Read Page 230

What would come?

He needed to be there. In its midst. Such things were what kept him going, af-ter all. Such things were what made life worth living.Advertisement

I am the High King of Failures, am I not? Who else deserves the Broken Throne? Who else personifies the misery of the Crippled God? No, it will be mine, and as for all the rest, ‘well, we’ll see, won’t we?

He walked on, alone once more. Satisfying, to be reminded-as he had been when travelling in the company of those pathetic Tiste Andii-that the world was crowded with idiots. Brainless, stumbling, clumsy with stupid certainties and convictions.

Perhaps, this time, he would dispense with empires. This time, yes, he would crush everything, until every wretched mortal scrabbled in the dirt, fighting over grubs and roots. Was that not the perfect realm for a broken throne?

Yes, and what better proof of my right to claim that throne? Kallor alone turns his back on civilization. Look on, Fallen One, and see me standing before you. Me and none other.

I vow to take it all down. Every brick. And the world can look on, awed, in wonder. The gods themselves will stare, dumbfounded, amazed, bereft and lost. Curse me to fall each and every time, will you? But I will make a place where no fall is possible. I will defeat that curse, finally defeat it.

Can you hear me, K’rull?

No matter. You will see what there is to see, soon enough.

xx

These were, he decided, glorious times indeed.

-- Advertisement --

pqdm.comads300x250--

Push it on to the next moment

Don’t think now, save it

For later when thinking will show

Its useless face

When it’s too late and worry is wasted

In the rush for cover

Push it past into that pocket

So that it relents its gnawing presence

And nothing is worth doing

In pointless grace

When all the valid suppositions

Smother your cries

Push it over into the deep hole

You don’t want to know

In case it breaks and makes you feel

Cruel reminders

When all you could have done is now past

No don’t bother

Push it well into the corner

It’s no use, so spare me the grief.

You didn’t like the cost so bright, so high

The bloodiest cut

When all you sought was sweet pleasure

To the end of your days

Push it on until it pushes back

Shout your shock, shout it

You never imagined you never knew what

Turning away would do

Now wail out your dread in waves of disbelief

It’s done it’s dead

Push your way to the front

Clawing the eyes of screaming kin

No legacy awaits your shining children

It’s killed, killed

Gone the future all to feed some holy glory

The world is over. Over.

– Siban’s Dying Confession, Siban Of Aren

We watched him approach from a league away

Staggering beneath the weight of all he held

In his arms

We thought he wore a crown but when he came near

The circlet was revealed as the skin of a serpent

Biting its tail

We laughed and shared the carafe when he fell

Cheering as he climbed back upright

In pleasing charm

We slowed into silence when he arrived

And saw for ourselves the burden he carried

Kept from harm

We held stern in the face of his relieved smile

And he said this fresh young world he had found

Was now ours

We looked on as if we were grand gods

Contemplating a host of undeserved gifts

Drawing knives

Bold with pride we cut free bloodied slices

And ate our fill

We saw him weep then when nothing was left

Backing away with eyes of pain and dismay

Arms falling

But wolves will make of any world a carcass

We simply replied with our natures revealed

In all innocence

We proclaimed with zeal our humble purity

Though now he turned away and did not hear

As the taste soured

And the betrayal of poison crept into our limbs

We watched him walk away now a league maybe more

His lonely march

His mourning departure from our kindness

His happy annihilation of our mindless selves

Snake-bit unto death

– The Last Days Of Our Inheritance , Fisher Kel That

The vast springs of the carriage slammed down to absorb the thundering impact , then, as the enormous conveyance surged back up, Gruntle caught a momentary glimpse of one of the Bole brothers, his grip torn loose, wheeling through the grainy air. Arms scything, legs kicking, face wide with bemused surprise. pqdm.com