AbouttheBook

The Bonehunters aremarching to Kolanse, and toan unknown fate. Tormentedand exhausted, they are anarmyon thebrinkofmutiny.But Adjunct Tavore will notrelent. If she can hold herforces together, if the fragilealliances she had forged can

surviveandif it iswithinherpower,one final act remains.For Tavore Paran means tochallengethegods.

Ranged against Tavore andheralliesareformidablefoes.The Fokrul Assail aredrawing upon a terriblepower; their desire is tocleanse the world – toeradicateeverycivilization,toannihilate every human – inorder to begin anew. The

Elder Gods, too, are seekingto return.And to do so, theywill shatter the chains thatbind a force of utterdevastation and release herfrom her eternal prison. Itseems that, once more, therewillbedragonsintheworld.

And inKuraldGalain,wherethe once-lost city ofKharkanas has been found,thousandshavegathereduponthe First Shore. Commanded

byYedanDerryg, they awaitthe coming of the TisteLiosan. Are they truly readyto die in the name of anempty city and a queenwithnosubjects?

Ineveryworldtherecomesatimewhenchoiceisnolongeran option – a moment whenthesoulislaidbareandthereis nowhere left to turn. Andwhen this last hard truth isfaced, when compassion is a

virtue on its knees, what isthere left to do? Now thattime is come – now is themoment to proclaim yourdefianceandmakeastand…

And so begins the finalcataclysmicchapterinStevenErikson’s extraordinary,genre-defining ‘MalazanBookoftheFallen’.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

A graduate of the IowaWriters’ Workshop,archaeologist andanthropologist StevenEriksonrecentlymovedbackto the UK from Canada andnow lives in Cornwall. His

début fantasynovel,Gardensof the Moon, marked theopening chapter in the epic‘MalazanBookoftheFallen’sequence, which has beenhailed as one of the mostsignificant works of fantasyofthismillennium.

To find out more, visitwww.stevenerikson.com andwww.malazanempire.com

http://www.stevenerikson.comhttp://www.malazanempire.com

AlsobyStevenEriksonGARDENSOFTHEMOONDEADHOUSEGATESMEMORIESOFICEHOUSEOFCHAINSMIDNIGHTTIDES

THEBONEHUNTERSREAPER’SGALE

TOLLTHEHOUNDSDUSTOFDREAMS

THEFIRSTCOLLECTEDTALESOF

BAUCHELAIN&KORBALBROACH

THECRIPPLEDGOD

ATaleoftheMalazanBookoftheFallen

StevenErikson

This eBook is copyrightmaterial and must not becopied, reproduced,transferred, distributed,leased, licensed or publiclyperformedorusedinanywayexcept as specificallypermitted in writing by thepublishers, as allowed underthe terms and conditionsunderwhichitwaspurchasedor as strictly permitted byapplicable copyright law.Anyunauthoriseddistribution

or use of this text may be adirect infringement of theauthor’s and publisher’srights and those responsiblemay be liable in lawaccordingly.

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FirstpublishedinGreatBritainin2011byBantam

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Contents

AcknowledgementsMapDramatisPersonae

BookOne:‘Hewasasoldier’ChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFour

BookTwo:Allthetakersofmydays

ChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSeven

BookThree:Tochargethespear

ChapterEightChapterNineChapterTen

BookFour:Thefistsoftheworld

ChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteen

BookFive:Ahanduponthefates

ChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteen

BookSix:TooneinchainsChapterSeventeenChapterEighteenChapterNineteen

ChapterTwenty

BookSeven:Yourprivateshore

ChapterTwenty-OneChapterTwenty-TwoChapterTwenty-ThreeChapterTwenty-Four

EpilogueIEpilogueIIAppendixAbouttheAuthor

Manyyearsagoonemantookachanceonanunknownwriterandhisfirstfantasynovel–anovelthathadalreadygonetheroundsofpublishersafewtimes

withoutanyluck.Withouthim,withouthisfaithand,intheyearsthatfollowed,hisunswervingcommitmenttothisvastundertaking,therewouldbeno‘MalazanBookoftheFallen’.Ithasbeenmygreatprivilegetoworkwitha

singleeditorfromstarttofinish,andsoIhumbly

dedicateTheCrippledGodtomyeditorandfriend,Simon

Taylor.

Acknowledgements

My deepest gratitude isaccorded to the followingpeople. My advance readersfor their timely commentaryon this manuscript which Ifoisted on them at shortnotice and probablyinopportune times: A. P.Canavan, William Hunter,

Hazel Hunter, Baria Ahmedand Bowen Thomas-Lundin.And thestaffofTheNorwayInn in Perranarworthal, theMango Tango and CostaCoffee in Falmouth, all ofwhom participated in theirownwayinthewritingofthisnovel.

Also, a heartfelt thankyou to all my readers, who(presumably) have stayedwith me through to this, thetenth and final novel of the

‘MalazanBookoftheFallen’.I have enjoyed our longconversation. What’s threeand a half million wordsbetweenfriends?

I could well ask thesame question of mypublishers. Thank you foryour patience and support.Theunrulybeastisdone,andIcanhearyourrelievedsighs.

Finally, my love andgratitude to my wife, ClareThomas, who suffered

throughtheordealofnot justthis novel, but all those thatpreceded it. I think it wasyourmotherwhowarnedyouthat marrying a writer was adiceyproposition…

DRAMATISPERSONAE

InadditiontothoseinDustofDreams

THEMALAZANS

HimbleThrupSeageantGaunt-EyeCorporalRib

LapTwirlSadBurntRope

THEHOST

Ganoes Paran,High Fist andMasteroftheDeckHighMageNotoBoilOutriderHurlochelFistRytheBudeCaptainSweetcreekImperialArtistOrmulogunWarleaderMathok

BodyguardT’morolGumble

THEKHUNDRYL

WidowJastara

THESNAKE

SergeantCellowsCorporalNitheSharl

THE T’LAN IMASS: THE

UNBOUND

UrugaltheWovenTheniktheShatteredBerokeSoftVoiceKahlbtheSilentHunterHaladtheGiant

THETISTEANDII

NimanderGolitSpinnockDuravKorlatSkintick

DesraDathenarGowlNemanda

THE JAGHUT: THEFOURTEEN

GathrasSanadVarandasHautSuvalasAimananHood

THE FORKRUL ASSAIL:THE LAWFULINQUISITORS

ReverenceSerenityEquityPlacidDiligenceAbideAloftCalmBelieFreedom

Grave

THEWATERED:THETIERSOFLESSERASSAIL

AmissExigentHestandFestianKessganTrissinMelestHaggraf

THETISTELIOSAN

KadagarFantAparalForgeIparthEruleGaelarThroeEldatPressan

OTHERS

AbsiSpultathaK’rulKaminsod

MunugSilanahApsal’araTulasShornD’rekGallimadaKorabas

BOOKONE

‘HEWASASOLDIER’

Iamknowninthereligionofrage.Worshipmeasapoolofbloodinyourhands.Drinkmedeep.It’sbitterfurythatboilsandburns.Yourknivesweresmallbuttheyweremany.

