The Crippled God

what the scrawny bastard was thinking. The assassin wanted to hit the man. At least ten times.
    Crouched, even as the ghostly body of the Otataral Dragon slipped down around them all, Kalam turned to look at the Crippled God. Who stood motionless, eyes shut, hands still raised into the sky.
    Maybe a dragon can fly you up there, friend. They’re not all fleeing, are they?
    A woman he’d never seen before slumped down beside him, offered him an inviting smile. ‘I like the look of you,’ she said.
    Gods, not another one . ‘Who in Hood’s name are you?’
    Her smile flashed wider. ‘I am the woman who stole the moon. Oh, I see that you don’t believe me, do you?’
    ‘It’s not that,’ he replied. ‘Fine, you stole it – but then you broke the fucking thing!’
    Fury lit her face most becomingly. ‘I am Apsal’ara, the Mistress of Thieves!’
    He grinned at her. ‘Never liked thieves.’ Frustrate them. Works every time .

    Hearing the exchange, Quick Ben snorted.
    Kalam, you never learn, do you? Or maybe you just can’t help yourself .
    The roof of the cavern suddenly glowed white-hot, and Heboric spun to the Crippled God. ‘Now! Open your eyes – you can’t be down here when she arrives. No one can!’
    The Crippled God turned. He sensed the two Elder Gods were gone.
    Farewell, Mael of the Seas and K’rul Maker of Warrens .
    ‘Open your eyes!’
    And so he did, and in that moment he felt Heboric take his hand.
    Koryk had dragged himself behind a tilted standing stone, his eyes fixed upon the Crippled God not five paces away. There was a need inside him, unbearable, savage. It wanted to devour him. It wanted to annihilate the world, the one he lived in, the one that had nothing but the thinnest skin between what hid inside and what lay outside.
    There was no answer. None but the obvious one – the one he dared not look at. If he did, he would have to face his own story – not as some nostalgic bravado, but as the succession of hurts that he was not unique in carrying. And he would see all the scars – the ones he bore, the others he had made on those close to him.
    He stared at the Crippled God, as if it could somehow save his soul.
    And the Fallen One opened his eyes – and stared directly into Koryk’s.
    Jade fire lit a whirling pillar round the god, spinning ever faster, the glow brightening, the air howling.
    Their gazes were locked together through the emerald flames.
    And Koryk saw something – there, awakening, a look … a promise .
    He felt his soul reaching forth – closer … closer – reaching to touch.
    The Crippled God smiled at him, with such love, such knowing.
    The shadow rising behind him was out of place – it could not belong inside those raging fires. Yet Koryk saw it lifting, taking form. He saw two arms rising from that shape, saw the raw, dull gleam of dagger blades.
    Shadow .
    Koryk’s scream of warning ripped raw his throat – he flung himself forward—
    Even as Cotillion’s knives plunged down.
    To sink into the Crippled God’s back.
    Shock took that otherworldly face – as if the smile had never been – and the head rocked back, the body arching in agony.
    Someone slammed into Koryk, dragged him to the ground. He fought, howling.
    The green fire ignited, shot spiralling into the sky – so fast it was gone in moments.
    Koryk stared after it, one hand stretching upward.
    Beside him, too close to bear, he heard Fiddler say, ‘It was the only way, Koryk. It’s for the best. Nothing you can—’
    Suddenly sobbing, Koryk pushed the man away, and then curled up, like a child who lived in a world of broken promises.
    Hedge pulled Fiddler away from the sobbing soldier. Fiddler shot him a helpless look.
    ‘He’ll shake out of it,’ Hedge said. ‘Once it all settles and he works it out, he’ll be fine, Fid.’
    Quick Ben and Kalam joined the two sappers, and Fiddler fixed his eyes on the wizard. ‘Was it real, Quick? What I saw – did I …’
    The wizard gestured and they followed him to one edge of the summit. He pointed down to a lone figure standing some distance away, little more than a silhouette, its back to them. ‘Care to ask him, Fid?’
    Ask him? After all we’ve done … how to see this? Ask him? What if he answers me? ‘No,’ he said.
    ‘Listen, you were right – it had to be this way.’
    Yes! It had to – we didn’t do all this for nothing!
    Fiddler stepped back, eyed the three men standing before him. ‘Look at us,’ he