Reaper's Gate And Toll The Hounds Part 4

The cut flowers lie scattered on the path And the light of the moon glistens In what the stems bleedIn 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 mid-airFootfalls leave no trace In the wake of a hungry creature's wrath You can only lie in hope, dreaming She lightly touched groundAnd danced away like a breath Hiding beneath leaves nodding in place While the hunter circles and listens But pray nothing is foundMy 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 gladeLook 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(Song of) Old Friend Fisher

Voluminous in wonder, but, be a.s.sured, 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.The seep of trickling water round roots does not quicken. The sweet warmth of sunlight on leaves does not blaze into urgent flame. The world and its pace cannot change. What is to be done? Why, there is nothing to be done. The woodsman swings his axe with blinding speed and splendid indifference, and he hears not the chorus of cries.Is this fancy worthless? For some, perhaps many, it must be. But know this, empathy is no game.Twist back time. Dusk still gathers, but it is early yet and so it is a weak gathering. A lone rider draws up on a ridge overlooking a mining camp. Up here the sun's light remains. Dust streams gold and nothing wants to settle. In the shadowy pit below figures seethe back and forth.He is finally seen. An old man works his way up the path. A runner hurries to the main building squatting atop a levelled heap of tailings.It begins.'Another guest? Come for the boy? What's so d.a.m.ned special about that boy?' But Gorlas Vidikas wasn't much interested in any answers to those questions, especially since this runner was in no position to explain much of anything, having been sent direct from the foreman. He rose and pulled on his cloak, then collected up his fine deerskin gloves, and set out. Would he have the pleasure of killing yet another fool? He dearly hoped so.Was it that pompous old b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Coll? That would be ideal, and who could say, maybe the ghost of Lady Simtal would stir awake at the man's last gasp, to howl her delight at this most perfect vengeance, this long-awaited conclusion to the vile treachery of her last fete. Of course, that was mostly Hanut Orr's business, and maybe Shardan Lim's as well, but Gorlas welcomed the sudden unexpected currency he would reap in reward for killing at least two of the old conspirators.Coll's death would also leave open a seat on the Council. Gorlas smiled at the thought as he climbed the slatted wooden steps up towards the ridge where it wound behind and above the main building. Humble Measure would offer up his own reward for such a thing, no doubt one that would make the grat.i.tude of Hanut and Shardan seem like a pauper's grudging gift. He had a sudden, odd image then of a half-dozen such paupers beggars and worse gathered in some abandoned building, squatting on damp earth as they pa.s.sed round a pathetic slab of grainy bread and a mouldy lump of cheese. And, as he looked on like some unseen ghost, he had the sense that the circle was somehow . . . incomplete.Someone is missing. Who's missing?He shook himself then, dispelling the scene, and found that he had halted just below the landing, one hand on the rail at his side. At that last moment, as the image burst apart, he thought he had caught a glimpse of something a corpse twisting beneath a thick branch, the face swinging round to meet his own then gone.Gorlas found his mouth unaccountably dry. Had some G.o.d or spirit sent him a vision? Well, if something or someone had, it was a poor one, for he could make no sense of it, none at all.He tugged on his gloves and resumed the climb, emerging out into the blessed sunlight where everything was painted gold. Yes, the wealth of the world was within reach. He'd never understood poor people, their stupidity, their lack of ambition, their laziness. So much within reach couldn't they see that? And then how dare they b.i.t.c.h and complain and cast him dark looks, when he went and took all that he could? Let them fall to the wayside, let them tumble underfoot. He was going where he wanted to be and if that meant pushing them out of the way, or crushing them down, so be it.Why, he could have been born in the d.a.m.ned gutter, and he'd still be where he was today. It was his nature to succeed, to win. The fools could keep their resentment and envy. Hard work, discipline, and the courage to grasp opportunity when it presented itself these were all the things most people lacked. What they didn't lack, not in the least, was the boundless energy to complain. Bitterness was a waste of energy, and, like acid, it ate the vessel that held it.As he came round the curve of the ridge he saw at once that the man awaiting him was not Coll. Nor, Gorlas realized, was he a stranger. G.o.ds below, can this be? Oponn, is it you so blessing me now? Pull me forward, Lady. Shove him closer, Lord. G.o.ds below, can this be? Oponn, is it you so blessing me now? Pull me forward, Lady. Shove him closer, Lord.The young man (well, they were of the same age, but not in Gorlas's eyes) saw him approach and slowly dismounted, stepping round the horse and positioning himself in the centre of the path facing Gorlas.'She was not foolish enough to send you here, was she?''You know me, then.'Gorlas smiled. 'I watched you once, only a few days back, from across a street. You looked guilty, did you know that? You looked like a coward what is your name? I want to know your name, so I can be precise when I tell her what I've done to you . . . and your corpse.'The man stood unmoving, arms at his sides. 'I am not here for Challice,' he said.'If you want to think it was all your idea, fine. But I should tell you, I know her well far better than you. She's been working on you, filling your head she's pretty much led you here by the hand, even if you're too thick to realize it. Of course, she probably didn't want anyone too smart, since a clever man would have seen through her deadly scheming. A clever man would have walked away. Or run.'The man tilted his head slightly. 'What is the value of all this, Gorlas Vidikas?'Gorlas sighed, glanced back at the foreman, who stood watching and listening yes, something would have to be done about that and then faced the man once more. 'Since you're too much the coward to actually tell me your name, I will just have to slice off your face, to take back to her as proof. Look at you, you're not even wearing a sword. Foreman! Do we still have Murillio's rapier? I forget, did that go back with him?''Not sure, sir want me to go and look?''Well, find the waif a sword. Anything will do it's not as if he knows how to use it in any case. And hurry, before we lose the light and the mob down there gets bored waiting.' He smiled at the man. 'They've got bloodthirsty of late my fault, that-''Yes, about Murillio . . .''Ah, is that why you've come? The duel was fairly fought. He simply could not match my skill.''Where is the boy?''So he's the reason you're here? This is getting difficult to believe. The child's not some orphaned prince or something, is he? Rather, was was he?' he?''Was?''Yes. He's dead, I'm afraid.''I see.''So, still interested?' Gorlas asked. 'Of course, that's not really relevant any more, because I want you to stay. I suppose you can try to run, but I a.s.sure you, you'll be cut down before you get astride that fine horse a horse I will welcome in my stables. Tell me, are you a better duellist than Murillio was? You'll have to be. Much better.'The foreman had gone halfway down the trail before yelling instructions, and now a youth was scurrying up cradling a sword not Murillio's, but something found in one of the workings from the look of it. Thin, tapered to a point that was slightly bent. Iron, at least, but the patina was a thick crust over the blade's spine, and both edges were severely notched. The handle, Gorlas saw as the foreman breath wheezing delivered it, wasn't even wrapped.'Sorry about the lack of grip,' Gorlas said. 