Iamnamedinthereligionofrage.

WorshipmewithyouroffhandcutslongafterIamdead.It’sasongofdreamscrumbledtoashes.Yourwantsoverflowedbutnowgapeempty.

Iamdrownedinthereligionofrage.Worshipmeuntodeathanddowntoapileofbones.

Thepurestbookistheoneneveropened.Noneedsleftunfulfilledonthecold,sacredday.

Iamfoundinthereligionofrage.Worshipmeinastreamofcurses.Thisfoolhadfaithandindreamshewept.Butwewalkadesertrockedbyaccusations,

wherenomanstarveswithhateinhisbones.

Poet’sNighti.iv

TheMalazanBookoftheFallenFisherkelTath

CHAPTERONE

Ifyouneverknewtheworldsinmymindyoursenseoflosswouldbesmallpityandwe’llforgetthisonthetrail.Takewhatyou’regivenandturnawaythe

screwedface.Idonotdeserveit,nomatterhownarrowthestrandofyourprivateshore.IfyouwilldoyourbestI’llmeetyoureye.It’stheclutchofarrowsinhandthatIdonottrustbenttothesmilehitchingmyway.Wearen’tmeetinginsorrow

orsomeothersuturebridgingscars.Wehaven’tdancedthesamethiniceandmysympathyforyourtroublesIgivefreelywithoutthoughtofreciprocityorscalesonbalance.It’sthedecentthing,that’sall.Evenifthatthing

isastrangertosomany.ButtherewillbesecretsyouneverknewandIwouldnotchooseanyotherway.Allmyarrowsareburiedandthesandyreachisbroadandallthat’sprivatecoolspinnedonthealtar.Eventhedripsaregone,thatchildofwantswithamindfullofworlds

andhisreddenedtears.ThedaysIfeelmortalIsohate.Thedaysinmyworlds,arewhereIliveforever,andshoulddawneverarriveIwilltoitslightawakenasonereborn.

Poet’sNightiii.iv

TheMalazanBookoftheFallenFisherkelTath

COTILLION DREW TWODAGGERS. HIS GAZE FELL TOTHE BLADES. The blackenedironsurfacesseemedtoswirl,two pewter rivers oozingacross pits and gouges, theedges ragged where armourand bone had slowed theirthrusts.He studied the sicklysky’s lurid reflections for amoment longer, and thensaid, ‘I have no intention ofexplaining a damned thing.’He looked up, eyes locking.

‘Doyouunderstandme?’The figure facing him

was incapable of expression.The tatters of rotted sinewand strips of skin weremotionlessuponthebonesoftemple, cheek and jaw. Theeyesheldnothing, nothing atall.

Better, Cotilliondecided, than jadedscepticism. Oh, how he wassick of that. ‘Tell me,’ heresumed, ‘what do you think

you’re seeing here?Desperation?Panic?Afailingof will, some inevitabledecline crumbling toincompetence? Do youbelieve in failure,Edgewalker?’

The apparition remainedsilent for a time, and thenspoke in a broken, raspingvoice. ‘You cannot be so…audacious.’

‘I asked if you believedinfailure.BecauseIdon’t.’

‘Even should yousucceed,Cotillion.Beyondallexpectation,beyond,even,alldesire. They will still speakofyourfailure.’

Hesheathedhisdaggers.‘Andyouknowwhattheycandotothemselves.’

The head cocked,strands of hair dangling anddrifting.‘Arrogance?’

‘Competence,’ Cotillionsnapped in reply. ‘Doubtmeatyourperil.’

‘They will not believeyou.’

‘I do not care,Edgewalker. This is what itis.’

Whenhesetout,hewasnot surprised that thedeathless guardian followed.We have done this before.Dust and ashes puffed witheach step. The windmoanedas if trapped in a crypt.‘Almosttime,Edgewalker.’

‘I know. You cannot

win.’Cotillion paused, half

turned. He smiled a ravagedsmile. ‘That doesn’t mean Ihavetolose,doesit?’

Dust lifted, twisting, in herwake. From her shoulderstrailed dozens of ghastlychains:bonesbentandfoldedinto irregular links, ancientbones in a thousand shadesbetween white and deepbrown. Scores of individuals

made up each chain,malformedskullsmattedwithhair,fusedspines,longbones,clacking and clattering.Theydrifted out behind her like atyrant’s legacy and left atangled skein of furrows inthe withered earth thatstretchedforleagues.

Her pace did not slow,as steady as the sun’s owncrawltothehorizonahead,asinexorable as the darknessovertaking her. She was

indifferent to notions ofirony, and the bitter taste ofirreverentmockerythatcouldso sting the palate. In thistherewas only necessity, thehungriest of gods. She hadknown imprisonment. Thememories remained fierce,but such recollections werenot those of crypt walls andunlit tombs. Darkness,indeed, but also pressure.Terrible,unbearablepressure.

Madness was a demon

and it lived in a world ofhelpless need, a thousanddesires unanswered, a worldwithout resolution. Madness,yes, she had known thatdemon. They had bargainedwith coinsofpain, and thosecoins came from a vault thatnever emptied. She’d onceknownsuchwealth.

And still the darknesspursued.

Walking, a thing ofhairless pate, skin the hue of

bleached papyrus, elongatedlimbs that moved withuncannygrace.Thelandscapesurrounding her was empty,flat on all sides but ahead,where aworn-down range ofcolourless hills ran awavering claw along thehorizon.

She had brought herancestors with her and theyrattled a chaotic chorus. Shehad not left a single onebehind. Every tomb of her

line now gaped empty, ashollowed out as the skullsshe’d plundered from theirsarcophagi. Silence everspokeofabsence.Silencewasthe enemy of life and shewould have none of it. No,they talked in mutters andgrating scrapes, her perfectancestors, and they were thevoices of her private song,keeping the demon at bay.Shewasdonewithbargains.

Longago,sheknew,the

worlds–pallid islands in theAbyss – crawled withcreatures. Their thoughtswere blunt and simple, andbeyond those thoughts therewas nothing but murk, anabyss of ignorance and fear.When the first glimmersawakened in that confusedgloom,theyquicklyflickeredalight,burninglikespotfires.But theminddidnotawakento itself on strains of glory.Not beauty, not even love. It

did not stir with laughter ortriumph. Those fires,snapping to life, allbelongedto one thing and one thingonly.

The first word ofsentiencewasjustice.Awordto feed indignation. A wordempowering the will tochange the world and all itscruel circumstances, a wordto bring righteousness tobrutal infamy. Justice,bursting to life in the black

soil of indifferent nature.Justice, to bind families, tobuild cities, to invent and todefend, to fashion laws andprohibitions, to hammer theunruly mettle of gods intoreligions. All the prescribedbeliefs rose out twisting andbranching from that singleroot, losingthemselvesintheblindingsky.

Butsheandherkindhadstayed wrapped about thebase of that vast tree,

forgotten, crusheddown; andintheirplace,beneathstones,boundinrootsanddarkearth,they were witness to thecorruption of justice, to itsloss of meaning, to itsbetrayal.

Gods and mortals,twisting truths, had in a hostof deeds stained what oncehadbeenpure.

