Toll the Hounds

He saw the soldier named Iskar Jarak, sitting astride his horse and staring up at the place where Anomander Rake had been, there on top of the now motionless, si lent bodies-not one of whom bore any remnant of the vast tattoo.

Draconus walked up to stand beside him. ‘You knew him, didn’t you?’

Iskar Jarak nodded. ‘He called me a friend.’

Draconus sighed. ‘I wish I could say the same. I wish… I wish I could have known him better than I did.’ He heard someone approaching and turned to see Hood. ‘Lord of Death, now what? We remain chained; we cannot leave as did the Bridgeburners and the Grey Swords. There are too few of us to pull the wagon, even had we anywhere to go. I see, I understand what Rake has done, and I do not hold him any ill will. But now, I find myself wishing I had joined the others. To find an end to this-’

Iskar Jarak grunted and then said, ‘You spoke true, Draconus, when you said you did not know him well.’

Draconus scowled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He means,’ said Hood, ‘we now come to the final act in this bargain. He has been true to his word, but now what comes is out of his hands. He wrought a promise, yes, but will that suffice?’

‘Shame on you, Hood,’ said Iskar Jarak, gathering up the reins. ‘There is not a fool out there who would betray the Son of Darkness, not in this, not even now-though he has left us, though he has returned to his Mother’s realm.’

‘You chastise me, Iskar Jarak?’

‘I do.’

The Jaghut snorted. ‘Accepted,’ he said.

Barathol sat on the cobbles, feeling as if every bone in his body was fractured, as if every muscle was bruised. He wanted to throw up, but struggled against the im-pulse, lest the convulsions kill him. He glanced yet again at that sprawled corpse with the sword embedded in its face and skull. He could see the broad, deep punc-ture wounds on one thigh, where the Hound had picked it up. No blood leaked from them.

Antsy came over and crouched down. ‘Look at what we run into here. There’s beast blood everywhere, and you, y’damned idiot, you stood down one of them monsters-with a damned axe!’

‘Help me up, will you?’

Antsy stared, then sighed. ‘We’d need the ox for that-you’re big as a bhederin. Fine, I’ll squat here and you try using me like I was a ladder, but don’t blame me if my knees buckle.’

Another carriage had drawn up a short time earlier, and before it stood the High Alchemist Baruk-the one who’d turned them away-and beside him a warrior with Barghast blood, an enormous hammer strapped to his back. This one walked up to stare down at the dead Tiste Andii.

Barathol pulled himself upright, Antsy grunting under his weight, and then straightened with a soft word of thanks. He glanced over to study the others still remaining. The Toblakai warrior and the woman who seemed to be his companion. The two other Toblakai, young women-possibly even children-who might have been sisters, and a large dog bearing more scars than seemed possible. Great Ravens still lined the roof edges, or huddled like black, demonic gnomes on the street itself, silent as wraiths.

The dawn’s golden sunlight streamed through the smoke hanging over the city, and he could hear nothing of the normal wakening bustle that should have already begun filling Darujhistan’s streets.

Beyond this immediate gathering, others were appearing. Citizens, guards, blank-faced and empty of words, numb as refugees, none drawing too close but seemingly unwilling to leave.

The High Alchemist was standing a respectful distance away from the Barghast and the dead Tiste Andii, watching with sorrow-filled eyes. He then spoke, ‘Caladan Brood, what he sought must-’

‘Wait,’ rumbled the Barghast. ‘It must wait.’ He bent down then, reached out and grasped hold of the black-bladed sword. And, with little ceremony, he worked the weapon loose, and then straightened once more.

It seemed everyone present held their breath.

Caladan Brood stared down at the weapon in his hands. Then, Barathol saw, the warrior’s mouth twisted into a faint snarl, filed teeth gleaming. And he turned round and walked to the carriage, where he opened the side door and tossed the sword inside. It clanged, thumped. The door clicked shut.

The Barghast glared about, and then pointed. ‘That ox and cart.’

‘Caladan-’

‘I will have my way here, Baruk.’ His bestial eyes found Barathol. ‘You, help me with him.’

Barathol bit back every groan as he took hold of the Tiste Andii’s feet, watching as Brood forced his hands beneath the corpse’s shoulders, down under the arms. Together, they lifted the body.