Toll the Hounds

The Great Ravens were descending now, thumping heavily on to the blood-iplashed, muddy surface of the road.

And Spi

Racing for Kallor.

He saw one of the dragons suddenly turn its head, eyes flashing back in his di-rection, and the creature pitched to one side, coming round.

A moment later the other dragon reached Kallor, catching him entirely un-awares, talons lashing down to grasp the High King and lift him into the air. Wings thundering, the dragon carried its charge yet higher. Faint screams of fury sounded from the man writhing in that grasp.

Dragon and High King dipped behind a hill to the north.

One of the Great Ravens drew up almost at Spi

‘Crone!’ Spi

‘Darujhistan, yes. I’d have liked to. To honour, to witness. To remember, and to weep. But our Lord… well, he had thoughts of you.’ The head tilted. ‘When we saw you, lying there, Kallor looming as he so likes to do, ah, we thought we were too late-we thought we had failed our Lord-and you. We thought-oh, never mind.’

The Great Raven was panting.

Spi

The dragon that had returned now landed on the grasses to the south of the track. Sembling, walking towards Spi

Korlat.

Spi

Crone croaked, ‘Just heal him and be done with it-before he gasps out his last breath in front of us!’

She drew out a quaint flask. ‘Endest Sila

‘Sufficient, anyway, to carry you home.’ And she smiled.

‘My last fight in his name,’ said Spi

Her expression tightened, revealed something wan and ravaged. ‘You have much to tell us, brother. So much that needs… explaining.’

Spi

The Great Raven ducked and hopped a few steps away. ‘We like our secrets,’ she cackled, ‘when it’s all we have!’

Korlat brushed his cheek again. ‘How long?’ she asked. ‘How long did you hold him back?’

‘Why,’ he replied, ‘I lit the torches… dusk was just past…’

Her eyes slowly widened. And she glanced to the east, where the sky had begun, at last, to lighten.

‘Oh, Spi

A short time later, when she went to find his sword where it was lying in the grasses, Spi

She looked at him in surprise.

But he was not of a mind to explain.

Above the Gadrobi Hills, Kallor finally managed to drag free his sword, even as the dragon’s massive head swung down, jaws wide. His thrust sank deep into the soft throat, just above the jutting avian collar bones. A shrill, spattering gasp erupted from the Soletaken, and all at once they were plunging earthward.

The impact was thunder and snapping bones. The High King was flung away, tumbling and skidding along dew-soaked grass. He gained his feet and spun to face the dragon.

It had sembled. Orfantal, on his face an expression of bemused surprise, was struggling to stand. One arm was broken. Blood gushed down from his neck. He seemed to have forgotten Kallor, as he turned in the direction of the road, and slowly walked away.

Kallor watched.

Orfantal managed a dozen steps before he fell to the ground.

It seemed this was a night for kllling Tiste Andii.

His shoulders were on fire from the dragon’s puncture wounds, which might well have proved fatal to most others, but Kallor was not like most others. Indeed, the High King was unique.

In his ferocity. In his stubborn will to live.

In the dry furnace heat of the hatred that ever swirled round him.

He set out once more for the city.

As dawn finally parted the night.

Kallor.

Xx

‘There is no struggle too vast, no odds too overwhelming, for even should we fail-should we fall-we will know that we have lived.’

– Anomander Rake, Son Of Darkness

The continent-sized fragments of the shattered moon sent reflected sunlight down upon the world. The fabric of Night, closed so tight about the city of Black Coral, began at last to fray. The web that was this knotted manifestation of Kurald Galain withered under the assault. Shafts broke through and moonlight painted buildings, domes, towers, walls and the long-dead gardens they contained. Silvery glow seeped into the dark waters of the bay, sending creatures plunging to the inky blackness of the depths.

New world, young world. So unexpected, so premature, this rain of death.

Endest Sila

The Saelen Gara of the lost Kharkanan forestlands had believed that the moon was Father Light’s sweet seduction, i

Where you will make your stand. The world changes.

The world changes.

Yes, he had held back the sea. He had made Moon’s Spawn into a single held breath that had lasted months.

But now, ah, now, his Lord bad asked him to hold back Light itself.

To save not a fortress, but a city. Not a single breath to hold, but the breath of Kurald Galain, an Elder Warren.

But he was old, and he did not know… he did not know…

Standing twenty paces away, in a niche of the wall, the High Priestess watched. Seeing him struggle, seeing him call upon whatever reserves he had left. Seeing him slowly, inexorably, fail.

And she could do nothing.

Light besieged Dark in the sky overhead. A god in love With dying besieged a child of redemption, and would use that child’s i

For she has turned away.

Against all this, a lone, ancient, broken warlock.

It was not fair…

Time was the enemy. But then, she told herself with wry bitterness, time was always the enemy.