'But really, you should have come prepared.''How did it feel,' the man asked, 'killing an old man?''The duel was fair-''Agreed to the death? I doubt that, Vidikas.''I dislike the lack of respect in using my last name like that especially when you won't even tell me your name.''Well, your wife calls you Useless, so if you'd prefer that . . .'Gorlas flung the weapon at the man's feet, where it skidded in a puff of golden dust. 'On guard,' he ordered in a rasp. 'To the death.'The man made no move to pick up the weapon. He stood as he had before, head tipped a fraction to one side.'You are a coward in truth,' Gorlas said, drawing his rapier. 'Cowards do not deserve to be treated with honour, so let us dispense with convention-''I was waiting for you to say that.'The foreman, standing off to one side, still struggling with the ache in his chest from a labouring heart, was in the process of licking his gritty lips. Before he had finished that instinctive flicker, the scene before him irrevocably changed.And Gorlas Vidikas was falling forward, landing hard. His rapier rolled from his hand to catch up in the gra.s.s lining the track. Dust puffed up, then slowly settled.The stranger had he even moved? the foreman was unsure now turned to him and said, 'You heard him dispense with the rules of the duel, correct?'The foreman nodded.'And, think back now, good sir, did you even once hear me voice a formal challenge?''Well, I was part of the way down the trail for a moment-''But not beyond range of hearing, I'm sure.''Ah, no, unless you did whisper something-''Think back. Gorlas was babbling on and on could I have said anything even if I'd wanted to?''True enough, thinking on it.''Then are we satisfied here?''Ain't for me to say that either way,' the foreman replied. 'It's the man this one was working for.''Who, being absent, will have to rely solely upon your report.''Er, I suppose so.'The man shrugged. 'Do as you see fit, then.' He glanced down into the pit. 'You get the feeling they're about to start cheering,' he said.'They ain't decided.''No?''They ain't decided if whoever replaces Vidikas is gonna be any better, you see?''Because, in their experience, they're all the same.'The foreman nodded. 'Didn't think you was n.o.bleborn.''No, I'm not.''No, you're pretty much like them below. Like me, even.''I suppose so.' The man walked to the body of Gorlas Vidikas, bent down to roll it on to its back, and the foreman saw the two knife handles, blades buried to the hilts, jutting from Gorlas's chest.He decided to lick his lips again, and somehow the dust suddenly tasted sweeter. 'Know anything 'bout property law, by any chance?''Sorry, what?''Like, if I was paying on a loan to this man-''No, no idea. Though I imagine if you just sit tight, maybe wait to see if anybody ever shows up to collect, well, that would hardly be considered illegal. Would it now?''No, seems proper enough to me,' the foreman agreed.The man worked the knives back out, wiped the blood off on the stained, rumpled cloak. 'Did he tell true about Harllo?''What? Oh. He did. The lad tried to escape, and was killed.'The man sighed, and then straightened. 'Ah, s.h.i.t, Murillio,' he muttered. 'I'm sorry.''Wait this Harllo was he that important? I mean-' and the foreman gestured, to encompa.s.s not only the corpse lying on the road, but the one that had been there the day before as well, 'all this killing. Who was was Harllo?' Harllo?'The man walked to his horse and swung himself into the saddle. He collected the reins. 'I'm not sure,' he said after a moment's consideration. 'The way it started, well, it seemed . . .' he hesitated, and then said, 'he was a boy n.o.body loved.'Bitter and scarred as he was, even the foreman winced at that. 'Most of 'em are, as end up here. Most of 'em are.'The man studied him from the saddle.The foreman wondered he didn't see much in the way of triumph or satisfaction in that face looking down at him. He wasn't sure what he was seeing, in fact. Whatever it was, it didn't fit.The stranger drew the horse round and set off up the road. Heading back to the city.The foreman coughed up a throatful of rank phlegm, then stepped forward and spat down, quite precisely, on to the upturned face of Gorlas Vidikas. Then he turned round. 'I want three guards and the fastest horses we got!' He watched the runner scramble.From the pit below rose the occasional s.n.a.t.c.h of harsh laughter. The foreman understood that well enough, and so he nodded. 'd.a.m.n and below, I'll give 'em all an extra flagon of ale anyway.'Cutter rode for a time as dusk surrendered to darkness. The horse was the first to sense a loss of will, as the rider on its back ceased all efforts at guiding its pace. The beast dropped from a canter to a trot, then a walk, and then it came to rest and stood at the edge of the road, head lowering to snag a tuft of gra.s.s.Cutter stared down at his hands, watched as the reins slithered free. And then he began to weep. For Murillio, for a boy he had never met. But most of all, he wept for himself.Come to me, my love. Come to me now.A short time later, three messengers thundered past paying him no heed at all. The drum of horse hoofs was slow to fade, and the clouds of dust left in their wake hung suspended, lit only by starlight.Venaz the hero, Venaz who followed orders, and if those meant something vicious, even murderous, then that was how it would be. No questions, no qualms. He had returned up top in grim triumph. Another escape thwarted, the message sweetly delivered. Even so, he liked being thorough. In fact, he'd wanted to make sure.And so, in keeping with his new privileges as head of the moles, when he collected a knotted climbing rope and set off back into the tunnels, he was not accosted. He could do as he liked now, couldn't he? And when he returned, carrying whatever proof he could find of the deaths of Bainisk and Harllo, then Gorlas Vidikas would see just how valuable he was, and Venaz would find a new life for himself.Good work led to good rewards. A simple enough truth.Whatever flood had filled part of the pa.s.sage deep in the Settle had mostly drained away, easing his trek to the creva.s.se. When he reached it he crouched at the edge, listening carefully to make certain that no one was still alive, maybe scuffling about in the pitch blackness down below. Satisfied, he worked Bainisk's rope off the k.n.o.b of stone and replaced it with his own, then sent the rest of the coil tumbling over the edge.Venaz set his lantern to its lowest setting and tied half a body-length of twine to the handle, and the other end to one ankle. He let the lantern down, and then followed with his legs. He brought both feet together, the rope in between, and edged further over until they rested on a knot. Now, so long as the twine didn't get fouled with the rope, he'd be fine.Moving with great caution, he began his descent.Broken, bleeding bodies somewhere below, killed by rocks not by Venaz, since he'd not even cut the rope. Bainisk had done that, the fool. Still, Venaz could take the credit nothing wrong with that.Even with the knots, the slow going was making his arms and shoulders ache. He didn't really have to do this. But maybe it would be the one deed that made all the difference in the eyes of Gorlas Vidikas. n.o.bles looked for certain things, mysterious things. They were born with skills and talents. He needed to show the man as much as he could of his own talents and all that.The lantern clunked below him and he looked down to see the faint blush of dull light playing across dry, jagged stones. A few moments later he was standing, somewhat uneasily as the rocks shifted about beneath him. He untied the lantern and put away the twine, and then twisted the wick up a couple of notches. The circle of light widened.He saw Bainisk's feet, the worn soles of the moccasins, the black-spattered shins, both of which were snapped and showing the split ends of bones. But there was no flowing blood. Bainisk was dead as dead come.He worked his way closer and stared down at the smashed face, slightly startled by the way it seemed fixed in a smile.Venaz crouched. He would collect Bainisk's