South of the western tail of the Gadrobi Hills, a lone chain-clad figure pauses in his journey, seeing at last the faint bluish glow that is the ever-beating heart of the great, legendary city.
Darujhistan.
Three leagues west of him, three more strangers gaze upon that selfsame glow, and in the eyes of one of them-unseen by the others-there is such dread, such an-guish, as would crush the soul of a lesser man. His gauntleted hand steals again and again to the leather-wrapped grip of his sword.
He tells himself that vengeance answered is peace won, but even he does not quite believe that. Beyond the city awaiting him, the future is a vast absence, a void he now believes he will never see, much less stride into.
Yet, for all the tumultuous, seething forces of will within these arrayed strangers, none among them is the cause for the night’s thick, palpable silence.
Less than a league north of the three strangers, seven Hounds are arrayed along a ridge, baleful eyes fixed upon the glow of the city.
The beasts possess the capacity to detect a rabbit’s rapid heartbeat half a league away, so they hear well the tolling of the twelfth hell, announcing the ar-rival of midnight in the city of Darujhistan.
And as one, the seven Hounds lift their massive heads, and give voice to a howl.
The stars are struck into blazing sparks overhead. The High King halts in mid-stride, and the ancient, stubborn blood in his veins and arteries suddenly floods cold as ice. For the first time in this journey, Kallor knows a moment of fear.
Havok’s long head snaps up and the beast skitters to one side. Astride the animal, Samar Dev makes a desperate grab for Karsa, lest she be thrown to the ground, and she can feel the sudden tautness of every muscle in the huge warrior.
Ahead of them, Traveller pauses, his shoulders hunching as if those all too close howls even now lash at his back. Then he shakes himself, and marches on.
Atop a cornice of a gate facing the south plain, a squat toad-like demon lifts its head, pointed ears suddenly alert.
Then, as the howls slowly fade, the demon settles once more.
Although now, at last, it can feel, rising up from the very earth, rising up to shiver along its bones, the rumble of heavy paws on distant ground.
Drawing closer, ever closer.
In the city behind Chillbais, the twelfth bell clangs its sonorous note. Another season’s grand fete is almost gone. One more day in the name of Gedderone. One more night to close the riot of senseless celebration.
Dance, and dance on.
Because, as everyone knows, all that you see about you will last, well, forever.
XX
My friend, this is not the place
The cut flowers lie scattered on the path
And the light of the moon glistens
In what the stems bleed