Toll the Hounds

But these were empty things, bobbing before his eyes like puppets on tangled strings. As soon as he reached out, seeking to untangle those strings, to make sense out of it all, they would swing away, for ever beyond his reach.

Skintick, who seemed ready with a smile for everything, walked at his side yet half a step ahead. Nimander could not see enough of his cousin’s face to know how Skintick had greeted the darkness that had stretched ever before them, but as that impenetrable abyss faded, and from the way ahead emerged the boles of pine trees, his cousin turned with a smile decidedly wry.

‘That wasn’t so bad,’ he murmured, making every word a lie and clearly delighting in his own mockery.

Damp air swirled round them now, cool in its caress, and Clip’s steps had slowed. When he turned they could see the extent of his exhaustion. The rings spun once round on the chain in his hand, then snapped taut. ‘We will camp here,’ he said in a hoarse voice.

Some previous battle had left Clip’s armour and clothes in tatters, with old bloodstains on the dark leather. So many wounds that, if delivered all at once, they should probably have killed him. Little of this had been visible that night on the street in Second Maiden Fort, when he had first summoned them.

Nimander and Skintick watched their kin settle down on the soft loam of the forest floor wherever they happened to be standing, blank-eyed and looking lost. Yes, ‘explanations are ephemeral. They are the sword and shield of the attack, and behind them hides motivation. Explanations strive to find weakness, and from the exploitation of weakness comes compliance and the potential of absolute surrender.

’ So Andarist had written, long ago, in a treatise entitled Combat and Negotiation.

Skintick, his long jester’s face faintly pinched with weariness, plucked at Ni shy;mander’s sleeve, gestured with a nod of his head then set out to one side, threading between trees. After a moment, Nimander followed.

His cousin halted some thirty paces from the makeshift camp, where he settled on to his haunches.

Across from him, Nimander did the same.

The sun was beginning to rise, bleeding light into the gloom of this forest. With it came the faint smell of the sea.

‘Herald of Mother Dark,’ Skintick said quietly, as if measuring the worth of the words. ‘Mortal Sword. Bold titles, Nimander. Why, I’ve thought of one for each of us too — not much else to occupy my time on that endless walk. Skintick, the Blind Jester of House Dark. Do you like it?’

‘You’re not blind.’

‘I’m not?’

‘What is it you wished to talk about?’ Nimander asked. ‘Not silly titles, I should think.’

‘That depends. This Clip proudly asserts his own, after all.’

‘You do not believe him?’

A half-smile. ‘Cousin, there is very little I truly believe. Beyond the oxy shy;moronic fact that supposedly intelligent people seem to revel in being stupid. For this, I blame the chaotic tumult of emotions that devour reason as water devours snow.’

‘“Emotions are the spawn of true motivations, whether those motivations be conscious or otherwise,”’ said Nimander.

‘The man remembers what he reads. Making him decidedly dangerous, not to mention occasionally tedious.’

‘What are we to discuss?’ Nimander asked, in some exasperation. ‘He can claim any title he wishes — we can do nothing about it, can we?’

‘Well, we can choose to follow, or not follow.’

‘Even that is too late. We have followed. Into Kurald Galain, and now here. And in the time ahead, to the journey’s very end.’

‘To stand before Anomander Rake, yes.’ Skintick gestured at the surrounding forest. ‘Or we could just walk away. Leave Clip to his dramatic accounting with the Son of Darkness.’

‘Where would we go, then, Skintick? We don’t even know where we are. What realm is this? What world lies beyond this forest? Cousin, we have nowhere else to go.’

‘Nowhere, and anywhere. In the circumstances, Nimander, the former leads to the latter, like reaching a door everyone believes barred, locked tight, and lo, it opens wide at the touch. Nowhere and anywhere are states of mind. See this for shy;est around us? Is it a barrier, or ten thousand paths leading into mystery and won shy;der? Whichever you decide, the forest itself remains unchanged. It does not transform to suit your decision.’

‘And where is the joke in that, cousin?’

‘Laugh or cry, simple states of mind.’

‘And?’

Skintick glanced away, back towards the camp. ‘I find Clip. . amusing.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’