Free The Crippled God by Steven Erikson Page B

useless.
    As Gruntle backed still further, an anguished cry came from Setoc. ‘Has she won you all then? Will no one protect him? Please! Please! ’
    The twins were weeping. Absi was kneeling beside Baaljagg’s desiccated body, moaning in a strange cadence.
    Cartographer clattered closer to the boy, one foot blackened and smouldering. ‘Make him stop that. Someone. Make him stop that.’
    Precious frowned, but the others ignored the undead man’s pleas. What does he mean by that? She turned to Olar Ethil. ‘Bonecaster—’
    ‘East, woman. That is where you will find all you need. I have touched your soul. I have made it into a Mahybe, a vessel that waits. East.’
    Precious Thimble crossed her arms, eyes closing for a moment. She wanted to look at Faint and Sweetest, to see the satisfaction, the relief, in their eyes. She wanted to, but knew she would see nothing of the sort, not from those two. They were women, after all, and three children were being surrendered. Thrown into undead arms. They will thank me in the end. When the memory of this moment fades, when we are all safe and home again .
    Well … not all of us. But what can we do?
    Setoc, with Torrent at her side, was all that stood between Olar Ethil and the three children. Tears streamed down Setoc’s cheeks, and in the Awl warrior’s stance Precious Thimble saw a man facing his execution. He’d drawn his sabre, but the look in his eyes was bleak. Yet he did not waver. Among them all, this young warrior was the only one not to turn away. Damn you, Setoc, will you see this brave boy die?
    ‘We can’t stop her,’ Precious said to Setoc. ‘You must see that. Torrent – tell her.’
    ‘I gave up the last of the Awl children to the Barghast,’ said Torrent. ‘And now they are all dead. Gone.’ He shook his head.
    ‘Can you protect these ones any better?’ Precious demanded.
    It was as if he’d been slapped. He looked away. ‘Giving up children is the one thing I seem to do well.’ He sheathed his weapon and grasped Setoc’s upper arm. ‘Come with me. We will talk where no one else can hear us.’
    Setoc shot the warrior a wild look, started to struggle, and then abruptly sagged in his grip.
    Precious watched him drag her away. He broke like a frail twig. Are you proud of yourself now, Precious?
    But the path is finally clear .
    Olar Ethil walked with a hitching gait she’d not shown before, joints grinding and snapping, up to where the boy knelt. She reached down with her good arm and scooped him up by the collar of his Barghast tunic. Held him out to study his face, and he in turn looked steadily back at her, dry-eyed, flat. The Bonecaster grunted. ‘Your father’s son all right, by the Abyss.’
    She turned round and set off, northward, the boy hanging from her grip. After a moment, the twins followed, neither one looking back. There’s no end to losing everything, is there? It just goes on and on. Their mother, their father, their people. No, they won’t be looking back .
    And why should they? We failed them. She came, she cut us apart, bought us like an empress scattering a handful of coins. And they werewhat she bought. Them, and our turning away. And it was easy, because this is what we are .
    Mahybe? What in Hood’s name is that?
    With horror in his heart, Mappo set out from the camp, leaving the others, leaving behind this terrible dawn. He struggled to keep from breaking into a run, as if that would help. Besides, if they all watched him, they did so with consciences as stained as his own. Was there comfort in that? Should there be? We are nothing but our own needs. She but showed each of us the face we hide from ourselves and everyone else. She shamed us by exposing our truths .
    He fought to remind himself of his purpose, of all that his vow demanded, and the horrifying things it could make him do.
    Icarium lives. Remember that. Focus on it. He waits for me. I will find him. I will make it all right once again. Our small world,