House of Chains

Odder, still, to be thinking of Pearl. She was hard on him, viciously so at times. Not because she cared, but because it was fun. No, that was too facile, wasn’t it? She cared indeed.

What a stupid thing to have let happen.

A weary sigh close beside her. Lostara scowled without turning. ‘You’re back.’

‘As requested,’ Pearl murmured.

Oh, she wanted to hit him for that.

‘The task is… done?’

‘Aye. Consigned to the deep and all that. If Tene Baralta still wants her, he’ll have to hold his breath.’

She looked then. ‘Really? The sea is already that deep?’ Then we’re-

‘No. High and dry, actually. The other way sounded more… poetic.’

‘I really hate you.’

He nodded. ‘And you’ll have plenty of time in which to luxuriate in it.’

‘You think we’ll survive this?’

‘Yes. Oh, we’ll get our feet wet, but these were islands even back then. This sea will flood the oasis. It will pound up against the raised road west of here-since it was the coastal road back then. And wash up close to the escarpment, maybe even reach it.’

‘That’s all very well,’ she snapped. ‘And what will we be doing, stuck here on these islands in the middle of a landlocked sea?’

Infuriatingly, Pearl simply shrugged. ‘A guess? We build a flotilla of rafts and bind them together to form a bridge, straight to the west road. The sea will be shallow enough there anyway, even if that doesn’t work as well as it should-but I have every confidence in the Adjunct.’

The wall of water then struck the far side of the oasis, with the sound of thunder. Palms waved wildly, then began toppling.

‘Well, now we know what turned that other forest to stone,’ Pearl said loudly over the thrashing roar of water-

That now flowed across the ruins, filling the Dogslayer trenches, tumbling down into the basin.

And Lostara could see that Pearl was right. Its fury was already spent, and the basin seemed to swallow the water with a most prodigious thirst.

She glanced over to study the Adjunct.

Impassive, watching the seas rise, one hand on the hilt of her sword.

Oh, why does looking at you break my heart?

The sands were settling on the carcasses of the horses. The three squads sat or stood, waiting for the rest of the legion. Bottle had walked up to the road to see the source of the roar, had come staggering back with the news.

A sea.

A damned sea.

And its song was in Fiddler’s soul, now. Strangely warm, almost comforting.

One and all, they then turned to watch the giant rider and his giant horse thunder along that road, heading westward. Dragging something that kicked up a lot of dust.

The image of that stayed with Fiddler long after the clouds of dust had drifted off the road, down the near side of the slope.

Could have been a ghost.

But he knew it wasn’t.

Could have been their worst enemy.

But if he was, it didn’t matter. Not right now.

A short while later there was a startled shout from Smiles, and Fiddler turned, in time to see two figures stride out from a warren.

Despite everything, he found himself gri

Old friends, he realized, were getting harder to find.

Still, he knew them, and they were his brothers.

Mortal souls of Raraku. Raraku, the land that had bound them together. Bound them all, as was now clear, beyond even death.

Fiddler was unmindful of how it looked, of what the others thought, upon seeing the three men close to a single embrace.

The horses clambered up the slope to the ridge. Where their riders reined them in, and one and all turned to stare at the yellow, foaming seas churning below. A moment later a squat four-eyed demon scrabbled onto the summit to join them.

The Lord of Summer had lent wings to their horses-Heboric could admit no other possibility, so quickly had they covered the leagues since the night past. And the beasts seemed fresh even now. As fresh as Greyfrog.

Though he himself was anything but.

‘What has happened?’ Scillara wondered aloud.

Heboric could only shake his head.

‘More importantly,’ Felisin said, ‘where do we go now? I don’t think I can sit in the saddle much longer-’

‘I know how you feel, lass. We should find somewhere to make camp-’

The squeal of a mule brought all three around.

A scrawny, black-ski

Heboric glanced at the two women, but it was Greyfrog who moved first.

‘Food!’

The old man shrieked again. ‘Get away from me! I have news to tell! All of you! Is L’oric dead? No! My shadows saw everything! You are my guests! Now, come prise my legs loose! You, lass. No, you, the other lass! Both of you! Beautiful women with their hands on my legs, my thighs! I can’t wait! Do they see the avid lust in my eyes? Of course not, I’m but a helpless wizened creature, potential father figure-’

Cutter stood in the tower’s uppermost chamber, staring out of the lone window. Bhok’arala chittered behind him, pausing every now and then to make crooning, mournful sounds.

He’d woken alone.

And had known, instantly, that she was gone. And there would be no trail for him to follow.

Iskaral Pust had conjured up a mule and ridden off earlier. Of Mogora there was, mercifully, no sign.

Thoroughly alone, then, for most of this day.

Until now.

‘There are countless paths awaiting you.’

Cutter sighed. ‘Hello, Cotillion. I was wondering if you’d show up… again.’

‘Again?’

‘You spoke with Apsalar. Here in this very chamber. You helped her decide.’

‘She told you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not entirely.’

‘Her decision was hers to make, Cutter. Hers alone.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Never mind. Odd, though. You see countless paths. Whilst I see… none worth walking.’

‘Do you seek, then, something worthy?’

Cutter slowly closed his eyes, then sighed. ‘What would you have me do?’

‘There was a man, once, whose task was to guard the life of a young girl. He did the best he could-with such honour as to draw, upon his sad death, the attention of Hood himself. Oh, the Lord of Death will look into a mortal’s soul, given the right circumstances. The, uh, the proper incentive. Thus, that man is now the Knight of Death-’

‘I don’t want to be Knight of anything, nor for anyone, Cotillion-’

‘The wrong track, lad. Let me finish my tale. This man did the best he could, but he failed. And now the girl is dead. She was named Felisin. Of House Paran.’

Cutter’s head turned. He studied the shadowed visage of the god. ‘Captain Paran? His-’

‘His sister. Look down upon the path, here, out the window, lad. In a short time Iskaral Pust will return. With guests. Among them, a child named Felisin-’

‘But you said-’

‘Before Paran’s sister… died, she adopted a waif. A sorely abused foundling. She sought, I think-we will never know for certain, of course-to achieve something… something she herself had no chance, no opportunity, to achieve. Thus, she named the waif after herself.’

‘And what is she to me, Cotillion?’

‘You are being obstinate, I think. The wrong question.’

‘Oh, then tell me what is the right question.’

‘What are you to her?’

Cutter grimaced.

‘The child approaches in the company of another woman, a very remarkable one, as you-and she-will come to see. And with a priest, sworn now to Treach. From him, you will learn… much of worth. Finally, a demon travels with these three humans. For the time being…’

‘Where are they going? Why stop here, as Iskaral’s guests?’