Well, the end wascoming.The end, dear ones,iscoming.Therewouldbeno

morechildren,risingfromthebones and rubble, to buildanew all that had been lost.Was there even one amongthem, after all, who had notsuckled at the teat ofcorruption?Oh,theyfedtheirinner fires, yet they hoardedthe light, the warmth, as ifjustice belonged to themalone.

She was appalled. Sheseethed with contempt.Justice was incandescent

within her, and it was a firegrowing day by day, as thewretchedheartoftheChainedOne leaked out its endlessstreams of blood. TwelvePures remained, feeding.Twelve. Perhaps there wereothers, lost in far-flungplaces, but sheknewnothingof them. No, these twelve,theywouldbethefacesofthefinal storm, and, pre-eminentamong them all, she wouldstandatthatstorm’scentre.

She had been given hername for this very purpose,long ago now. The ForkrulAssail were nothing if notpatient. But patience itselfwasyetonemorelostvirtue.

Chains of bone trailing,Calmwalkedacrosstheplain,astheday’slightdiedbehindher.

‘Godfailedus.’Trembling, sick to his

stomach as something cold,

foreign, coursed through hisveins,AparalForgeclenchedhis jawtostiflea retort.Thisvengeance is older than anycauseyoucaretoinvent,andnomatterhowoftenyouutterthosewords,SonofLight,thelies and madness open likeflowers beneath the sun.Andbefore me I see nothing butlurid fields of red, stretchingoutonallsides.

This wasn’t their battle,not theirwar.Who fashioned

this law that said the childmust pick up the father’ssword?AnddearFather,didyou really mean this to be?Did she not abandon herconsort and take you for herown? Did you not commandustopeace?Didyounotsaytousthatwechildrenmustbeas one beneath the newbornskyofyourunion?

Whatcrimeawokeus tothis?

Ican’tevenremember.

‘Do you feel it,Aparal?Thepower?’

‘I feel it, Kadagar.’They’dmovedawayfromtheothers, but not so far as toescapetheagonizedcries,thegrowl of the Hounds, or,drifting out over the brokenrocks in ghostly streams, theblisteringbreathofcoldupontheirbacks.Beforethemrosetheinfernalbarrier.Awallofimprisoned souls. Aneternally crashing wave of

despair. He stared at thegaping faces through themottled veil, studied thepitted horror in their eyes.You were no different, wereyou? Awkward with yourinheritance, the heavy bladeturning this way and that inyourhand.

Why should we pay forsomeoneelse’shatred?

‘What so troubles you,Aparal?’

‘We cannot know the

reasonforourgod’sabsence,Lord. I fear it ispresumptuous of us to speakofhisfailure.’

KadagarFantwassilent.Aparal closed his eyes.

Heshouldneverhavespoken.I do not learn. He walked abloody path to rule and thepools in the mud still gleamred. The air about Kadagarremains brittle. This flowershiverstosecretwinds.Heisdangerous, so very

dangerous.‘The Priests spoke of

impostors and tricksters,Aparal.’ Kadagar’s tone waseven, devoid of inflection. Itwas the voice he used whenfurious. ‘What god wouldpermit that? We areabandoned. The path beforeusnowbelongstonooneelse–itisourstochoose.’

Ours.Yes,youspeakforus all, even as we cringe atour own confessions.

‘Forgive my words, Lord. Iammadeill–thetaste—’

‘We had no choice inthat, Aparal. What sickensyouisthebitterflavourofitspain. It passes.’ Kadagarsmiled and clapped him onthe back. ‘I understand yourmomentary weakness. Weshallforgetyourdoubts,yes?And never again speak ofthem. We are friends, afterall, and I would be mostdistressed to be forced to

brandyou a traitor. Set uponthe White Wall … I wouldkneel andweep,my friend. Iwould.’

A spasm of alien furyhissedthroughAparalandheshivered. Abyss! Mane ofChaos,Ifeelyou!‘Mylifeisyourstocommand,Lord.’

‘LordofLight!’Aparal turned, as did

Kadagar.Blood streaming from

his mouth, Iparth Erule

staggered closer, eyes wideandfixeduponKadagar.‘Mylord,Uhandahl,whowas lastto drink, has just died. He –hetoreouthisownthroat!’

‘Then it is done,’Kadagar replied. ‘Howmany?’

Iparth licked his lips,visibly flinched at the taste,and then said, ‘You are theFirstofThirteen,Lord.’

Smiling, Kadagarstepped past Iparth.

‘Kessobahnstillbreathes?’‘Yes. It is said it can

bleedforcenturies—’‘But the blood is now

poison,’ Kadagar said,nodding. ‘The woundingmust be fresh, the powerclean. Thirteen, you say.Excellent.’

Aparal stared at thedragon staked to the slopebehind Iparth Erule. Theenormousspearspinningittothe ground were black with

gore and dried blood. Hecould feel the Eleint’s pain,pouring from it in waves.Againandagainittriedtoliftits head, eyes blazing, jawssnapping, but the vast trapheld. The four survivingHounds of Light circled at adistance, hackles raised asthey eyed thedragon.Seeingthem,Aparalhuggedhimself.Another mad gamble.Anotherbitterfailure.LordofLight, Kadagar Fant, you

have not done well in theworldbeyond.

Beyond this terriblevista, and facing the verticaloceanofdeathlesssoulsas ifinmockingmadness,rosetheWhite Wall, which hid thedecrepit remnants of theLiosan city of Saranas. Thefaint elongated dark streakslining it, descending justbeneath the crenellatedbattlements,wereallhecouldmakeoutof thebrothers and

sisters who had beencondemned as traitors to thecause. Below their witheredcorpses ran the stains fromeverything their bodies haddrained down the alabasterfacing.You would kneel andweep,wouldyou,myfriend?

Iparth asked, ‘My lord,do we leave the Eleint as itis?’

‘No. I proposesomething far more fitting.Assemble the others. We

shallveer.’Aparal started but did

notturn.‘Lord—’‘We are Kessobahn’s

childrennow,Aparal.Anewfather,toreplacetheonewhoabandonedus.Ossercisdeadin our eyes and shall remainso. Even Father Light kneelsbroken,uselessandblind.’

Aparal’s eyes held onKessobahn. Utter suchblasphemies often enoughand they become banal, and

allshockfades.Thegodslosetheir power, and we rise tostand in their stead. Theancient dragon wept blood,and in those vast, alien eyesthere was nothing but rage.Our father. Your pain, yourblood,ourgifttoyou.Alas,itistheonlygiftweunderstand.‘Andoncewehaveveered?’

‘Why, Aparal, we shallteartheEleintapart.’

He’d known what theanswer would be and he

nodded.Ourfather.Your pain, your blood,

our gift. Celebrate ourrebirth,OFatherKessobahn,withyourdeath.Andforyou,thereshallbenoreturn.

‘Ihavenothingwithwhichtobargain. What brings you tome?No,Iseethat.Mybrokenservant cannot travel far,eveninhisdreams.Crippled,yes, my precious flesh andbones upon this wretched

world. Have you seen hisflock? What blessing can hebestow? Why, naught butmiseryandsuffering,andstillthey gather, the mobs, theclamouring, beseechingmobs.Oh,Ioncelookeduponthem with contempt. I oncerevelled in theirpathos, theirill choices and their sorryluck.Theirstupidity.

