Toll the Hounds Part 116

For I have my own obsessions . . .

Traveller marched on in dark argument. She and Karsa rode Havok, but even this frightening beast was starting, shying as if something was bodily pushing against it. Head tossed, hoofs stamped the packed ground.

Finally, after the horse almost reared, Karsa uttered a low snarl and reined in. 'Down, witch,' he said as Traveller once more stalked past 'we will walk from here.'

'But Havok-'

'Can fend for himself. When I need him, we shall find each other once more.'

They dismounted. Samar stretched her back. 'I'm exhausted. My head feels like a wet pot in a kiln about to explode. Karsa-'

'Stay here if you will,' he said, eyes on Traveller's back. 'I will go on.'

'Why? Wherever he's going, it's his battle, not yours. You cannot help him. You must not help him, Karsa you see that, don't you?'

He grimaced. 'I can guard his back-'

'Why? We have journeyed together out of convenience. And that's done, now. Can't you feel it? It's done. Take one wrong step cross his path and he will drag out that sword.' She brought her hands up and pressed hard against her eyelids. Flashes of fire ignited her inner world. No different from what she was seeing in the city before them. She dropped her hands and blinked blearily at the Toblakai. 'Karsa, in the name of mercy, let's turn away. Leave him to . . . whatever's in Darujhistan.'

'Witch, we have been following a trail.'

'Sorry, what?'

'A trail.' He glanced down at her. 'The Hounds.'

She looked again at the city, even as a fireball ripped upward and moments later thunder rolled through the ground at their feet. The Hounds. They're tearing that city apart. The Hounds. They're tearing that city apart. 'We can't go there! We can't walk into 'We can't go there! We can't walk into that that!'

In answer Karsa bared his teeth. 'I do not trust those beasts are they there to protect Traveller? Or hunt him down in some deadly game in the streets?' He shook his head. 'I'll not clip his heels, witch. We'll keep a respectable distance, but I will will guard his back.' guard his back.'

She wanted to scream. You stupid, stubborn, obstinate, You stupid, stubborn, obstinate, thick-skulled b.a.s.t.a.r.d! thick-skulled b.a.s.t.a.r.d! 'So who guards 'So who guards our our backs?' backs?'

Sudden blackness welled up inside her mind and she must have reeled, for a moment later Karsa was holding her up, genuine concern in his face. 'What ails you, Samar?'

'You idiot, can't you feel it can't you feel it?'

'No,' he replied.

She thought he lied then, but had no energy to challenge him. That blackness had seemed vast, depthless, a maw eager to devour her, swallow her down. And, most horrifying of all, something about it was seductive. Slick with sweat, her legs shaky beneath her, she held on to Karsa's arm.

'Stay here,' he said quietly.

'No, it makes no difference.'

He straightened suddenly, and she saw that he was facing the way they had come. 'What what is it?'

'That d.a.m.ned bear it's back.'

She twisted round. Yes, there, perhaps a hundred paces away, a huge dark shape. Coming no closer.

'What's it want with me?' she asked in a whisper.

'If you stay, you may find out, witch.'

'No, I said. We'll follow Traveller. It's decided.'

Karsa was silent for a moment, and then he grunted. 'I am thinking . . .'

'What?'

'You wanted to know, earlier, who would be guarding our backs.'

She frowned, and then loosed a small gasp and squinted once more at that monstrous beast. It was just . . . hovering, huge head slowly wagging from side to side, pausing occasionally to lift its snout in their direction. 'I wouldn't trust that, Karsa, I wouldn't trust that at all.'

He shrugged.

But still she resisted, glaring now into the vault of night overhead. 'Where's the d.a.m.ned moon, Karsa? Where in the Abyss is the d.a.m.ned moon?' Where in the Abyss is the d.a.m.ned moon?'

Kallor was certain now. Forces had converged in Darujhistan. Clashing with deadly consequence, and blood had been spilled.

He lived for such things. Sudden opportunities, unexpected powers stumbling, falling within reach. Antic.i.p.ation awakened within him.

Life thrust forth choices, and the measure of a man or woman's worth could be found in whether they possessed the courage, the brazen decisiveness, to grasp hold and not let go. Kallor never failed such moments. Let the curse flail him, strike him down; let defeat batter him again and again. He would just get back up, shake the dust off, and begin once more.

He knew the world was d.a.m.ned. He knew that the curse haunting him was no different from history's own progression, the endless succession of failures, the puerile triumphs that had a way of falling over as soon as one stopped looking. Or caring. He knew that life itself corrected gross imbalances by simply folding everything over and starting anew.