belt-pouch, where he kept all his valuables the small ivory-handled knife that Venaz so coveted; the half-dozen coppers earned as rewards for special tasks; the one silver coin that Bainisk had cherished the most, as it showed on one face a city skyline beneath a rainbow or some sort of huge moon filling the sky a coin, someone had said, from Darujhistan, but long ago, in the time of the Tyrants. Treasures now belonging to Venaz.But he could not find the pouch. He rolled the body over, scanned the blood-smeared rocks beneath and to all sides. No pouch. Not even fragments of string.He must have given it to Harllo. Or maybe he'd lost it somewhere back up the pa.s.sage if Venaz didn't find it down here he could make a careful search on his way back up top.Now, time to find the other boy, the one he'd hated almost from the first. Always acted like he was smarter than everyone else. It was that look in his eyes, as if he knew he was better, so much better it was easy to be nice to all the stupider people. Easy to smile and say nice things. Easy to be helpful and generous.Venaz wandered out from Bainisk's body. Something was missing and not just Harllo's body. And then, after a moment, he realized what it was. The rest of the d.a.m.ned rope, which should have fallen close to the cliff base, close to Bainisk. The d.a.m.ned rope was gone and so was Harllo and so was Harllo.He worked his way along the creva.s.se and after twenty or so steps he reached the edge of the floor, which he discovered wasn't a floor at all, but a plug, a bridge of fallen rock. The creva.s.se dropped away an unknown depth, and the air rising from below was hot and dry. Frightened by the realization that he was standing on something that could collapse and fall away at any moment, Venaz hurried back in the other direction.Harllo was probably badly hurt. He must have been. Unless . . . maybe he had been already down, standing, holding the d.a.m.ned rope, just waiting for Bainisk to join him. Venaz found his mouth suddenly dry. He'd been careless. That wouldn't go down well, would it? This could only work out right if he tracked the runt down and finished him off. The thought sent a cold tremor through him he'd never actually killed somebody before. Could he even do it? He'd have to, to make everything right.The plug sloped slightly upward on the other side of Bainisk's body, and each chunk of stone was bigger, the s.p.a.ces between them whistling with winds from below. Terrifying grating sounds accompanied his every tender step.Fifteen paces on, another sudden drop-off. Baffled, Venaz worked his way along the edge. He reached the facing wall the other side of the creva.s.se and held high the lantern. In the light he saw an angular fissure, two shelves of bedrock where one side had shifted faster and farther than the other he could even see where the broken seams continued between the shelves. The drop had been about a body's height, and the fissure barely a forearm wide angled sharply into a kind of chute.Bainisk would never have squeezed into that crack. But Harllo could, and did it was the only way off the plug.Venaz retied the lantern, and then forced himself into the fissure. A tight fit. He could only draw half-breaths before the cage of his ribs met solid, unyielding stone. Whimpering, he pushed himself deeper, but not so deep as to get stuck no, to climb he'd need at least one arm free. By crabbing one leg sideways and squirming with his torso, he moved himself into a position whereby he could hitch himself up in increments. The dry, baked feel of the stone began as a salvation. Had it been wet he would simply have slid back down again and again. Before he'd managed two man-heights, however, he was slick with sweat, and finding streaks of the same above him, attesting to Harllo's own struggles. And he found that the only way he could hold himself in place between forward hitches was to take the deepest breath he could manage, turning his own chest into a wedge, a plug. The rough, worn fabric of his tunic was rubbing his skin raw.How much time pa.s.sed? How long this near vertical pa.s.sage? Venaz lost all sense of such details. He was in darkness, a world of stone walls, dry gusts of air along one flank, a right arm that screamed with fatigue. He bled. He oozed sweat. He was a ma.s.s of sc.r.a.pes and gouges. But then the fissure widened in step fractures, each one providing a blessed ledge on which to finally rest his quivering muscles. Widening, becoming a manageable chute. He was able to draw in deep breaths, and the creaking ache of his ribs slowly faded. He continued on, and before long he reached a new stress fracture, this one cutting straight into the bedrock, perpendicular to the chute.Venaz hesitated, and then worked his way into it, to see how far it went and almost instantly he smelled humus, faint and stale, and a little farther in he arrived at an almost horizontal dip where forest detritus had settled. Behind that heady smell there was something else acrid, fresh. He brightened the lantern and held it out before him. A steep slope of scree rose along the pa.s.sage, and even as he scanned it there was the clatter of stones bouncing down to patter amidst the dried leaves and dead moss.He hurried to the base of the slide and peered upward.And saw Harllo no more than twenty man-heights above him, flattened on the scree, pulling himself upward with feeble motions.Yes, he had smelled the boy.Venaz smiled, and then quickly shuttered the lantern. If Harllo found out he was being chased still, he might try to kick loose a deadly slide of the rubble of course, if he did that it'd take him down with it. Harllo wasn't stupid. Any wrong move on this slide and they'd both die. The real risk was when he reached the very top, pulling clear. Then there could be real trouble for Venaz.And smell that downward draught that was fresh, clean air. Smelling of reeds and mud. The lake sh.o.r.e.Venaz thought about things, and thought some more. And then settled on a plan. A desperate, risky one. But really, he had no choice. No matter what, Harllo would hear him on this climb. Fine, then, let him.He laughed, a low, throaty laugh that he knew would travel up the stones like a hundred serpents, coiling with icy poison round Harllo's heart. Laughed, and then crooned, 'Harrrllo! Found youuu!' 'Harrrllo! Found youuu!'And he heard an answering cry. A squeal like a crippled puppy underfoot, a whimper of bleak terror. And all of this was good.Panic was what he wanted. Not the kind that would make the boy scrabble wildly since that might just send him all the way back down but the kind that would, once he gained the top, send him flying out into the night, to run and run and run.Venaz abandoned the lantern and began climbing.The chase was torturous. Like two worms they snaked up the dusty slabs of shale. Desperate flight and pursuit were both trapped in the stuttering beating of hearts, the quaking gasps of needful lungs. All trapped inside, for their limbs could move but slowly, locked in an agonizing tentativeness. Minute slides froze them both, queasy shifts made them spread arms and legs wide, breaths held, eyes squeezed shut.Venaz would have to kill him. For all of this, Harllo would die. There was no other choice now, and Venaz found it suddenly easy to think about choking the life from the boy. His hands round Harllo's chicken neck, the face above them turning blue, then grey. Jutting tongue, bulging eyes yes, that wouldn't be hard at all.Sudden scrambling above, a skitter of stones, and then Venaz realized he was alone on the slide. Harllo had reached the surface, and thank the G.o.ds, he was running. running.Your one mistake, Harllo, and now I'll have you. Your throat in my hands.I have you.The soft whisper of arrivals once more awakens, even as figures depart. From places of hiding, from refuges, from squalid nests. Into the streams of darkness, shadowy shapes slide unseen.Thordy watched as the killer who was her husband set out from the cage of lies they called, with quaint irony, their home. As his chopping footfalls faded, she walked out to her garden, to stand at the edge of the