The Crippled God

…’
    ‘Clouds?’
    Sinter made a face. ‘You were the one asking me what I was seeing, remember? Now I’m telling you, I got something.’
    ‘Clouds.’
    ‘Oh, never mind.’ She settled back down lengthways in the slit trench she’d hacked out of the stony barrowside. ‘But if anyone sees …’
    ‘Clouds, aye,’ said Masan Gilani, rubbing at her eyes.
    Rejoining his squad, Bottle glanced over at Shortnose. ‘Joined us again, have you?’
    ‘I brought a shield,’ the heavy said.
    ‘Oh, that’s nice.’
    ‘You need to tie it to my hand.’
    ‘What, now?’
    ‘Tie it so it doesn’t come loose. Use … knots and things.’
    ‘With rawhide.’
    ‘And knots and things.’
    Bottle moved over to the man, crouched down.
    ‘You do that,’ Smiles observed, ‘and next he’ll be asking you to give him a shake, too.’
    ‘Make sure it’s after the little shudder,’ Cuttle advised. ‘Else you get wet.’
    ‘I once shuddered so hard,’ said Shortnose, ‘I shit myself.’
    Everyone looked over, but it seemed that no one could think of a rejoinder to that.
    Koryk had drawn his sword from its scabbard and now began running a stone down the length of the blade’s edge. ‘Someone make us a fire,’ he said. ‘We’re facing east here – if they come in from the morning sun … I want charcoal under my eyes.’
    ‘Sound enough,’ replied Cuttle, grunting to his feet. ‘Glad you’re back thinking like a soldier, Koryk.’
    The Seti half-blood said nothing, lifting the weapon to squint at its edge.
    ‘Once that’s all done,’ Tarr said, ‘eat, drink and sleep. Corporal, set the watch.’
    ‘Aye, Sergeant. Listen all of you! I can taste it in the air!’
    ‘That’d be Widdershins.’
    ‘No! It is glory, my friends. Glory!’
    Koryk said, ‘If that’s the smell of glory, Corabb, I knew an anaemic cat that was queen of the world.’
    Corabb frowned at him. ‘I don’t get it. Was it named Glory?’
    Corporal Rim settled down beside Honey. ‘I can hold a shield,’ he said. ‘I’ll cover you one side.’
    ‘Not if it’s going to get you killed.’
    ‘A soldier who’s lost his weapon arm isn’t much good to anyone. Just let me do this, will you?’
    Honey’s brow creased. ‘Listen, you’ve been moping ever since the lizards. It’s obvious why, but still, show us a smile, will you? If you die here you won’t be the only one, will you?’
    ‘So what’s the problem if my guarding you gets me killed?’
    ‘Because I don’t want it on me, right?’
    Rim scratched at his beard. ‘Fine then, I’ll shield-bash the fuckers.’
    ‘That’s better. Now, I got a watch here – go to sleep, sir.’
    Fiddler walked the crest of the hill, doing a full circuit, studying where his troops had dug in and fortified defensive positions using boulders and stones. Hedge was right, he saw. They were too thin, and the footing was precarious at best. Should’ve brought spears – like those Bridgeburners did .
    Admit it, Fid, having Hedge here may hurt like a stuck knife, but you’re glad of it anyway .
    He studied the sky – the setting of the sun had passed almost unnoticed, so bright were the Jade Strangers overhead. Sighing, the captain moved to find a place to sit, his back against a carved stela. He closed his eyes. He knew he should try to sleep, but knew as well that such a thing was impossible.
    He’d never wanted any of this. Handling a single squad had been burden enough. And now everyone here’s looking to me. If only they knew, the fools. I’m as lost as they are .
    In the ghoulish light he drew out the House of Chains. The lacquered wooden cards slipped about in his hands as if coated in grease. He squinted down at them, slowly worked his way through each one, studying it in turn. Seven cards. Six felt cool to his touch. Only one glistened with sweat.
    Leper.
    Aw, Hedge. I’m so sorry for that .
    The Shi’gal Assassin had left a place of flame far behind him now. Flame and the blood of a slain god raining down from a tortured sky. He had witnessed the deaths of thousands. Humans, K’Chain Che’Malle, Imass. He had seen the fall of Forkrul Assail and Jaghut warriors. Toblakai and Barghast. All for the scarred thing he now clutched in his hands.
    It dripped blood and there seemed to be no end to that flow, trickling down his fingers, painting his claws, spattering his thighs as the rhythmic beat of his wings carried him westward, as if chasing the sun’s eager plunge beyond