The Crippled God

battle.
    Aparal made his way down to where the wounded were being left, abandoned, alongside the trenches. The chorus of their cries was horrible beyond measure – to enter this place was an invitation to madness, and he almost welcomed that possibility. He pushed past the staggering, dead-eyed cutters and healers, searching until he found one man, sitting cradling the stump of his left arm, the severed end of which trailed wisps of smoke. A man not screaming, not weeping, not yet reduced to a piteous wretch.
    ‘Soldier. Look at me.’
    The head lifted. A shudder seemed to run through the man.
    ‘You have been through the gate?’
    A shaky nod.
    ‘How many left – among the enemy? How many left?’
    ‘I – could not be sure, Lord. But … I think … few.’
    ‘This is what we keep hearing, but what does that mean? Fifty? Five thousand?’
    The soldier shook his head. ‘Few, Lord. And, Lord, there is laughter! ’
    ‘Hust weapons, soldier. Possessed blades. Tell me what is few ?’
    The man suddenly bared his teeth, and then, with deliberation, he spat at Aparal’s feet.
    All who return from the other side are subjects no longer. Mark this, Kadagar . Aparal pointed at the legions now crowding the gate. ‘More than them? Look, damn you!’
    Dull eyes shifted, squinted.
    ‘ That , soldier, is seven thousand, maybe eight. On the other side, as many? More? Less?’ When the man simply returned his stare, Aparaldrew his sword. ‘You have been through the gate. You have seen – assess the enemy’s strength! ’
    The man grinned, eyes now on the weapon in Aparal’s hand. ‘Go ahead.’
    ‘No, not you, soldier.’ He waved with the blade of the sword, the gesture encompassing a score of other wounded. ‘I will kill them, one after another, until you answer me.’
    ‘Do you not see, Lord, why we refuse you? You have already killed us. All of us. Surviving these wounds will not change that. Look at me. I am already dead. To you. To all the world. Now fuck off. No, better yet – take yourself through to the other side. See for—’
    Aparal did not know where the rage came from, but the savage strength of his blow lifted the soldier’s head from his neck, sent it spinning, and then bouncing, until it fetched up against another wounded soldier – who turned her head, regarded it for a moment, then looked away again.
    Trembling, horrified by what he had done, Aparal Forge backed away.
    From one side he heard a weary chuckle, and then, ‘Barely a thousand left, Lord. They’re done.’
    He twisted round, sought out the one who spoke. Before him was the trench, piled with corpses. ‘Is it the dead who now speak?’
    ‘As good as,’ came the reply. ‘You don’t understand, do you? We don’t tell you because we honour our enemy – they’re not Tiste Andii. They’re humans – who fight like demons.’
    He saw the man now. Only the upper half of his body was visible, the rest buried under bodies. Someone had judged him dead. Someone had made a mistake. But then Aparal saw that half his skull was gone, exposing the brain. ‘The Hust Legion—’
    ‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? But there’s no Hust Legion. There’s one man. One Hust sword. Slayer of dragons and slayer of hounds, slayer of a thousand Liosan … one man . And when you finally break through, Lord, may he cut you down – you Soletaken, you betrayers. Every one of you.’
    If you stood here, Kadagar Fant … if you stood here, you would finally see what we have done .
    Aparal retreated, made his way towards the gate. Yes, he would push through. He would step out on to that foreign shore. And, if he could, he would destroy this lone warrior. And then it will be over. Because that is all I want, now, for this to be over .
    He spied a messenger corps, a dozen or so runners standing just beyond the nearest legion. ‘Words to my kin!’ he barked. ‘Less than a thousand remain on the other side. And there is but one man with a Hust sword. Inform our lord – the time is now .’
    An end. Bless me, an end .
    Sheathing his bloody sword, he fixed his gaze on the gate. ‘There,’ he whispered. ‘ Now .’
    Halfway across the bridge, Nimander paused, stared at the keep’s massive gates. The air was filling with smoke, and he could now hear the detonations. The sorcery of dragons, the Eleint doing what they did best. Destroying everything in their path .
    The return of the Tiste Andii should not have been like this. In flames, in