Night sweeps across the Dwelling Plain. Along the vast vault of the sky the stars are faint, smudged, as if reluctant to sharpen to knife points amidst the strangely heavy darkness. The coyotes mute their cries for this night. Wolves flee half blind in formless terror, and some will run until their hearts burst.
South of the western tail of the Gadrobi Hills, a lone chain-clad figure pauses in his journey, seeing at last the faint bluish glow that is the ever-beating heart of the great, legendary city.
Darujhistan.
Three leagues west of him, three more strangers gaze upon that selfsame glow, and in the eyes of one of them — unseen by the others — there is such dread, such an shy;guish, as would crush the soul of a lesser man. His gauntleted hand steals again and again to the leather-wrapped grip of his sword.
He tells himself that vengeance answered is peace won, but even he does not quite believe that. Beyond the city awaiting him, the future is a vast absence, a void he now believes he will never see, much less stride into.
Yet, for all the tumultuous, seething forces of will within these arrayed strangers, none among them is the cause for the night’s thick, palpable silence.
Less than a league north of the three strangers, seven Hounds are arrayed along a ridge, baleful eyes fixed upon the glow of the city.
The beasts possess the capacity to detect a rabbit’s rapid heartbeat half a league away, so they hear well the tolling of the twelfth bell, announcing the ar shy;rival of midnight in the city of Darujhistan.
And as one, the seven Hounds lift their massive heads, and give voice to a howl.
The stars are struck into blazing sparks overhead. The High King halts in mid-stride, and the ancient, stubborn blood in his veins and arteries suddenly floods cold as ice. For the first time in this journey, Kallor knows a moment of fear.
Havok’s long head snaps up and the beast skitters to one side. Astride the animal, Samar Dev makes a desperate grab for Karsa, lest she be thrown to the ground, and she can feel the sudden tautness of every muscle in the huge warrior.
Ahead of them, Traveller pauses, his shoulders hunching as if those all too close howls even now lash at his back. Then he shakes himself, and marches on.
Atop a cornice of a gate facing the south plain, a squat toad-like demon lifts its head, pointed ears suddenly alert.
Then, as the howls slowly fade, the demon settles once more.
Although now, at last, it can feel, rising up from the very earth, rising up to shiver along its bones, the rumble of heavy paws on distant ground.
Drawing closer, ever closer.
In the city behind Chillbais, the twelfth bell clangs its sonorous note. Another season’s grand fete is almost gone. One more day in the name of Gedderone. One more night to close the riot of senseless celebration.
My friend, this is not the place
The cut flowers lie scattered on the path
And the light of the moon glistens
In what the stems bleed
In the day just for ever lost
I watched a black wasp darting into the face
Of a web, and the spider she dropped
Only to be caught in midair
Footfalls leave no trace
In the wake of a hungry creature’s wrath
You can only lie in hope, dreaming
She lightly touched ground
And danced away like a breath
Hiding beneath leaves nodding in place
While the hunter circles and listens
But pray nothing is found
My friend, this is not your face
So pale and still never again to laugh
When the moon’s light fell and then stopped
Cold as silver in the glade
Look back on the day, it’s for ever lost
Stare into the night, where things confound
The web stretches empty, wind keening
In threads of absent songs
Fisher
Voluminous in wonder, but, be assured, terse in grief. Consider the woodsman standing facing the forest, axe in hand. In a moment he will stride forward. Consider now the first line of trees, rooted, helpless against what comes.
