'But-'
'No time! I've decided. With Oponn's luck we'll meet again — go find your answers, Envy. I've got friends to find!'
'Wait-'
With a final wave, Toc whirled and ran down the street.
A concussive blast of sorcery threw him forward, but he did not turn. Envy was letting loose. Hood knows, she might even have just lost her temper. Gods, leave some of them standing, lass…
He swung right at the first intersection he came to, and found himself plunging into the midst of screaming peasants, pushing like him towards the city's main artery, where flowed the mass of the Faithful. He added his screams — wordless, the sounds that a mute man might make — and clawed with mindless zeal.
Like a leaf on a wide, deep river.
CHAPTER TEN
Mother Dark begat three children,
the First, Tiste Andii, were her dearest,
dwellers of the land before Light.
Then were birthed in pain the Second, Tiste Lians,
the burning glory of Light itself,
and so the First denied their Mother,
in their fury, and so were cast out,
doomed children of Mother Dark.
She then gave rise, in her mercy, to the Third,
spawn of the war between Dark and Light,
the Tiste Edur, and there was shadow
upon their souls.
Kilmanar's Fables
Sebun Imanan
The hand slapped him hard, the shock quickly fading even as he struggled to comprehend its significance, leaving a tingling numbness that he was content to ride back into unconsciousness. He was slapped a second time.
Gruntle pried open his eyes. 'Go away,' he mumbled, shutting them again.
'You're drunk,' Stonny Menackis snarled. 'And you stink. Gods, the blanket's soaked with vomit. That's it, he can rot for all I care. He's all yours, Buke. I'm heading back to the barracks.'
Gruntle listened to boots stamping away, across the creaking, uneven floorboards of his squalid room, listened to the door squeal open, then slam shut. He sighed, made to roll over and go back to sleep.
Cold, wet cloth slapped down on his face. 'Wipe yourself,' Buke said. 'I need you sober, friend.'
'No-one needs me sober,' Gruntle said, pulling the cloth away. 'Leave me be, Buke. You, of all people-'
'Aye, me of all people. Sit up, damn you.'
Hands gripped his shoulders, pulled him upright. Gruntle managed to grab Buke's wrists, but there was no strength in his arms and he could only manage a few feeble tugs. Pain rocked through his head, swarmed behind his closed eyes. He leaned forward and was sick, fermented bile pouring out through mouth and nostrils onto the floor between his scuffed boots.
The heaves subsided. His head was suddenly clearer. Spitting out the last dregs of vomit, he scowled. 'I'm not asking, you bastard. You got no right-'
'Shut up.'
Grumbling, he sank his head into his hands. 'How many days?'
'Six. You've missed your chance, Gruntle.'
'Chance? What are you talking about?'
'It's too late. The Septarch and his Pannion army have crossed the river. The investiture has begun. Rumour is, the blockhouses in the killing fields beyond the walls will be attacked before the day's done. They won't hold. That's one big army out there. Veterans who've laid more than one siege — and every one successful-'
'Enough. You're telling me too much. I can't think.'
'You won't, you mean. Harllo's dead, Gruntle. Time to sober up and grieve.'
'You should talk, Buke.'
'I've done my grieving, friend. Long ago.'
'Like Hood you have.'
'You misunderstand me. You always have. I have grieved, and that's faded away. Gone. Now … well, now there's nothing. A vast, unlit cavern. Ashes. But you're not like me — maybe you think you are, but you're not.'
Gruntle reached out, groped for the wet cloth he'd let fall to the floor. Buke collected it and pushed it into his hand. Pressing it against his pounding brow, Gruntle groaned. 'A pointless, senseless death.'
'They're all pointless and senseless, friend. Until the living carve meaning out of them. What are you going to carve, Gruntle, out of Harllo's death? Take my advice, an empty cave offers no comfort.'
'I ain't looking for comfort.'
'You'd better. No other goal is worthwhile, and I should know. Harllo was my friend as well. From the way those Grey Swords who found us described it, you were down, and he did what a friend's supposed to do — he defended you. Stood over you and took the blows. And was killed. But he did what he wanted — he saved your hide. And is this his reward, Gruntle? You want to look his ghost in the eye and tell him it wasn't worth it?'
