The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (55 page)

“What’s that got to do with Vorcan and her gang of killers?”

Baruk grimaced. “Like any burdened wagon, the wheels require grease. Without the option of assassination the noble families would have long since destroyed themselves, taking the city with them, through civil war. Secondly, the Guild’s efficiency provides a measure of control on vendettas, arguments,
and so forth. It is the guaranteed option of bloodshed, and bloodshed is messy. Usually too messy for the nobility’s sensibilities.”

“Curious,” Rake said. “Nevertheless, don’t you think that Vorcan would listen very carefully indeed to an offer from the Empress? After all, Laseen has the precedent of handing over the rule of a conquered city to an assassin. In fact, at least a third of her present High Fists come from that profession.”

“You are missing the point!” Baruk’s face was dark. “You did not consult us, and that cannot be tolerated.”

“
You
haven’t answered me,” Rake retorted, in a voice quiet and cold. “Would Vorcan take the contract? Could she manage it? Is she that good, Baruk?”

The alchemist turned away. “I don’t know. That’s my answer, to all three questions.”

Rake stared hard at Baruk. “If you were indeed nothing more than an alchemist, I might believe you.”

Baruk’s smile was wry. “Why would you think me anything but?”

Now it was Rake’s turn to smile. “There are few who would argue with me without flinching. I am unused to be addressed as an equal.”

“There are many paths to Ascendancy, some more subtle than others.” Baruk walked over to the mantel above the fireplace, took a carafe, then went to the shelf behind his desk and retrieved two crystal goblets. “She’s a High Mage. We all have magical defenses, but against her . . .” He filled the goblets with wine.

Rake joined the alchemist. He accepted the glass and raised it between them. “I apologize for not informing you. In truth, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind as being especially important. Until tonight, I was acting on a theory, nothing more. I didn’t consider the ripples a grounded Guild might cause.”

Baruk sipped his wine. “Anomander Rake, tell me something. There was a presence in our city tonight—a conjuring.”

“One of Tayschrenn’s Korvalah demons,” Rake answered. “Released by a Claw wizard.” He took a mouthful of the tart liquid, let it roll for a moment, then swallowed with satisfaction. “It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Baruk asked quietly. “Where?”

“Out of Tayschrenn’s reach,” Rake said, a tight smile on his lips. “Out of anyone’s reach.”

“Your sword,” Baruk said, repressing a shiver as the memory of that closing vision returned to him. The creak of wheels, the clank of chains, the groans of a thousand lost souls. And darkness.

“Oh, yes,” Rake said, refilling his goblet. “I received the two Pale wizards’ heads. As you promised. I admire your efficiency, Baruk. Did they protest?”

Baruk paled. “I explained to them the options,” he said quietly. “No, they didn’t protest.”

Rake’s soft laugh chilled the blood in Baruk’s veins.

At the distant sound Kruppe rose. The small fire flickered steadily before him, but its heat seemed less. “Ah,” he sighed, “Kruppe’s hands are near numb, yet
his ears are as sharp as ever. Listen to this faint sound in the very nether regions of his present dream. Does he know its source?”

“Perhaps,” K’rul said beside him.

Startled, Kruppe turned, his eyebrows rising. “Kruppe thought you long gone, Eldering One. Nonetheless, he is thankful for your company.”

The hooded god nodded. “All is well with the child Tattersail. The Rhivi protect her, and she grows swiftly, as is the nature of Soletaken. A powerful warlord now shelters her.”

“Good,” Kruppe said, smiling. The noises in the distance drew his attention again. He stared out into the darkness, seeing nothing.

“Tell me, Kruppe,” K’rul said, “what do you hear?”

“The passing of a great wagon or some such thing,” he replied, with a frown. “I hear its wheels, and chains, and the groaning of slaves.”

“Its name is Dragnipur,” K’rul said. “And it is a sword.”

Kruppe’s frown deepened. “How can a wagon and slaves be a sword?”

“Forged in darkness, it chains souls to the world that existed before the coming of light. Kruppe, its wielder is among you.”

In Kruppe’s mind his Deck of Dragons rose. He saw the image of half man, half dragon—the Knight of High House Darkness, also known as the Son of Darkness. The man held aloft a black sword trailing smoky chains. “The Knight is in Darujhistan?” he asked, fighting a shiver of fear.

