Toll the Hounds полностью

Then he kicked the brazier over, scattering coals on to the beautifully woven carpets, into the silks and woollen blankets, the furs. He waited to see flames ig shy;nite.

When the first ones began, Karsa Orlong rose and, hunched over to clear the panel door, he made his way out.

Darkness in the world beyond the camp’s cookfires. A mad profusion of stars overhead. Arrayed in a vast semicircle facing the enormous carriage was the kingdom of the Captain. Karsa Orlong stood in front of the throne on the balcony.

‘The slaves are free,’ he said in a loud voice that carried to everyone. ‘The offi shy;cers will divide the loot, the horses and all the rest — an equal share for all, slaves and free, soldier and crafter. Cheat anyone and I will kill you.’

Behind him on the carriage, flames licked out from the countless windows and vents. Black smoke rose in a thickening column. He could feel the heat gusting against his back.

‘Come the dawn,’ he said, ‘everyone will leave. Go home. Those without a home — go find one. And know that the time I give you now is all that you will ever have. For when next you see me, when you are hiding there in your cities, I will come as a destroyer. Five years or twenty — it is what you have, what I give you. Use it well. All of you, live well.’

And that such a farewell should be received, not as a benediction, but as a threat, marked well how these people understood Karsa Orlong — who came from the north, immune to all weapons. Who slew the Captain without even touching him. Who freed the slaves and scattered the knights of the realm with not a single clash of swords.

The god of the Broken Face came among them, as each would tell others for the years left to them. And, so telling, with eyes wide and licking dry lips, they would reach in haste for the tankard and its nectar of forgetfulness.

Some, you cannot kill. Some are deliverers of death and judgement. Some, in wishing you a full life, promise you death. There is no lie in that promise, for does not death come to us all? And yet, how rare the one to say so. No sweet euphemism, no quaint colloquialism. No metaphor, no analogy. There is but one true poet in the world, and he speaks the truth.

Flee, my friends, but there is nowhere to hide. Nowhere at all.

See your fate, there in his Broken Face.

See it well.

Horses drawn to a halt on a low hilltop, grasses whispering unseen on all sides.

‘I once led armies,’ Traveller said. ‘I was once the will of the Emperor of Malaz.’

Samar Dev tasted bitterness and leaned to one side and spat.

The man beside her grunted, as if acknowledging the gesture as commentary. ‘We served death, of course, in all that we did. For all our claims otherwise. Imposing peace, ending stupid feuds and tribal rivalries. Opening roads to mer shy;chants without fear of banditry. Coin flowed like blood in veins, such was the gilt of those roads and the peace we enforced. And yet, behind it all, he waited.’

‘All hail civilization,’ Samar Dev said. ‘Like a beacon in the dark wilderness,’

‘With a cold smile,’ Traveller continued, as if not hearing her, ‘he waits. Where all the roads converge, where every path ends. He waits.’

A dozen heartbeats passed, with nothing more said.

To the north something burned, lancing bright orange flames into the sky, lighting the bellies of churning clouds of black smoke. Like a beacon. .

‘What burns?’ Traveller wondered.

Samar Dev spat again. She just couldn’t get that foul taste out of her mouth. ‘Karsa Orlong,’ she replied. ‘Karsa Orlong burns, Traveller. Because that is what he does.’

‘I do not understand you.’

‘It’s a pyre,’ she said. ‘And he does not grieve. The Skathandi are no more.’

‘When you speak of Karsa Orlong,’ Traveller said, ‘I am frightened.’

She nodded at that admission — a response he probably could not even see. The man beside her was an honest one. In many ways as honest as Karsa Orlong.

And on the morrow these two would meet.

Samar Dev well understood Traveller’s fear.