‘But no one choosestheir span of wits. They areeach and all born with what

they have, that and nothingmore. Through my servant Iseeintotheireyes–whenIsodare – and they give me alook,astrangelook,onethatfor a long time I could notunderstand. Hungry, ofcourse, so brimming withneed. But I am the ForeignGod. The Chained One. TheFallen One, and my holywordisPain.

‘Yetthoseeyesimplored.‘I now comprehend.

What do they ask of me?Those dull fools glitteringwith fears, those horridexpressionstomakeawitnesscringe.Whatdotheywant?Iwill answer you. They wantmypity.

‘They understand, yousee, their own paltry scantcoins in their bag of wits.They know they lackintelligence,andthatthishascursed them and their lives.They have struggled and

lashed out, from the verybeginning.No,donotlookatme that way, you of smoothand subtle thought, you giveyour sympathy too quicklyand therein hide your beliefin yourown superiority. I donotdenyyourcleverness,butIquestionyourcompassion.

‘They wanted my pity.They have it. I am the godthat answers prayers – canyou or any other god makethat claim? See how I have

changed. My pain, which Iheld on to so selfishly, nowreaches out like a brokenhand. We touch inunderstanding, we flinch atthetouch.Iamonewiththemall,now.

‘You surprise me. I hadnotbelievedthistobeathingof value. What worthcompassion? How manycolumnsof coinsbalance thescales? My servant oncedreamed of wealth. A buried

treasure in the hills. Sittingon his withered legs, hepleaded with passers-by inthe street. Now you look atmehere, toobrokentomove,deep in the fumes, and thewind slaps these tent wallswithout rest. No need tobargain. My servant and Ihave both lost the desire tobeg.Youwantmypity?Igiveit.Freely.

‘Need I tell you of mypain?Ilookinyoureyesand

findtheanswer.‘It is my last play, but

youunderstandthat.Mylast.ShouldIfail…

‘Very well. There is nosecrettothis.Iwillgatherthepoison,then.Inthethunderofmypain,yes.Whereelse?

‘Death? Since when isdeathfailure?

‘Forgive the cough. Itwasmeanttobelaughter.Gothen, wring your promiseswiththoseupstarts.

‘That is all faith is, youknow.Pity forour souls.Askmy servant and he will tellyou. God looks into youreyes,andGodcringes.’

Three dragons chained fortheir sins. At the thoughtCotillion sighed, suddenlymorose. He stood twentypaces away, ankle deep insoft ash. Ascendancy, hereflected, was not quite aslong a stride from the

mundane as he would haveliked.His throat felt tight, asif his air passages wereconstricted. The muscles ofhis shoulders ached and dullthunder pounded behind hiseyes. He stared at theimprisoned Eleint lying sogaunt and deathly amidstdrifts of dust, feeling …mortal. Abyss take me, butI’mtired.

Edgewalker moved upalongside him, silent and

spectral.‘Bones and not much

else,’Cotillionmuttered.‘Do not be fooled,’

Edgewalker warned. ‘Flesh,skin, they are raiment.Wornorcastoffas suits them.Seethe chains? They have beentested. Heads lifting … thescentoffreedom.’

‘How did you feel,Edgewalker,wheneverythingyouheldfelltopiecesinyourhands?Didfailurearrivelike

awall of fire?’He turned toregard the apparition. ‘Thosetatters have the look ofscorching,cometothinkofit.Do you remember thatmoment, when you losteverything? Did the worldechotoyourhowl?’

‘If you seek to tormentme,Cotillion—’

‘No,Iwouldnotdothat.Forgiveme.’

‘If these are your fears,however…’

‘No,notmyfears.Notatall.Theyaremyweapons.’

Edgewalker seemed toshiver, or perhaps some shiftof the ash beneath his rottedmoccasins sent a tremblethrough him, a briefmomentof imbalance. Settling oncemore, the Elder fixedCotillion with the withereddark of its eyes. ‘You, LordofAssassins,arenohealer.’

No.Someonecutoutmyunease, please. Make clean

the incision, take out what’sillandleavemefreeofit.Wearesickenedbytheunknown,but knowledge can provepoisonous. And drifting lostbetween the two is no better.‘There ismore thanonepathtosalvation.’

‘Itiscurious.’‘Whatis?’‘Your words … in

another voice, coming from…someoneelse,wouldleavea listener calmed, reassured.

From you, alas, they couldchillamortalsoul to itsverycore.’

‘This is what I am,’Cotillionsaid.

Edgewalker nodded. ‘Itiswhatyouare,yes.’

Cotillion advancedanothersixpaces,eyesonthenearest dragon, the gleamingbones of the skull visiblebetweenstripsof rottedhide.‘Eloth,’hesaid,‘Iwouldhearyourvoice.’

‘Shallwebargainagain,Usurper?’

Thevoicewasmale,butsuchdetailswereinthehabitofchangingonawhim.Still,he frowned, trying to recallthe last time. ‘Kalse,Ampelas, youwill eachhaveyour turn. Do I now speakwithEloth?’

‘I am Eloth. What is itabout my voice that sotroubles you, Usurper? Isenseyoursuspicion.’

‘I needed to be certain,’Cotillionreplied. ‘AndnowIam.YouareindeedMockra.’

A new draconic voicerumbled laughter throughCotillion’s skull, and thensaid, ‘Be careful, Assassin,sheisthemistressofdeceit.’

Cotillion’s brows lifted.‘Deceit?Praynot, Ibegyou.I am too innocent to knowmuch about such things.Eloth, I see you here inchains, and yet in mortal

realms your voice has beenheard. It seems you are notquite the prisoner you oncewere.’

‘Sleep slips the cruellestchains, Usurper. My dreamsrise onwings and I am free.Doyounowtellmethatsuchfreedom was more thandelusion? I am shocked untodisbelief.’

Cotillion grimaced.‘Kalse, what do you dreamof?’

‘Ice.’Does that surprise me?

‘Ampelas?’‘The rain that burns,

Lord of Assassins, deep inshadow. And such a grislyshadow. Shall we threewhisper divinations now?Allmytruthsarechainedhere,itis only the lies that fly free.Yettherewasonedream,onethat still burns fresh in mymind. Will you hear myconfession?’

‘Myrope isnotquiteasfrayedasyouthink,Ampelas.You would do better todescribeyourdreamtoKalse.Considerthatadvicemygift.’He paused, glanced back atEdgewalker for a moment,and then faced the dragonsoncemore. ‘Nowthen, letusbargainforreal.’

‘There is no value inthat,’ Ampelas said. ‘Youhavenothingtogiveus.’

‘ButIdo.’

Edgewalker suddenlyspoke behind him. ‘Cotillion—’

‘Freedom,’ saidCotillion.

Silence.Hesmiled. ‘Afinestart.

Eloth, will you dream forme?’