pavestone circle. She looked skyward, but there was no moon as yet, no bright smudge to bleach the blue glow of the city's gaslight.A voice murmured in her head, a heavy, weighted voice. And what it told her made her heart slow its wild hammering, brought peace to her thoughts. Even as it spoke, in measured tones, of a terrible legacy of death.She drew the one decent kitchen knife they possessed, and held the cold flat of the blade against one wrist. In this odd, ominous stance, she waited.In the city, at that moment, Gaz walked an alley. Wanting to find someone. Anyone. To kill, to beat into a ruin, smashing bones, bursting eyes, tearing slack lips across the sharp stumps of broken teeth. Antic.i.p.ation was such a delicious game, wasn't it?In another home, this one part residence, part studio, Tiserra dried her freshly washed hands. Every sense within her felt suddenly raw, as if sc.r.a.ped with crushed gla.s.s. She hesitated, listening, hearing naught but her own breathing, this frail bellows of life that now seemed so frighteningly vulnerable. Something had begun. She was, she realized, terrified.Tiserra hurried to a certain place in the house. Began a frantic search. Found the hidden cache where her husband had stored his precious gifts from the Blue Moranth.Empty.Yes, she told herself, her husband was no fool. He was a survivor it was his greatest talent. Hard won at that nowhere near that treacherous arena where Oponn played push and pull. He'd taken what he needed. He'd done what he could.She stood, feeling helpless. This particular feeling was not pleasant, not pleasant at all. It promised that the night ahead would stretch out into eternity.Blend descended to the main floor, where she paused. The bard sat on the edge of the stage, tuning his lyre. Duiker sat at his usual table, frowning at a tankard of ale that his hands were wrapped round as if he was throttling some hard, unyielding fate.Antsy Antsy was in gaol. Scillara had wandered out a few bells earlier and had not returned. Barathol was spending his last night in his own cell he'd be on a wagon headed out to some ironworks come the dawn.Picker was lying on a cot upstairs, eyes closed, breaths shallow and weak. She was, in truth, gone. Probably never to return.Blend drew on her cloak. Neither man paid her any attention.She left the bar.Ever since the pretty scary woman had left earlier how long, days, weeks, years, Chaur had no idea he had sat alone, clutching the sweating lance a dead man wearing a mask had once given C'ur, and rocking back and forth. Then, all at once, he wanted to leave. Why? Because the gulls outside never stopped talking, and the boat squeaked like a rat in a fist, and all the slapping water made him need to pee.Besides, he had to find Baral. The one face that was always kind, making it easy to remember. The face that belonged to Da and Ma both, just one face, to make it easier to remember. Without Baral, the world turned cold. And mean, and nothing felt solid, and trying to stay together when everything else wasn't was so hard.So he dropped the lance, rose and set out.To find Baral. And yes, he knew where to find him. How he knew no one could say. How he thought, no one could imagine. How deep and vast his love, no one could conceive.Spite stood across the street from the infernal estate that was the temporary residence of her infernal sister, and contemplated her next move, each consideration accompanied by a pensive tap of one finger against her full, sweetly painted lips.All at once that tapping finger froze in mid-tap, and she slowly c.o.c.ked her head. 'Oh,' she murmured. And again, 'Oh.'The wind howled in the distance.But, of course, there was no wind, was there?'Oh.'And how would this change things?A guard, ignoring once more the dull ache in his chest and the occasional stab of pain shooting down his left arm, walked out from the guard annexe to begin his rounds, making his way to the Lakefront District and the wall that divided it from the Daru District the nightly murders had begun cl.u.s.tering to either side of that wall. Maybe this time he'd be lucky and see something someone and everything would fall into place. Maybe.He had put in a requisition for a mage, a necromancer, in fact, but alas the wheels of bureaucracy ground reluctantly in such matters. It would probably take the slaying of someone important before things could lurch into motion. He really couldn't wait for that. Finding this killer had become a personal crusade.The night was strangely quiet, given that it marked the culmination of the Gedderone Fete. Most people were still in the taverns and bars, he told himself, even as he fought off a preternatural unease, and even as he noted the taut expressions of those people he pa.s.sed, and the way they seemed to scurry by. Where was the revelry? The delirious dancing? Early yet Early yet, he told himself. But those two words and everything behind them felt oddly flat.He could hear a distant storm on the plains south of the city. Steady thunder, an echoing wind, and he told himself he was feeling that storm's approach. Nothing more, just the usual fizz fizz in the air that preceded such events. in the air that preceded such events.He hurried on, grimacing at the ache in his chest, still feeling the parting kiss of his wife on his lips, the careless hugs of his children round his waist.He was a man who would never ask for sympathy. He was a man who sought only to do what was right. Such people appear in the world, every world, now and then, like a single refrain of some blessed song, a fragment caught on the spur of an otherwise raging cacophony.Imagine a world without such souls.Yes, it should have been harder to do.After a rather extended time of muted regard fixed dully upon a sealed crypt, four mourners began their return journey to the Phoenix Inn, where Meese would make a grim discovery although one that, in retrospect, did not in fact shock her as much as it might have.Before they had gone five hundred paces, however, Rallick Nom drew to a sudden halt. 'I must leave you now,' he said to the others.'Kruppe understands.'And the a.s.sa.s.sin narrowed his gaze upon the short, solemn-faced man.'Where,' Rallick asked, 'will this go, Kruppe?''The future, my friend, is ever turned away, even when it faces us.'To this bizarre, unlikely truism, Coll grunted, 'G.o.ds below, Kruppe-' But Rallick had already completed his own turning away and was walking towards the mouth of an alley.'I got a sick feeling inside,' Meese said.Coll grunted a second time and then said, 'Let's go. I need to find me another bottle this time with something in it that actually does something.'Kruppe offered him a beatific smile. Disingenuous? Really now. Really now.Seba Krafar, Master of the a.s.sa.s.sins' Guild, surveyed his small army of murderers. Thirty-one in all. Granted, absurd overkill, but even so he found himself not quite as comfortable or as confident as such numbers should have made him. 'This is ridiculous,' he muttered under his breath. And then he gestured.The mob shifted into three distinct groups, and then each hurried off in a different direction, to close on the target at the appointed time.Come the morning, there'd be a newly vacated seat on the Council. Blood-drenched, true, but it would hardly be the first time for that, would it?Shardan Lim saw before him a perfect future. He would, if all went well, finally step out from Hanut Orr's shadow. And into his own shadow he'd drag Gorlas Vidikas. They would be sharing a woman, after all, and there would be no measured balance in that situation, since Gorlas was next to useless when it came to satisfying Challice. So Gorlas would find that his wife's happiness was dependent not upon him, but upon the other man sharing her pleasure Shardan Lim and when the first child arrived, would there be any doubt as to its progeny? An heir of provable bloodline, the perfect usurpation of House Vidikas.He had set out alone this night, making his casual way to the Vidikas estate, and he now stood opposite the front gate, studying the modest but well-constructed building. There were hints of Gadrobi in the style, he saw. The square corner tower that was actually higher than it looked, its rooms abandoned to dust and spiders virtually identical edifices could still be found here and there in the Gadrobi District, and in the hills to the east of the city. Vines covered three of the four walls, reaching up from the garden. If the tower had been a tree it would be dead, centuries dead. Hollowed out by rot, the first hard wind would have sent it thrashing down. This deliberate rejection was no accident. Gadrobi blood among the n.o.bles was an embarra.s.sment. It had always been that way and it always would be.When Shardan owned this estate, he would see it torn down. His blood was pure Daru. Same as Challice's own.He heard horses approach at a dangerously fast canter, up from the lower city, and a few moments later three riders appeared, sharply reining in before the estate's gate.Frowning, Shardan Lim stepped out and quickly approached.Private guards of some sort, looking momentarily confused as they dismounted. Their horses were lathered, heads dipping as they snorted out phlegm.'You three,' Shardan called out, and they turned. 