Toll the Hounds полностью

She shook her head, as if baffled.

Traveller moved to join them, and there was something haggard in his face. Seeing this odd, inexplicable transformation, Karsa narrowed his gaze on the man for a moment. Then he casually looked away.

‘Perhaps the bear came to warn you,’ he said to Samar Dev.

‘About what?’

‘What else? War.’

‘What war?’

The shout made Havok shift under his hand, and he reached up to grasp the beast’s wiry mane. Calming the horse, he then vaulted on to its back. ‘Why, the one to come, I would think.’

She glared across at Traveller, and seemed to note for the first time the change that had come over him.

Karsa watched her take a step closer to Traveller. ‘What is it? What has hap shy;pened? What war is he talking about?’

‘We should get moving,’ he said, and then he set out.

She might weep. She might scream. But she did neither, and Karsa nodded to himself and then reached down one arm. ‘This torrent,’ he muttered, ‘belongs to him, not us. Ride it with me, witch — you surrender nothing of value.’

‘I don’t?’

‘No.’

She hesitated, and then stepped up and grasped hold of his arm.

When she was settled in behind him, Karsa tilted to one side and twisted round slightly to grin at her. ‘Don’t lie. It feels better already, does it not?’

‘Karsa — what has happened to Traveller?’

He collected the lone rein and faced forward once more. ‘Shadows,’ he said, ‘are cruel.’

Ditch forced open what he thought of as an eye. His eye. Draconus stood above the blind Tiste Andii, Kadaspala, reaching down and dragging the squealing creature up with both hands round the man’s scrawny neck.

‘You damned fool! It won’t work that way, don’t you see that?’

Kadaspala could only choke in reply.

Draconus glowered for a moment longer, and then flung the man back down on to the heap of bodies.

Ditch managed a croaking laugh.

Turning to skewer Ditch with his glare, Draconus said, ‘He sought to fashion a damned god here!’

‘And it shall speak,’ Ditch said, ‘in my voice.’

‘No, it shall not. Do not fall into this trap, Wizard. Nothing must be fashioned of this place-’

‘What difference? We all are about to die. Let the god open its eyes. Blink once or twice, and then give voice. .’ he laughed again, ‘the first cry also the last. Birth and death with nothing in between. Is there anything more tragic, Draconus? Anything at all?’

‘Dragnipur,’ said Draconus, ‘is nobody’s womb. Kadaspala, this was to be a cage. To keep Darkness in and Chaos out. One last, desperate barrier — the only gift we could offer. A gate that is denied its wandering must find a home, a refuge — a fortress, even one fashioned from flesh and bone. The pattern, Kadaspala, was meant to defy Chaos — two antithetical forces, as we discussed-’

‘That will fail!’ The blind Tiste Andii was twisting about at Draconus’s feet, like an impaled worm. ‘Fail, Draconus — we were fools, idiots. We were mad to think mad to think mad to think — give me this child, this wondrous creation — give me-’

‘Kadaspala! The pattern — nothing more! Just the pattern, damn you!’

‘Fails. Shatters. Shatters and fails shattering into failure. Failure failure failure. We die and we die and we die and we die!’

Ditch could hear the army marching in pursuit, steps like broken thunder, spears and standards clattering like a continent of reeds, the wind whistling through them. War chants erupting from countless mouths, no two the same, creating instead a war of discordance, a clamour of ferocious madness. The sound was more horrible than anything he had ever heard before — no mortal army could start such terror in a soul as this one did. And above it all, the sky raged, actinic and argent, seething, wrought through with blinding flashes from some descending devastation, ever closer descending — and when at last it struck, the army will charge. Will sweep over us.

Ditch looked about with his one eye — only to realize that it was still shut, gummed solid, that maybe he had no eye left at all, and that what he was seeing through was the pattern etched in black ink on his eyelid. The god’s eye? The pat shy;tern’s eye? How is it I can see at all?

Draconus stood facing their wake, the convulsing figure at his feet forgotten for the moment.

Such studied belligerence, such a heroic pose, the kind that should be sculpted in immortal bronze. Heroism that needed the green stains of verdigris, the proof of centuries passed since last such noble forces existed in the world — any world, whatever world; no matter, details unimportant. The statue proclaims the great age now lost, the virtues left behind.

Civilizations made sure their heroes were dead before they honoured them. Virtue belonged to the dead, not the living. Everyone knew this. Lived with this, this permanent fall from grace that was the present age. The legacy squandered, because this was what people did with things they themselves have not earned.