But I know now what Febryl has done. I know what Korbolo Dom and Kamist Reloe plan for the dawn.
They could be stopped. The knives could be turned.
He hobbled as quickly as he could towards Sha’ik’s palace. Ghosts flitted about on the edges of his vision, but his shadows protected him. In the distance he heard screams, detonations and sorcery-coming, he realized, from the Dogslayers’ camp. Ah, so that Claw’s made it that far, has he? Both good and… troubling. Well, at the very least he’ll keep Kamist occupied .
Of course, the danger posed by the roving assassins still existed, though that was diminishing the closer he got to Sha’ik’s abode.
Still, the streets and alleys were disturbingly deserted.
He came within sight of the sprawling palace, and saw with relief the pools of torchlight surrounding it.
Counter the Napan’s gambit-awaken the goddess to the threat awaiting her. Then hunt down that gnarled bhok’aral Febryl and see his skin stripped from his writhing flesh. Even the goddess-yes, even the goddess will have to recognize me. My power. When flanked by my new pets -
A hand shot out of the darkness and closed about Bidithal’s neck. He was lifted into the air-flailing-then thrown hard to the ground. Blinded. Choking.
His shadow-servants swarmed to defend him.
A growl, the hissing swing of something massive that cut a sweeping path-and suddenly the wraiths were gone.
Slowly, Bidithal’s bulging eyes made out the figure crouched above him.
Toblakai -
‘You should have left her alone,’ Karsa Orlong said quietly, his voice devoid of inflection. Behind and around the giant were gathering ghosts, chained souls.
We are both servants of the same god! You fool! Let me speak! I would save Sha’ik!
‘But you didn’t. I know, Bidithal, where your sick desires come from. I know where your pleasure hides-the pleasure you would take from others. Witness.’
Karsa Orlong set down his stone sword, then reached between Bidithal’s legs.
A hand closed indiscriminately around all that it found.
And tore.
Until, with a ripping of tendons and shreds of muscle, a flood of blood and other fluids, the hand came away with its mangled prize.
The pain was unbearable. The pain was a rending of his soul. It devoured him.
And blood was pouring out, hot as fire, even as deathly cold stole across his skin, seeped into his limbs.
The scene above him blackened, until only Toblakai’s impassive, battered face remained, coolly watching Bidithal’s death.
Death? Yes. You fool, Toblakai -
The hand around his neck relaxed, drew away.
Involuntarily, Bidithal drew in an agonizing breath and made to scream-
Something soft and bloody was pushed into his mouth.
‘For you, Bidithal. For every nameless girl-child you destroyed. Here. Choke on your pleasure.’
And choke he did. Until Hood’s Gate yawned-
And there, gathered by the Lord of Death, waited demons who were of like nature to Bidithal himself, gleefully closing about their new victim.
A lifetime of vicious pleasure. An eternity of pain in answer.
For even Hood understood the necessity for balance.
Lostara Yil edged up from the sinkhole and squinted in an effort to pierce the gloom. A glance behind her revealed a starlit desert, luminous and glittering. Yet, ahead, darkness swathed the oasis and the ruined city within it. A short while earlier she had heard distant thumps, faint screams, but now silence had returned.
The air had grown bitter cold. Scowling, Lostara checked her weapons, then made to leave.
‘Make no move,’ a voice murmured from a pace or two off to her right.
Her head snapped round, then her scowl deepened. ‘If you’re here to watch, Cotillion, there’s little to see. I woke Pearl, and he hardly swore at all, despite the headache. He’s in there, somewhere-’
‘Aye, he is, lass. But already he’s returning… because he can feel what’s coming.’
‘What’s coming. Enough to make you hide here beside me?’
The shadow-shrouded god seemed to shrug. ‘There are times when it is advisable to step back… and wait. The Holy Desert itself senses the approach of an ancient foe, and will rise in answer if need be. Even more precarious, the fragment of Kurald Emurlahn that the Whirlwind Goddess would claim is manifesting itself. The goddess is fashioning a portal, a gate-one massive enough to swallow this entire oasis. Thus, she too makes a play for Raraku’s immortal heart. The irony is that she herself is being manipulated, by a far cleverer god, who would take this fragment for himself, and call it his House of Chains. So you see, Lostara Shadow Dancer, best we remain precisely where we are. For tonight, and in this place, worlds are at war.’
