Irind was beside him, ready for the blow. The sword hammered the shield, the sound a shout of iron.
‘Lord Anomander Rake led you to another world. He fought to give you purpose – a reason to live. And for many, in that he failed. But those of you here – for you, he did not fail.’
He swung the sword again, the impact shivering up his arm.
‘He asked you to fight wars that were not yours to fight. He asked you to bow to causes not your own. A hundred banners, a hundred cities – allies who welcomed you and allies who did not. Allies who blessed you and allies who feared you. And your kin died, oh, how they died – they gave up their lives in causes not their own.’
The sword cracked again, and this time Irind almost buckled beneath the blow. Spinnock could hear his harsh breaths.
‘They were all different, and they were all the same. But the cause – the true cause he offered you – did not change.’
The blow sent Irind to his knees.
Another soldier moved up, readying his own shield. Bodily dragged Irind back, and then took his place. The sounds from the advancing warriors behind Spinnock was a susurration – breaths, armour, boots scrabbling for purchase.
‘Your lord was thinking – each and every time – he was thinking … of this moment.’
Again flashed the sword.
‘Each time, every time. The cause was just.’
Crack!
‘He needed to keep reminding you. For this day!’
Crack!
‘Today, this is not foreign soil! Today, this cause is your own!’
Crack!
‘Today, the Tiste Andii fight for themselves!’
And this time other weapons found the rims of shields.
CRACK!
‘Your home!’
CRACK!
‘Your kin!’
CRACK!
The sword shivered in his hand. The soldier stumbling beside him fell away, his shield split.
Gasping, Spinnock Durav pushed on. Anomander Rake – do you witness this? Do you look into these faces – all these faces behind me?
‘This time! Strangers fight in your name! Strangers die for you! Your cause – not theirs!’
CRACK!
The reverberation shoved him forward, shivered through him like something holy. ‘Children of Dark, humans are dying in your name!’
CRACK!
The very air trembled with that concussion. A torrent of water – clinging to high branches, to needles and leaves – shook loose and rained down in an answering hiss.
Ahead, Spinnock could hear fighting.
Do you see, Anomander? Old friend, do you see?
This is our war.
CRACK!
Through the boles a glimmer of falling light. A vast shape lifting high. The sudden roar of a dragon.
Gods, no, what have they done?
CRACK!
Anomander Rake entered the throne room. Sandalath Drukorlat stared at him, watching as he strode towards her.
His voice held a hint of thunder outside. ‘Release Silanah.’
‘Where is your sword?’
The Son of Darkness drew up momentarily, brow clouding. One hand brushed the grip of the weapon slung at his belt.
‘Not that one,’ she said. ‘The slayer of Draconus. Show me. Show me his sword!’
‘Highness—’
‘Stop that! This throne is not mine. It is yours. Do not mock me, Lord. They said you killed him. They said you cut him down.’
‘I have done no such thing, Highness.’
A sudden thought struck her. ‘Where is Orfantal? You took him to stand at your side. Where is my son? My beloved son? Tell me!’
He drew closer. He looked so young, so vulnerable. And that was all … wrong. Ah, this is much earlier. He has not yet killed the Consort. But then … who am I?
‘Release Silanah, Sandalath Drukorlat. The Storm must be freed – the destruction of Kharkanas will make all the deaths meaningless.’
‘Meaningless! Yes! It is what I have been saying all along! It’s all meaningless! And I am proving it!’
He was standing before her now, his eyes level with her own. ‘Korlat—’
A shriek shattered his next words. Sandalath recoiled, and only then realized that the cry had been torn from her own throat. ‘Not yet! Where is Orfantal? Where is my beloved son?’
She saw something in his face then, an anguish he could not hide. She had never known him to be so … weak. So pathetically unguarded. She sneered. ‘Kneel, Anomander, Son of Darkness. Kneel before this Hostage.’
When he lowered himself to one knee, a sudden laugh burst from her. Disbelief. Shock. Delight. ‘I proclaim my beloved son Knight of Darkness – you, I cast out! You’re kneeling! Now,’ and she leaned forward, ‘grovel.’
‘Release Silanah, Highness, or there can be no Knight of Darkness.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’re destroying Kharkanas!’
She stabbed a finger at him. ‘As you did! When you made Mother Dark turn away! But don’t you see? I can save you from all that! I can do it first!’ She bared her teeth at him. ‘Now who is the hostage?’
He rose then, and she shrank back in the throne. She had gone too far – she could see it in his eyes. His trembling hands. He seemed to be struggling to speak.
‘Just tell me,’ Sandalath whispered. ‘The truth. Where is my son?’
It was as if the question delivered a mortal wound. Anomander Rake staggered to one side, like a broken man. Shaking his head, he sank down, one hand groping for the edge of the dais.
And she knew then. She had won.
Back ten paces.
In the space left by their retreat from the breach, bodies made a floor of trampled, bloody flesh, shattered spears, broken swords. Here and there, limbs moved, hands reaching, feet kicking, legs twitching. Mouths in smeared faces opened like holes into the Abyss, eyes staring out from places of horror, pain, or fading resignation.
Sharl, who had failed in keeping her brothers alive, and who had, thus far, failed in joining them, stood beside Captain Brevity. She held a sword, the point dug into a corpse under her feet, and knew she would not be able to lift it, not again. There was nothing left, nothing but raging agony in her joints, her muscles, her spine. Thirst clawed at her throat, and every desperate breath she drew deep into her lungs was foul with the stench of the dead and the dying.
‘Stiffen up, lads and lasses,’ growled Brevity. ‘They’re suspicious, is my guess. Not sure. But count on this: they’re coming.’
Someone moved past them then, burly, heavy in armour. Sergeant Cellows, the last of the prince’s own soldiers.
He made his way to position himself on Yedan Derryg’s left, drawing round and setting his shield, readying the heavy-bladed sword in his other hand. For some reason, his arrival, so solemn, so solitary, chilled Sharl to the core. She looked to her left and saw Yan Tovis. Standing, watching, a queen covered in blood – and how much of it belonged to her own subjects? But no, the question no longer mattered. Nor the fact that she had led them to this end.
‘We all end somewhere,’ she whispered.
Brevity heard and glanced over, spat blood, and then said, ‘That’s the truth of it, all right. The only truth there is.’
Sharl nodded, and somehow raised once more the sword in her hand. ‘I am ready, Captain.’
‘We all are, soldier.’
Behind them Sharl heard a low murmuring, the words we all end somewhere rippling out, taking hold, and soldiers slowly straightened, drawing up their weapons.