'I am Councillor Shardan Lim, and I am about to visit the Vidikas estate. If you carry a message for Lady Challice, do permit me to deliver it.' As he drew closer, he offered the three men a comradely smile. 'She is a delicate woman having three sweaty men descend on her wouldn't do. I'm sure you understand-''Forgive me, Councillor,' one of the men said, 'but the news we deliver is bad.''Oh? Come now, no more hesitation.''Gorlas Vidikas is dead, sir. He was killed in a duel earlier today. We were instructed to ride to his widow first, and hence on to Eldra Iron Mongery. It means we got to go right back the way we come, but the foreman insisted. As a courtesy. As the proper thing to do.'Shardan Lim simply stared at the man, his thoughts racing.'Weren't no duel,' growled one of the other men.'What's that?' Shardan demanded. 'You there, step out.What did you just say?'The man was suddenly frightened, but he moved into the councillor's line of sight, managed a quick bow and then said, 'He was a.s.sa.s.sinated, sir. The foreman kept saying it was all legitimate, but we saw it, sir, with our own eyes. Two knives-''Two knives? Two knives? Two knives? Are you certain?' Are you certain?''Because of the other duel, you see, sir. It was revenge. It was murder. Councillor Vidikas killed another man, then this other one shows up. Then out flash those knives so fast you couldn't even see 'em, and Councillor Vidikas topples over, stone dead, sir. Stone dead.''This is all sounding familiar,' Shardan Lim said. 'Listen to me, you three. One of you, ride to the Orr estate and inform Councillor Hanut Orr. The other two, go on to Eldra, as you will. I will inform Lady Challice. Then, the three of you, find a decent inn for the night and tell the proprietor to treat you well, and to bill House Lim. Go on, now.'There was some discussion as to who would go where, and which inn they'd rendezvous at when the tasks were done, and then the three men rode off.Thunder to the south, getting closer. He could hear the wind but it was yet to arrive. Shardan Lim walked up to the gate, pulled on the braided chime in its elongated niche. While he waited for the doorman to arrive, he thought about how he would deliver this grim news. He would need a grave countenance, something more fitting than the dark grin he was even now fighting.She was a widow now. Vulnerable. There was no heir. Cousins and half-relations might well creep out of the woodwork, mediocre but grasping with sudden ambition. Proclaiming ascendancy in the Vidikas bloodline and so a.s.serting their newly conceived rights to claim stewardship over the entire House. Without strong allies at her side, she'd be out before the week was done.Once Hanut Orr heard the report, and gleaned whatever he could from the particular details, his mind would fill with the desire for vengeance and more than a little fear along with it, Shardan was sure. And he would not even think of Challice, not at first, and the opportunities now present. The next day or two would be crucial, and Shardan would have to move sure and fast to position himself at her side and leave no room for Hanut Orr once the man's own ambitions awakened.An eye-slot sc.r.a.ped to one side, then closed again with a snap. The gate opened. 'House Vidikas welcomes Councillor Lim,' said the doorman from his low bow, as if addressing Shardan's boots. 'The Lady is being informed of your arrival. If you will kindly follow me.'And in they went.She hesitated, facing the wardrobe, studying the array of possible shifts to draw on over her mostly naked body. Most were intended to cover other clothes, as befitted a modest n.o.blewoman engaged in entertaining guests, but the truth was, she couldn't be bothered. She had been about to go to sleep, or at least what pa.s.sed for sleep of late, lying flat and motionless on her bed.Alone whether her husband was there or not. Staring upward in the grainy darkness. Where the only things that could stir her upright included another goblet of wine, one more pipe bowl or a ghostly walk in the silent garden.Those walks always seemed to involve searching for something, an unknown thing, in fact, and she would follow through on the desire even as she knew that what she sought no garden could hold. Whatever it was did not belong to the night, nor could it be found in the spinning whirls of smoke, or the bite of strong drink on her numbed tongue.She selected a flowing, diaphanous gown, lavender and wispy as wreaths of incense smoke, pulling it about her bare shoulder. A broad swath of the same material served to gather it tight about her lower torso, beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, firm against her stomach and hips. The thin single layer covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s hid nothing.Shardan Lim was showing his impatience. His cra.s.sness. He was even now in the sitting room, sweaty, his eyes dilated with pathetic needs. He was nothing like what he pretended to be, once the facade of sophisticated lechery was plucked aside. The charm, the sly winks, the suave lie.This entire d.a.m.ned world, she knew, consisted of nothing but thin veneers. The illusion of beauty survived not even a cursory second look. Cheap and squalid, this was the truth of things. He could paint it up all he liked, the stains on the sheets remained.Barefooted, she set out to meet him. Imagining the whispers of the staff, the maids and servants, the guards never within range of her hearing, of course. That would not do. Propriety must be maintained at all costs. They'd wait for her to pa.s.s, until she was out of sight. It was their right, after all, their reward for a lifetime of servitude, for all that bowing and sc.r.a.ping, for all the gestures meant to convince her and people like her that she was in fact superior to them. The n.o.ble bloods, the rich merchants, the famous families and all the rest.When the truth was, luck and mischance were the only players in the game of success. Privilege of birth, a sudden harmony of forces, a sudden inexplicable balance later seen as a run of good fortune. Oh, they might strut about we all might we all might and proclaim that talent, skill and cunning were the real players. But Challice held the belief that even the poor, the dest.i.tute, the plague-scarred and the beleaguered might possess talents and cunning, only to find their runs of fortune non-existent, proper rewards for ever beyond reach. and proclaim that talent, skill and cunning were the real players. But Challice held the belief that even the poor, the dest.i.tute, the plague-scarred and the beleaguered might possess talents and cunning, only to find their runs of fortune non-existent, proper rewards for ever beyond reach.Servants bowed, and that they needed to do so was proof of just how flimsy the delusion of superiority was.She opened the door and walked with dignity into the sitting room. 