The Crippled God

‘ Sheathe that damned knife! ’
    Hood’s breath! Kalam spun and ran from the nearest attacker. Slammed the knife back into its scabbard. ‘Try again!’ he bellowed.
    He stumbled, fell with a grunt. There was blood in his mouth. Not good .
    A hand settled on his back. ‘Don’t move,’ came Quick Ben’s whisper.
    The Perish were retreating now from the raging flames, and the fire was almost close enough to reach out and touch, but Kalam felt no heat. ‘Can we talk?’ he asked.
    ‘Now we can, aye.’
    ‘You said a sharper!’
    ‘I changed my mind. Needed to make certain. Besides, the sharper’s pretty loud.’
    ‘A Hood-damned burner , though? Now that’s keeping things nice and quiet! Any more Pures?’
    ‘No. Shh – something’s close. Tracking us.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Don’t know.’
    ‘I wanted to go after the Perish commander – Krughava or whoever it is.’
    ‘You’re bubbling blood with every breath, Kalam. You’re in no shape for anything.’
    ‘Stabbed the bastard in the heart and it didn’t do a damned thing.’
    ‘I’m sure it did. But they’ve got two hearts.’
    ‘Thanks for telling me.’ Kalam grimaced, fought down a cough. ‘These are the Perish, aren’t they?’
    ‘Aye. Now, be quiet, and let me drag you away. That fire’s starting to burn through what I threw up around us.’
    But the mage dragged Kalam for only two tugs before the assassin felt Quick Ben’s hands suddenly grip tight. ‘Shit, it’s here.’
    Blinking, Kalam twisted, looked round. ‘I don’t see—’
    ‘Smells like an enkar’l, feels like a Toblakai.’
    Not a chance – oh, gods below, what’s it doing here? He could feel it now. A massive, looming presence. ‘What’s it doing?’ he hissed.
    ‘Er, sniffing you.’
    Kalam felt his skin crawl. ‘Why can’t I see it?’
    ‘Because it doesn’t want you to.’
    The assassin almost shouted when a sharp talon tracked gently across one cheek, ending up directly beneath an eye. He forced himself to lie perfectly still.
    ‘A servant of the Wolves, I think.’
    Aye. Don’t tell me what I already know .
    Then the hand pressed down on Kalam’s chest, directly over his shattered ribs. But there was no pain, just a sudden heat. A moment later the hand was gone. And then—
    ‘Hood take me,’ Quick Ben muttered a few heartbeats later. ‘Gone. Never seen the like. It fucking healed you, Kalam. Why did it do that?’
    Feeling shaken, fragile, as if he’d inhaled a fist and had only just now coughed it back out, the assassin slowly regained his feet. There was chaos on all sides of the burning tent, and he saw a Perish officer, one of Krughava’s ship commanders. He was standing staring at the tent with an odd, almost satisfied expression on his lean face.
    ‘Ready to try for him?’ Quick Ben asked.
    Kalam shook his head. ‘No. We don’t touch the Perish.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Unless you want that thing to come back, a whole lot madder.’
    ‘Good point.’
    ‘You’re sure there aren’t any more Pures?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Time to go, then.’
    They set out, winding unseen through the crowd of soldiers. At the skirting wall, the assassin paused and glanced back. And nodded. ‘Always an even trade …’ Not that I can remember what I did to make him so happy .

    In his tent, Paran slowly sat back, carefully setting down the wooden card. He could have pulled them out, right at the moment the demon closed on them. But something had held him back. That was a chosen servant of the Wolves of Winter. I felt its anger, and then I felt its … what was it? Solicitude? I didn’t know they could even feel things like that .
    He straightened, walked over to the stick, took it in his hand, and pulled it from the ground. The balls on the string snapped after it.
    A thunderous concussion in the confines of the tent, clouds of dust, and Quick Ben and Kalam staggered into view. The wizard’s expression twisted with outrage. He glared across at Paran. ‘That was a little late, High Fist! We were already halfway back.’
    Paran waved at the dust. He could hear footsteps from beyond the flap and called out, ‘Everything’s fine!’
    From outside, a soldier’s voice hissed, ‘Hear that, Gebbla? When a High Fist farts the whole world shakes!’
    ‘Shh, y’damned idiot!’
    The footsteps retreated.
    Paran sighed. ‘I got impatient waiting for you. Sorry. I didn’t know retrieving you was going to be so messy.’
    ‘It was for emergencies ,