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There existed no contradictions between the reality of the outer world and that of his inner landscape This truth beggared corasped instinctively, a visceral understanding glimpsed by less than a handful of Gruntle’s followers, the Lestari lieutenant a them

He knew he had entered a place devoid of sanity Knew, somehow, that he and the rest of the militia now existed more within the ht with skills they had never before possessed They did not tire They did not shout, screa cries There was no need for rallying cries -- no-one broke, no-one was routed Those that died fell where they had stood, silent as automatons

Hallere chest deep in bodies on the ground floor Soh these presses like a cri aravel lenses, pockets of sand, buried boulders -- seeped, here in this dread building, around bone and meat and ar like a sewer, thick as the flow in a surgeon’s trench

The attackers finally staggered back, withdren almost-blocked stairwells, clawed out of the s Thousands ed the approaches A htheaded and weaving as he clambered his way up the main hallway, the Lestari lieutenant found Gruntle His listened, the blades of his cutlasses were yellohite -- fangs in truth, now -- and he swung a savagely feline visage to the Lestari

’We surrender this floor, now,’ Gruntle said, shaking the blood from his blades

The hacked remains of Seerdomin surrounded the caravan captain Armoured warriors literally chopped to pieces

The lieutenant nodded ’We’re out of rooed his massive shoulders ’We’ve two more floors above us Then the roof’

Their eyes locked for a long moment, and the lieutenant was both chilled and warmed by what he saithin the vertical slits of Gruntle’s pupils A man to fear … a man to follow … a man to love ’You are Trake’s Mortal Sword,’ he said

The huge Daru frowned ’Stonny Menackis’

’She bears but ’

’Good’

Weighed doith sacks of food and drink, the , the command to do so unspoken, as it had been unspoken every ti occurred More than twenty had fallen in this last engagement, the Lestari saw We lose this many with each floor By the time we reach the roof there’ll be but a score of us Well, that should be le trapdoor Hold it until the Abyss of Final Night

The silent folloere collecting serviceable weapons, scraps of armour -- mostly from the Seerdomin The Lestari watched with dull eyes a Capan woedly at the wrist by one of Gruntle’s cutlasses, and callove, which she then donned

Gruntle stepped over bodies on his way to the stairwell

It was time to retreat to the next level, ti rooms with their feebly shuttered s, and the back stairs and the central stairs Ti throat

At the stairs, Gruntle clashed his cutlasses

Outside, a resurging tide of noise …

Brukhalian sat astride his huge, lathered warhorse, watching as the Destriant’s cutters dragged a barely breathing Itkovian into a nearby building that would serve, for the next bell or two, as a triage Karnadas hi once more on his fevered Warren of Denul, had quelled the flow of blood from the chest of the Shield Anvil’s horse

The surviving Grey Swords at the ce helped clear by the Mortal Sword’s own companies There ounds to be tended to there as well, but those that were fatal had already proved so Corpses were being pulled away in a frantic search forItkovian now faced the task of re buried iron fro embedded, in all likelihood saved the ery, to quench the blood that would gush from each wound as the iron was drawn free

Brukhalian’s flat, hard eyes followed the Destriant as the old one too far, pulled too un its irreversible surrender Bruises marked the joints of his arers Within hi as cheesecloth, and the seepage of blood into rowall that it flowed through -- the body of the priest himself