He moved to step past it, his torn lips twisting into a snarl. Then stopped, head slowly turning. 'I am no longer Hood's Herald,' he whispered. 'Dismissed. A flawed service. Unacceptable. What would you say to me, Chained One?'
There would be no answer, until the decision was made, until the journey's end.
Gethol entered the fissure.
The Crippled God had fashioned a small tent around his place of chaining, the Jaghut saw with some amusement. Broken, shattered, oozing with wounds that never healed, here then was the true face of vanity.
Gethol halted before the entrance. He raised his voice. 'Dispense with the shroud — I shall not crawl to you.'
The tent shimmered, then dissolved, revealing a robed, hooded, shapeless figure sitting on damp clay. A brazier lifted veils of smoke between them, and a mangled hand reached out to fan the sweet tendrils into the hood-shadowed face. 'A most,' the Chained One said in a wheeze, 'a most devastating kiss. Your sudden lust for vengeance was … felt, Jaghut. Your temper endangered Hood's meticulous plans, you see that, do you not? It was this that so … disappointed the Lord of Death. His Herald must be obedient. His Herald must possess no personal desires, no ambitions. Not a worthy … employer … for one such as you.'
Gethol glanced around. 'There is heat beneath me. We chained you to Burn's flesh, anchored you to her bones — and you have poisoned her.'
'I have. A festering thorn in her side … that shall one day kill her. And with Burn's death, this world shall die. Her heart cold, lifeless, will cease its life-giving bounty. These chains must be broken, Jaghut.'
Gethol laughed. 'All worlds die. I shall not prove the weak link, Crippled God. I was here for the Chaining, after all.'
'Ah,' the creature hissed, 'but you are the weak link. You ever were. You thought you could earn Hood's trust, and you failed. Not the first failure, either, as we both know. When your brother Gothos called upon you-'
'Enough! Who is the vulnerable one here?'
'We both are, Jaghut. We both are.' The god raised his hand again, waved it slowly between them. Lacquered, wooden cards appeared, suspended in the air, their painted images facing Gethol. 'Behold,' the Crippled God whispered, 'the House of Chains …'
The Jaghut's lone functioning eye narrowed. 'What — what have you done?'
'No longer an outsider, Gethol. I would … join the game. And look more carefully. The role of Herald is … vacant.'
Gethol grunted. 'More than just the Herald …'
'Indeed, these are early days. Who, I wonder, will earn the right of King in my House? Unlike Hood, you see, I welcome personal ambition. Welcome independent thought. Even acts of vengeance.'
'The Deck of Dragons will resist you, Chained One. Your House will be … assailed.'
'It was ever thus. You speak of the Deck as an entity, but its maker is dust, as we both know. There is no-one who can control it. Witness the resurrection of the House of Shadows. A worthy precedent. Gethol, I have need of you. I embrace your … flaws. None among my House of Chains shall be whole, in flesh or in spirit. Look upon me, look upon this broken, shattered figure — my House reflects what you see before you. Now cast your gaze upon the world beyond, the nightmare of pain and failure that is the mortal realm. Very soon, Gethol, my followers shall be legion. Do you doubt that? Do you?'
The Jaghut was silent for a long time, then he growled, 'The House of Chains has found its Herald. What would you have me do?'
'I've lost my mind,' Murillio muttered, but he threw the bones none the less. The carved phalanges bounced and rolled, then came to a stop.
'The Lord's Push, dear friend, alas for you but not for worthy self!' Kruppe cried, reaching out to gather the bones. 'And now Kruppe doubles the bid on a clear skid — ah, exquisite rhyme exquisitely delivered — ho!' The bones bounced, settled with unmarked sides facing up. 'Ha! Riches tumble upon Kruppe's ample lap! Gather them up, formidable wizard!'
Shaking his head, Quick Ben collected the finger bones. 'I've seen every cheat possible — the bad and the superb — but Kruppe, you continue to evade my sharpest eye.'
'Cheat? Gods forbid! What hapless victims are witness to on this night of nights is naught but cosmic sympathy for worthy Kruppe!'
'Cosmic sympathy?' Murillio snorted. 'What in Hood's name is that?'
'Euphemism for cheating,' Coll grumbled. 'Make your call, Quick, I'm eager to lose still more of my hard-earned coin.'