Toll the Hounds

Kallor’s grin was feral. ‘It hasn’t yet.’

Skintick glanced back again, eyes bright, and all at once he laughed. ‘I am changing my mind about you.’

‘The Dying God has stolen Clip’s soul,’ Nimander said. ‘We’re going to get it back.’

‘Good luck.’

‘I suppose we will need it.’

‘I’m not the kind who helps, Nimander,’ Kallor said. ‘Even kin of Rake. Maybe,’ he added, ‘especially kin of Rake.’

‘What makes you think-’

The man interrupted with a snort. ‘I see him in all of you-excepting the empty one you call Clip. You are heading to Coral. Or you were, before this de-tour was forced upon you. Tell me, what do you imagine will happen when you find your glorious patron? Will he reach out one perfect hand to brush your brows, to bless the gift of your existence? Will you thank him for the privilege of being alive?’

‘What do you know about it?’ Nimander demanded, feeling the heat rise to flush his face.

‘Anomander Rake is a genius at beginning things. It’s finishing them he has trouble with.’

Ah, that stings of truth. Kallor, you have just prodded my own soul. A trait I inherited from him, then? That makes too much sense. ‘So, when I speak to him of you, Kallor, he will know your name?’

‘Were we acquaintances? Yes, we were. Did we delight in each other’s com-pany? You will have to ask him that one. Caladan Brood was simpler, easier to manage. Nothing but earth and stone. As for K’azz, well, I’ll know more when I fi-nally meet the bastard.’

‘I do not know those names,’ Nimander said. ‘Caladan Brood. K’azz.’

‘It’s of no real significance. We were allies in a war or three, that is all. And per-haps one day we will be allies once more, who can say? When some vast enemy forces us once again into the same camp, all on the same side.’ He seemed to think about that for a moment, then said, ‘Nothing changes.’

‘Are you then returning to Coral-where waits our father?’

‘No. The dust I kicked up last time will need a few centuries to settle, I ex-pect.’ He was about to add something more when his attention was pulled away, and he stepped across Nimander’s path-forcing him to halt-to walk to the road’s edge, facing north.

‘I’d spotted that,’ Skintick muttered, also stopping.

Fifty or so paces from the road, just beyond a strip of the alien plants and Hi row of wrapped effigies, was a ruin. Only one of the walls of the squarish, tower. like structure rose above man-height. The stones were enormous, fitted without mortar. Trees of a species Nimander had never seen before had rooted on top of the walls, snaking long, thick ropes down to the ground. The branches were skeletal, reaching horizontally out to the sides, clutching mere handfuls of dark, leathery leaves.

Nenanda had stopped the wagon and all were now studying the ruin that had so captured Kallor’s attention.

‘Looks old,’ Skintick said, catching Nimander’s eye and winking.

‘Jaghut,’ Kallor said. And he set out towards it. Nimander and Skintick followed.

In the field, the furrows of earth were bleached, dead, and so too the ghastly plants. Even the terrible clouds of insects had vanished.

Kallor stepped between two corpses, but there was not enough room so he reached out to either side and pushed the stakes over. Dust spat from the bases as the scarecrows sagged, then, pulling free, fell to the ground. The warrior continued on.

‘We can hope,’ said Skintick under his breath as he and Nimander followed through the gap.

‘For what?’ Nimander asked.

‘That he decides he doesn’t like this Dying God. And makes up his mind to do something about it.’

‘You believe he is that formidable?’

Skintick shot him a glance. ‘When he said he was allied with Anomander and those others, it didn’t sound as though he meant he was a soldier or minor officer in some army, did it?’

Nimander frowned, then shook his head.

Skintick hissed wordlessly through his teeth, and then said, ‘Like… equals.’

‘Yes, like that. But it doesn’t matter, Skin-he won’t help us.’

‘I wasn’t hoping for that. More like him deciding to do something for his own reasons, but something that ends up solving our problem.’

‘I’d wager no coins on that, Skin.’

Drawing closer to the ruin, they fell silent. Decrepit as it was, the tower was imposing. The air around it seemed grainy, somehow brittle, ominously cold despite the sun’s fierce heat.