The Crippled God

head – too many things in her damned skull!
    Her horse was tiring and she slowed her pace a fraction – she might need one more charge out of this beast. The queen takes the sword and shows her face beneath the mask. But the world does not tremble as it should, for the mask only comes off in the face of death. Husband, dear me, your wife’s strayed too far this time .
    She drew her sword as she closed – the Saphii commander was standing to the right of the royal entourage, his eyes upon her as were the eyes of virtually everyone else. She pointed her sword directly at him, saw him suddenly straighten as if in delight, raising his spear in one hand, and then he was moving, his tall dark figure speeding across the ground, back to his troops.
    And she saw them now, too, leaping and dancing in a frenzy of excitement. Oh, Kolansii, you have no idea what is about to hit you .
    Captain Feveren, Ninth Cohort of the Evertine Legion, slid back down the slope on a greasy mass of bodies, swearing all the way down to the base, where he was thrown up against the shins of the soldiers struggling to do what he’d just tried. He’d lost sight of his own troops – those that remained alive – but such details barely mattered now. The only cohesion left was the one that defined the living from the dead.
    This was slaughter. Twice they had momentarily overrun the first trench, only to be thrown back by indiscriminate fire from ranks of onagers, the huge quarrels tearing through multiple bodies, blood andgore exploding in torrents, men and women flung about like rag dolls. Shields shattered with impacts, breaking the shoulders behind them, driving soldiers down to their knees. The bank of the first berm was a ceaseless mudslide of all that could spill out from a human body, streaming over pale limbs, over staring, sightless faces, ruptured armour and tangled embraces.
    Cursing, he struggled to find his feet again. He could feel another push coming from the ranks pressing against him, and wanted to be in a position to ride that tide upward. They were going to take that damned trench, no matter—
    But the Evertine infantry were being jostled, the solid lines broken apart – and Feveren swore upon seeing tall Saphii pushing through, their eyes bright yellow with that infernal drug they took before battle, the froth thick on their lips.
    ‘Clear paths!’ the captain bellowed. ‘Clear paths!’
    But the command was not needed – nothing would stop the Saphii spear-wielders, not this close to the enemy.
    Lighter-armoured, lithe and fleet of foot, the warriors seemed to clamber like spiders up the slope of the berm. In one hand they held their spears, and in the other a pick of some sort – its business end a splay of talon-like hooks that they swung down into dead and dying flesh alike, pulling themselves yet higher.
    In moments the first line of Saphii had reached the top, and over and out of sight.
    The screams from the first trench intensified.
    ‘Follow!’ bellowed Feveren. ‘Follow!’
    And up they went.
    Somehow, they’d lifted him to his feet. But his mind remained lost in a deafening roar. Brother Diligence raised his head, struggled to find his balance. Officers surrounded him, healers crowded close, and, from a great distance, the sounds of battle took hold of the air above the valley, shaking it without pause.
    He sought to make sense of the cacophony in his head. He heard screams, horrified screams, rising in waves of panic and dread, but even that seemed far away. Far away, yes. That voice – so far away . Abruptly he shoved his helpers from his side, and then staggered as at last he could make out the words, the sources of those desperate screams.
    Sister Reverence!
    Her answer came in a savage torrent. ‘ Brother Diligence! Your battle is feint! We are attacked! K’Chain Che’Malle! T’lan Imass! We cannot hold – gods, the slaughter! ’
    He silenced her hard as a slap. You must hold, Sister! We are coming!
    Looking around, he saw the panic in the eyes of the Watered – they had felt her, had heard her frantic cries. ‘Attend!’ he bellowed. ‘Maintain the defences of the two lowest tiers – the rest are to withdraw to the high road – they must march east to the Spire with all haste! Weapons and armour and one skin of water and nothing more! You have one bell to get twenty-five thousand soldiers on the road!’
    ‘Blessed Pure, the Perish have betrayed us!’
    He waved a dismissive hand.