The Crippled God

press, Kindly saw a dozen or so soldiers moving through the ranks away from the front line. ‘What in Hood’s name are they doing?’ But he saw no panic in the faces of the soldiers closest to them – words were shouted back and forth, and the ranks shifted to make room for them to pass.
    Pores straightened once more, followed Kindly’s glare. ‘Ordinary Grey … Ffan and Sample. And there’s that scary Semk – it’s the ones she called on, sir.’
    ‘Is it now?’
    Another hard shove from the front staggered them back again.
    ‘Head back to the camp, Pores – do something useful. Protect the children.’
    ‘I don’t think – oh, right. Sir—’
    ‘I’m moving up again – get out of here.’
    ‘Sir—’
    ‘That’s it – you’re up on report, soldier! Now go before I kill you myself!’
    Lesser Watered Trissin moved past the bones of Brother Aloft – she struggled to not look down, yet could not help herself. Locusts still crawled here and there, out from under the bones or the slack skins of intestines, still crowded the gaping jaws.
    She could feel Sister Freedom’s fury and pain as the wounded Pure lashed out – the T’lan Imass would not win that battle – but they were taking all the Forkrul Assail’s concentration. In truth, it was High Watered Melest who was commanding the assault, from the centre.
    She saw, ahead of them, a line of four soldiers, and her eyes widened – this is all they have for us? They are mad!
    Off to the right, spilling out from the enemy phalanx, came a dozen or so medium infantry.
    A laugh burst from her. ‘This is what they offer in opposition?’ She gestured, her mind snapping out the command to spread out, widen the facing line.
    They would sweep past these fools, and then wheel round to close on the flank from behind.
    The battle was as good as done.
    ‘Adjunct,’ said Ruthan Gudd, ‘we need to fall back – into the phalanx. We can’t stay out here – we can’t hold that advance—’
    But Tavore Paran seemed to be beyond words. Blood flowed down her face, as if all that she had contained, all that she had held inside, was now pushing free.
    Gods below . ‘Take her left, Lostara – with Henar on yours. I’ve got the right. Adjunct! Fuck this waiting, let’s charge.’
    Her head snapped round, the eyes raw and wild.
    And then the four of them were moving forward.
    Trissin shouted in shock – they were attacking!
    And now she saw – one of the soldiers was sheathed in ice, even unto the long sword in his hand. And another was coming forward with the fluid grace of water, two swords seeming to flow from her hands. Apart from the ice-bound figure, the others were covered in blood – these were the ones who had stood against Brother Aloft. That woman – she commands this army .
    What is she doing?
    What are they all doing?
    Grid Ffan swore in a stream of languages and then yelled, ‘Run, you fools! Catch up to ’em!’ And as they pelted forward, ten regulars racingto join up with their Adjunct and her officers, the corporal found breath to bark out orders.
    ‘Hare Ravage – go far end and arrive hard! Sample – follow him up! Shades Elar and Brutan Harb – back up the Shadow Dancer and the Bluerose. Shipwreck and Could Howl, stay with me for the Adjunct! You too, Grey.’
    Sergeant Ordinary Grey cursed. ‘I outrank you, Ffan!’
    ‘So what?’
    ‘Right,’ the man gasped. ‘You all, what Ffan said! Carry on, Corporal!’
    ‘Asp Slither – got any magic? How ’bout you, Gill?’
    ‘’S coming back,’ hissed Gill Slime.
    And Asp Slither cackled like a strangled swan. ‘Just watch me!’ she crowed.
    ‘No!’ Ffan shouted – they were only a dozen or so paces away now. ‘Hold back, both of you! Find their fucking commander and hit the fucker with all you fucking got, you fucking got it?’
    The Kartoolii mage cackled a second time and loomed close. ‘No, sir. What do you mean?’
    A strange burbling sound spat out from Could Howl.
    Ffan shot the Semk a look. ‘That’s some laugh you got there.’
    They arrived like a whirlwind, into the front line of the Kolansii. Swords were a blur in the hands of the dancer, and, where they touched, blood sang forth and bodies tumbled back. The ice-clad soldier waded in, blows bouncing from him unnoticed, and cut deep into the ranks, his sword seemingly everywhere. The tall soldier on the dancer’s left was bellowing as he beat down the Kolansii in front of him, shield-slamming