The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (285 page)

‘Damned eerie,’ Talamandas whispered.

The wizard softly grunted. ‘That’s rich, coming from someone who’s spent generations in an urn in the middle of a barrow.’

‘Wanderers like you have no appreciation of familiarity,’ the stick-snare sniffed.

The dark mass of the Thrall blotted the skyline directly ahead. Faint torchlight from the square before the main gate cast the structure’s angled stones in dulled relief. As they entered an avenue that led to the concourse they came upon the first knot of Barghast, surrounding a small fire built from broken furniture. Tarps slung between the buildings down the avenue’s length made the passage beyond a kind of tunnel, strikingly similar to market streets in Seven Cities. Figures lay sleeping along the edges down the entire length. Various cookfires painted smoke-stained, mottled patterns of light on the undersides of the tarps. A good many Barghast warriors remained awake, watchful.

‘Try wending unseen through that press, Wizard,’ Talamandas murmured. ‘We’ll have to go round, assuming you still cling to your bizarre desire to slink like a mouse in a hut full of cats. In case you’ve forgotten, those are my kin—’

‘Be quiet,’ Quick Ben commanded under his breath. ‘Consider this another test of our partnership – and the warrens.’

‘We’re going straight through?’

‘We are.’

‘Which warren? Not D’riss again, please – these cobbles—’

‘No no, we’d end up soaked in old blood. We won’t go under, Talamandas. We’ll go over. Serc, the Path of the Sky.’

‘Thought you’d exhausted yourself back at the estate.’

‘I have. Mostly. We could sweat a bit on this one.’

‘I don’t sweat.’

‘Let’s test that, shall we?’ The wizard unveiled the warren of Serc. Little alteration was discernible in the scene around them. Then, slowly, as Quick Ben’s eyes adjusted, he detected currents in the air, the layers of cold and warm flowing parallel to the ground, the spirals coiling skyward from between the tarps, the wake of passing figures, the heat-memory of stone and wood.

‘Looks sickly,’ the sticksnare muttered. ‘You would swim those currents?’

‘Why not? We’re almost as insubstantial as the air we see before us. I can get us started, but the problem then is keeping me afloat. You’re right – I’ve no reserves left. So, it’s up to you, Talamandas.’

‘Me? I know nothing of Serc.’

‘I’m not asking you to learn, either. What I want is your power.’

‘That wasn’t part of the deal!’

‘It is now.’

The sticksnare shifted and twitched on Quick Ben’s shoulder. ‘By drawing on my power, you weaken the protection I offer against the poison.’

‘And we need to find that threshold, Talamandas. I need to know what I can pull from you in an emergency.’

‘Just how nasty a situation are you anticipating when we finally challenge the Crippled God?’ the sticksnare demanded. ‘Those secret plans of yours – no wonder you’re keeping them secret!’

‘I could have sworn you said you were offering yourself up as a sacrifice to the cause – do you now balk?’

‘At madness? Count on it, Wizard!’

Quick Ben smiled to himself. ‘Relax, I’m not stoking a pyre for you. Nor have I any plans to challenge the Crippled God. Not directly. I’ve been face to face with him once, and once remains enough. Even so, I was serious about finding that threshold. Now, pull the cork, shaman, and let’s see what we can manage.’

Hissing with fury, Talamandas growled reluctant assent.

Quick Ben rose from the ground, slipped forward on the nearest current sweeping down the length of the street. The flow was cool, dipping down beneath the tarps. A moment before reaching the downdraught, the wizard nudged himself upward, into a spiral of heat from one of the fires. They shot straight up.

‘Dammit!’ Quick Ben snapped as he spun and cavorted on the column of heat. Gritting his teeth, the wizard reached for the sticksnare’s power – and found what he had suspected to be the truth all along.

Hood’s. Through and through. Of the Barghast gods, barely a drop of salty piss. The damned newcomers are stretched far too thin. Wonder what’s drawing on their energies? There’s a card in the Deck, in the House of Death, that’s been a role unfilled for a long, long time. The Magi. I think it’s just found a face – one painted on a stupid acorn. Talamandas, you may have made a terrible mistake. And as for you, Barghast gods, here’s some wisdom to heed in the future. Never hand your servants over to another god, because they’re not likely to stay your servants for long. Instead, that god’s likely to turn them into weapons … aimed directly at your backs.