“In Darujhistan,” K’rul replied. “Around Darujhistan. Above Darujhistan. His presence is a lodestone to power, and great is the danger.” The Elder God faced Kruppe. “He is in league with Master Baruk and the T’orrud Cabal—Darujhistan’s secret rulers have found a two-edged ally. Dragnipur tasted a demon’s soul this night, Kruppe, in your city. It is never thirsty for long, and it will feed on more blood before this is done.”

“Can anyone withstand it?” Kruppe asked.

K’rul shrugged. “None could when it was first forged, but that was long ago. I cannot answer for the present. I have one other piece of information, Kruppe, a small piece, I’m afraid.”

“Kruppe hearkens.”

“The journey Master Baruk is sending you on to the Gadrobi Hills. Elder magic brews anew, after so long. It is Tellann—of the Imass—but what it touches is Omtose Phellack—Jaghut Elder magic. Kruppe, stay out of their way. Especially guard the Coin Bearer. What is about to come is a danger as grave as the Knight and his sword, and as ancient. Step carefully, Kruppe.”

“Kruppe always steps carefully, Eldering One.”

Beyond these thin hide walls

a child sits, before her on worn silk

a Deck is arrayed.

She cannot yet speak

and the scenes before her

she’s never before seen in this life.

The child gazes upon a lone card

named Obelisk, the stone gray

she can feel its roughness in her mind.

Obelisk stands buried in a grassy knoll

like a knuckle protruded

from the earth, past and future.

This child’s eyes are wide

with terror, for cracks have appeared

in the stone of stones and she knows

the shattering is begun.

S
ILVERFOX
O
UTRIDER
H
URLOCHEL
,
6
TH
A
RMY

I saw them on the shores

the deepening pits of their gaze

vowed immortal war

against the sighing calm

of Jaghut seas . . .

G
OTHOS
’ F
OLLY
G
OTHOS
(
B
.?)

907th Year in the Third Millennium
The Season of Fanderay in the Year of the Five Tusks
By Malazan reckoning, 1163rd Year of Burn’s Sleep
T’lan Imass reckoning, The Year of Gathering, Tellann Arise

As the days passed, Adjunct Lorn felt a sharpness return to her mind, the exhaustion and depression fading away. The thought that she could allow herself to slip into carelessness so easily had left her shaken, and that was not a feeling with which she was familiar. She did not know how to deal with it, and this kept her unbalanced, not quite sure of her own efficacy.

As the Gadrobi Hills appeared, first to the south and then to the west as well, she sensed a desperate urgency to regain her confidence. The mission approached a vital juncture. Success with the Jaghut barrow would almost ensure success with everything else.

Since this dawn she’d ridden hard, pushing to keep her schedule intact after traveling so slowly in the first few days. Both horses were in need of rest, so she now walked ahead of them, the reins tucked through her belt. And beside her walked Tool.

Though the Imass spoke often, at her prodding, of many fascinating things, he denied her efforts regarding matters important to the Empire, and to Laseen’s continued power. All seemed to return to the vows he had taken at the last Gathering. For the Imass, something was coming to a head. She wondered if it was somehow connected with freeing this Jaghut Tyrant. And that was a disturbing thought.

Still, she would not permit any ambivalence to threaten the mission. In this she was Laseen’s arm, and it was directed not of Lorn’s own accord but by the Empress. Dujek and Tayschrenn had well reminded her of that truth. Thus, she played no role in all this—not as the woman named Lorn. How could she be held responsible for anything?

“In my years among humans,” Tool said, beside her, “I have come to recollect the passing of emotions in body and expressions. Adjunct, you have worn a frown the past two days. Is this significant?”

“No,” she snapped. “It isn’t.” Purging her thoughts of personal feelings had never been so difficult as it was now—was this a lasting effect of Oponn’s meddling? Perhaps Tool could rid her of it. “Tool,” she said, “what is significant, as you put it, is that I don’t know enough about what we’re doing. We are seeking a standing stone, the barrow’s marker. Well, assuming it can be found, why was it not so long ago? Why could not three thousand years of hunting find this barrow?”

“We will find the standing stone,” Tool replied calmly. “It marks the barrow in truth, but the barrow is not there.”

The Adjunct scowled.
More riddles
. “Explain.”

The Imass was silent for a minute, then he said, “I am born of an Elder Warren,
Adjunct, known as Tellann. It is more than a source of magic, it is also a time.”

“Are you suggesting that the barrow exists in a different time? Is that how you plan to reach it—by using your Tellann Warren?”

