The Crippled God

motion. But now we have finally arrived – it’s all cut loose, and so much – so much – is out of our hands .
    He saw footprints in the grey dust, reminding him that there were other arenas, distant places where battles raged on. Nothing was simple, and in the spilling of blood no one could guess the myriad channels it would carve.
    Shadowthrone, old friend, we have done what we could – but the game is much bigger than we ever imagined. This gamble … gods, this gamble . One hand drifted to one of the knives at his belt. And then he shook himself, straightening.
    Take a deep breath, lad. Here goes …

    ‘ What you ask of me, it is too much. Yes, of course I see the necessity – I may have sickened, even threatened, but magic is not my enemy. It never was. Indeed, I envy its gifts to this world. Upon my own … ah, no matter. Belief can be rotten. All it takes is one betrayal to steal away an entire future .
    ‘ You would not have recognized me in my anger. It shone blinding bright. There remain those, among the multitudes I left behind, who imagine themselves gods, for all their mortal trappings. They would maintain a tyranny such as no true god could ever imagine. They would enslave generation upon generation – all those sharing the same soil, the same water, the same air. They conspire to keep them on their knees. Bowed in servitude. And each slave, measuring his or her life, can see – if they dare – only the truth, and so most of my world, most of my children, live a life of despair and suffering, and ever growing rage .
    ‘ Is this all there must be? The tyrants would have it so. I sometimes dream … yes, I know you have little time … I dream of returning, swords blazing with holy vengeance. I dream, Shadowthrone, of murdering every one of those fuckers. Is this what it means to be a god? To be an implacable weapon of justice?
    ‘ Wouldn’t that be nice. I agree .
    ‘ No, I’m not that much of a fool. It will be no different. And should you achieve the impossible with your handful of mortals, should you free me … and find the path, the moment I take my first step upon the soil of my home they will emasculate me. Bleed me. Gut me, and then stretch my hide overhead. They’ll need shade from the torrid heat of all the fires they themselves lit. That is the problem with tyrants, they outlive us all .
    ‘ I will do what you ask. Rather, I shall try. Pieces of me remain missing and I despair of ever seeing them again. It is my understanding that the one named Skinner, usurper and tyrant king of my House of Chains, has many enemies. He can now count me among them. Do you imagine he loses sleep?
    ‘ No, I don’t either. Betrayers never do .
    ‘ Shadowthrone. You will not betray me, will you? ’
    ‘ Karsa Orlong, where are all the gods of peace? ’
    He stepped outside, straightening . ‘ I know not .’
    Picker turned to face the city. Many troubles there. Perhaps at last they had begun to settle. But … all that boiled beneath the surface, well, that never went away . ‘ Do you know how to get there? ’
    He eyed her . ‘ I know how to get there .’
    She drew a deep breath – she could hear movement inside the hut behind the giant. Picker lifted her gaze until it locked with theToblakai’s . ‘ I call upon the vow you made long ago, Karsa Orlong of the Teblor. When you walk to where you must go, a crippled priest will find you. In the street, a broken man, a beggar, and he will speak to you. And by his words, you shall understand .’
    ‘ I already understand, Malazan .’
    ‘ Karsa —’
    ‘ There are too many gods of war .’ And then he took up his sword, and inside the hut a woman began weeping . ‘ And not one of them understands the truth .’
    ‘ Karsa —’
    His teeth were bared as he said , ‘ When it comes to war, woman, who needs gods? ’
    She watched as he set off. And under her breath she whispered , ‘ Darujhistan, I beg you, do not get in this man’s way .’
    Dust roiled over the distant encampment. Squinting, Paran took another bite of the alien fruit his foragers had found, and wiped at the juices dribbling down into his beard.
    ‘That is not helping, High Fist.’
    He glanced over. Ormulogun was scratching desperately on a bleached board with his willow charcoal stick. At his feet squatted a fat toad, watching his efforts with gimlet eyes.
    ‘Nothing will help that,’ the toad sighed.
    ‘Posterity!’ snapped the Imperial Artist.
    ‘Posterity