Dear Barghast gods, you ‘re in a world of predators, nastier by far than what was around in the past. Lucky for you I’m here.

He drew on that power, harshly.

The sticksnare writhed, twig fingers digging into the wizard’s shoulder and neck.

In his mind, Quick Ben closed an implacable grip on the Lord of Death’s power, and
pulled.

Come to me, bastard We’re going to talk, you and I.

Within his clenched hand was the rough weave of cloth, stretching, bunching. The breath of Death flowed over the wizard, the presence undeniable, heavy with rage.

And, in the clutch of a mortal, entirely helpless.

Quick Ben grunted a laugh. ‘So much for thresholds. You want to ally with me, Hood? All right, I’ll give you fair consideration, despite the deception. But you’re going to have to tell me what you’re up to.’

‘Damned fool!’
Hood’s voice was thunderous in the wizard’s skull, launching waves of pain.

‘Quieter,’ Quick Ben gritted. ‘Or I’ll drag you through hide and all and Fener won’t be the only god who’s fair game.’

‘The House of Chains must be denied!’

The wizard blinked, knocked sideways by Hood’s statement. ‘The House of Chains? It’s the
poison
we’re trying to excise, isn’t it? Burn’s fever – the infected warrens—’

‘The Master of the Deck must be convinced, mortal. The Crippled God’s House is finding … adherents—’

‘Wait a moment. Adherents? Among the pantheon?’

‘Betrayal, aye. Poliel, Mistress of Pestilence, aspires to the role of Consort to the King in Chains. A Herald has been … recruited. An ancient warrior seeks to become Reaver; whilst the House has found, in a distant land, its Mortal Sword. Mowri now embraces the Three – Cripple, Leper and Fool – which are in place of Spinner, Mason and Soldier. Most disturbing of all, ancient power trembles around the last of the dread cards … mortal, the Master of the Deck must not remain blind to the threat.’

Quick Ben scowled. ‘Captain Paran’s not the blinkered type, Hood. Indeed, he likely sees things clearer than even you – far more dispassionately, at least, and something tells me that cold reason is what will be needed come the time to decide. In any case, the House of Chains may be your problem, but the poison within the warrens is mine.’
That, and what it’s doing to Burn.

‘Misdirection, wizard – you are being led astray. You will find no answers, no solutions within the Pannion Domin, for the Seer is at the heart of an altogether different tale.’

‘I’d guessed as much, Hood. Even so, I plan on unravelling the bastard – and his power.’

‘Which will avail you nothing.’

‘That’s what you think,’ Quick Ben replied, grinning. ‘I am going to call upon you again, Hood.’

‘And why should I answer? You’ve not heard a word I’ve—’

‘I have, but consider this, Lord. The Barghast gods may be young and inexperienced, but that won’t last. Besides,
young
gods are dangerous gods. Scar them now and they’ll not forget the one who delivered the wound. You’ve offered to help, so you’d better do just that, Hood.’

‘You dare threaten me—’

‘Now who’s not listening? I am not threatening you, I am warning you. And not just about the Barghast gods, either. Treach has found a worthy Mortal Sword – can you not feel him? Here I am, a thousand paces or more away from him, with at least twenty walls of stone between us, and
I
can feel the man. He’s wrapped in the pain of a death – someone close, whose soul you now hold. He’s no friend of yours, Hood, this Mortal Sword.’

‘Do you not think I welcomed all that he has delivered? Treach promised me souls, and his human servant has provided them.’

‘In other words, the Tiger of Summer and the Barghast gods have followed through on their sides of the deal. Now, you’d better do the same, and that includes relinquishing Talamandas when the time comes. Hold to the spirit of the agreement, Hood … unless you learned nothing from the mistakes you made with Dassem Ultor…’

The wizard felt seething rage burgeon from the Lord of Death, yet the god remained silent.

‘Aye,’ Quick Ben growled, ‘think on that. In the meantime, you’re going to ease loose your power, sufficient to carry me over this crowd of Barghast, and into the plaza in front of the Thrall. Then you’re going to withdraw, far enough to give Talamandas the freedom he’s supposed to have. Hover behind his painted eyes, if you so desire, but no closer. Until I decide I need you once more.’

‘You will be mine one day, mortal—’

‘No doubt, Hood. In the meantime, let’s just luxuriate in the anticipation, shall we?’ With these words, the wizard released his grip on the god’s cloak. The presence flinched back.

