Thud!

here?
    “It goes Naaaaay. It is a horse! That is not my cow!”
    Dwarfs looked at one another. Where was the horse, then? Did you hear a horse? Who else is down here?
    The four guards had retreated to the cavern for advice and reorientation. There was a number of deep-downers there, clustered in frantic conversation and watching the approaching man.
    In Vimes’s strobing vision, there were fluffy bunnies, too, and quacky ducks…
    He had dropped to his knees again, and was staring at the ground and crying.
    Half a dozen shrouded dark guards stepped out from the group. One of them carried ahead of him a flame weapon, and advanced on the figure cautiously. The flame of its little pilot light was the brightest thing in the cave.
    The figure looked up, the light reflected red in its eyes, and growled: “Is that my cow?”
    Then it threw the axe overarm, full at the guard. It struck the flame weapon, which exploded.
    “It goes HRUUUGH!”
    “Hg!” said Young Sam, as his mother hugged him and stared blankly at the wall.
    Burning oil fountained across the dark. Some of it splashed on Vimes’s arm. He slapped at it. There was pain, intense pain, but he knew this only in the same way that he knew the moon existed. It was there, but it was a long way off and didn’t affect him very much.
    “That’s not my cow!” he said, standing up.
    He strode on now, over the burning oil, through red-edged smoke, past the dwarfs rolling desperately on the ground to put out the flames. He seemed to be looking for something.
    Two more guards ran at him. Without appearing to notice them, Vimes crouched and whirled the sword around in a circle. A little lamb rocked in front of his eyes.
    A dwarf with greater presence of mind than the others had found a crossbow and was taking aim when he had to stop to brush away the bats streaming past him. He raised the bow again, looked around at a noise like two slabs of meat being slapped together, and was picked up and thrown across the cave by a naked young woman. An astonished miner swung his axe at the smiling girl, who vanished in a cloud of bats.
    There was a lot of yelling going on. Vimes paid it no attention. Dwarfs were running through the smoke. He merely slapped them aside. He had found what he was seeking.
    “Is that my cow? It goes Mooooo!”
    Picking up another fallen axe, Vimes started to run.
    “Yes! That’s my cow!”
    The grags were behind a ring of guards, in a frantic huddle, but Vimes’s eyes were on fire, and there were flames streaming from his helmet. A dwarf holding a flamethrower threw it down and fled.
    “Hooray, hooray, it’s a wonderful day, for I have found my cow!”
    …and perhaps that, it was said later, was what did it. Against the berserker, there is no defense. They had sworn to fight to the death, but not to this death. The slowest four guards went down to the axe and the sword, the others scattered and ran.
    And now Vimes paused in front of the cowering old dwarfs, raising the weapons over his head—
    And halted, rocking like a statue.

N ight, forever. But within it, a city, shadowy and only real in certain ways.
    The entity cowered in its alley, where the mist was rising. This could not have happened!
    Yet it had. The streets had filled with…things. Animals! Birds! Changing shape! Screaming and yelling! And, above it all, higher than the rooftops, a lamb rocking back and forth in great slow motions, thundering over the cobbles…
    And then bars had come down, slamming down, and the entity had been thrown back.
    But it had been so close! It had saved the creature, it was getting through, it was beginning to have control…and now this…
    In the darkness of the inner city, above the rustle of the never-ending rain, it heard the sound of boots approaching.
    A shape appeared in the mist.
    It drew nearer.
    Water cascaded off a metal helmet and an oiled leather cloak as the figure stopped and, entirely unconcerned, cupped its hand in front of its face and lit a cigar.
    Then the match was dropped on the cobbles, where it hissed out, and the figure said: “What are you?”
    The entity stirred, like an old fish in a deep pool. It was too tired to flee.
    “I am the Summoning Dark.” It was not, in fact, a sound, but had it been, it would have been a hiss. “Who are you?”
    “I am the Watchman.”
    “They would have killed his family!” The darkness lunged, and met resistance. “Think of the deaths they have caused! Who are you to stop