Too often scholars and historians saw the principle of convergence with narrow, truncated focus. In terms of ascendants and G.o.ds and great powers. But Kallor understood that the events they described and pored over after the fact were but concentrated expressions of something far vaster. Entire ages converged, in chaos and tumult, in the anarchy of Nature itself. And more often than not, very few comprehended the disaster erupting all around them. No, they simply went on day after day with their pathetic tasks, eyes to the ground, pretending that everything was just fine.

Nature wasn't interested in clutching their collars and giving them a rattling shake, forcing their eyes open. No, Nature just wiped them off the board.

And, truth be told, that was pretty much what they deserved. Not a st.i.tch more. There were those, of course, who would view such an att.i.tude aghast, and then accuse Kallor of being a monster, devoid of compa.s.sion, a vision stained indelibly dark and all that rubbish. But they would be wrong. Compa.s.sion is not a replacement for stupidity. Tearful concern cannot stand in the stead of cold recognition. Sympathy does not cancel out the hard facts of brutal, unwavering observation. It was too easy, too cheap, to fret and wring one's hands, moaning with heartfelt empathy it was d.a.m.ned self-indulgent, in fact, providing the perfect excuse for doing precisely nothing while a.s.suming a pious pose.

Enough of that.

Kallor had no time for such games. A nose in the air just made it easier to cut the throat beneath it. And when it came to that choice, why, he never never hesitated. As sure as any force of Nature, was Kallor. hesitated. As sure as any force of Nature, was Kallor.

He walked, shins tearing and uprooting tangled gra.s.ses. Above him, a strange, moonless night with the western horizon where the sun had gone down long ago convulsing with carmine flashes.

Reaching a raised road of packed gravel, he set out, hastening his pace towards the waiting city. The track dipped and then began a long, stretched-out climb. Upon reaching the summit, he paused.

A hundred paces ahead someone had set four torches on high poles where four paths met, creating a square with the flaring firelight centred on the crossroads. There were no buildings in sight, nothing to give reason for such a construction. Frowning, he resumed walking.

As he drew closer, he saw someone sitting on a marker stone, just beneath one of the torches. Hooded, motionless, forearms resting on thighs, gauntleted hands draped down over the knees.

Kallor felt a moment of unease. He sc.r.a.ped through gravel with one boot and saw the hood slowly lift, the figure straightening and then rising to its feet.

s.h.i.t.

The stranger reached up and tugged back the hood, then walked to position himself in the centre of the crossroads.

In the wake of recognition, dismay flooded through Kallor. 'No, Spinnock Durav, not this.'

The Tiste Andii unsheathed his sword. 'High King, I cannot let you pa.s.s.'

'Let him fight his own battles!'

'This need not be a battle,' Spinnock replied. 'I am camped just off this road. We can go there now, sit at a fire and drink mulled wine. And, come the morning, you can turn round, go back the other way. Darujhistan, High King, is not for you.'

'You d.a.m.ned fool. You know you cannot best me.' He glared at the warrior, struggling. A part of him wanted to . . . G.o.ds . . . G.o.ds . . . a part of him wanted to weep. 'How many of his loyal, brave followers will he see die? And for what? Listen to me, Spinnock. I have no real enmity against you. Nor Rake.' He waved one chain-clad hand in the air behind him. 'Not even those who pursue me. Heed me, please. I have always respected you, Spinnock by the Abyss, I railed at how Rake used you-' 'You do not understand,' the Tiste Andii said. 'You never did, Kallor.' a part of him wanted to weep. 'How many of his loyal, brave followers will he see die? And for what? Listen to me, Spinnock. I have no real enmity against you. Nor Rake.' He waved one chain-clad hand in the air behind him. 'Not even those who pursue me. Heed me, please. I have always respected you, Spinnock by the Abyss, I railed at how Rake used you-' 'You do not understand,' the Tiste Andii said. 'You never did, Kallor.'

'You're wrong. I have nothing against any of you!' I have nothing against any of you!'

'Korlat-'

'Did you think it was my intention to murder Whiskeyjack? Do you think I just cut down honourable men and loyal soldiers out of spite? You weren't even there! It was Silverfox who needed to die, and that is a failure we shall all one day come to rue. Mark my words. Ah, G.o.ds, Spinnock. They got in my way, d.a.m.n you! Just as you're doing now!' They got in my way, d.a.m.n you! Just as you're doing now!'

Spinnock sighed. 'It seems there will be no mulled wine this night.'

'Don't.'

'I am here, High King, to stand in your way.'

'You will die. I cannot stay my hand everything will be beyond control by then. Spinnock Durav, please! This does not need to happen.'

The Tiste Andii's faint smile nearly broke Kallor's heart. No, he understands. All too well. This will be his last battle, in Rake's name, in anyone's name. No, he understands. All too well. This will be his last battle, in Rake's name, in anyone's name.

