The Crippled God

ropes of blood, she was falling.
    His shadow passed over her, a wheeling, plummeting presence, looming huge – jaws snapping out from a head above a lashing neck. Fangs sank into one thigh and she was thrown upward once more. Spinning, she saw gleaming bone where the muscles of her left thigh had been – saw blood spraying out from her leg. Howling, she fell earthward once more.
    This time, he left her to strike the ground. She landed on her feet with the sound of exploding trees. Bones snapped, splinters driving up into her pelvis and torso. The impact threw her forward. On to her chest, and then over. Lying stunned, helpless, Kilmandaros stared upward to see Draconus descending.
    Not fair .
    A soft hand settled against her cheek. Blinking, she found herself looking up into her son’s face. ‘No! Leave here! Beloved son – flee! ’
    Instead, he straightened, drawing a sword.
    Kilmandaros heard Draconus speak from only a few paces distant. ‘Where is Errastas, Sechul?’
    ‘Gone,’ her son replied.
    ‘Where?’
    ‘I don’t know. Into hiding, of course. You won’t find him, not anytime soon. Shall I caution you against uttering any vows, Draconus, or would the sting of that prove too much?’
    ‘You always were chained to his ankle, Sechul Lath, but if you are determined to oppose me here, I will kill you.’
    ‘I will defend my mother.’
    ‘Then you will die with her.’
    She saw his sad smile, his lopsided shrug. ‘Draconus, I have nothing left. No one but her. If you will kill her this day, then … there is no reason for me to go on. Do you understand?’
    ‘Pathetic,’ growled Draconus. ‘You would spend an eternity under your mother’s wing? Step away, find some light – some light of your own, Sechul.’
    ‘Ah, I see, so this is my opportunity, is it? This is what you are offering me, Draconus? You never did understand acts of generosity, did you?’
    There was a long pause, and Kilmandaros knew that their gazes had locked, and then Draconus said, ‘Ready your weapon.’
    She would have cried out then, would have begged for the life of her son – but when she opened her mouth her throat filled with blood, and she was suddenly drowning.
    She heard the whish of a blade, a scuffling of boots on the hard scrabble, and then a terrible, grinding sound. A sword fell to the ground, and someone made a small, childish sound.
    Footsteps, drawing closer.
    She couldn’t breathe, felt herself dying. Her eyes, glaring upward – seeing those damned moons so puny in that vast night sky – and then that vision was blocked out and Draconus stared down on her. He left you no choice, yes … but you do not say it. What need is there to say it?
    His eyes shone like silvered pools at midnight, and there was, she realized with a start, such beauty in them – with the darkness flowing round, falling like tears, but you can see how they could turn. You can see it. Such a terrible thing …
    Errastas, you have killed us .
    Was it mercy when he set the sharp tip of his sword into the hollow of her neck? She looked again into his eyes, but saw nothing. Yes. Let us call it that. Mercy .
    When he thrust the blade through her throat, it was cold as ice and hot as fire, and all that she saw suddenly faded, from the inside out.
    I – I’m leaving .
    My son. Even at the last, you disappoint me .
    Draconus pulled free the sword, and then turned. A knot of shadows, vaguely human in form, stood opposite him. To either side was aHound, and he caught a motion off to his right and then on his left – more of the beasts, encircling him.
    Eyes narrowing on the apparition, Draconus leaned on his sword. ‘Usurper, does Tulas know you stole his dogs?’
    The silver head of a walking cane flashed briefly before the shadows hid it again, like a fisherman’s lure in dark water. The apparition spoke in a thin, wavering voice, ‘There is little civility in you, Old One.’ A sudden giggle. ‘Your … inheritor … once stood before me, just as you are doing now. He too held an infernal sword – oh, was it yours? How careless of you.’
    ‘If you force me,’ Draconus said, ‘I will kill these Hounds.’
    ‘How goes the poem? “The child and his dog …”’
    Draconus stepped forward, blade lifting. ‘Who in the name of the Azathanai are you?’
    A frail, wispy hand gestured vaguely. ‘Your pardon, did I offend?’
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Only a question for you, Old One.’ The cane reappeared, bobbing in the