Toll the Hounds полностью

The bliss of certainty delivered another gift. She saw before her a universe transformed, one where contradictions could be rightfully ignored, where hypocrisy did not exist, where to serve the truth in oneself permitted easy denial of any shy;thing that did not fit.

The minuscule mote of awareness that hid within her, like a snail flinching into its shell, was able to give shape to this transformation, well recognizing it as gen shy;uine revelation, the thing she had been seeking all along — yet in the wrong place.

Salind understood now that the Redeemer was a child god, innocent, yes, but not in a good way. The Redeemer possessed no certainty in himself. He was not all-seeing, but blind. From a distance the two might appear identical, there in that wide embrace, the waiting arms, the undefended openness. He forgave all because he could not see difference, could not even sense who was deserving and who was not.

Saemenkelyk brought an end to ambiguity. It divided the world cleanly, ab shy;solutely.

She must give that to him. It would be her gift — the greatest gift imaginable — to her beloved god. An end to his ambivalence, his ignorance, his helplessness.

Soon, the time would come when she would once again seek him. The pa shy;thetic mortal soul standing in her way would not frustrate her the next time she found her weapons — no, her righteous blades would cut and slash him to pieces.

The thought made her fling her arms into the air as she whirled. Such joy!

She had a gift. It was her duty to deliver it.

Whether you like it or not.

No, he could not refuse. If he did, why, she would have to kill him.

Bone white, the enormous beasts stood on the ridge, side on, their heads turned to watch Karsa Orlong as he cantered Havok ever closer. He sensed his horse tensing beneath him, saw the ears flick a moment before he became aware that he was being flanked by more Hounds — these ones darker, heavier, short-haired except shy;ing one that reminded him of the wolves of his homeland, that tracked him with amber eyes.

‘So,’ Karsa murmured, ‘these are the Hounds of Shadow. You would play games with me, then? Try for me, and when we’re done few of you will leave this place, and none will be free of wounds, this I promise you. Havok, see the black one in the high grasses? Thinks to hide from us.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘The others will feint, but that black one will lead the true charge. My sword shall tap her nose first.’

The two white beasts parted, one trotting a dozen or so paces along the ridge the other turning round and doing the same in the opposite direction in the gap now between them, shadows swirled like a dust-devil.

Karsa could feel a surge of battle lust within him, his skin prickling beneath the fixed attention of seven savage beasts, yet he held his gaze on that smudge of gloom, where two figures were now visible. Men, one bare-headed and the other hooded and leaning crooked over a knobby cane.

The Hounds to either side maintained their distance, close enough for a swift charge but not so close as to drive Havok into a rage. Karsa reined in six paces from the strangers and eyed them speculatively.

The bare-headed one was plainly featured, pale as if unfamiliar with sunlight, his dark hair straight and loose, almost ragged. His eyes shifted colour in the sunlight, blue to grey, to green and perhaps even brown, a cascade of indecision that matched his expression as he in turn studied the Toblakai.

The first gesture came from the hooded one with the hidden face, a lifting of the cane in a half-hearted waver. ‘Nice horse,’ he said.

‘Easier to ride than a dog,’ Karsa replied.

A snort from the dark-haired man.

‘This one,’ said the hooded man, ‘resists sorcery, Cotillion. Though his blood is old, I wonder, will all mortals one day be like him? An end to miracles. Noth shy;ing but dull, banal existence, nothing but mundane absence of wonder.’ The cane jabbed. ‘A world of bureaucrats. Mealy-minded, sour-faced and miserable as a re shy;union of clerks. In such a world, Cotillion, not even the gods will visit. Except in pilgrimage to depression.’

‘Quaintly philosophical of you, Shadowthrone,’ replied the one named Cotil shy;lion. ‘But is this one really the right audience? I can almost smell the bear grease from here.’

‘That’s Lock,’ said Shadowthrone. ‘He was rolling in something a while ago.’

Karsa leaned forward on the strange saddle that Samar Dev had had fitted for Havok back in Letherii. ‘If I am a clerk, then one prophecy will prove true.’

‘Oh, and which one would that be?’ Cotillion asked, seemingly amused that Karsa was capable of speech.

‘The tyranny of the number counters will be a bloody one.’

Shadowthrone wheezed laughter, then coughed into the silence of the others and said, ‘Hmmm.’

Cotillion’s eyes had narrowed. ‘In Darujihstan, a temple awaits you, Toblakai. A crown and a throne for the taking.’