The Crippled God

shattered long ago. It had commemorated a marriage that had spilled more blood than could be imagined. Shattered three civilizations. Destroyed an entire realm. Father Light, could you but have known, would you have turned away? Would you have sacrificed your happiness for the sake of your people? And hers?
    I like to think you would have. Yes. You would have sacrificed yourself, because you were better than all of us .
    And now your children yearn to avenge your failure. But nothing we can do, nothing we can ever do, will make it better. No matter. We’re not interested in healing old wounds – look at that gate for proof of that!
    A space had been left clear before the breach. Of the wound itself, there was naught to be seen but stacked corpses, dim and ethereal through Lightfall’s incessant bleeding. Seeing those bodies, Aparal scowled, and from deep inside him surged a rush of rage. Liosan. Draconean.
    He stepped into the space, turned towards his kin. ‘Brothers! Sisters! See what these humans have done to our fallen! They choose not to honour us as worthy foes. They imagine this dread wall will wound us!
    ‘The Son of Light looks down upon us from the White Wall’s rampart. The Son of Light has said that on this day we shall conquer the Realm of Dark! We shall conquer Kharkanas! We know they are waiting. Shall we seek them out? Brothers! Sisters! Shall we seek them out?’
    The roar that answered him felt like a physical blow, but he welcomed it. Their anger is without measure. Their justness is unassailable. Kadagar is right. We shall win through .
    He faced the ruined gate, glared at the breach. Drawing his sword, he held it high. ‘Seventh Legion, Arrow Formation! Who leads?’
    A harsh voice called out behind him. ‘I lead, Aparal Forge! Gaelar Throe shall lead!’
    Gaelar. I should have known . ‘Gaelar. There is a commander among the humans. Find him. Kill him.’
    ‘I so vow, Aparal Forge! I so vow!’
    The power massing behind him made Aparal tremble. This assault would sweep aside the humans. Up and into the forest beyond. To the city itself. The palace splashed in blood. The Son of Light triumphant upon the Throne, Sceptre in hand.
    And if Mother Dark dwelt in the temple, they would kill her.
    We will not be stopped. Not this time .
    Shadows from above. He looked up. Three dragons, and then afourth. So eager. Iparth Erule. I think you want that throne. I think you mean to take it .
    ‘Liosan! Seventh Legion, level spears!’ He turned, moved to the right. Gaelar was ready. They were all ready, bristling, straining for the signal, desperate to lunge forward. Burst through the wall of corpses, burst out on to the Shore.
    And begin the slaughter.
    Silent, Aparal Forge swung down the sword.
    Sandalath Drukorlat, Queen of High House Dark, ruler of Kharkanas, walked alone in the palace, wondering where all the ghosts had gone. They should be crowding these ancient halls, whispering along the corridors and passages, lurking in recesses and doorways. Struggling to recall what needed doing, calling out for loved ones in faint, echoing voices. She ran her hand along a wall as she walked, feeling the hard, polished stone. She was far beyond the rounds of the paltry staff now resident in the palace.
    Hunting ghosts. Stone like skin, but the skin is cold .
    She could remember when it was different. Alive. Guards and guests, petitioners and servants, priestesses and midwives, retainers and scholars. Hostages. Swirling in their own precious currents, each and every one of them, like blood in a beating heart.
    Her worn boots echoed as she made her way down a narrow corridor. Smaller now, this passage, and the steps she reached were shallow and worn, wending up in a tight spiral. She halted, gasping as a faint draught came down from above. I remember this. The downdraught. I remember it. Against my face, my neck. Down round my bared ankles – I used to run – when was that? I must have been a child. Yes, a child. When was that? Her right shoulder brushed against the wall again and again as she climbed. The sloped stone over her head felt oppressively close.
    Why did I run?
    Perhaps some inkling of the future. But for that child, there was no refuge. How could there be? Here she was, and the centuries upon centuries in between were now carved solid as this stone. Stop running, child. It’s done. Stop running, even the memory hurts .
    Sandalath reached the top floor, a small flagstone landing, a blackwood