Kallor drew out his sword. 'Does it occur, to any of you, what these things do to me me? No, of course not. The High King is cursed to fail, but never to fall. The High King is but . . . what? Oh, the physical manifestation of ambition. Walking proof of its inevitable price. Fine.' He readied his two-handed weapon. 'f.u.c.k you, too.'

With a roar that ripped like fire from his throat, Kallor charged forward, and swung his sword.

Iron rang on iron.

Four torches lit the crossroads. Four torches painted two warriors locked in battle. Would these be the only witnesses? Blind and miserably indifferent with their gift of light?

For now, the answer must be yes. yes.

The black water looked cold. Depthless, the blood of darkness. It breathed power in chill mists that clambered ash.o.r.e to swallow jagged, broken rocks, fallen trees. Night itself seemed to be raining down into this sea.

Glittering rings spun and clicked, and Clip slowly turned to face Nimander and the others. 'I can use this,' he said. 'The power rising from this water, it is filled with currents of pure Kurald Galain. I can use this.'

'A Gate?'

'Well, at least one of you is thinking. A Gate, yes, Nimander.

A Gate. To take us to Black Coral.'

'How close?' Skintick asked.

Clip shrugged. 'Close enough. We will see. At the very least, within sight of the city walls.'

'So get on with it,' said Nenanda, his words very nearly a snarl.

Smiling, Clip faced the Cut once more. 'Do not speak, any of you. I must work hard at this.'

Nimander rubbed at his face. He felt numb, haunted by exhaustion. He moved off to sit on a boulder. Just up from the steep sh.o.r.eline, thick moss blunted everything, the stumps of rotted trees, the upended roots, the tumbled black stones. The night air clung to him, cold and damp, reaching in to his bones, closing tight about his heart. He listened to the soft lap of the water, the suck and gurgle among the rocks. The smell was rich with decay, the mists sweet with brine.

He could feel the cold of the boulder seeping through, and his hands ached.

Clip spun his chain, whirled the two rings, one gold, one silver, and round and round they went. Apart from that he stood motionless, his back to them all.

Skintick settled down beside Nimander. Their eyes met and Skintick shrugged a silent question, to which Nimander replied with a faint shake of his head.

He'd thought he'd have a few more days. To decide things. The when. The how. The options if they should fail. Tactics. Fall-back plans. So much to think about, but he could speak to no one, could not even hint of what he thought must be done. Clip had stayed too close to them on this descent, as if suspicious, as if deliberately forcing Nimander to say nothing.

There was so much he needed to tell them, and so much that he needed to hear. Discussions, arguments, the weighing of risks and contingencies and coordination. All the things demanded of one who would lead; but his inability to give voice to his intentions, to deliver orders at the end of a long debate, had made him next to useless.

By his presence alone, Clip had stopped Nimander in his tracks.

In this game of move and counter-move, Clip had outwitted him, and that galled. The moment the charade was shattered, there would be chaos, and in that scene Clip held the advantage. He had only himself to worry about, after all.

No, Nimander had no choice but to act alone, to trust in the others to follow.

He knew they were watching him, his every move, studying his face for any telltale expression, for every silent message, and this meant he had to hold himself in check. He had to guard himself against revealing anything, lest one of them misunderstand and so make a fatal mistake, and all of this was wearing him down.

Something lifted noisily from the black water. A span of darkness, vertical, its upper edges dripping, fast dissolving.

'Follow me,' Clip gasped. 'Quickly!'

Nimander rose and tugged Skintick back 'Everyone, stay behind me' and, seeing Clip lunge forward and vanish within the Gate, he hurried forward.

But Nenanda reached the portal before him, rushing in even as he drew his sword.

Cursing under his breath, Nimander darted after him.

The Gate was collapsing. Someone shrieked in his wake.

Nimander staggered on slippery, uneven bedrock, half blinded by streaks of luminescence that scattered like cut webs. He heard a gasping sound, almost at his feet, and a moment later stumbled against something that groaned.

Nimander reached down, felt a body lying p.r.o.ne. Felt something hot and welling under one palm the slit of a wound, the leaking of blood. 'Nenanda?'

Another gasp, and then, 'I'm sorry, Nimander I saw I saw him reaching for his dagger, even as he stepped through I saw he knew, he knew you were following, you see he-'

From somewhere ahead there came a hollow laugh. 'Do you imagine me an idiot, Nimander? Too bad it wasn't you. It should have been you. But then, this way it's just one more death for you to carry along.'

Nimander stared but could see nothing. 'You still need us!'

'Maybe, but it's too risky to have you so close. When I see a viper, I don't invite it into my belt-pouch. So, wander lost in here . . . for ever, Nimander. It won't feel very different from your life before this, I expect.'

'The G.o.d within you,' Nimander said, 'is a fool. My Lord will cut it down and you with it, Clip. You don't know him. You don't know a d.a.m.ned thing!'