Terry Pratchett - Thud

`That's not my cow!' he said, standing up.

He strode on now, over the burning oil, through red-edged

smoke, past the dwarfs rolling desperately on the ground to put out

the flames. He seemed to be looking for something.

Two more guards ran at him. Without appearing to notice them,

Vimes crouched and whirled the sword around in a circle. A little

lamb rocked in front of his eyes.

A dwarf with greater presence of mind than the others had found a crossbow and was taking aim when he had to stop to brush away the bats streaming past him. He raised the bow again, looked round at a noise like two slabs of meat being slapped together, and was picked up and thrown across the cave by a naked woman. An astonished miner swung his axe at the smiling girl, who vanished in a cloud of bats.

There was a lot of yelling going on. Vimes paid it no attention. Dwarfs were running through the smoke. He merely slapped them aside. He had found what he was seeking.

`Is that my cow? It goes, "Mooooo!"'

Picking up another fallen axe, Vimes started to run. `Yes! That's my cow!'

The grags were behind a ring of guards, in a frantic huddle, but Vimes's eyes were on fire and there were flames streaming from his helmet. A dwarf holding a flame-thrower threw it down and fled.

`Hooray, hooray, it's a wonderful day, for I have found my cow!'

... and perhaps that, it was said later, was what did it. Against the berserker, there is no defence. They had sworn to fight to the death, but not to this death. The slowest four guards went down to the axe and the sword, the others scattered and ran.

And now Vimes paused in front of the cowering old dwarfs, raising the weapons over his head

And halted, rocking like a statue

Night, for ever. But within it, a city, shadowy and only real in certain ways. The entity cowered in its alley, where the mist was rising. This could not have happened!

Yet it had. The streets had filled with ... things. Animals! Birds! Changing shape! Screaming and yelling! And above it all, higher than the rooftops, a lamb rocking back and forth in great slow motions, thundering over the cobbles ...

And then bars had come down, slamming down, and the entity had been thrown back.

But it had been so close! It had saved the creature, it was getting through, it was beginning to have control ... and now this ...

In the darkness, above the rustle of the never-ending rain, it heard the sound of boots approaching.

A shape appeared in the mist.

It drew nearer.

Water cascaded off a metal helmet and an oiled leather cloak as the figure stopped and, entirely unconcerned, cupped its hand in front of its face and lit a cigar.

Then the match was dropped on the cobbles, where it hissed out, and the figure said: `What are you?'

The entity stirred, like an old fish in a deep pool. It was too tired to flee.

`I am the Summoning Dark.' It was not in fact a sound, but if it had been, it would have been a hiss. `Who are you?'

`I am the Watchman.'

`They would have killed his family!' The darkness lunged, and met resistance. `Think of the deaths they have caused! Who are you to stop me?'

`He created me. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Who watches the watchmen? Me. I watch him. Always. You will not force him to murder for you.'

`What kind of human creates his own policeman?' `One who fears the dark.'

And so he should,' said the entity, with satisfaction.

`Indeed. But I think you misunderstand. I am not here to keep darkness out. I'm here to keep it in.' There was a clink of metal as the shadowy watchman lifted a dark lantern and opened its little door. Orange light cut through the blackness. `Call me ... the Guarding Dark. Imagine how strong I must be.'

The Summoning Dark backed desperately into the alley, but the light followed it, burning it.

And now,' said the Watchman, 'get out of town.'

-and went down as a werewolf landed on his back.

Angua drooled. The hair along her spine stood out like a saw blade. Her lips curled back like a wave. Her growl was from the back of a haunted cave. All together these told the brain of anything monkey-shaped that movement meant death. And that stillness, while it also meant death, didn't mean immediate, this-actualsecond death, and was there for the smart monkey option.

Vimes didn't move. The growl knotted his muscles. Terror was in control.

I salute you, said a thought that was not his, and he felt the sudden absence of something whose presence he had not noticed. In the blackness behind his eyes, some dark fin swished, and disappeared.

He heard a whimper, and the weight on him disappeared. He rolled over and saw, fading in the middle of the air, a crude drawing of an eye with a tail. It dwindled into nothing, and the all-enveloping darkness slowly gave way to flames and the light of the vurms. Blood had been spilled; they were pouring down the walls. He felt ...

A certain amount of time passed. Vimes jerked awake.

`I read it for him!' he said, mostly to reassure himself.

`You did, sir,' said the voice of Angua, behind him. `Very clearly, too. We were more than two hundred yards away. Well done, sir. We thought you ought to have a rest.'

`What have I done well?' said Vimes, trying to sit up. The movement filled his world with pain, but he managed a brief glimpse before slumping back.

There was a lot of smoke in the cave, but there were actual torches flickering, here and there. And a great many dwarfs some distance away, some sitting down, some standing around in groups.

`Why are there so many dwarfs here, sergeant?' he asked, looking up at the cavern roof. `That is, why are there so many dwarfs here that aren't actually trying to kill us?'

`They're from the Low King, sir. We're their prisoners ... sort of ... er ... but not exactly. .

`Of Rhys? Bugger that!' said Vimes, trying to get to his feet again. `I saved his bloody life once!' He managed to get upright, but then the world pivoted around him and he would have fallen if Angua hadn't caught him and lowered him on to a rock. Well, at least he was sitting up now ...

`Not exactly prisoners,' Angua said. `We can't go anywhere. But since we wouldn't know where to go even if we could go somewhere, it's all a bit superfluous. Sorry I'm only in a shift, sir, you know how it is. The dwarfs have promised to fetch my gear. Er ... it's all gone political, sir. The dwarf in command is a decent sort but he's way out of his depth, so he's sticking with what he

knows, sir. And, er, he doesn't know a lot. Do you remember anything about what happened? You've been out for a good twenty minutes.'

`Yes. There were ... woolly lambs. .. Vimes's voice trailed into silence for a while. Somehow, what he'd just said took the ring of veracity and dropped it in a deep, deep hole. `There weren't woolly lambs, right?'

`I didn't see any,' said Angua carefully. `I did see a striding, screaming, vengeful maniac, sir. But in a good way,' she added.

The internal Vimes looked at memories he didn't remember from the first time around.

'I-'he began.

`Everything's ... sort of fine, sir,' said Angua quickly. `But come and see this. Bashfullsson said you ought to see everything.!

'Bashfullsson ... he's the know-it-all dwarf, right?' he said.

'Ah, it's all coming back, sir,' said Angua. `Good. He was a bit worried about that.'

Vimes was steadier on his feet now, but his right arm hurt like hell and all the other pains that the day had accumulated were coming back and waving. Angua carefully led him through puddles and across rocks as slippery as wet marble until they reached a stalagmite. It was about eight feet high.

It was a troll. It wasn't a rock shaped like a troll, it was a troll. They only got stonier when they died, Vimes knew, but the lines of this one had been softened by the milky rock dripped on its head.