'Councillor Lim, have you been left here alone? No one to provide you with refreshments? This is unacceptable-''I sent her away,' he cut in, and she saw that his expression was strange, conflicted by something but in a most peculiar way.'You have not even poured yourself some wine. Allow me-''No, thank you, Lady Challice. Although, perhaps, I should pour you one. Yes.'And he went over to select a decanter and then a goblet. She watched the amber wine slosh into the crystal, and then flow over before he righted the decanter. He stared down at the goblet for a moment, and then faced her. 'Lady Challice, I have terrible news.'Then why do you struggle so not to smile? 'Ah. Speak on, then, Councillor.' 'Ah. Speak on, then, Councillor.'He stepped forward. 'Challice-'All at once, she sensed that something was deeply awry. He was too excited with his news. He was hungry to see its effect on her. He had no interest in using her body this night. And here she had arrived dressed like a fancy wh.o.r.e. 'Forgive me,' she said, stepping back and attempting to draw the shift more modestly about her.He barely registered the gesture. 'Challice. Gorlas has been murdered. Your husband is dead.''Murdered? But he's still out at the mining camp. He's-' and then she stopped, stunned at how disbelief could so swiftly become certainty.'a.s.sa.s.sinated, out at the camp,' Shardan Lim said. 'Was it a contract? I can't imagine who would . . .' And then he too fell silent, and the regard he fixed upon her now was suddenly sharp, piercing.She could not face the question he looked ready to ask, and so she went to collect the goblet, unmindful of the wine spilling over her hand, and drank deep.He had moved to one side and still he said nothing as he watched her.Challice felt light-headed, unbalanced. She was having trouble thinking. Feelings and convictions, which arrived first? Truths and dreads she was finding it hard to breathe.'Challice,' Shardan Lim whispered, suddenly standing close. 'There were other ways. You could have come to me. If this comes out, you will hang do you understand me? It will take your father down the entire House D'Arle. The whole Council will be rocked to its very foundations. Hood's breath, Challice if anyone discovers the truth-'She turned to him and her voice was flat as she said, 'What truth? What are you talking about, Councillor? My husband has been murdered. I expect you and the Council to conduct an investigation. The a.s.sa.s.sin must be found and punished. Thank you for taking upon yourself the difficult task of informing me. Now, please, leave me, sir.'He was studying her as if he had never truly seen her before, and then he stepped away and shook his head. 'I'd no idea, Challice. That you were this . . .''That I was what, Councillor?''It may be . . . ah, that is, you are within your rights to claim the seat on the Council. Or arrange that someone of your own choosing-''Councillor Lim, such matters must wait. You are being insensitive. Please, will you now leave?''Of course, Lady Challice.'When he was gone, she stood unmoving, the goblet still in one hand, the spilled wine sticky under her fingers.A formal investigation. And yes, it would be thorough. Staff would be questioned. Improprieties revealed. Shardan Lim himself . . . yes, it would be occurring to him about now, as he walked the street, and he might well change his destination no longer back to his house, but to the Orr estate. To arrange, with growing desperation, the covering of his own tracks.But none of this affected her. Shardan Lim's fate was meaningless.She had succeeded. She had achieved precisely what she wanted, the very thing she had begged him to do. For her. For them. But no, for her.He had killed her husband. Because she had asked him to. And it was now almost certain that he would hang for it. Shardan would talk, pointing the finger so that all eyes shifted away from him, and his accusation would be all fire, blazing with deadly details. And as for her, why, she'd be painted as a foolish young woman. Playing with lowborn but astoundingly ignorant of just how vicious such creatures could be, when something or someone stood in their way. When obsessive love was involved, especially. Oh, she'd been playing, but that nasty young lowborn thug had seen it differently. And now she would have to live with the fact that her idle game had led to her husband's murder. Poor child.Her father would arrive, because he was the sort of father to do just that. He would raise impenetrable walls around her, and personally defend every portico, every bastion. Aim the knife of innuendo towards her and he would step into its path. He would retaliate, ferociously, and the sly sceptics would quickly learn to keep their mouths shut, if they valued their heads.She would be the eye of the storm, and feel not even a single drop of rain, nor sigh of wind.Challice set the goblet down. She walked out into the corridor and proceeded without haste back to her bedroom, where she collected the gla.s.s globe with its imprisoned moon. And then left once more, this time to the square tower, with its rooms crowded with antique Gadrobi furniture slowly rotting to dust, with its musty draughts sliding up and down the stairs.I have killed him. I have killed him.I have killed him.Hanut Orr adjusted his sword-belt and checked his rapier yet again. He had come close to beating the hapless mine guard to glean every last detail of the events surrounding the a.s.sa.s.sination of Gorlas Vidikas, and he now believed he had a fair idea of the grisly story behind it. The echoes tasted sour, personal. Once he learned where the first man's body had been delivered, he knew where this night would take him.He a.s.sembled his four most capable guards and they set out into the city.Two knives to the chest. Yes, the past never quite went away, did it? Well, finally, he would be able to deliver his long-delayed vengeance. And when he was done there, he would find the one man who was at the centre of all of this. Councillor Coll would not see the dawn. Yes, the past never quite went away, did it? Well, finally, he would be able to deliver his long-delayed vengeance. And when he was done there, he would find the one man who was at the centre of all of this. Councillor Coll would not see the dawn.He dispatched two of his men to Coll's estate. Watch. Any strangers show up, they don't reach the d.a.m.ned gate. We are at war tonight. Be ready to kill, am I understood? Watch. Any strangers show up, they don't reach the d.a.m.ned gate. We are at war tonight. Be ready to kill, am I understood?Of course he was. These hard men were no fools.He knew that d.a.m.ned mob in the Phoenix Inn. He knew every one of Coll's decrepit, lowborn friends, and he intended to kill them all.Down from the Estates District and into the Daru District. Not far.Two streets from the Phoenix Inn he halted his two remaining men. 'You'll watch the front entrance, Havet. Kust, I want you to walk in and make a show it won't have to be much, they'll smell you out fast enough. I have the alley, for when somebody bolts. Both of you, keep an eye out for a short, fat man in a red waistcoat. If you get a chance, Havet, cut him down that shouldn't be hard. There're two tough-looking women who run the place they're fair targets as well if they head outside. I'm not sure who else will be in that foul nest we'll find out soon enough. Now, go.'They went one way. He went another.Torvald Nom grunted and gasped as he pulled himself on to the estate roof. Sitting at his desk had been driving him mad. He needed to be out, roving round, keeping an eye on everything. On everything. everything. This was a terrible night and nothing had happened yet. He missed his wife. He wished he was back home, and with the coming storm he'd be drenched by the time he stumbled into that blessed, warm abode. a.s.suming he ever made it. This was a terrible night and nothing had happened yet. He missed his wife. He wished he was back home, and with the coming storm he'd be drenched by the time he stumbled into that blessed, warm abode. a.s.suming he ever made it.He worked his way along the edge so that he could see down into the forecourt. And there they were, Madrun and Lazan Door, throwing knuckles against