‘Kalse and Ampelashave shared your gift. Theylookedupononeanotherwithfaces of stone. There waspain. There was fire. An eye

openedanditlookedupontheAbyss.LordofKnives,mykinin chains are … dismayed.Lord, I will dream for you.Speakon.’

‘Listen carefully then,’Cotillionsaid.‘Thisishowitmustbe.’

The depths of the canyonwere unlit, swallowed ineternal night far beneath theocean’s surface. Crevassesgaped in darkness, a world’s

death and decay streamingdown in ceaseless rain, andthecurrentswhippedinfiercetorrentsthatstirredsedimentsinto spinning vortices, liftinglike whirlwinds. Flanked bythe submerged crags of thecanyon’sravagedcliffs,aflatplainstretchedout,andinthecentre a lurid red flameflickered to life, solitary,almostlostinthevastness.

Shifting the almostweightless burden resting on

oneshoulder,Maelpausedtosquintatthatimprobablefire.Then he set out, makingstraightforit.

Lifeless rain falling tothe depths, savage currentswhipping it back up into thelight, where living creaturesfed on the rich soup, only toeventually die and sink backdown. Such an elegantexchange, the living and thedead, the light and thelightless,theworldaboveand

theworldbelow.Almostasifsomeonehadplannedit.

He couldnowmakeoutthehunchedfigurebesidetheflames,handsheldout to thedubious heat. Tiny seacreatures swarmed in thereddish bloom of light likemoths. The fire emergedpulsing from a rent in thefloor of the canyon, gasesbubblingupward.

Mael halted before thefigure, shrugging off the

wrappedcorpsethathadbeenbalanced on his shoulder.Asit rocked down to the siltstiny scavengers rushedtowards it,only to spinawaywithout alighting. Faintclouds billowed as thewrapped body settled in themud.

The voice of K’rul,Elder God of the Warrens,drifted out from within hishood. ‘If all existence is adialogue, how is it there is

stillsomuchleftunsaid?’Mael scratched the

stubble on his jaw. ‘Mewithmine, you with yours, himwithhis, andyet stillwe failto convince the world of itsinherentabsurdity.’

K’rul shrugged. ‘Himwithhis.Yes.Oddthatofallthegods,healonediscoveredthis mad, and maddening,secret.Thedawn to come…shallweleaveittohim?’

‘Well,’ Mael grunted,

‘first we need to survive thenight. Ihavebrought theoneyousought.’

‘I see that. Thank you,oldfriend.Nowtellme,whatoftheOldWitch?’

Mael grimaced. ‘Thesame.Shetriesagain,buttheone she has chosen… well,let us say that Onos T’oolanpossesses depths Olar Ethilcannot hope to comprehend,and shewill, I fear, come torueherchoice.’

‘A man rides beforehim.’

Mael nodded. ‘A manrides before him. It is …heartbreaking.’

‘“Against a brokenheart, even absurdityfalters.”’

‘“Because words fallaway.”’

Fingers fluttered in theglow. ‘“A dialogue ofsilence.”’

‘“That deafens.”’ Mael

looked off into the gloomydistance. ‘Blind Gallan andhisdamnablepoems.’Acrossthecolourlessfloorarmiesofsightless crabs were on themarch, drawn to the alienlightandheat.Hesquintedatthem.‘Manydied.’

‘Errastas had hissuspicions, and that is all theErrant needs. Terriblemischance, or deadly nudge.They were as she said theywould be. Unwitnessed.’

K’rul lifted his head, theempty hood now gaping inMael’s direction. ‘Has hewon,then?’

Mael’swirybrows rose.‘Youdonotknow?’

‘That close toKaminsod’s heart, thewarrensareamassofwoundsandviolence.’

Mael glanced down atthe wrapped corpse. ‘Bryswasthere.ThroughhistearsIsaw.’Hewassilentforalong

moment, reliving someoneelse’smemories.Hesuddenlyhugged himself, released araggedbreath.‘InthenameoftheAbyss, thoseBonehuntersweresomethingtobehold!’

Thevaguehintsofafaceseemed to find shape insidethehood’s darkness, a gleamof teeth. ‘Truly? Mael –truly?’

Emotion growled out inhiswords. ‘This is not done.Errastas has made a terrible

mistake.Gods,theyallhave!’After a long moment,

K’rul sighed, gaze returningto the fire. His pallid handshovered above the pulsingglowofburningrock.‘Ishallnot remain blind. Twochildren. Twins. Mael, itseems we shall defy theAdjunctTavoreParan’swishtobeforeverunknowntous,unknown to everyone. Whatdoesitmean,thisdesiretobeunwitnessed? I do not

understand.’Mael shook his head.

‘There is suchpain inher…no, I dare not get close. Shestoodbeforeus,inthethroneroom, like a child with aterrible secret, guilt andshamebeyondallmeasure.’

‘Perhaps my guest herewillhavetheanswer.’

‘Is thiswhyyouwantedhim? To salve merecuriosity? Is this to be avoyeur’s game,K’rul? Into a

woman’sbrokenheart?’‘Partly,’ K’rul

acknowledged. ‘But not outof cruelty, or the lure of theforbidden. Her heart mustremain her own, immune toallassault.’Thegodregardedthewrappedcorpse.‘No,thisone’s flesh is dead, but hissoul remains strong, trappedinitsownnightmareofguilt.Iwouldseeitfreedofthat.’

‘How?’‘Poised to act,when the

momentcomes.Poisedtoact.A life foradeath,and itwillhavetodo.’

Mael sighed unevenly.‘Then it falls on hershoulders.Alonewoman.Anarmy already mauled. Withalliesfeveredwithlustforthecoming war. An enemyawaiting them all, unbowed,with inhuman confidence, soeager to spring the perfecttrap.’ He lifted his hands tohis face. ‘A mortal woman

whorefusestospeak.’‘Yettheyfollow.’‘Theyfollow.’‘Mael, do they truly

haveachance?’He looked down at

K’rul. ‘The Malazan Empireconjuredthemoutofnothing.Dassem’s First Sword, theBridgeburners, and now theBonehunters.What can I tellyou?Itisasiftheywerebornof another age, a golden agelost to thepast,andthething

ofitis:theydon’tevenknowit. Perhaps that is why shewishes them to remainunwitnessed in all that theydo.’

‘Whatdoyoumean?’‘She doesn’t want the

rest of the world to bereminded of what they oncewere.’

K’rul seemed to studythe fire. Eventually, he said,‘In these dark waters, onecannotfeelone’sowntears.’

Mael’s reply was bitter.‘Why do you think I livehere?’

‘If I have not challengedmyself,ifIhavenotstriventogive it all I have, thenwill Istand head bowed before theworld’s judgement. But if Iam to be accused of beingclevererthanIam–andhowis this even possible? – or,gods forbid, too aware ofevery echo sent charging out

into thenight, tobounceandcavort, to reverberate like asword’sedgeonashieldrim,if, inotherwords,Iamtobecastigated for heeding mysensitivities, well, thensomething rises like firewithinme.Iam,andIusetheword most cogently,incensed.’

