Toll the Hounds

Enough of that.

Kallor had no time for such games. A nose in the air just made it easier to cut the throat beneath it. And when it came to that choice, why, he never hesitated. As sure as any force of Nature, was Kallor.

He walked, shins tearing and uprooting tangled grasses. Above him, a strange, moonless night with the western horizon-where the sun had gone down long ago-convulsing with carmine flashes.

Reaching a raised road of packed gravel, he set out, hastening his pace towards the waiting city. The track dipped and then began a long, stretched-out climb. Upon reaching the summit, he paused.

A hundred paces ahead someone had set four torches on high poles where four paths met, creating a square with the flaring firelight centred on the crossroads. There were no buildings in sight, nothing to give reason for such a construction. Frowning, he resumed walking.

As he drew closer, he saw someone sitting on a marker stone, just beneath one of the torches. Hooded, motionless, forearms resting on thighs, gauntleted hands draped down over the knees.

Kallor felt a moment of unease. He scraped through gravel with one boot and saw the hood slowly lift, the figure straightening and then rising to its feet.

Shit.

The stranger reached up and tugged back the hood, then walked to position himself in the centre of the crossroads.

In the wake of recognition, dismay flooded through Kallor. ‘No, Spinnock Durav, not this.’

The Tiste Andii unsheathed his sword. ‘High King, I cannot let you pass.’

‘Let him fight his own battles!’

‘This need not be a battle,’ Spinnock replied. ‘I am camped just off this road. We can go there now, sit at a fire and drink mulled wine. And, come the morning, you can turn round, go back the other way. Darujhistan, High King, is not for you.’

‘You damned fool. You know you cannot best me.’ He glared at the warrior, struggling. A part of him wanted to… gods … a part of him wanted to weep. ‘How many of his loyal, brave followers will he see die? And for what? Listen to me, Spinnock. I have no real enmity against you. Nor Rake.’ He waved one chain-clad hand in the air behind him. ‘Not even those who pursue me. Heed me, please. I have always respected you, Spinnock-by the Abyss, I railed at how Rake used you-’

‘You do not understand,’ the Tiste Andii said. ‘You never did, Kallor.’

‘You’re wrong. I have nothing against any of you!’

‘Korlat-’

‘Did you think it was my intention to murder Whiskeyjack? Do you think I just cut down honourable men and loyal soldiers out of spite? You weren’t even there! It was Silverfox who needed to die, and that is a failure we shall all one day come to rue. Mark my words. Ah, gods, Spinnock. They got in my way, damn you! Just as you’re doing now!’

Spinnock sighed. ‘It seems there will be no mulled wine this night.’

‘Don’t.’

‘I am here, High King, to stand in your way.’

‘You will die. I cannot stay my hand-everything will be beyond control by then. Spinnock Durav, please! This does not need to happen.’

The Tiste Andii’s faint smile nearly broke Kallor’s heart. No, he understands. All too well. This will be his last battle, in Rake’s name, in anyone’s name.

Kallor drew out his sword. ‘Does it occur, to any of you, what these things do to me? No, of course not. The High King is cursed to fail, but never to fall. The High King is but… what? Oh, the physical manifestation of ambition. Walking proof of its inevitable price. Fine.’ He readied his two-handed weapon. ‘Fuck you, too.’

With a roar that ripped like fire from his throat, Kallor charged forward, and swung his sword.

Iron rang on iron.

Four torches lit the crossroads. Four torches painted two warriors locked in battle. Would these be the only witnesses? Blind and miserably indifferent with their gift of light?

For now, the answer must be yes.

The black water looked cold. Depthless, the blood of darkness. It breathed power in chill mists that clambered ashore to swallow jagged, broken rocks, fallen trees. Night itself seemed to be raining down into this sea.

Glittering rings spun and clicked, and Clip slowly turned face Nimander and the others. ‘I can use this,’ he said. ‘The power rising from this water, it is filled with currents of pure Kurald Galain. I can use this.’

‘A Gate?’

‘Well, at least one of you is thinking. A Gate, yes, Nimander. A Gate. To take us to Black Coral.’

‘How close?’ Skintick asked.

Clip shrugged. ‘Close enough. We will see. At the very least, within sight of the city walls.’