The Crippled God

me?’
    Quick Ben snarled. ‘Why, more good news, what did you think?’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    The High Mage threw up his hands. ‘Let’s just add the K’Chain Che’Malle and the Jaghut, and oh, we should probably mention Hood himself – no longer dragging the Throne of Death by one ankle. And who knows how many slavering fanatics of the Wolves of Winter! And what about the Crippled God himself – will he go quietly? Why should he? If I was him, even if you showed me the inviting door at thefar end, I’d be slicing throats all the way down the corridor. I’d have damn well earned the right to as much vengeance as I could muster!’
    Paran grunted. ‘All right, it’s rather more complicated than I had imagined, then.’
    Quick Ben seemed to choke on his reply. After a bout of coughing, and then spitting, he shook his head and, eyes watering, he rubbed at his face again. Then he took a deep, settling breath, and said, ‘We need a secret weapon, Paran.’
    ‘I have a gut feeling about that—’
    ‘The one burning a hole in your stomach?’
    I hope not . ‘I think we might have two secret weapons, High Mage.’
    ‘Please, I am begging you, go on.’
    ‘Quick Ben, tell me, who was the toughest Bridgeburner you ever knew? Think back, and think carefully. Get your ego out of the way. Ignore your favourites and the ones who spent all their time looking mean. Not the callous shits, not the back-stabbers, none of the posers. The toughest , Quick Ben. Day in, day out, good times, bad. Tell me. Who?’
    The High Mage squinted, glanced down at the ground at his feet, and then he sighed and nodded, looking up as he said, ‘I didn’t need that list, Ganoes. I knew my answer right from the start. We all knew.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Fiddler. There’s no tougher man alive.’
    Paran looked away. ‘My family … aye, we were something of a mess. But I will tell you this, this one thing I know without any doubt, and it starts with a memory – my sister had an area of ground cleared for her at the country estate, and it was where, beginning when she was barely five years old, she used toys to fight battles from every history book and scroll she could find. And the times when my father entertained High Fists in his horse-selling ventures, he’d make it a kind of challenge to those veteran commanders – take to the field against little sallow-faced Tavore, with all those toy soldiers. Count your attrition honestly, and see what happens. My sister, Quick Ben, from about seven onward, never lost to a single commander. And when their corpses were dragged away, she went deeper into the histories, she started taking the loser’s sides, and then won those, too.’
    ‘Tavore, then.’
    ‘Think of all the great military leaders – Dassem, Coltaine, K’azz, Dujek, Greymane – for what it is worth, I would pit my sister against any of them. Gods below, against all of them.’ He continued staring into the southwest. ‘There you have it, High Mage. Fiddler and my sister. Our two weapons.’ When he looked back he saw Quick Ben studying him.
    The High Mage said, ‘The ascended Bridgeburners hold the gates of death.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Except for Hedge. Whiskeyjack sent Hedge back – to Fiddler.’
    ‘Did he now?’
    ‘Remember Pale, Ganoes Paran?’
    ‘As much of it as I could, which wasn’t much.’
    ‘Right – you weren’t there yet, not when we got together on a hill outside the city, to shake things down one more time. Or, if you were around, Sorry was sticking a dagger in your back about then.’
    ‘What about it, Quick?’
    ‘It’s just … we were all there. Trying to make sense of things. And now I’ve got this feeling … we’re all going to meet again. To bring it all to an end.’
    ‘One way or another.’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘How do you gauge our chances, High Mage?’
    ‘Miserable.’
    ‘And our weapons?’
    ‘With me vouching for Fiddler, and you for your sister,’ he said, with a wry grin, ‘the best we could hope for, I suppose.’
    ‘And here I have two more – the infamous Kalam and Quick Ben. You know, if I wasn’t such a realist, I’d be feeling confident right now.’
    A scowl replaced the grin. ‘Did you really have to put it quite that way, High Fist?’
    He felt her eyes on him as he swung on to the horse. Settling in the saddle, gathering the reins, he squinted at the broad, terraced valley stretching away to his right. Rich lands, he mused. Then he glanced across at her.