The Crippled God

do not,’ said Urugal.
    ‘And so’ – Nom Kala stepped forward and with one skeletal foot broke the patterns in the dirt – ‘the House of Chains will die.’
    ‘In another age, it will awaken once more.’
    ‘If it must be us – and we do wish it to be us, do we not? If it must be us, Unbound, then we have no choice. We must go to the Adjunct.’
    ‘And say what?’ Urugal demanded.
    ‘Why, we must lie to her.’
    None spoke for a time.
    Nom Kala studied the camp, the stretched shadows. ‘Let us seek to steal one more day.’
    ‘To what end is one more day?’
    ‘I cannot say, Urugal the Woven. Sometimes, hope is born from a lie. So be it. To her, we shall lie.’
    Ruthan Gudd’s eyes tracked Lostara Yil as she approached the Adjunct. The two women stood studying the east as if to defy the savage dawn. He wondered what kept Tavore on her feet. Each night she set out, marching without rest, and by her will alone she dragged an entire army in her wake. If she would not stumble, then neither would the soldiers behind her. It had become a battle, a silent war. And she’s winning it. Every body left behind is testament to that .
    But how much longer can she keep this up? Look at that rising run, Adjunct, and the emptiness beneath it. Sometimes, when people speak of forbidding, deadly places, it’s not just a story. Sometimes, it’s all true, and the warnings are honest warnings. There are places that will kill you. And we have found one .
    ‘What are they saying, do you think?’ Skanarow asked.
    He looked down at her, eyes tightening. ‘Sleep, my love.’ He watched her settle her head back on the hard ground, her eyes closing.
    Not much longer. And now it’s too late – I can’t save you. I can’t just steal you away, because you won’t make it . He wondered if he would walk out of this desert alone. One survivor left, leaving behind six thousand corpses. A damned Otataral sword in one hand, for the day when he’d need it. Aye, Ruthan Gudd, he’s been a one man army before, after all. Here he goes again . Lifting his gaze, he studied the two women standing twenty paces away, and frowned. Lostara – she’s been possessed by a god. Does that make her tougher than she used to be? Who knows? But she’s looking in better shape than Skanarow. Better than the Adjunct, too .
    ‘Please, lie beside me.’
    Ruthan flinched. He combed through his beard. ‘I will. In a moment.’
    ‘Beloved?’
    ‘A moment.’ He walked over to Tavore and Lostara.
    If they were in a conversation, it wasn’t one using words. The Adjunct heard him approaching and turned to regard him. ‘Captain. The ice armour you conjured—’
    ‘Not here, Adjunct. Nothing works here.’
    Her eyes flattened. ‘But you will … persevere.’
    Lostara Yil coughed, and then said, ‘Ruthan, the T’lan Imass bow to you. They title you Elder .’
    ‘I am not a god, Elder or otherwise, Lostara. I’m sorry. Wouldn’t it be nice to be one, though? For each and every one of us. Just to be … outside all this. The T’lan Imass will manage, when—’
    ‘So will you,’ the Adjunct cut in. ‘Yet you are not a god.’
    ‘We do not choose to whom we are born.’
    ‘Indeed not. Who, then, are your parents?’
    He scratched his beard vigorously. ‘Adjunct, does it matter? It may be that this desert doesn’t kill me. It’s equally likely that it will.’
    ‘You will reach the city with the wells.’
    ‘Will I?’ Ruthan shook his head. ‘Let me be honest with you – I cannot fathom how those children got as far as they did. What did Badalle say? Ten days away? But Icarias is two, even three weeks’ march from here.’
    ‘How do you know this?’
    He grimaced. ‘I was once a guest of the Jaghut who dwelt in Icarias along with a refugee enclave of K’Chain Che’Malle. The simple fact remains, the only way those children could have come as far as they have, Adjunct, is by warren .’
    Tavore turned to Lostara. ‘Get the girl. Bring her to me.’
    ‘Aye, Adjunct.’
    When she’d departed, Tavore fixed Ruthan with a hard stare. ‘A warren.’
    ‘Which is impossible. I know.’ He saw a glitter of hope in her eyes and shook his head. ‘Do not, Adjunct. The desert is sucked dry, and if you’re not careful things are likely to get much worse.’
    ‘Worse? Explain to me how this could get worse, Captain.’
    He looked away, back to where Skanarow slept, and sighed. ‘Draw your sword, Adjunct.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Unsheathe