Toll the Hounds

‘He did not mean it,’ said Anomander Rake.

But he did. ‘Your ability to forgive far surpasses mine, Lord.’

‘The body follows the head, but sometimes it’s the other way round. There was a cabal. Ambitious, hungry. They used him, Endest, they used him badly.’

‘They paid for it, didn’t they?’

‘We all did, old friend.’

Endest Sila

Rake grunted, ‘It ts indeed a gsuntlet of recrimination,’

‘Reminders, Lord, of the fact that some things never change,’

‘You must wrest yourself loose, Endest. This despondency can… ravage the soul.’

‘I have heard there is a river that empties into Coral Bay. Eryn or Maurik. Which seems depthless.’

Anomander Rake, still studying the tapestry, nodded.

‘Spi

‘Yes, there are some similarities.’

‘1 was thinking, if I could be spared…’

His Lord glanced over and smiled. ‘A pilgrimage? Of course, Endest. If, that is, you can return before a month passes.’

Ah, are we so close, then? ‘I will not stay long, Lord. Only to see, with my own eyes, that is all.’

The glance had become something more focused, and the amber glare had dimmed to something like… like mud. ‘I fear you may be disappointed. It is but a deep river. We ca

And what is it, Lord, that you think I seek? I would not ask what you think I fear for you know the answer to that one. ‘I thought the walk might do me some good.’

‘And so it shall.’

Now, the next day, he sat in his chamber. A small leather pack of supplies rested beside the door. And the thought of a walk, a long one, up rugged moun-tainsides beneath hard sunlight, no longer seemed so appetizing. Age did such things, feeding the desire then starving the will. And what, after all, would seeing the river achieve?

A reminder of illusions, perhaps, a reminder that, in a realm for ever beyond reach, there stood the ruin of a once-great city, and, flowing round it, Dorssan Ryl, living on, ceaseless in its perfect absence, in playing its game of existence. A river of purest darkness, the life water of the Tiste Andii, and if the children were gone, well, what difference did that make?

Children will leave. Children will abandon the old ways, and the old fools with all their pointless advice can mutter and grumble to empty spaces and nod at the answering echoes. Stone and brickwork make ideal audiences.

No, he would make this journey. He would defy the follies of old age, unmea-sured and unmocked under the eyes of the young. A solitary pilgrimage.

And all these thoughts, seeming so indulgent and wayward, will perhaps reveal their worth then, driving dire echoes forward to that future moment of revelation. Hah. Did he believe such things? Did he possess the necessary faith?

‘Ask no question, the river shall answer.’

‘Question the river, find the answer.’

The Mad Pnets spent lifetimes waging profound wars iin their rendered prose. Achieving what? Why, the implosive obliteration of their tradition, Summarize that in two clauses.

‘I need you to make a journey.’

Spi

Anomander Rake stretched out his legs until his boots were very nearly in the flames of the hearth. ‘Soon, I think. Tell me, how goes the game?’

He squinted at the fire. ‘Not well. Oh, I win each time. It’s just that my finest opponent does poorly of late. His mind is on other matters, unfortunately. I am not pressed, and this removes much of the pleasure.’

‘This would be Seerdomin.’

Spi

A faint smile from Anomander Rake. ‘Itkovian was a most extraordinary man. This newborn cult interests me, and I am not so sure it would have pleased him. He saw himself as a soldier, a failed one at that-the fall of Capustan devastated him.’ He paused for a moment, clearly remembering, then he said, ‘They were but a mercenary company, modest in complement-nothing like the Crimson Guard. I dare say even the Crimson Guard would have failed to hold Capustan.’

Spi

‘He could forgive everyone but himself.’

No wonder you liked him.

Anomander Rake sighed. ‘I ca

As the significance of that statement settled into Spi

The ruler of Black Coral sat frowning at his smouldering boots.

So, how long has he been thus? ‘I have always… managed, Lord.’

‘Yes, you.have. I am curious. What so afflicts Seerdomin?’

‘A crisis of faith, I think.’ Life like Kef Tanar, this skipping across paths. He does it so well, this man whom I have never defeated in our tabletop wars, not in ten thousand years. But I can stay with you, Lord, at least this far. ‘He has ceased making his daily pilgrimage. Among those living out there, there have grown expectations. Which, it seems, he is unable to meet,’

‘You tread carefully, Spi

‘I do not possess all the details yet.’

‘But you shall.’

‘Eventually, yes.’

‘And then?’

Spi

‘Best hurry, then.’

Ah, yes, I see now.

‘The Redeemer is a most helpless god,’ Anomander Rake said after a time. ‘Un-able to refuse, unable to give. A sea sponge swallowing the entire sea. Then the next one and the one after that. Can it simply go on for ever? But for Itkovian, I would think not.’

‘Is that a sort of faith, Lord?’

‘Perhaps it is. Is his ability to forgive truly endless? To take on the pain and guilt of others for all eternity? I admit, I have some serious difficulties with this cult’s root tenets-oh, as I said, I greatly admired Itkovian, the Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords. I even understand, to some extent, his gesture with the Kron T’lan Imass. As the Redeemer, however… I ca

‘Yet he is called the Redeemer.’