Udinaas snorted. Thepagewas torn below this, asif theauthor’sangerhadsenthimorher intoanapoplectic

frenzy. He wondered at thisunknown writer’s detractors,real or imagined, and hethought back to the times,long ago, when someone’sfist had answered his owntoo-quick, too-sharp wits.Children were skilled atsensing such things, the boytoo smart for his own good,and they knew what neededdoing about it. Beat himdown, lads.Serveshimright.Sohewassympathetic to the

spiritofthelong-deadwriter.‘But then, you old fool,

they’re dust and your wordsliveon.Whonowhasthelastlaugh?’

The rotting woodsurrounding him gave backno answer. Sighing, Udinaastossed the fragment aside,watched flakes of parchmentdrift down like ashes. ‘Oh,what do I care? Not muchlonger,no,notmuch longer.’The oil lamp was guttering

out,usedup,andthechillhadcrept back in. He couldn’tfeel his hands. Old legacies,no one could shake them,thesegrinningstalkers.

Ulshun Pral hadpredicted more snow, andsnow was something he hadgrown to despise. ‘As if thesky itself was dying. Youhear that, Fear Sengar? I’malmost ready to take up yourtale. Who could haveimaginedthatlegacy?’

Groaningat thestiffnessinhislimbs,heclamberedoutof the ship’s hold, emergedblinking on the slanted deck,thewindbatteringathisface.‘World of white, what areyoutellingus?Thatallisnotwell.Thatthefateshavesetasiegeuponus.’

He had taken to talkingtohimself.Thatway,nooneelse had to cry, and he wastiredof thoseglistening tearson weathered faces. Yes, he

could thaw them all with ahandful of words. But thatheat inside, well, it hadnowhere to go, did it? Hegave it to thecold,emptyairinstead. Not a single frozentearinsight.

Udinaas climbed overtheship’sside,droppeddowninto knee-deep snow, andthentookafreshpathbacktothe camp in the shelter ofrocks, his thick, fur-linedmoccasins forcing him to

waddle as he ploughedthrough the drifts. He couldsmellwoodsmoke.

He caught sight of theemlava halfway to the camp.Thetwoenormouscatsstoodperched on high rocks, theirsilvered backs blending withthewhitesky.Watchinghim.‘So, you’re back. That’s notgood,isit?’Hefelttheireyestracking him as he went on.Timewas slowing down.Heknewthatwasimpossible,but

he could imagine an entireworldburieddeepinsnow,aplace devoid of animals, aplace where seasons frozeinto one and that season didnot end, ever. He couldimaginethechokingdownofeverychoiceuntilnotasingleonewasleft.

‘A man can do it.Whynot an entire world?’ Thesnow and wind gave noanswer, beyond the brutalretortthatwasindifference.

In between the rocks,now, the bitter wind fallingoff,thesmokestingingawakehisnostrils.Therewashungerin the camp, therewaswhiteeverywhereelse.AndstilltheImass sang their songs. ‘Notenough,’ Udinaas muttered,breathpluming.‘It’s justnot,my friends. Face it, she’sdying.Ourdearlittlechild.’

He wondered if SilchasRuin had known all along.This imminent failure. ‘All

dreamsdie in theend.Ofallpeople I should know that.Dreams of sleep, dreams ofthe future, sooner or latercomes the cold, hard dawn.’Walking past the snow-humped yurts, scowlingagainst the droning songsdrifting out around the hideflaps, he made for the trailleadingtothecave.

Dirty ice crusted therockymaw,likefrozenfroth.Oncewithinitssheltertheair

warmed around him, dampand smelling of salts. Hestamped the snow from hismoccasins, and then strodeinto the twisting, stonycorridor, hands out to thesides, fingertips brushing thewetstone.‘Oh,’hesaidunderhisbreath, ‘butyou’reacoldwomb,aren’tyou?’

Ahead he heard voices,or, rather, one voice. Heedyour sensitivities now,Udinaas. She stands

unbowed, for ever unbowed.This is what love can do, Isuppose.

The old stains on thestonefloorremained,timelessreminders of blood spilledandliveslostinthiswretchedchamber. He could almosthear the echoes, sword andspear, the gasp of desperatebreaths.FearSengar,Iwouldswear your brother standsthere still. Silchas Ruinstaggeringback,stepbystep,

his scowl of disbelief like amaskhe’dneverwornbefore,and was it not ill-fitting? Itsurelywas.OnrackT’emlavastoodtotherightofhiswife.Ulshun Pral crouched a fewpaces toKilava’s left.Beforethem all reared a withered,sickly edifice. Dying House,yourcauldroniscracked.Shewasaflawedseed.

Kilava turned upon hisarrival, her dark animal eyesnarrowingaswouldahunting

cat’sasitgatheredtopounce.‘Thought you might havesailedaway,Udinaas.’

‘The charts leadnowhere, Kilava Onass, asI’m sure the pilot observeduponarrivinginthemiddleofa plain. Is there anythingmoreforlornthanafounderedship,Iwonder?’

Onrack spoke. ‘FriendUdinaas, I welcome yourwisdom.Kilavaspeaksoftheawakening of the Jaghut, the

hunger of theEleint, and thehand of the Forkrul Assail,which never trembles. RudElalle and Silchas Ruin havevanished – she cannot sensethemandshefearstheworst.’

‘Mysonlives.’Kilava stepped closer.

‘Youcannotknowthat.’Udinaas shrugged. ‘He

took more from his motherthan Menandore everimagined. When she facedthat Malazan wizard, when

she sought to draw upon herpower, well, it was one ofmanyfatalsurprisesthatday.’His gaze fell to thoseblackened stains. ‘Whathappened to our heroicoutcome, Fear? To thesalvation you gave your lifeto win? “If I have notchallenged myself, if I havenot striven to give it all Ihave, then will I stand headbowed before the world’sjudgement.” But the world’s

judgementiscruel.’‘We contemplate a

journeyfromthisrealm,’saidOnrack.

Udinaas glanced atUlshunPral.‘Doyouagree?’

The warrior freed onehand to a flurry of fluidgestures.

Udinaas grunted.Beforethespokenword,beforesong,there was this. But the handspeaks inbroken tongue.Thecipher here belongs to his

posture – a nomad’s squat.No one fearswalking, or theunfolding of a new world.Errant take me, thisinnocence stabs the heart.‘You won’t like what youwill find. Not the fiercestbeast of this world stands achance against my kind.’ Heglared at Onrack. ‘What doyou think that Ritual was allabout? The one that stoledeathfromyourpeople?’

‘Hurtful as his words

are,’ growled Kilava,‘Udinaas speaks the truth.’She faced the Azath oncemore. ‘We can defend thisgate.Wecanstopthem.’

‘And die,’ snappedUdinaas.

‘No,’ she retorted,wheeling to face him. ‘Youwill lead my children fromhere, Udinaas. Into yourworld.Iwillremain.’

‘I thought you said“we”,Kilava.’

