and gauntlets, a deafening chorus that shattered into wild laughter. But within that insane glee, the faces of the Andiian warriors were expressionless. And with solemn salutes they acknowledged their lord’s command.
Hust Legion, we never saw you again
.
But the Eleint stopped coming
.
Hust Legion, how many did you kill on that other side? How many bones lie in heaps upon that alien plain? There at the gate? I can almost … almost see them, a felled forest of bones
.
But now shadows slide over them, shadows from the sky
.
Anomander Rake, ‘for ever’ was a lie. But you knew that. You were just buying time. Thinking we would ready ourselves for the next invasion. Did we? Did anyone?
But then, a suspicion whispers in my skull. You made her face us once again. Well, not us. Me
.
Killed yourself a dragon, did you, Yedan Derryg?
Feel up to a thousand more?
Withal knew he was dreaming. The Meckros city where he had been born was nothing like this, a place of smoky dark quartzite and walls sheathed in mica and anthracite, and even as the groaning rise and fall beneath his feet told him the city was indeed floating on unseen seas, beyond the canted avenue lining the high sea wall on his left he could see nothing. No stars above, no cresting foam below.
Cordage creaked, the only sounds surrounding him. The city was abandoned, and he was alone.
‘
Mortal. She will not listen. She is lost in ages past
.’
He looked round, and then grunted, irritated with himself. She was the Goddess of Dark. What else would he see of her, if not this empty abyss on all sides? ‘And me, an island city, untethered and unanchored and caught on unknown currents. Mael knows, Withal, even your dreams lack the subtle touch.’
‘
Despair is a curse, Withal of the Meckros. You must warn her
—’
‘Forgive me for interrupting, Mother Dark, but she is past listening to me. And to be honest, I don’t blame her. I have nothing worth saying. You have made her the ruler of an empty city – how do you expect her to feel?’
Too bold, perhaps, for there came no reply from the surrounding darkness.
He stumbled forward, unsure of his destination, but feeling the need to reach it. ‘I have lost my belief in the seriousness of the world. Any world. Every world. You give me an empty city, and I feel like laughing. It’s not as if I don’t believe in ghosts. I do. How could I not? As far as I’m concerned, we’re
all
ghosts.’ He paused, set a hand upon the cold, damp stone of the sea wall. ‘Only this is real. Only this lasts from moment to moment, stretching on for years. Centuries. We – we just pass through. Filled with ephemeral thoughts—’
‘
You surrender too much of yourself, Withal
.’
‘It’s easy,’ he replied, ‘when nothing I own is worth a damned thing.’
‘
This island city is the ghost. Its truth lies broken on the seabed. It drifts only in your memory, Withal
.’
He grunted. ‘The ghost dreams of ghosts in a ghostly world. This is what I’ve come to understand, Mother Dark. From the Tiste Andii – and these Liosan. The way you can take a hundred thousand years and crush it all in one hand. There is no truth to time. It’s all a lie.’
‘
She agrees with you, Withal. She was born a hostage to secret fates, born a hostage to a future she could not imagine, much less defy. In this, it was understood by all, she symbolized every child
.’
‘But you took it too far,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You never let her grow up.’
‘
Yes, we would keep them children for ever
.’
The Meckros city ended with a ragged edge, as if it had been torn in half. Withal continued walking until his steps sent him pitching down through darkness.
He started, head snapping up, and looked round. The throne room of Kharkanas, Sandalath on the throne, hands to her face, sobbing uncontrollably. Swearing under his breath, he rose, unfolding stiff, aching limbs, and went up to take her into his arms.
‘They’re all dying! Withal! On the Shore –
they’re all dying!
’
He held her tight.
Her words muffled by his shoulder, she said, ‘Five thousand warriors. From the mines, from the prisons. From the gutters. Five thousand. The Hust Legion – I saw them marching out from the burning city.’ She lifted her head, stared at him with tortured eyes. ‘
Their swords howled. Their armour sang with joy. No one stood by and wept. No. Instead, they ran from the laughter, they fled the streets – those not already dead. The sound – so terrible – the Hust Legion marched to their deaths, and no one watched them go!
’
He slapped her, hard enough to knock her to the floor at the foot of the throne. ‘Enough of this, Sand. This palace is driving you mad.’
She twisted round on to her knees, a knife in her hand, eyes blazing with rage.
‘Better,’ he grunted, and then backed away from the slashing blade. ‘Too many wretched ghosts in your skull, woman. They all think they got something useful to tell you, but they don’t. They’re damned fools, and you know how I know they’re damned fools? Because they’re still here.’
Warily, he watched her straighten, watched her lick the blood from her lips. Then sheathe the knife. Her sigh was ragged. ‘Husband, it’s this waiting. Waiting for them all to die, for the Liosan legions to enter the city – the palace. And then they will kill you, and I cannot bear it.’
‘Not just me,’ he said. ‘You, as well.’
‘I have no regret for that. None.’
