Thick as blood, the smell of water filled the air.
BOOK SEVEN
YOUR PRIVATE SHORE
Lie still!
The jagged urgent heat
The horn-twisted acts
So unconscionable
I have run far from the mob
Torn the veil and bled in holes
Under your very feet
Take my word not for a day
Not a year not a century
What I will say charges the echo
Of a thousand years unchained
And all the pillagers of derision
Pacing the mouths of caves
March legions of dust
Back and forth
Like conquerors
And the juddering ways
The skittered agitations
The bridled and the umbraged
My tears appease not your thirst
My blood was never for you
I am running still
Alone as I have ever been
And this kissing air on my face
From here to for ever
Is clean and pure
As wonder
Legions of Dust Atalict
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘He was not a modest man. Contemplating suicide, he summoned a dragon.’
Gothos’ Folly Gothos
‘EVEN SHOULD YOU SUCCEED, COTILLION. BEYOND ALL EXPECTATION, beyond, even, all desire. They will still speak of your failure .’ He stood in the place where the Whorl had manifested – a wounding in the fabric of Shadow, a place now slowly healing. There was nothing else here, nothing to give evidence to the struggles that had occurred, the blood that had been spilled. Still, Chaos felt closer than it ever had, as if moments from erupting once again. The madness of sorcerers, the ambitions of the starved … we’re surrounded by fools wanting more than what they have. And, alas, it’s all too familiar company, and the ugly truth is that we may not be out of place in that crowd . Edgewalker’s words haunted him. The breathtaking ambition, the sheer verve of all that they had set in motion. But now we have finally arrived – it’s all cut loose, and so much – so much – is out of our hands .
He saw footprints in the grey dust, reminding him that there were other arenas, distant places where battles raged on. Nothing was simple, and in the spilling of blood no one could guess the myriad channels it would carve.
Shadowthrone, old friend, we have done what we could – but the game is much bigger than we ever imagined. This gamble … gods, this gamble . One hand drifted to one of the knives at his belt. And then he shook himself, straightening.
Take a deep breath, lad. Here goes …
* * *
‘ What you ask of me, it is too much. Yes, of course I see the necessity – I may have sickened, even threatened, but magic is not my enemy. It never was. Indeed, I envy its gifts to this world. Upon my own … ah, no matter. Belief can be rotten. All it takes is one betrayal to steal away an entire future .
‘ You would not have recognized me in my anger. It shone blinding bright. There remain those, among the multitudes I left behind, who imagine themselves gods, for all their mortal trappings. They would maintain a tyranny such as no true god could ever imagine. They would enslave generation upon generation – all those sharing the same soil, the same water, the same air. They conspire to keep them on their knees. Bowed in servitude. And each slave, measuring his or her life, can see – if they dare – only the truth, and so most of my world, most of my children, live a life of despair and suffering, and ever growing rage .
‘ Is this all there must be? The tyrants would have it so. I sometimes dream … yes, I know you have little time … I dream of returning, swords blazing with holy vengeance. I dream, Shadowthrone, of murdering every one of those fuckers. Is this what it means to be a god? To be an implacable weapon of justice?
‘ Wouldn’t that be nice. I agree .
‘ No, I’m not that much of a fool. It will be no different. And should you achieve the impossible with your handful of mortals, should you free me … and find the path, the moment I take my first step upon the soil of my home they will emasculate me. Bleed me. Gut me, and then stretch my hide overhead. They’ll need shade from the torrid heat of all the fires they themselves lit. That is the problem with tyrants, they outlive us all .
‘ I will do what you ask. Rather, I shall try. Pieces of me remain missing and I despair of ever seeing them again. It is my understanding that the one named Skinner, usurper and tyrant king of my House of Chains, has many enemies. He can now count me among them. Do you imagine he loses sleep?
‘ No, I don’t either. Betrayers never do .
‘ Shadowthrone. You will not betray me, will you? ’
‘ Karsa Orlong, where are all the gods of peace? ’