“No, there is no parallel time any different from the one we know. That time is gone, past. It is more a matter of . . . flavor. Adjunct, may I continue?”

Lorn’s mouth thinned into a straight line.

“The Jaghut who entombed the Tyrant were born of a different Elder Warren. But the term ‘Elder’ is relative only to the existing Warrens of this age. The Jaghut Omtose Phellack is not ‘Elder’ when compared to Tellann. They are the same, of the same
flavor
. Do you understand thus far, Adjunct?”

“Patronizing bastard,” she muttered to herself. “Yes, Tool.”

The Imass nodded, his bones creaking. “The barrow has not been found before, precisely because it is Omtose Phellack. It lies within a Warren now lost to the world. Yet, I am Tellann. My Warren touches Omtose Phellack. I can reach it, Adjunct. Any T’lan Imass could. I was chosen because I am without a Clan. I am alone in every way.”

“Why should that be important?” Lorn asked, her stomach twisting.

Tool looked at her. “Adjunct. What we seek to accomplish is the freeing of a Jaghut Tyrant. Such a being, should it escape our control, or defy our predictions, is capable of destroying this continent. It can enslave all living upon it, and it would do so if permitted. If, instead of me, Logros had selected a Bonecaster, and if the Tyrant was freed, that Bonecaster would become enslaved. A Jaghut Tyrant is dangerous alone. A Jaghut Tyrant with an Imass Bonecaster at its side is unstoppable. They would challenge the gods, and they would kill most of them. Also, I am without a Clan, thus my enslavement—should that event befall—would not enslave blood kin.”

Lorn stared at the Imass. What were the Empress and Tayschrenn thinking of? How could they hope to control this thing? “You are saying, Tool, that you’re expendable.”

“Yes, Adjunct.”

And so, she realized, am I. “What,” she asked, “will stop the Tyrant? How do we control it?”

“We don’t, Adjunct. That is the gamble we take.”

“And what does that mean?”

Tool shrugged, an audible lifting and dropping of bones beneath the rotted furs. “The Lord of Moon’s Spawn, Adjunct. He will have no choice but to intervene.”

“He’s capable of stopping the Tyrant?”

“Yes, Adjunct. He is, although it will cost him dearly, weaken him. More, he is capable of delivering the single punishment that a Jaghut Tyrant fears most.” A faint gleam of light rose in Tool’s eye sockets as the Imass stared at Lorn. “Enslavement, Adjunct.”

Lorn stopped in her tracks. “You mean the Moon’s lord will have the Tyrant working on his side?”

“No, Adjunct. The enslavement is by the lord’s hand, but it is beyond him as well. You see, the Empress knows who the lord is, and what he possesses.”

Lorn nodded. “He’s Tiste Andii, and a High Mage.”

A rasp of laughter came from Tool. “Adjunct, he is Anomander Rake, the Son of Darkness. Bearer of Dragnipur.”

Lorn frowned.

Tool seemed to have noticed her confusion, for the Imass elaborated. “Dragnipur is a sword, born of the Age before light. And Darkness, Adjunct, is the Goddess of the Tiste Andii.”

A few minutes later, Lorn found her voice. “The Empress,” she said quietly, “knows how to pick her enemies.”

And then Tool hit her with another stunning revelation. “I am sure,” the Imass said, “the Tiste Andii regret their coming to this world.”

“They
came
to this world? From where? How? Why?”

“The Tiste Andii were of Kurald Galain, the Warren of Darkness. Kurald Galain stood alone, untouched. The Goddess, their mother, knew loneliness . . .” Tool hesitated. “There is probably little truth in this story, Adjunct.”

“Go on,” Lorn said quietly. “Please.”

“In her loneliness, the Goddess sought something outside herself. Thus was born Light. Her children the Tiste Andii saw this as a betrayal. They rejected her. Some hold they were cast out, others that they departed their mother’s embrace by choice. While Tiste Andii mages still use the Warren of Kurald Galain they are no longer
of
it. And some have embraced another Warren, that of Starvald Demelain.”

“The First Warren.”

Tool nodded.

“Whose Warren did Starvald Demelain belong to?”

“It was the home of Dragons, Adjunct.”

Murillio turned in his saddle and brought the mule to a halt on the dusty road. He glanced ahead. Kruppe and Crokus had already reached the Worry Crossroads. He patted his brow with the soft satin of his burnous, then looked back again. Coll leaned hunched over in his saddle, losing the rest of his breakfast.