Joe Abercrombie - Sharp Ends

Times like these reveal a man for what he truly is. For a while Temple had convinced himself he was a righteous man, but it is easy to be virtuous before your virtue is put to the test. Like a camel turd baked in the sun, beneath the pious crust he was the same stinking, self-serving coward he had always been.

Conscience is that piece of Himself that God puts into everyone , Kahdia would have said. A splinter of the divine . There is always a choice.

He came to an uncertain halt, staring down at the bloody smears her fingers had made on his sleeve. Should he go back? He stood trembling, breathing hard, trapped between right and wrong, between sense and stupidity, between life and death.

Kahdia once told him he thought too much to be a good man.

He looked over his shoulder, back the way he had come. Flames, and buildings lit in the garish colours of flames, and against the flames he saw black shapes moving. The slender shadows of swords and spears, the tall helmets of Gurkish soldiers. And was it a trick of the shimmering haze, or could he see another figure there? A woman’s shape, tall and thin, swaggering forward in white armour, a glimpse of golden hair shining. Fear clutched at Temple’s throat and he fell, scrambled up, ran. The mindless impulse of the child grown up on the streets. Of the rabbit that sees the hawk’s shadow. He hardly knew what there was to live for, but he knew he did not want to die.

Wheezing, coughing, legs burning, he struggled up the cracked steps to the Great Temple. He felt a moment of relief as the familiar façade came into view, even though he knew it would not be long until Gurkish soldiers flooded into this square. Gurkish soldiers … or worse.

He hurried across to the looming gates, ashes whirling past, burning papers fluttering down on the hot wind, thumped at the door until his fist hurt, called out his name until his throat was raw. A small door within the door was pulled suddenly open and he scrambled through, the bar swung down behind him with a reassuring finality.

Safety. Even if only for a few moments. A man in the desert must take such water as he is offered, after all.

The first time Temple entered that glorious space and gazed upon the sparkling mosaics, and the filigree stonework, and the light pouring in through the star-shaped windows and making gleam the gilded letters of scripture written man-high upon the walls, he had felt the hand of God upon his shoulder.

He did not feel the presence of God now. Only a few lamps lit the vastness, the shadows of flames beyond the windows flickering across the ceiling. It stank of fear and death, echoed with the whimpers of the wounded, the endless low murmuring of hopeless prayers. Even the mosaic faces of the prophets which had once seemed moved by heavenly ecstacy seemed fixed in terror now.

The place was crowded with people – men and women, young and old, all filthy and desperate. Temple shouldered his way through the press, trying to swallow his fear, trying to think of nothing but finding Kahdia, finally saw him on the dais where the pulpit had once stood. One sleeve of his white robe he had torn off at the shoulder to make bandages. The other was blood-spotted to the elbow from working on the wounded. His eyes were sunken, cheeks hollow, but the more desperate the situation became, the calmer he appeared to grow.

What mighty strength must it take, Temple wondered, to carry the burden of all these people’s lives?

There were Union soldiers gathered about him and Temple hung back nervously on old instincts. A dozen of them, perhaps, swords sheathed out of respect for the holy ground but hands twitching always towards the hilts. General Vissbruck was among them, a long smear of ash down his sunburned face. He had been a plump man before the siege, but his uniform hung loose from him now. They all were thinner than they had been, in Dagoska.

‘Gurkish soldiers have flooded through the North Gate and into the Upper City.’ He spoke in the Union tongue, of course, but Temple understood it as well as any native of Midderland. ‘It will not be long until the wall is lost. We suspect treachery.’

‘You suspect Nicomo Cosca?’ asked Kahdia.

‘I have suspected him for some time, but – whatever else he is – Cosca is no fool. If he meant to sell the city he would have done it while there was still a good price to be had.’

‘What about his life?’ snapped the soldier with the sling.

Vissbruck snorted. ‘One thing on which he has never placed the slightest value. The man is an entire stranger to fear.’

Gods, what a blessing that must be. Temple’s fears had been his closest companions since before he could remember.

‘It makes no difference now, in any case,’ Vissbruck was saying. ‘Whether Cosca betrayed us or not, whether alive or dead, he is surely in hell now. Just like the rest of us. We are pulling back to the Citadel, Haddish. You should come with us.’

‘And when the Gurkish follow, where will you pull back to?’

Vissbruck swallowed, the sharp knobble bobbing in his throat, and spoke on as if Kahdia had said nothing. Something the people of the Union had proved themselves expert at ever since they came to Dagoska. ‘You have been a courageous leader and a true friend to the Union. You have earned a place in the Citadel.’

Kahdia gave a weary smile. ‘If I have earned any place it is here, in my temple, among my people. I am proud to take it.’

‘I knew you would say so. But I had to ask.’

Kahdia held out his hand. ‘It has been an honour.’

‘The honour is mine.’ The general started forward and embraced the priest. The Union man and the Dagoskan. The white-skinned and the dark. A strange sight. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, eyes shining with tears, ‘that I did not understand you until it was too late.’

‘It is never too late,’ said Kahdia. ‘I believe we may meet in heaven.’

‘Then I hope once again that your beliefs are true, and not mine.’ Vissbruck let Kahdia go, turned on his heel, and stopped. He looked back.

‘Superior Glokta warned me that a man might be better off killing himself than becoming a prisoner of the Gurkish,’ said Vissbruck. Kahdia blinked, and said nothing. ‘Whatever one thinks of our erstwhile leader, when it comes to being a prisoner of the Gurkish he must be considered an unchallengeable expert.’ Again, the Haddish did not speak. ‘Do you have any opinion on that matter?’

‘To kill oneself is reckoned an offence against God.’ Kahdia shrugged. ‘But at times like these, who can say what is right?’

Vissbruck slowly nodded. ‘We are cut loose. From the Union. From our families. From God. We all must find our own way now.’ And he marched swiftly towards the temple’s back entrance, his boot heels clicking against the marble as the press parted to let him and his soldiers through.

Temple started forward, grabbing Kahdia by the arm. ‘Haddish, you must go with them!’

Kahdia gently peeled Temple’s fingers from his wrist. Just as Temple had peeled away the fingers of the dying woman. ‘I am glad you are still alive, Temple. I was worried about you. But you are bleeding-’

‘It’s nothing! You must go to the Citadel.’

‘Must? We always have a choice, Temple.’

‘They are coming. The Gurkish are coming.’ He swallowed. Even now, he could not bring himself to raise his voice when he spoke the words. ‘The Eaters are coming.’

‘I know. That is why I must stay.’

Temple gritted his teeth. The old man’s calm was making him furious, and he knew why. Not for Kahdia’s sake, but for his own. He wanted the priest to run so that he could run with him. Even though there was no place safe from the Eaters. Nowhere in all the world, and certainly not in Dagoska. Even though taking refuge in the Citadel could only buy him days, and probably not that many.