“Where is Gerard?” Asked Juskar.
“He went in the morning,” said Fogrim. “He will have scattered the slave’s ashes by now.”
“I wanted to go with him,” said Juskar.
“I wanted to as well. He said he preferred to be alone.”
Juskar looked out over the city. Smoke rose from what was left of the night’s raging fires. The wind brought the sound of singing in the streets.
“He did not have to worry,” said Juskar. “If he wants to celebrate a dead slave as if she was a friend, we would say not one word against him.”
“He wanted to do it alone,” Fogrim repeated. “When he is ready to speak of it, we will be there for him.”
***
“You played me for a fool.”
Gudea stood on a dry, rocky hillside. Mist rolled in from the valley, hiding the rest of the world from them. “You are never going to kill Gerard!”
The robed man smiled at him and threw back his hood. Gudea studied the tattoos on his face and neck. Some were new.
“No,” said the robed man. “We did want him dead. She was one of our best! We did not send her on that mission lightly. However, you are right that we are happy with this outcome. The Dagonites are being crushed! We still want Gerard dead, but if he is serving us so well before that happens, it is best we let him serve us a bit longer, yes?”
Gudea snorted.
“What are the Dagonites to you?”
“Powerful rivals. We no more want to see the fish-men claim this river than you do - or Gerard does.”
“But that’s because you want to claim this river! Isn’t that so? Come on, tell me what I’ve been a pawn in. Who are you? You can do that much for me.”
The bald man smiled again.
"We are the Wakers of Azathoth. You are the first outsider to hear our name. Please accept that as the greatest compliment, Butcher. Our plans extend from the choking ruins of Armanea to Dura to Starka. All this river will be ours. We will wake Azathoth, and he will end the world! Thank you for your help, Butcher. We will speak again.”