The Broken God by Gareth Hanrahan (desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Following Artolo comes an old hag of a priestess. “Damala,” mutters Xargor Bane, and Cari assumes that’s her name.

On seeing Cari, Artolo’s face darkens. He strides forward, fingers clenching – hey, the bastard has fingers now, boneless tentacle-tumours sprouting from his ruined knuckles. Good for him!

The wine of Rhan-Gis, she realises, is really strong.

“She is mine!” snarls Artolo, jabbing a tentacle at Cari. “I’ve chased her from Ilbarin. Hand her over, or I shall put your joke of a city to the torch!”

“Gissa is eternal,” says Rhan-Gis, and Artolo’s struck across the face by the words. He staggers back, knocked on his heels. The words hang in the air for a long moment, like there’s some improbable solidity to them, a physical barrier. The lamps on either side of the throne blaze with an unearthly light.

“High Umur,” says Damala quietly, like she’s remarking on distant events, “has decreed the destruction of greater cities than Gissa, and his will cannot be denied.”

Xargor Bane leans across and whispers in Rhan-Gis’ ear. “My lord, my scouts tell me that there are considerable Ishmeric forces to the north of the city, including war-saints. Of course, Gissa is eternal and our victory is assured – but it would, I fear, be costly.”

Cari shivers at the mention of war-saints. She saw too much when Guerdon was invaded, and her city was much better protected than ragged Gissa. If it’s war here, everyone’s going to die, or worse. Rhan-Gis surely can’t risk that. Back when Cari was the Saint of Knives, she could see, could feel, everyone in the New City. She knew when they were suffering, or scared. She couldn’t run away, nor stand aside. She couldn’t abandon Spar to that knowledge.

“My people would bear the cost joyfully. We shall build new walls from the bones of the dead,” says Rhan-Gis, and he sounds horribly enthusiastic about it. “We cannot deny them the privilege of martyrdom!”

Bastard, she thinks. Does he not care? Or does he buy his own claims that Gissa is a city of joy and plenty? Or does being a god mean believing your own bullshit is an inherent part of the deal?

“Nevertheless, divine one,” says Xargor, his voice both soothing and panicky at the same time, “the city is still rebuilding after the affray with the Moon-Eater. If more of your people perish, who will praise your name in the Festival of Clay Words? Will there be enough maidens to dance the maze at midsummer? Who will proclaim you Cornerstone of the World?”

Cari revises her assessment of Xargor. He may be a shit sorcerer, but he seems to be something much more valuable – a voice of sanity, balancing the mad whims of the god with the needs of the people. Xargor’s trying to keep everyone in the city alive, while Rhan-Gis would happily see them all perish if they die with his name on their lips.

The Crawling One slithers to the middle of the room. “Great Ones, there is no need to make such threats. All of us have other foes to contend with. This matter can be resolved peaceably.” He gestures at Cari, and at Myri’s bound form. “Both these women claim sanctuary in Gissa. Both these women are sought by Artolo of the Ghierdana. The matter before us is to agree on mutually acceptable terms for the surrender of one or both of them.”

Artolo starts blustering about how the Crawling Ones have no business here, threatening to do to Twelve Coins Bleeding what he did to the colony on the Street of Blue Glass. Cari ignores him, and tries to work out what game the Crawling Ones are playing. She certainly didn’t claim sanctuary here, and she doubts Myri did either, not unless blasting a host of soldiers with sorcery is part of the application process. So, is the Crawling One lying to protect them, bolstering their case like a defence lawyer, or is he after something else?

“This one,” says Twelve Coins Bleeding, pointing to Myri, “broke her oath to the Ghierdana. She is a powerful sorceress, and a known criminal. She orchestrated the escape from Ilbarin. While this poor girl,” indicating Cari, “was but a prisoner, a hostage to the sorceress. She seeks to withdraw from the world, and searches for the peaceful refuge of Khebesh. If Artolo seeks revenge, let him have Myri, and this other one shall remain here as a guest of Rhan-Gis.”

He lets a little of Adro’s voice bleed in at the end, and Cari knows he’s lying. It’s all too neat.

Once, back in the New City, she watched a con man running the old shell game. Through Spar’s gifts, she could watch him move the shell hiding the coin and track it no matter how quickly he shuffled. She could tell when he palmed the coin, too. The whole game was laid out in front of her, and she could see every move.

It’s like that here. The Crawling One’s goal hasn’t changed – all it wants is to get one of its worms into Khebesh. They’ll feast on the dead there, like they did in Guerdon, and Ilbarin, and here in Gissa. Like they did to Adro. Everything’s just a means to an end for those grave-cold bastards. The sorcerers of Khebesh won’t let the Crawlers in, though, so it needs a plausible candidate to smuggle the worm through the doors. Cari’s more tractable – she’s got no defences against its spells – but the Sacred Realm are here for her. Myri may be harder to deal with, but the Crawling One will take her in a pinch. It takes Myri and the grimoire, acts as a broker between Rhan-Gis and the Sacred Realm, and sells Cari to Artolo.

The shell on the left. Twelve Coins Bleeding takes Myri with him to Khebesh, and Cari’s murdered by Artolo.

The middle shell… no deal. Everything falls apart. The Sacred Empire attacks Gissa, and it’s slaughter. The streets, such as they are, run with blood. She can’t