The Crippled God

that her friend Pithy was still with her, still fighting for the dignity they had always wanted, the dignity they’d once thought they could cheat and steal their way to find. Sharl – sweet, young, ancient Sharl, who knew nothing of fighting, who knew only that she had failed to save her brothers, and would not fail again.
    There were all kinds of love, and, with wonder, she realized that she now knew them all.
    Before her, five simple paces away – could she walk – lay the body of her brother.
    Another concussion.
    Pully. I am sorry .
    There is no glory in dying young, unless you were old first .
    No witches now to steal her strength. She lifted herself up, on to her hands and knees, and made for Yedan. As she drew up alongside, she saw the hand nearer her move.
    Pulled herself up, knelt at his side, looked down into his face, the only part of him that had not been chewed and crushed beyond recognition. She saw his lips moving, leaned close.
    ‘Beloved brother,’ she whispered, ‘it is Yan.’
    ‘I see it,’ he whispered.
    ‘What do you see?’
    ‘I see it. Yan. It’s there, right before me.’ His broken lips smiled.
    ‘Yedan?’
    ‘At last,’ he sighed, ‘I am … home.’
    Their queen and the body of their prince, they were now an island upon the sea, and the last of them gathered round, to hold its ever shrinking shoreline. And, above it all, three black dragons warred with ten white dragons, and then there were only two against ten.
    Surrounding the island and its shore, the Liosan pushed in on waves of steel and fury. Theirs was the hunger of the ocean, and that was a hunger without end.
    But the ground trembled. It shivered. And the source of that steady, drumming thunder was coming ever closer.
    Leaning like a drunk on the dais, Nimander struggled for a way through this. It would seem that he had to veer, and soon, and then he would have to somehow resist Silanah’s will. He would have to fight her, try to kill her. But he knew he would fail. She would send his own kin against him, and the horror of the blood that would then spill was too much to bear.
    Sandalath Drukorlat still sat on the throne, muttering under her breath. I could kill her. After all, do I not already have Tiste Andii blood on my hands? And then, should we by some miracle prevail here, why, a usurper could take this throne. That, too, has been done before .
    And the new kingdom of Kharkanas shall be born in the ashes of murder. Yes, I could do that. But look upon her, Nimander – she does not even remember you. In her madness, I am my father. Sandalath, do you truly not remember? Withal and I – we lied to you. A terrible accident, the suicide that never was .
    Shall I lie to you again?
    No, I cannot .
    There were ghosts in this palace – in this very room. He had never before felt such palpable presence, as if countless ages had awakened to this moment. As if all of the fallen had returned, to witness the end of every dream.
    ‘Apsal’ara,’ he whispered. ‘I need you.’
    Came an answering whisper, ‘ It’s not her you need .’
    Smiling down on the broken form of Anomander Rake, Sandalath slowly drew her dagger. But he doesn’t have the sword. He hasn’t done what he vowed to do. How can I kill him now?
    Look at him, though! This … thing. Against mighty Draconus? Impossible. I suspected it, back on the island. That broken window, thebody lying on the cobbles. How few his followers then, how pathetic his lack of control .
    A new voice spoke. ‘Orfantal will die if you do not release Silanah.’
    Sandalath looked up. Her eyes widened. A ghost stood before her, where Anomander – in that bold, deceitful moment of bluster – had been a moment earlier. A woman, young, and she knew her – no, I do not. I will not. I refuse. How can my thoughts summon?
    Silanah? Who was speaking of her? Was it me?
    To the ghost standing before her, she growled, ‘I do not know you.’
    Smiling, the ghost said, ‘But you do. You knew me all too well, as I recall. I am Phaed. My brother,’ and she gestured down to Anomander, ‘is of such honour that he would rather give you your end, here and now, than hurt you further. Nor will he threaten you with what he cannot do in any case – no matter what the cost – to his people, to those doomed humans upon the First Shore.’
    ‘I only want my son,’ Sandalath whispered. ‘He took him, and I want him back!’
    ‘This is not Anomander Rake,’ Phaed said. ‘This is his