the wall to the left of the main gate. He heard the door of the house open directly beneath him and saw the carpet of light unfold on the steps and pavestones, and the silhouette of the man standing in the doorway was instantly recognizable. Studlock, Studious Lock. Not moving at all, just watching, but watching what?Knuckles pattered, bounced on stone, then settled, and the two compound guards hunched down over them to study the cast.That's what he's watching. He's watching the throws.And Torvald Nom saw both men slowly straighten, and turn as one to face the man standing in the doorway.Who must have stepped back inside, softly closing the door.Oh, s.h.i.t.There was a scuffle somewhere behind him and Torvald Nom spun round. It was too d.a.m.ned dark where was the moon? Hiding somewhere behind the storm clouds, of course, and he glanced up. And saw a sweep of bright stars. What clouds? There aren't any clouds. And if that's thunder, then where's the lightning? And if that's the howl of wind, why is everything perfectly still? What clouds? There aren't any clouds. And if that's thunder, then where's the lightning? And if that's the howl of wind, why is everything perfectly still? He wasn't sure now if he'd actually heard anything nothing was visible on the roof, and there were no real places to hide either. He was alone up here. He wasn't sure now if he'd actually heard anything nothing was visible on the roof, and there were no real places to hide either. He was alone up here.Like a lightning rod.He tried a few deep breaths to slow the frantic beat of his heart. At least he'd prepared himself. All his instincts strumming like taut wires, he'd done all he could.And it's not enough. G.o.ds below, it's not enough!Scorch looked startled, but then he always looked startled.'Relax,' hissed Leff, 'you're driving me to distraction.''Hey, you hear something?''No.''Exactly.''What's that supposed to mean? We ain't hearing nothing. Good. That means there's nothing to hear.''They stopped.''Who stopped?''Them, the ones on the other side of the gate, right? They stopped.''Well, thank Hood,' said Leff. 'Those knuckles was driving me crazy. Every d.a.m.ned night, on and on and on. Click clack click clack, G.o.ds below. I never knew Seguleh were such gamblers it's a sickness, you know, an addiction. No wonder they lost their masks probably in a bet. Picture it. "Ug, got nuffin but this mask, and m'luck's boot to change, 'sgot to, right? So, I'm in look, 'sa good mask! Ug".''That would've been a mistake,' Scorch said, nodding. 'If you don't want n.o.body to know you're bluffing, what better way than to wear a mask? So, they lost 'em and it's been downhill ever since. Yeah, that makes sense, but it's got me thinking, Leff.'''Bout what?''Well, the Seguleh. Hey, maybe they're all all bluffing!' Leff nodded back. This was better. Distract the fidgety idiot. All right, maybe things didn't feel quite right. Maybe there was a stink in the air that had nothing to do with smell, and maybe he had sweat trickling down under his armour, and he was keeping his hand close to the sword at his belt and eyeing the crossbow leaning against the gate. Was it c.o.c.ked? It was c.o.c.ked. bluffing!' Leff nodded back. This was better. Distract the fidgety idiot. All right, maybe things didn't feel quite right. Maybe there was a stink in the air that had nothing to do with smell, and maybe he had sweat trickling down under his armour, and he was keeping his hand close to the sword at his belt and eyeing the crossbow leaning against the gate. Was it c.o.c.ked? It was c.o.c.ked.Click clack click clack. Come on, boys, start 'em up again, before you start making me me nervous. nervous.Cutter halted the horse and sat, leaning forward on the saddle, studying the ship moored alongside the dock. No lights showed. Had Spite gone to bed this early? That seemed unlikely. He hesitated. He wasn't even sure why he had come here. Did he think he'd find Scillara?That was possible, but if so it was a grotesque desire, revealing an ugly side to his nature that he did not want to examine for very long, if at all. He had pretty much abandoned her. She was a stranger to Darujhistan he should have done better. He should have been a friend.How many more lives could he ruin? If justice existed, it was indeed appropriate that he ruin himself as well. The sooner the better, in fact. Grief and self-pity seemed but faint variations on the same heady brew that was self-indulgence did he really want to drown Scillara in his pathetic tears?No, Spite would be better he'd get three words out and she'd start slapping him senseless. Get over it, Cutter. People die. It wasn't fair, so you put it right. And now you feel like Hood's tongue after a night of slaughter. Live with it. So wipe your nose and get out there. Do something, be someone and stay with it. Get over it, Cutter. People die. It wasn't fair, so you put it right. And now you feel like Hood's tongue after a night of slaughter. Live with it. So wipe your nose and get out there. Do something, be someone and stay with it.Yes, that was what he needed right now. A cold, cogent regard, a wise absence of patience. In fact, she wouldn't even have to say anything. Just seeing her would do.He swung down from the saddle and tied the reins to a bollard, then crossed the gangplank to the deck. Various harbour notices had been tacked to the mainmast. Moorage fees and threats of imminent impoundment. Cutter managed a smile, imagining a scene of confrontation in the near future. Delightful to witness, if somewhat alarming, provided he stayed uninvolved.He made his way below. 'Spite? You here?'No response. Spirits plunging once more, he tried the door to the main cabin, and found it unlocked. Now, that was strange. Drawing a knife, he edged inside, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Nothing seemed untoward, no signs of disarray so there had been no roving thief, which was a relief. As he stepped towards the lantern hanging from a hook, his foot struck something that skidded a fraction.Cutter looked down.His lance the one that dead Seguleh horseman had given him, in that plague-stricken fort in Seven Cities. He recalled seeing it later, strapped to the back of a floating pack amidst wreckage in the waves. He recalled Spite's casual retrieval. He had since stashed the weapon beneath his bunk. So, what was it doing here? And then he noted the beads of what looked like sweat glistening on the iron blade.Cutter reached down.The copper sheathing of the shaft was warm, almost hot. Picking the lance up, he realized, with a start, that the weapon was trembling trembling. 'Beru fend,' he whispered, 'what is going on here?'Moments later he was back on the deck, staring over at his horse as the beast tugged at the reins, hoofs stamping the thick tarred boards of the dock. Its ears were flat, and it looked moments from tearing the bollard free although of course that was impossible. Cutter looked down to find he was still carrying the lance. He wondered at that, but not for long, as he heard a sudden, deafening chorus of howls roll through the city. All along the sh.o.r.eline, nesting birds exploded upward in shrieking panic, winging into the night.Cutter stood frozen in place. The Hounds. They're here. The Hounds. They're here.Grisp Falaunt had once been a man of vast ambitions. Lord of the single greatest landholding anywhere on the continent, a patriarch of orchards, pastures, groves and fields of corn stretching to the very horizon. Why, the Dwelling Plain was unclaimed, was it not? And so he could claim it, unopposed, un.o.bstructed by prohibitions.Forty-one years later he woke one morning stunned by a revelation. The Dwelling Plain was unclaimed because it was . . . useless. Lifeless. Pointless. He had spent most of his life trying to conquer something that was not only unconquerable, but capable of using its very indifference to annihilate every challenger.He'd lost his first wife. His children had listened to his promises of glorious inheritance and then had simply wandered off, each one terminally unimpressed. He'd lost his second wife. He'd lost three partners