‘Summonyourson.’‘No.’Hereyesflared.‘Find someone else to

joinyouinyourlastbattle.’‘I will stand with her,’

saidOnrack.‘You will not,’ hissed

Kilava.‘Youaremortal—’‘And you are not, my

love?’‘I am a Bonecaster. I

boreaFirstHerowhobecamea god.’ Her face twisted but

therewasanguishinhereyes.‘Husband, I shall indeedsummon allies to this battle.But you, you must go withour son, and with Udinaas.’She pointed a taloned fingerat the Letherii. ‘Lead themintoyourworld.Findaplaceforthem—’

‘A place? Kilava, theyareasthebeastsofmyworld–therearenoplacesleft!’

‘Youmustfindone.’Do you hear this, Fear

Sengar? I am not to be youafterall.No,IamtobeHullBeddict, another doomedbrother. ‘Follow me! Listento all my promises! Die.’‘There is nowhere,’ he said,throat tightwithgrief, ‘In allthe world … nowhere. Weleave nothing well enoughalone. Not ever. The Imasscan make claim to emptylands, yes, until someonecasts upon it a covetous eye.And then they will begin

killing you. Collecting hidesand scalps. Theywill poisonyour food. Rape yourdaughters.Allinthenameofpacification, or resettlement,or whatever othereuphemistic bhederin shitthey choose to spit out. Andthesooneryou’realldeadthebetter,sotheycanforgetyoueverexistedinthefirstplace.Guilt is the first weed wepluck, to keep the gardenpretty and smelling sweet.

That iswhatwe do, and youcannot stop us – you nevercould.Noonecan.’

Kilava’s expression wasflat. ‘You can be stopped.Youwillbestopped.’

Udinaasshookhishead.‘Lead them into your

world, Udinaas. Fight forthem. I do not mean to fallhere,andifyouimagineIamnot capable of protectingmychildren, then you do notknowme.’

‘You condemn me,Kilava.’

‘Summonyourson.’‘No.’‘Then you condemn

yourself,Udinaas.’‘Will you speak so

coollywhenmy fate extendstoyourchildrenaswell?’

When it seemed that noanswer was forthcoming,Udinaas sighed and, turningabout, setoff for theoutside,forthecoldandthesnow,and

the whiteness and thefreezingoftimeitself.Tohisanguish,Onrackfollowed.

‘Myfriend.’‘I’m sorry, Onrack, I

can’t tell you anythinghelpful–nothingtoeaseyourmind.’

‘Yet,’ rumbled thewarrior, ‘you believe youhaveananswer.’

‘Hardly.’‘Nonetheless.’Errant’s nudge, it’s

hopeless.Oh,watchmewalkwith such resolve. Lead youall, yes. Bold Hull Beddicthas returned, to repeat hishostofcrimesonemoretime.

Still hunting for heroes,FearSengar?Bestturnaway,now.

‘You will lead us,Udinaas.’

‘Soitseems.’Onracksighed.Beyond thecavemouth,

thesnowwhippeddown.

Hehadsoughtawayout.Hehad flung himself from theconflagration. But even thepoweroftheAzathcouldnotbreach Akhrast Korvalain,and so he had been castdown,hismindshattered,thefragments drowning in a seaof alien blood. Would herecover? Calm did not knowfor certain, but she intendedto take no chances. Besides,the latent power within himremained dangerous, a threat

to all their plans. It could beused against them, and thatwasnotacceptable.No,bettertoturnthisweapon,totakeitintomy own hand andwielditagainst theenemiesIknowI must soon face. Or, if thatneedprovesunnecessary,killhim.

Before either could everhappen, however, she wouldhave to return here. And dowhat must be done. I woulddo it now, if not for the risk.

Shouldheawaken, shouldheforce my hand … no, toosoon. We are not ready forthat.

Calm stood over thebody, studying him, theangular features, the tusks,the faint flush that hinted offever. Then she spoke to herancestors. ‘Take him. Bindhim.Weaveyoursorcery–hemust remain unconscious.The risk of his awakening istoogreat.Iwillreturnbefore

too long. Take him. Bindhim.’ The chains of bonesslithered out like serpents,plunging into the hardground, ensnaring the body’slimbs, round theneck,acrossthe torso, stitching himspread-eagledtothishilltop.

She saw the bonestrembling.‘Yes,Iunderstand.His power is too immense –that is why he must be keptunconscious. But there issomethingelseIcando.’She

stepped closer and crouched.Herrighthanddartedout,thefingers stiff as blades, andstabbed a deep hole in theman’s side. She gasped andalmost reeled back – was ittoo much? Had she awokenhim?

Bloodseepeddownfromthewound.

But Icarium did notmove.

Calm released a long,unsteady breath. ‘Keep the

blood trickling,’ she told herancestors. ‘Feed on hispower.’

Straightening, she liftedher gaze, studied the horizononallsides.Theoldlandsofthe Elan. But they had doneaway with them, leavingnothing but the ellipticalbouldersthatoncehelddownthesidesoftents,andtheoldblindsandrunsfromanevenolder time; of the greatanimals that once dwelt in

this plain not even a singleherd remained, domestic orwild. There was, sheobserved, admirableperfectioninthisnewstateofthings. Without criminals,there can be no crime.Without crime, no victims.The wind moaned and nonestood against it to giveanswer.

Perfect adjudication, ittastedofparadise.

Reborn. Paradise

reborn. From this emptyplain, the world. From thispromise,thefuture.

Soon.She set out, leaving the

hill behind, and with it thebodyofIcarium,boundtotheearthinchainsofbone.Whenshe returned again to thisplace, she would be flushwithtriumph.Orindesperateneed. If the latter, shewouldawaken him. If the former,she would grasp his head in

her hands, andwith a single,savage twist, break theabomination’sneck.

And no matter whichdecision awaited her, on thatdayherancestorswould singwithjoy.

Crooked upon the mound ofrubbish, the stronghold’sthrone was burning in thecourtyardbelow.Smoke,greyand black, rose in a columnuntil it lifted past the

ramparts,wherethewindtoreit apart, shreds drifting likebanners high above theravagedvalley.

Half-naked childrenscampered across thebattlements, their voicescutting sharp through theclatter and groan from themaingate,where themasonswere repairing yesterday’sdamage.Awatchwasturningover and the High Fistlistened to commands

snapping like flags behindhim. He blinked sweat andgritfromhiseyesandleaned,with some caution, on theeroded merlon, his narrowedgaze scanning the well-ordered enemy camp spreadoutalongthevalleyfloor.

From the rooftopplatform of the square toweron his right a child of nomore than nine or ten yearswasstrugglingwithwhathadonce been a signal kite,

straining to hold it overhead,until with thudding wing-flaps the tattered silk dragonlifted suddenly into the air,spinning and wheeling.Ganoes Paran squinted up atit. The dragon’s long tailflashed silver in the middaysunlight. The same tail, herecalled, that hadbeen in thesky above the stronghold thedayoftheconquest.

What had the defendersbeensignallingthen?

Distress.Help.He staredupat thekite,

watched itclimbeverhigher.Until the wind-spun smokedevouredit.

Hearingafamiliarcurse,he turned to see the Host’sHighMage struggling past aknotofchildrenat the topofthe stairs, his face twisted indisgustasifnavigatingamobof lepers. The fish spineclenched between his teethjerking up and down in

agitation, he strode up to theHighFist.

