The Crippled God

swirled, and the face that had twisted up to look at him seemed to be shedding from blinded eyes the tears of the world .
    ‘ Is it time then? ’ Karsa demanded .
    ‘ Will you kill it all? ’
    The Toblakai showed his teeth . ‘ If I can .’
    ‘ It will simply grow up again, like a weed from the ashes. For all that we are made to kneel, Karsa Orlong, we yearn to fly .’
    ‘ Yes, rare and noble and precious as pigeons. I’ve seen the statues of old heroes in the square, old man. I’ve seen their crowns of bird-shit .’
    ‘ I – I was an artist once. These hands – so deformed now, so bent and frozen – can you understand? All this talent, but no way to release it, no way to give it shape. But perhaps we are all like that, and only the lucky few are able to find talent’s path unbarred .’
    ‘ I doubt it ,’ Karsa replied .
    Thunder rumbled from beyond the lake .
    The crippled man coughed . ‘ I am drowning. I have enjoyed our conversation on the merits of the civilized, Karsa Orlong, but nowI must surrender. I must die. Sick. Fevered. The needs burn too hot. I have given you the words you shall use. Upon my heart. Upon my heart .’
    Karsa stared at the wretched shape at his feet. He set his sword to lean against the wall behind him, and then crouched down .
    The crippled man’s face lifted, the sightless eyes white as polished coins . ‘ What are you doing? ’
    Karsa reached down, gathered the skeletal figure into his arms, and then settled back . ‘ I stepped over corpses on the way here ,’ the Toblakai said . ‘ People no one cared about, dying alone. In my barbaric village this would never happen, but here in this city, this civilized jewel, it happens all the time .’
    The ravaged face was turned upward, the last of the raindrops dripping away as he huddled beneath the cover Karsa provided. The mouth worked, but no sounds came forth .
    ‘ What is your name? ’ Karsa asked .
    ‘ Munug .’
    ‘ Munug. This night – before I must rise and walk into the temple – I am a village. And you are here, in my arms. You will not die uncared for .’
    ‘ You – you would do this for me? A stranger? ’
    ‘ In my village no one is a stranger – and this is what civilization has turned its back on. One day, Munug, I will make a world of villages, and the age of cities will be over. And slavery will be dead, and there shall be no chains – tell your god. Tonight, I am his knight .’
    Munug’s shivering was fading. The old man smiled . ‘ He knows .’
    It wasn’t too much, to take a frail figure into one’s arms for those last moments of life. Better than a cot, or even a bed in a room filled with loved ones. Better, too, than an empty street in the cold rain. To die in someone’s arms – could there be anything more forgiving?
    Every savage barbarian in the world knew the truth of this .
    Behind their massive shields the Ve’Gath soldiers of the K’Chain Che’Malle advanced into a hailstorm of arrows and heavy quarrels. Impacts staggered some of them, quarrels shattering against the shields. Others reeled, heads, necks and chests sprouting shafts, and as they fell their kin moved up to take their places, and the reptilian assault drew ever closer to the trenches and redoubts.
    In the centre of the advance, the T’lan Imass weathered a similar deluge of missile fire, but they held no shields, and where the oversized quarrels struck the bodies shattered, bones exploding into shards and splinters. Those that could then picked themselves back up and continued on. But many were too broken to rise again, lying amid the wreckage of their own bones.
    The withering fusillade lashed into the attacking forces again and again. Scores of Ve’Gath went down, legs kicking, tails whipping or striking the ground. Deep gaps opened in the T’lan Imass lines. Yet there were no screams, no terrible cries of agony or horror.
    Sister Reverence stood high above the battle, winds both hot and bitter cold whipping about her, and watched as the enemy forces pushed ever closer to her soldiers waiting in their trenches and raised redoubts. The sorcery of Akhrast Korvalain streaming from her, she held fast her Kolansii heavy infantry, leaving no room for fear, and she could feel them bristling as she fed them her hunger. Do not yield. Slay them all! Do not yield! They would hold – they had to – and then High Watered Festian would arrive, to strike at the K’Chain flank, driving deep a mortal wound