Power flowed steady, the currents of air drawing Quick Ben and the sticksnare clinging to his shoulder over the tops of the canopies.

Talamandas hissed. ‘What has happened? I, uh, vanished for a moment.’

‘Everything’s fine,’ the wizard murmured. ‘Does the power feel true, Sticksnare?’

‘Aye, it does. This, this I can use.’

‘Glad to hear it. Now, guide us to the plaza.’

*   *   *

A thin gauze of old smoke dulled the stars overhead. Captain Paran sat on the wide steps of the Thrall’s main entrance. Directly ahead, at the end of a wide avenue, stood the gatehouse. Visible through its open doorway, in the plaza beyond, firelight from Barghast camps gleamed through gathering mists.

The Malazan was exhausted, yet sleep would not come to him. His thoughts had wandered countless paths since he’d left Cafal’s company two bells earlier. Barghast shouldermen still worked in the chamber, dismantling the canoes, collecting ancient weapons. Outside that room and beyond that activity, the Thrall seemed virtually deserted, lifeless.

The empty halls and corridors led Paran inexorably to what he imagined his parents’ estate in Unta might now look like, with his mother and father dead, Felisin chained to a line in some mining pit a thousand leagues away, and dear sister Tavore dwelling in a score opulent chambers in Laseen’s palace.

A house alone with its memories, looted by servants and guards and the street’s gutter rats. Did the Adjunct ever ride past? Did her thoughts turn to it in the course of her busy day?

She was not one to spare a moment to sentiment. Cold-eyed, hers was a brutal rationality, pragmatism with a thousand honed edges – to cut open anyone foolish enough to come close.

The Empress would be well pleased with her new Adjunct.

And what of you, Felisin ? With your wide smile and dancing eyes ? There is no modesty in the Otataral Mines, nothing to shield you from the worst of human nature. You’ll have been taken under wing none the less, by some pimp or pit-thug.

A flower crushed underfoot.

Yet your sister has it in mind to retrieve you – that much I know of her. She might well have thrown in a guardian or two for the length of your sentence.

But she’ll not be rescuing a child. Not any more. No smile, and something hard and deadly in those once-dancing eyes. You should have found another way, sister. Gods, you should have killed Felisin outright – that would have been a mercy.

And now, now I fear you will some day pay dearly …

Paran slowly shook his head. His was a family none would envy.
Torn apart by our own hands, no less. And now, we siblings, each launched on our separate fates.
The likelihood of those fates’ one day converging never seemed so remote.

The worn steps before him were flecked with ash; as if the only survivor in this city was the stone itself. The darkness felt solemn, sorrowful. All the sounds that should have accompanied the night, in this place, were absent.
Hood feels close this night …

One of the massive double doors behind him swung open. The captain glanced back over a shoulder, then nodded. ‘Mortal Sword. You look well … rested.’

The huge man grimaced. ‘I feel beaten to within a finger’s breadth of my life. That’s a mean woman.’

‘I’ve heard men say that of their women before, and always there’s a pleased hint to the complaint As I hear now.’

Gruntle frowned. ‘Aye, you’re right. Funny, that.’

These stairs are wide. Have a seat if you like.’

‘I would not disturb your solitude, Captain.’

‘Please do, it’s nothing I would regret abandoning. Too many dark thoughts creep in when I’m alone.’

The Mortal Sword moved forward and slowly settled down onto the step at Paran’s side, his tattered armour – straps loose – rustling and clinking. He rested his forearms on his knees, the gauntleted hands dangling. ‘I share the same curse, Captain.’

‘Fortunate, then, that you found Hetan.’

The man grunted. ‘Problem is, she’s insatiable.’

‘In other words, you’re the one in search of solitude, which my presence has prevented.’

‘So long as you don’t claw my back, your company is welcome.’

Paran nodded. ‘I’m not the catty type – uh, sorry.’

‘No need. If Trake ain’t got a sense of humour that’s his problem. Then again, he must have, since he picked me as his Mortal Sword.’

Paran studied the man beside him. Behind the barbed tattoos was a face that had lived hard years. Weathered, roughly chiselled, with eyes that matched those of a tiger’s now that the god’s power was within his flesh’ and blood. None the less, there were laugh lines around those eyes. ‘Seems to me Trake chose wisely…’