The Crippled God

unrelenting horror. Letherii, Shake, Liosan – bodies were bodies, and death was death, and names didn’t mean shit. She was soaked in what had been spilled, what had been lost. The abattoir reek was thick enough to drown in. She held her head in her hands.
    Pithy .
    Remember the scams? How we took ’em for all they had? It was us against the world and gods, it felt good those times we won. It never hurt us, not once, beating ’em at their own game. Sure, they had law on their side, making legal all they stole. But then, they’d made up those laws. That was the only difference between us .
    We used to hate their greed. But then we got greedy ourselves. Served us right, getting caught .
    Island life, now that was boring. Until those Malazans showed up. It all started right then, didn’t it? Leading up to here. To now .
    They sent us tumbling, didn’t they? Fetching us up on the Shore. We could’ve gone off on our own, back into everything we knew and despised. But we didn’t. We stayed with Twilight and the Watch, and they made us captains .
    And now we fought us a war. You did, Pithy. I’m still fighting it. Still not knowing what any of it means .
    Ten paces, and I can’t look over at you. I can’t. It’s this distance between us. And while I live, I can’t cross it. Pithy, how could you leave me so alone?
    Yedan Derryg emerged from the wound in Lightfall. The laughter of his sword chewed the air. She stared across at him, thinking how lost he looked. But no. That’s just me. It’s just me. He knows what he needs to know. He’s worked it all out. It comes with the blood .
    Sergeant Cellows stumped up to Yedan. ‘Prince – she’s alive, but unconscious. The witches used her—’
    ‘I know,’ he replied, studying the killing field.
    The sergeant, burly and hulking – a touch of Teblor blood in him – followed his gaze and grunted. ‘They hurt us this time, sire. The Hounds mauled the centre and the right flank. One of the beasts reached the wounded before Pully drove it back. But our losses, sire. They hurt us. Nithe, Aysgan, Trapple, Pithy—’
    Yedan shot him a hard look. ‘Pithy?’
    Cellows pointed with a finger that had been cut off just below the knuckle. ‘There.’ A figure slumped in a weeping soldier’s arms. Brevity kneeling nearby, head lowered.
    ‘See to what needs to be done, Sergeant. Wounded. Weapons.’
    ‘Yes, sire – er, Prince?’
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Seems I’m the last.’
    ‘The last?’
    ‘From your original company, sir. Coast Patrol.’
    Yedan felt something crunch at the back of his mouth. He winced, leaned over and spat. ‘Shit, broke a tooth.’ He lifted his eyes, stared across at Cellows. ‘I want you in reserve.’
    ‘Sire?’
    ‘For when I need you the most, Sergeant. For when I need you at my side. Until then, you are to remain out of the fight.’
    ‘Sire—’
    ‘But when I call, you’d better be ready.’
    The man saluted, and then strode away.
    ‘My last,’ Yedan whispered.
    He squinted at Brevity. If all these eyes were not upon me, I would walk to you, Brevity. I would take you in my arms. I would share your grief. You deserve that much. We both do. But I can show nothing like … that .
    He hesitated, suddenly unsure. Probed his broken tooth with his tongue. Tasted blood. ‘Shit.’
    Brevity looked up as the shadow fell over her. ‘Prince.’ She struggled to stand but Yedan reached out, and the weight of his hand pushed her back down.
    She waited for him to speak. But he said nothing, though his eyes were now on Pithy and the soldiers gathering around the fallen woman. She forced herself to follow his gaze.
    They were lifting her so gently she thought her heart would rupture.
    ‘It’s no easy thing,’ murmured Yedan, ‘to earn that.’
    Aparal Forge saw the enclaves encamped on the surrounding mounds slowly stirring awake, saw the soldiers assembling. This will be the one, then. When we throw our elites through the gate. Legions of Light. Lord Kadagar Fant, why did you wait this long?
    If they had gone through from the first, the Shake would have fallen by now. Make the first bite the deepest. Every commander knows this. But you wouldn’t listen. You wanted to bleed your people first, to make your cause theirs .
    But it hasn’t worked. They fight because you give them no choice. The pot-throwers dry their hands and the wheel slows and then stops. The weavers lock up their looms. The wood-carvers put away their tools. The