‘Pathetic,’ growled Draconus. ‘You would spend an eternity under your mother’s wing? Step away, find some light – some light of your own, Sechul.’
‘Ah, I see, so this is my opportunity, is it? This is what you are offering me, Draconus? You never did understand acts of generosity, did you?’
There was a long pause, and Kilmandaros knew that their gazes had locked, and then Draconus said, ‘Ready your weapon.’
She would have cried out then, would have begged for the life of her son – but when she opened her mouth her throat filled with blood, and she was suddenly drowning.
She heard the whish of a blade, a scuffling of boots on the hard scrabble, and then a terrible, grinding sound. A sword fell to the ground, and someone made a small, childish sound.
Footsteps, drawing closer.
She couldn’t breathe, felt herself dying. Her eyes, glaring upward – seeing those damned moons so puny in that vast night sky – and then that vision was blocked out and Draconus stared down on her. He left you no choice, yes … but you do not say it. What need is there to say it?
His eyes shone like silvered pools at midnight, and there was, she realized with a start, such beauty in them – with the darkness flowing round, falling like tears, but you can see how they could turn. You can see it. Such a terrible thing …
Errastas, you have killed us.
Was it mercy when he set the sharp tip of his sword into the hollow of her neck? She looked again into his eyes, but saw nothing. Yes. Let us call it that. Mercy.
When he thrust the blade through her throat, it was cold as ice and hot as fire, and all that she saw suddenly faded, from the inside out.
I – I’m leaving.
My son. Even at the last, you disappoint me.
Draconus pulled free the sword, and then turned. A knot of shadows, vaguely human in form, stood opposite him. To either side was a Hound, and he caught a motion off to his right and then on his left – more of the beasts, encircling him.
Eyes narrowing on the apparition, Draconus leaned on his sword. ‘Usurper, does Tulas know you stole his dogs?’
The silver head of a walking cane flashed briefly before the shadows hid it again, like a fisherman’s lure in dark water. The apparition spoke in a thin, wavering voice, ‘There is little civility in you, Old One.’ A sudden giggle. ‘Your … inheritor … once stood before me, just as you are doing now. He too held an infernal sword – oh, was it yours? How careless of you.’
‘If you force me,’ Draconus said, ‘I will kill these Hounds.’
‘How goes the poem? “The child and his dog …”’
Draconus stepped forward, blade lifting. ‘Who in the name of the Azathanai are you?’
A frail, wispy hand gestured vaguely. ‘Your pardon, did I offend?’
‘What do you want?’
‘Only a question for you, Old One.’ The cane reappeared, bobbing in the direction of Kilmandaros’s corpse. ‘Where next? Or,’ and he giggled again, ‘who next?’
‘Why should it matter to you?’
‘Only this … leave Korabas. Leave the Forkrul Assail – in fact, leave that whole mess. Even the Eleint. If you show up, it’ll only complicate matters.’
‘You are the one, then,’ Draconus said, lowering the sword and stepping back.
‘I am? Why, yes, I am.’
‘The spider at the centre of this web. Hood. Rake—’
‘And they were true to their words – now that was a rarity. Perhaps of greater relevance is this. Anomander Rake spoke well of you, Draconus. Can you imagine such a thing? But it goes even beyond that, for he also said that you would be true to your word. Will you, Draconus? Be true to your word?’
‘I do not recall giving it to you on any matter here,’ Draconus replied.
The cane’s heel thumped on the ground. ‘Excellent! Now, as to that …’
A short time later, with Draconus gone, the Hounds drew closer to the corpses of Kilmandaros and Sechul Lath, sniffing with their hackles raised like spines. Shadowthrone watched their agitated circling, and then glanced across to find Cotillion standing nearby.
The patron god of assassins looked … shaken.
Shadowthrone sighed, not without sympathy. ‘The Elders are so implacable. Look upon these two tragic victims. How many ages have they survived? To come to an end’ – he waved the cane – ‘here. Wherever here is. Even the Hounds were hard pressed to track them.’
‘You convinced him?’
Shadowthrone hissed, lifting the cane to examine the silver head. ‘He thought me … audacious.’
‘Just you?’
‘Us.’
‘We’ve lost her,’ Cotillion said. ‘Or so I fear. It was too much, friend, too much – they have not walked our path. They are mortals. That and nothing more. They have not seen. The necessity has not … not gnawed at their souls, the way it has with us.’
‘Paths? Gnawing? Souls? None of this means anything to me. We concluded that things had to change, that is all.’
‘They had to because our position was too perilous,’ Cotillion replied. ‘Everything that’s followed – this whole insane scheme – it all began with our need to secure our place in the pantheon.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But then it all changed.’
‘Maybe for you,’ Shadowthrone muttered.
‘Liar.’
‘Shadows never lie.’
They were both silent for a moment, and then Shadowthrone tilted his head back and let loose a wild laugh. Fighting a smile, Cotillion looked away.
‘Are you done with your moment of doubt?’ Shadowthrone asked. ‘Good. It ill-suited you. Listen, she’s a woman, and that alone makes her the most terrifying force in all the realms.’
‘Yes,’ Cotillion said, ‘I am well aware of your long-standing fear of the swaying sex.’
‘I blame my mother.’
‘Convenient.’
‘I don’t know which of us dreads more our visits.’
‘She’s still alive? Don’t be ridiculous, Ammanas.’
‘Listen, I wasn’t always this old, you know. In any case, every time we end up in the same room I can see the disappointment in her eyes, and hear it in her voice. “Emperor? Oh, that empire. So now you’re a god? Oh dear, not Shadow? Isn’t it broken? Why did you have to pick a broken realm to rule? When your father was your age …” Aagh, and on and on it goes! I’ve been on the run since I was nine years old, and is it any wonder?’
Cotillion was studying him bemusedly.
‘They will walk out from that desert, friend,’ Shadowthrone said. ‘I feel it in my bones.’
‘Didn’t know you had any.’
‘Sticks, then. I feel it in my sticks. Hmm, doesn’t sound sufficiently assuring, does it?’
‘Assuring? No. Creepy? Yes.’
Shadowthrone thumped the cane down, looked round. ‘We’re still here? Why are we still here?’
‘A few last thoughts for the departed, perhaps?’
‘Is it the thing to do? I suppose it is.’
Studying the corpses now, Cotillion grunted. ‘Not interested in just a slap on the wrist, was he?’
‘Children who can’t be touched end up getting away with murder.’
‘That’s your last word to them? It doesn’t make any sense, Shadowthrone.’
‘But it does. The Elder Gods were like spoiled children, with no one to watch over them. The only nonsensical thing about them was that they weren’t all killed off long ago. Just how much can any of us tolerate? That’s the question, the only question, in fact.’ He gestured with the cane. ‘There’s one man’s answer.’
‘I suppose,’ Cotillion mused, ‘we should be thankful that Draconus was chained up inside Dragnipur for all that time. If Rake hadn’t killed him …’
‘Every wayward child should spend a few hundred lifetimes dragging a wagon filled with bodies.’ Shadowthrone grunted. ‘Sounds like something my mother might say. “Only a hundred lifetimes, Kellan? Too weak to handle a thousand, are you? Why, your father …” Aagh! Not again!’