‘There are other Tiste Andii. There must be. They are coming—’
‘To what end?’ She slumped at the foot of the throne. ‘To avenge me? And so it goes on and on, back and forth. As if it all meant something.’ She looked up. ‘Do these walls care? This floor? No, but I will make it different this time, Withal.’ She met his eyes with a fierce challenge. ‘I will burn this palace down to the ground before they ever get here. I swear it.’
‘Sandalath, there is nothing here to burn.’
‘There are other ways,’ she whispered, ‘to summon fire.’
The killing ground was once more clear of corpses, broken weapons and pieces of torn flesh, but the once-white sand was brown as mud. Captain Pithy studied it for a moment longer, and then resumed examining the grip of her sword. The leather cord was loose – twice in the last fight the weapon had shifted in her grip. Looking up, she saw one of the Letherii youths Yedan was using to scavenge decent weapons. ‘You! Over here!’
The girl struggled up with her sled and stepped to one side as Pithy began rummaging through the blood-spattered array of weapons. ‘Hear any chuckling from any of these, girl?’ She looked up and winked. ‘Didn’t think so, but one can always hope.’
‘You’re Captain Pithy.’
‘So far, aye.’ She found a Liosan sword and lifted it clear, testing its weight and balance. Then peering at the honed edge, before snorting. ‘Looks a hundred years old, and neglected for half that.’ She returned it to the sled. ‘Why aren’t there any Letherii weapons here?’
‘The Liosan steal them, sir.’
‘Well, that’s one way to beat us – a mass exchange of weapons, until all we’re left with is that useless crap they brought from the other side. Better send word to the prince – we need to deny them these particular
spoils, and make a point of it.’ Pithy retrieved her old sword. ‘Here, you got small fingers – see if you can thread that strip through on the end here, where it’s pulled loose. Just thread it and I’ll do the rest.’
Instead of her fingers, the girl used her teeth, and in moments had managed to tug the leather strip through.
‘Smart lass.’ Pithy tugged hard on the strip and was pleased to see the coil draw tighter to the wooden handles encasing the tang. ‘There, should do for the next fight or two. Thanks for helping fix my sword. Now, off you go – I see ’em massing again on the other side.’
The girl took up the ropes and hurried off with her sled, the ivory runners sliding easily across the strand.
Captain Pithy walked to her place in the line. ‘Now,’ she said in a loud voice, ‘it’s Nithe’s day off, the lazy shit. He probably thinks he’s earned those five whores and the jug of wine sharing his bed, but that was just me feeling sorry for him.’
‘Cap’n’s a pimp!’ someone shouted from a few rows back.
Pithy waited for the laughter to die down. ‘Can’t make piss on the coin they pay officers in this army, so don’t begrudge me something on the side.’
‘Never you, Captain!’
Horns sounded and Pithy faced the breach. ‘Coming through, soldiers! Harden up now like a virgin’s dream! Weapons ready!’
A vague mass of shapes, pushing and then slashing through bruised light thin as skin. Then the blades drew back.
What’s this? Something different – what are
—
From the wound, three enormous Hounds bursting through. Blood-thick sand sprayed as the creatures skidded. One twisted to one side, shot off towards the Shake line on Pithy’s right, a white blur, huge as a bull. Another charged for the other flank, and the one directly before Pithy met her eyes in the instant before it lowered its broad head, and she felt the strength leave her body in a single, soft breath. Then the Hound lunged straight at her.
As the jaws stretched wide, revealing canines long as daggers, Yan Tovis ducked low and swung her sword. The blade bit into the left of the beast’s neck, and then rebounded in a splash of blood. Beside her, a Shake warrior shrieked, but the cry was short-lived, vanishing when the beast bit down, its jaws engulfing his head. Bones crunching, the man was lifted from his feet as the Hound reared back, fangs sawing through his neck. Gore sprayed as the headless corpse fell to the sand and rolled on to its back.
Yan Tovis thrust her sword, but the point skidded across the beast’s chest.
Snarling, it swung its head. The impact sent Yan Tovis spinning.
Landing hard, she rolled on to her side, seeing Liosan ranks plunging through the breach not fifteen paces from her. She’d lost her sword, and her groping hand found nothing but clumps of blood-glued sand. She could feel her strength faltering, draining away, pain spreading across half her body.
Behind her, the Hound began killing her people.
It ends. As simple as that?
‘Pikes!’ someone screamed –
was it me?
As the massive Hound leapt for her, Pithy dropped to the sand, twisted as the beast passed directly over her, and thrust her sword into its belly.
The point was punched back out as if fired from a crossbow, driving her elbow into the ground. One of the Hound’s back legs lifted her from the sand, carried her flailing forward. She heard the clash of pike shafts close in on all sides. Half stunned, she curled up beneath the beast. Its snarls filled her world, along with the crunch of bones and the shrieks of dying Letherii. She was kicked again, this time spilling her out to one side.