Silchas Ruin was nodding. ‘And then?’
The undead warrior shrugged. ‘Kill Korabas?’
‘Leaving a realm filled with Eleint?’
‘Then … perhaps he would stand back and watch the two elemental forces collide and maul each other, until one emerged victorious – but so weakened, so destroyed, that he need only act expeditiously, without rage. It may be that this is what your brother demanded of Draconus, in exchange for his freedom.’
Silchas Ruin held his hands up to his face. After a moment he shook his head. ‘Knowing my brother, there was no demand. There was only giving.’
‘Friend,’ said Tulas Shorn, ‘what is it that is in your mind?’
‘That there is more to the unchaining of Korabas than we know. That, in some manner we have yet to fathom, the Otataral Dragon’s freedom serves a higher purpose. Korabas is here because she needs to be.’
‘Silchas – your living senses are sharper than my dead ones. How many Eleint have come into this world?’
The white-skinned Tiste Andii lowered his hands from his face and looked over at Tulas Shorn. ‘All of them.’
Tulas Shorn staggered back a step, and then turned away – almost as if his every instinct was demanding that he flee, that he get away. Where? Anywhere. And then he faced Silchas again. ‘Korabas does not stand a chance.’
‘No, she does not.’
‘The Eleint will conquer this world – who is there to stop them? My friend – we have been made irrelevant. All purpose … gone. I will not surrender to T’iam!’
The sudden anger in Tulas made Silchas straighten. ‘Nor will I.’
‘What can we do?’
‘We can hope.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You say you sense the Hounds of Shadow—’
‘Not close—’
‘And you tell me that they possess a new master, the usurper of Kurald Emurlahn—’
‘Who commands nothing.’
‘No. Not yet. There is a game being played here – beyond all that we think we understand of this situation. You say the Hounds are wandering. The question that needs to be asked is: why? What has Shadow to do with any of this?’
Tulas Shorn shook his head.
Silchas Ruin drew out his Hust sword. ‘That usurper gave this weapon to me, as I told you. See the blade? Watermarked and etched with dragons. But there is more – there is my brother’s sacrifice. There is the return of Mother Dark.’
‘And now Draconus. Silchas – your brother, he cannot have meant to—’
‘But I think he did, Tulas. We children were as responsible for what happened between Mother Dark and her consort as anyone was – even Osserc. My friend – they set something into play. Anomander, this Shadowthrone, even Hood, and perhaps many other gods hidden from our view, for ever veiled.’
‘Draconus will never return to Mother Dark – do you truly believe those wounds could ever heal?’
‘Tulas, the Eleint must be faced down – they must be driven back. They are the Children of Chaos, and who has always stood against Chaos? What was Dragnipur, Tulas, if not a broken man’s attempt to save the woman he had lost? It failed – Abyss knows how it failed – but now, at last, Draconus has been freed – his own chains for ever cut away from him. Don’t you see? My brother ended Mother Dark’s vow of isolation – once again she faces her children. But why should it stop there? Tulas! My brother also freed Draconus.’
‘Anomander would force the wounds to heal? The arrogance of the man!’
‘He forces nothing, Tulas. He but opens the door. He makes possible … anything.’
‘Does Draconus understand?’
Now that is the question, isn’t it? ‘When he is done killing the Elder Gods he feels should be killed, he will pause. He will ask himself the question, what now? And then, perhaps, it will come to him. The fullest recognition of Anomander’s gift.’
‘My friend, if I truly had breath, you would have taken it from me. But … how can you be certain? Of any of this?’
Silchas Ruin studied the sword in his hand. ‘I think I know who crouches at the centre of this mad web. Tulas, when I veer, what happens to this Hust sword?’
‘It becomes one with the fibre of your flesh and bone – as you well know, Silchas.’
‘Yes … but this is a Hust – a slayer of dragons.’
‘Was the usurper trying to tell you something, do you think?’
‘I begin to suspect the gift wasn’t the sword. The gift was what the sword meant – what it means.’ He sheathed the weapon. ‘The time has come, friend, for our last stand. War we shall now wage.’
Another rattle from Tulas Shorn’s dry throat, but this time it was laughter. ‘I delight in this irony, beloved blade-brother. Very well, let us go and kill some dragons.’ Then he paused and cocked his head at Silchas. ‘Korabas … will she thank us?’
‘Do you expect her to?’
‘No, I suppose not. Why should she? We will fail.’
‘Now,’ Silchas mused, ‘you give me reason to wonder. After all, will this not be the first time that she does not fall alone?’
Tulas was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘My friend, our deaths shall be our gift to her.’
‘Tulas, can two Ancients make a Storm?’
‘We shall have to try.’
Anomander, I believe I shall see you soon. And Andarist, too.
‘Since we are about to die, Silchas, will you tell me what happened to the Throne of Shadow?’
Silchas Ruin smiled and shook his head. ‘Perhaps, if the throne so desires, it will one day tell you itself.’
‘Thrones cannot speak.’
‘That is true, and it’s just as well, don’t you think?’
‘It is a good thing we are going to die side by side,’ Tulas Shorn growled, ‘else I would be forced to fight you after all.’
They had moved well apart, and now they veered.
And two Ancient dragons, one living, the other undead, lifted into the empty sky.
Olar Ethil crouched in the grasses like a hare about to be flushed by a hawk. Torrent studied her for a moment longer, struggling to disguise his dark satisfaction, and then turned to check once more on the three children. They slept on – the hag had done something to them. It was just past midday and they’d not travelled far since the dawn. Behind him, the Bonecaster was muttering to herself.
‘Too many came through – nowhere to hide. I know now what is being attempted. It cannot work. I want it for myself – I will have it for myself! There are Ancients in the sky, but I am the most ancient one of all. I will see them driven back … but first, Korabas needs to die. They need to fail!’
Torrent walked over to his horse. Examined the primitive-looking arrows in the quiver strapped beside the bow. Then he glanced back at Olar Ethil. ‘What are we waiting for?’
Her battered face lifted. ‘I will not be part of this fight.’
He looked round, seeing nothing but empty plains. ‘What fight?’
‘You are as good as dead already, pup. Soon I won’t need you any more. I have gifts to give. And he will forgive me – you’ll see, he’ll forgive me.’
‘How can I see anything if I’m to be dead soon?’
She straightened, kicked at the grasses. Two skeletal lizards dodged out, evading her gnarled foot. He heard their clacking jaws as they scampered past him, down the slope and away.
‘That’s it then,’ Olar Ethil rasped, watching them flee. ‘They’re gone. Good. I never trusted them – GO!’ She hobbled to the edge of the ridge, shouted after them, ‘Find the great Storm of T’iam! As if that will help you, hah!’ Then she wheeled and stabbed a crooked finger at Torrent. ‘I am watching you, pup!’
Torrent sighed. ‘It’s all going wrong, isn’t it?’
‘Errastas was a fool! And all the Elders who listened to him – his madness will kill them all! Good! So long as he leaves me alone.’