and seven investors. He'd lost his capital, his collateral and the shirt on his back this last indignity courtesy of a crow that had been hanging round the clothes line in a most suspicious manner.There comes a time when a man must truncate his ambitions, cut them right down, not to what was possible, but to what was manageable. And, as one grew older and more worn down, manageable became a notion blurring with minimal, as in how could a man exist with the minimum of effort? How little was good enough?He now lived in a shack on the very edge of the Dwelling Plain, offering a suitable view to the south wastes where all his dreams spun in lazy dust-devils through hill and dale and whatnot. And, in the company of a two-legged dog so useless he needed to hand-feed it the rats it was supposed to kill and eat, he tended three rows of root crops, each row barely twenty paces in length. One row suffered a blight of purple fungus; another was infested with grub-worm; and the one between those two had a bit of both.On this gruesome night with its incessant thunder and invisible lightning and ghost wind, Grisp Falaunt sat rocking on his creaking chair on his back porch, a jug of cactus spit in his lap, a wad of rustleaf bulging one cheek and a wad of durhang the other. He had his free hand under his tunic, as would any man keeping his own company with only a two-legged dog looking on but the mutt wasn't paying him any attention anyway, which, all things considered, was a rare relief these nights when the beast mostly just stared at him with oddly hungry eyes. No, old Scamper had his eyes on something to the south, out there in the dark plain.Grisp hitched the jug up on the back of a forearm and tilted in a mouthful of the thick, pungent liquor. Old Gadrobi women in the hills still chewed the spiny blades after hardening the insides of their mouths by eating fire, and spat out the pulp in bowls of water sweetened with virgins' p.i.s.s. The mixture was then fermented in sacks of sewn-up sheep intestines buried under dung heaps. And there, in the subtle cascade of flavours that, if he squeezed shut his watering eyes, he could actually taste, one could find the bouquets marking every d.a.m.ned stage in the brewing process. Leading to an explosive, highly volatile cough followed by desperate gasping, and then-But Scamper there had sharpened up, as much as a two-legged dog could, anyway. Ears perking, seeming to dilate but no, that was the spit talking and nape hairs snapping upright in fierce bristle, and there was his ratty, k.n.o.bby tail, desperately snaking down and under the uneven haunches and G.o.ds below, Scamper was whimpering and crawling, piddling as he went, straight for under the porch look at the d.a.m.ned thing go! With only two legs, too!Must be some storm out there-And, looking up, Grisp saw strange baleful fires floating closer. In sets of two, lifting, weaving, lowering, then back up again. How many sets? He couldn't count. He could have, once, long ago, right up to twenty, but the bad thing about cactus spit was all the parts of the brain it stamped dead underfoot. Seemed that counting and figuring was among them.Fireb.a.l.l.s! Racing straight for him!Grisp screamed. Or, rather, tried to. Instead, two wads were sucked in quick succession to the back of his throat, and all at once he couldn't breathe, and could only stare as a horde of giant dogs attacked in a thundering charge, straight across his three weepy rows, leaving a churned, uprooted, trampled mess. Two of the beasts made for him, jaws opening. Grisp had rocked on to the two back legs of the chair with that sudden, short-lived gasp, and now all at once he lost his balance, pitching directly backward, legs in the air, even as two sets of enormous jaws snapped shut in the place where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.His shack erupted behind him, grey shards of wood and dented kitchenware exploding in all directions.The thumping impact when he hit the porch sent both wads out from his mouth on a column of expelled air from his stunned lungs. The weight of the jug, two fingers still hooked through the lone ear, pulled him sideways and out of the toppled chair on to his stomach, and he lifted his head and saw that his shack was simply gone, and there were the beasts, fast dwindling as they charged towards the city.Groaning, he lowered his head, settling his forehead on to the slatted boards, and could see through the crack to the crawls.p.a.ce below, only to find Scamper's two beady eyes staring back up at him in malevolent accusation.'Fair 'nough,' he whispered. 'Time's come, Scamper old boy, for us to pack up 'n' leave. New pastures, hey? A world before us, just waitin' wi' open arms, just-'The nearest gate of the city exploded then, the shock wave rolling back to flatten Grisp once more on the floorboards. He heard the porch groan and sag and had one generous thought for poor Scamper who was scrambling as fast as two legs could take him before the porch collapsed under him.Like a dozen bronze bells, hammered so hard they tore loose from their frames and, in falling, dragged the bell towers down around them, the power of the seven Hounds obliterated the gate, the flanking unfinished fortifications, the guard house, the ring-road stable, and two nearby buildings. Crashing blocks of stone, wooden beams, bricks and tiles, crushed furniture and fittings, more than a few pulped bodies in the mix. Clouds of dust, spurts of hissing flame from ruptured gas pipes, the ominous subterranean roar of deadlier eruptions-Such a sound! Such portentous announcement! The Hounds have arrived, dear friends. Come, yes, come to deliver mayhem, to reap a most senseless toll. Violence can arrive blind, without purpose, like the fist of nature. Cruel in disregard, brutal in its random catastrophe. Like a flash flood, like a tornado, a giant dust-devil, an earthquake so blind, so senseless, so without intent!These Hounds . . . they were nothing like that.Moments before this eruption, Spite, still facing the estate of her venal b.i.t.c.h of a sister, reached a decision. And so she raised her perfectly manicured hands, up before her face, and closed them into fists. Then watched as a deeper blot of darkness formed over the estate, swelling ever larger until blood-red cracks appeared in the vast shapeless manifestation.In her mind, she was recalling a scene from millennia past, a blasted landscape of enormous craters the fall of the Crippled G.o.d, obliterating what had been a thriving civilization, leaving nothing but ashes and those craters in which magma roiled, spitting noxious gases that swirled high into the air.The ancient scene was so vivid in her mind that she could scoop out one of those craters, half a mountain's weight of magma, slap it into something like a giant ball, and then position it over the sleepy estate wherein lounged her sleepy, unsuspecting sister. And, now that it was ready, she could just . . . let go. let go.The ma.s.s descended in a blur. The estate vanished as did those nearest to it and as a wave of scalding heat swept over Spite, followed by a wall of lava thrashing across the street and straight for her, she realized, with a faint squeal, that she too was standing far too close.Ancient sorceries were messy, difficult to judge, harder yet to control. She'd let her eponymous tendencies affect her judgement. Again.Undignified flight was the only option for survival, and as she raced up the alley she saw, standing thirty paces ahead, at the pa.s.sageway's mouth, a figure.Lady Envy had watched the conjuration at first with curiosity, then admiration, and then awe, and finally in raging jealousy. That spitting cow always always did things better! Even so, as she watched her twin sister bleating and scrambling mere steps ahead of the gushing lava flow, she allowed herself a most pitiless smile. did things better! Even so, as she watched her twin sister bleating and scrambling mere steps ahead of the gushing lava flow, she allowed herself a most pitiless smile.Then released a seething wave of magic straight into her sister's slightly prettier face.Spite never tho