The world burned, and like a leaping flame the Bloody-Nine reared up, arching back, raising high the sword. The work of Kanedias, the Master Maker, no blade forged sharper. Its bitter edge scored a long gash in the black armour, through the iron and into the soft flesh beneath, striking sparks and spattering blood, the shriek of tortured metal mingling with the wail of pain torn from the Feareds twisted mouth. The wound it left in him was deep.
But not deep enough.
The giants great arms slid round the Bloody-Nines back, folding him in a smothering embrace. The edges of the black metal pierced his flesh in a dozen places. Closer the giant drew him, and closer, and a ragged spike slid into the Bloody-Nines face, cut through his cheek and scraped against his teeth, bit into the side of his tongue and filled his mouth with salt blood.
The Feareds grip was the weight of mountains. No matter how hot the Bloody-Nines rage, no matter how he squirmed, and thrashed, and screamed in fury, he was held as tightly as the cold earth holds the buried dead. The blood trickling from his face, and from his back, and from the great gash in the Feareds armour soaked into his clothes and spread out blazing hot over his skin.
The World burned. Above the oven, the cauldron, the crucible, Bethod nodded, and the giants cold arms squeezed tighter.
Dogman followed his nose. It rarely led him wrong, his nose, and he hoped to hell that it didnt fail him now. It was a sickly kind of a smelllike sweet cakes left too long in the oven. He led the others along an empty hallway, down a shadowy stair, creeping through the damp darkness in the knotty bowels of Skarlings Hill. He could hear something now, as well as smell it, and it sounded as bad as it smelled. A womans voice, singing soft and low. A strange kind of singing, in no tongue the Dogman could understand.
That must be her, muttered Dow.
Dont like the sound o that one bit, Dogman whispered back. Sounds like magic.
What dyou expect? Shes a fucking witch aint she? Ill go round behind.
No, wait on But Dow was already creeping off the other way, boots padding soft and silent.
Shit. Dogman followed the smell, creeping down the passageway with Grim at his back, the chanting coming louder and louder. A streak of light slunk out from an archway and he eased towards it, pressed his side to the wall and took a peer round the corner.
The room on the other side had about as witchy a look as a room could ever have. Dark and windowless, three other black doorways round the walls. It was lit just by one smoky brazier up at the far end, sizzling coals shedding a dirty red light on it all, giving off a sick sweet stink. There were jars and pots scattered all round, bundles of twigs, and grass, and dried-out flowers hanging from the greasy rafters, casting strange shadows into the corners, like the shapes of hanged men swinging.
There was a woman standing over the brazier with her back to the Dogman. Her long, white arms were spread out wide, shining with sweat. Gold glinted round her thin wrists, black hair straggled down her back. The Dogman might not have known the words she was singing but he could guess it was some dark work she was up to.
Grim held up his bow, one eyebrow raised. Dogman shook his head, silently drew his knife. Tricky to kill her right off with a shaft, and who knew what she might do once she was shot? Cold steel in the neck left nothing to chance.
Together they crept into the room. The air was hot in there, thick as swamp water. Dogman sneaked forward, trying not to breathe, sure the reek would throttle him if he did. He sweated, or the room did, leastways his skin was beaded up with dew in no time. He picked his steps, finding a path between all the rubbish strewn across the floorboxes, bundles, bottles. He worked his damp palm round the grip of his knife, fixed his eyes on the point between her shoulders, the point hed stab it into
His foot caught a jar and sent it clattering. The womans head jerked round, the chant stopped dead on her lips. A gaunt, white face, pale as a drowned mans, black paint round her narrow eyesblue eyes, cold as the ocean.
The circle was silent. The men around its edge were still, their faces and their shields hanging limp. The crowd at their backs, the people pressed to the parapet above, all held motionless, all quiet as the dead.
For all of Ninefingers mad rage, for all his twisting and his struggling, the giant had him fast. Thick muscles squirmed under blue skin as the Feareds great arms tightened and slowly crushed the life from him. Wests mouth was bitter with helpless disappointment. All that he had done, all that he had suffered, all those lives lost, for nothing. Bethod would go free.
Then Ninefingers gave an animal growl. The Feared held him still, but his blue arm was trembling with the effort. As if he was suddenly weakened, and could squeeze no further. Every sinew of Wests own body was rigid as he watched. The thick strap of the shield bit into his palm. His jaw was clenched so tight that his teeth ached. The two fighters were locked together, straining against each other with every fibre and yet entirely still, frozen in the centre of the circle.
The Dogman sprang forward, knife raised and ready.
Stop.
He froze solid in a moment. Hed never heard a voice like it. One word and there was no thought in his head. He stared at the pale woman, his mouth open, his breath hardly moving, wishing that shed say another.
You too, she said, glancing over at Grim, and his face went slack, and he grinned, halfway through drawing his bow.
She looked Dogman up and down, then pouted as if she was all disappointment. Is that any way for guests to behave?
Dogman blinked. What the hell had he been thinking barging in here with a drawn blade? He couldnt believe hed done such a thing. He blushed to the roots of his hair. Oh Im sorry by the dead
Gugh! said Grim, throwing his bow into the corner of the room as if hed suddenly realised he had a turd in his hand, then staring down at the arrow, baffled.
Thats better. She smiled, and the Dogman found he was grinning like an idiot. Some spit mightve come out of his mouth maybe, just a bit, but he werent that bothered. As long as she kept talking nothing else seemed o too much importance. She beckoned to them, long white fingers stroking at the thick air. No need to stand so far away from me. Come closer.
Him and Grim stumbled towards her like eager children, Dogman near tripping over his feet in his hurry to please, Grim barging into a table on the way and coming close to falling on his face.
My name is Caurib.
Oh, said Dogman. Most beautiful name ever, no doubt about it. Amazing, that a single word could be so beautiful.
Harding Grims my name!
Dogman, they call me, count of a sharp sense o smell, and er By the dead, but it was hard to think straight. Thered been something important he was meant to be doing, but for the life of him he couldnt think what.
Dogman perfect. Her voice was soothing as a warm bath, as a soft kiss, as milk and honey Dont sleep yet! Dogmans head rolled, Cauribs painted face a black and white blur, swimming in front of him.
Sorry! he gurgled, blushing again and trying to hide the knife behind his back. Right sorry about the blade no idea what
Dont worry. I am glad that you brought it. I think it would be best if you used it to stab your friend.
Him? Dogman squinted at Grim.
Grim grinned and nodded back at him. Aye, definitely!
Right, right, good idea. Dogman lifted up the knife, seeming to weigh a ton. Er anywhere youd like him stabbed, in particular?
In the heart will do nicely.
Right you are. Right. The heart it is. Grim turned front on to give him a better go at it. Dogman blinked, wiped some sweat from his forehead. Here we go, then. Damn it but he was dizzy. He squinted at Grims chest, wanting to make sure he got it right first time, and didnt embarrass himself again. Here we go