‘What?’
But Kilmandaros was shaking her head. ‘It is not as simple as that.’
‘What isn’t?’ Sechul demanded.
‘Now that she is freed,’ she said, ‘the Eleint must kill her. They have no choice. Their power is magical, and Korabas will kill all that magic depends upon. And since she is immune to their sorcery, it must be by fang and claw, and that will demand every Eleint – every storm, until T’iam herself is awakened. And as for K’rul, well, he can no longer refuse the Errant’s summons – he was the one who harnessed the chaos of the dragons in the first place.’
‘They have to kill her!’ cried Errastas. The blood leaking from his eye was now black with dust.
Kilmandaros grunted non-committally. ‘If they truly kill her, Errastas, then the storm dies.’ She faced him. ‘But you knew this – or at least guessed the truth. What you seek is the death of all sorcery bound to laws of control. You seek to create a realm where no mortal can hurt you, ever again. A realm where the blood is sacrificed in our name, but in truth we have no power to intervene, even if we wanted to. You desire worship, Errastas, but one where you need give nothing in return. Have I guessed right?’
Sechul Lath shook his head. ‘They cannot kill her—’
Errastas wheeled on him. ‘But they must! I told you! I will see them all destroyed! The meddling gods – I want our children dead! K’rul will understand – he will see that there’s no other way, no way to end this venal, pathetic tragedy.’ He stabbed a finger at Sechul. ‘You thought this was a game? Cheating with the knuckles, and then a wink to the moll? I summoned the Elder Gods! K’rul thinks to ignore me? No! I have forced his hand!’ He suddenly cackled, his fingers twitching. ‘She is a blood clot let loose in his veins! And she will find his brain, and he will die! I am the Master of the Holds, and I will not be ignored!’
Sechul Lath staggered back from Errastas. ‘They chained her the first time,’ he said, ‘because killing her was not an option – not if they wanted to keep the warrens alive.’ He whirled on Kilmandaros. ‘Mother – did you – did …’
She turned away. ‘I grew tired of this,’ she said.
Tired? ‘But – but the heart of the Crippled God—’
Errastas spat. ‘What do we care about that dried-up slab of meat? He’ll be as dead as the rest of them by the time this is done! So will the Forkrul Assail – and all the rest who’d think to challenge me! You didn’t believe me, Setch – you chose to not take me seriously – again.’
Sechul Lath shook his head. ‘I understand you now. Your real enemy is the Master of the Deck of Dragons. Dragons who are warrens – all that new, raw power. But you knew that you could not hope to match that Master – not so long as the gods and warrens remained dominant. So you devised a plan to kill it all. The Deck, the sorcery of the Dragons, the Master – the gods. But what makes you think that the Holds will somehow prove immune to the Eye of Abnegation?’
‘Because the Holds are Elder, you fool. It was K’rul’s bartering with the Eleint that made this whole mess – that brought the warrens into the realms, that forced order upon the chaos of the Old Magic. K’rul’s conniving that saw one dragon selected among the Grand Clan, chosen to become the Negator, the Otataral, while all the others would chain themselves to aspects of magic. They brought law to sorcery, and now I will shatter that law. For ever more!’
‘K’rul sought peace—’
‘He sought to trump us! And so he did – but that ends today! Today! Sechul Lath, did you not agree to end it all? By your words, you agreed!’
I wasn’t serious. I’m never serious. That’s my curse. ‘So, Errastas, if you will not seek the heart of the Crippled God, where will you go now?’
‘That is my business,’ he snapped, turning to study the bleached scar crossing the land. ‘Far away.’ He faced Sechul again. ‘Mael finally comprehends what we have done here – but tell me, do you see him? Does he charge towards us now in all his fury? He does not. And Ardata? Know that she too now schemes anew. As does Olar Ethil – the Elders once more approach ascension, a return to rule. There is much to be done.’
The Errant set off, then. Southward.
He flees.
Sechul turned to Kilmandaros. ‘I see my path now, Mother, from this moment onward. Shall I describe it for you? I see myself wandering, lost and alone. With only a growing madness for company. It is a vision – I see it clear as day. Well,’ and his laugh was dry, ‘every pantheon needs a fool, drooling and wild-eyed.’
‘My son,’ she said, ‘it is only a plan.’
‘Excuse me? What?’
‘The Errant. What we have unleashed here cannot be controlled. Now, more than ever, the future is unknown, no matter what he chooses to believe.’
‘Can she be chained again, Mother?’
She shrugged. ‘Anomander Rake is dead. The other Eleint who partook of the chaining, they too are now dead.’
‘K’rul—’
‘She is loose within him. He can do nothing. The Eleint who come will fight her. They will seek to take her down – but Korabas has long ago surrendered her sanity, and she will fight them to the bitter end. I expect most will die.’
‘Mother, please.’
Kilmandaros sighed. ‘You will not stay with me, my son?’
‘To witness your meeting with Draconus? I think not.’
She nodded.
‘Draconus will kill you!’
She faced him with burning eyes. ‘It was only a plan, my beloved son.’
BOOK SIX
TO ONE IN CHAINS
If you knew where this path led
Would you have walked it?
If you knew the pain at love’s solemn end
Would you have awakened it?
In darkness the wheel turns
In darkness the dust dims
In red fire the wheel burns
In darkness the sun spins
If you knew the thought in your head
Would you have spoken it?
If by this one word you betrayed a friend
Would you have uttered it?
In darkness the wheel turns
In darkness the dust dims
In red fire the wheel burns
In darkness the sun spins
If you knew the face of the dead
Would you have touched it?
If by this coin a soul’s journey to send
Would you have stolen it?
In darkness the wheel turns
In darkness the dust dims
In red fire the wheel burns
In darkness the sun spins
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The faces all in rows will wait
As I take each in my hands
Remembering what it is
To be who I am not.
Will all these struggles
Fade into white?
Or melt like snow on stone
In the heat of dawn?
Do you feel my hands?
These weathered wings
Of dreams of flight
– stripped –
Are gifts worn down.
Still I hold fast and climb sure
Through your eyes –
Who waits for me
Away from the ravaged nests
The scenes of violence
Any searching will easily find
The broken twigs
The tufts of feather and hair
The spilled now drying –
Did you spring alight
Swift away unharmed?
So many lies we leave be