‘Iswearthere’remoreofthemthanyesterday,andhowis that possible? They don’tleap out of someone’s hipalreadyhalfgrown,dothey?’

‘Still creeping out fromthe caves,’ Ganoes Paransaid, fixing his attention ontheenemyranksoncemore.

NotoBoilgrunted.‘Andthat’sanotherthing.Whoeverthought a cave was a decent

placetolive?Rank,dripping,crawling with vermin. Therewill be disease, mark mywords, High Fist, and theHosthashadquiteenoughofthat.’

‘Instruct Fist Bude toassemble a clean-up crew,’Paran said. ‘Which squadsgotintotherumstore?’

‘Seventh, Tenth andThird,SecondCompany.’

‘Captain Sweetcreek’ssappers.’

Noto Boil plucked thespine from his mouth andexamined the pink point. Hethenleanedoverthewallandspatsomethingred.‘Aye,sir.Hers.’

Paran smiled. ‘Wellthen.’

‘Aye, serves them right.So, if they stir up morevermin—’

‘They are children,mage, not rats. Orphanedchildren.’

‘Really? Those whitebony ones make my skincrawl, that’s all I’m saying,sir.’ He reinserted the spineand it went up and down.‘Tell me again how this isbetterthanAren.’

‘NotoBoil, asHighFistI answer only to theEmpress.’

Themagesnorted.‘Onlyshe’sdead.’

‘Which means I answertonoone,notevenyou.’

‘Andthat’stheproblem,nailedstraighttothetree,sir.Nailedtothetree.’Seeminglysatisfied with that statement,hepointedwithanodandjabofthefishspineinhismouth.‘Lotsofscurryingaboutoverthere. Another attackcoming?’

Paran shrugged.‘They’restill…upset.’

‘Youknow, if they everdecidetocallourbluff—’

‘Who says I’mbluffing,

Boil?’The man bit something

thatmadehimwince.‘WhatImeanis,sir,noone’sdenyingyougot talents and such, butthose two commanders overthere,well,iftheygettiredofthrowing Watered andShriven against us – if theyjustupandmarchthemselvesover here, in person,well…that’swhatImeant,sir.’

‘I believe I gave you acommandashortwhileago.’

Noto scowled. ‘FistBude, aye. The caves.’ Heturned to leave and thenpaused and looked back.‘They see you, you know.Standing here day after day.Tauntingthem.’

‘Iwonder,’Paranmusedashereturnedhisattentiontotheenemycamp.

‘Sir?’‘The Siege of Pale.

Moon’s Spawn just sat overthe city. Months, years. Its

lord never showed himself,until the day Tayschrenndecided he was ready to tryhim. But here’s the thing,what if he had? What if,every damned day, he’dsteppedouton to that ledge?So Onearm and all the restcouldpause,lookup,andseehim standing there? Silverhair blowing, Dragnipur ablack god-shitting stainspreadingoutbehindhim.’

Noto Boil worked his

pick for amoment, and thensaid,‘Whatifhehad,sir?’

‘Fear,HighMage, takestime.Real fear, the kind thateats your courage, weakensyourlegs.’Heshookhisheadand glanced at Noto Boil.‘Anyway, that was never hisstyle,wasit?Imisshim,youknow.’He grunted. ‘Imaginethat.’

‘Who,Tayschrenn?’‘Noto, do you

understand anything I say?

Ever?’‘I try not to, sir. No

offence. It’s that fear thingyoutalkedabout.’

‘Don’t trample anychildrenonyourwaydown.’

‘That’suptothem,HighFist. Besides, the numberscoulddowithsomethinning.’

‘Noto.’‘We’re an army, not a

crèche, that’s all I’m saying.An army under siege.Outnumbered, overcrowded,

confused, bored – exceptwhen we’re terrified.’ Heplucked out his fish spineagain, whistled in a breathbetween his teeth. ‘Cavesfilled with children – whatwere they doing with themall?Wherearetheirparents?’

‘Noto.’‘We should just hand

them back, that’s all I’msaying,sir.’

‘Haven’t you noticed,today’s the first day they’re

finally behaving like normalchildren. What does that tellyou?’

‘Doesn’ttellmenothing,sir.’

‘FistRytheBude.Now.’‘Ayesir,onmyway.’GanoesParansettledhis

attention on the besiegingarmy, the precise rows oftents like bone tesserae on abuckled floor, the figuresscrambling tiny as fleas overthe trebuchets and Great

Wagons.Thefoulairofbattlenever seemed to leave thisvalley.Theylookreadytotryus again. Worth anothersortie? Mathok keepsskewering me with thathungry look. He wants atthem. He rubbed at his face.The shock of feeling hisbeard caught him yet again,andhegrimaced.Noonelikeschange much, do they? Butthat’spreciselymypoint.

The silk dragon cut

across his vision, divingdown out of the reams ofsmoke. He glanced over totheboyonthetower,sawhimstrugglingtokeephisfooting.A scrawny thing, one of theones from up south. AShriven. When it gets toomuch,lad,besuretoletgo.

Seethingmotion now inthedistantcamp.Theglintofpikes, the chained slavesmarchingout to theyokesofthe Great Wagons, High

Watered emergingsurrounded by runners. Dustslowly lifting in the skyabove the trebuchets as theywerewheeledforward.

Aye, they’re still upsetallright.

‘I knew a warrior once.Awakening from a wound tothe head believing he was adog,andwhataredogsifnotloyalty lackingwits? So hereI stand,woman,andmyeyes

arefilledwithtears.Forthatwarrior, who was my friend,who died thinking he was adog. Too loyal to be senthome, too filledwith faith toleave. These are the world’sfallen. When I dream, I seethem in their thousands,chewingattheirownwounds.So, do not speak to me offreedom. He was right allalong. We live in chains.Beliefs to shackle, vows tochokeourthroats,thecageof

amortal life, this isour fate.WhodoIblame?Iblamethegods. And curse them withfireinmyheart.

‘Whenshecomes tome,whenshesaysthatit’stime,Ishall takemy sword inhand.You say that I am a man oftoofewwords,butagainsttheseaofneeds,wordsareweakassand.Now,woman,tellmeagain of your boredom, thisstretch of days and nightsoutside a city obsessed with

mourning.Istandbeforeyou,eyes leakingwith thegriefofa dead friend, and all I getfrom you is a siege ofsilence.’

She said, ‘You have adamned miserable way oftalkingyourwayintomybed,KarsaOrlong.Fine then,getin.Justdon’tbreakme.’

‘I only break what I donotwant.’

‘And if the days of thisrelationshiparenumbered?’

‘They are,’ he replied,andthenhegrinned.‘Butnotthenights.’

Faintly,thedistantcity’sbells tolled their grief at thefall of darkness, and in theblue-lit streets and alleys,dogshowled.

In the innermost chamber ofthe palace of the city’s lord,she stood in shadows,watching as he moved away

from the hearth, brushingcharcoal from his hands.There was no mistaking hislegacy of blood, and itseemed the weight his fatherhadbornewassettlinglikeanold cloak on his son’ssurprisingly broad shoulders.She could never understandsuch creatures. Theirwillingness to martyrdom.The burdens by which theymeasured self-worth. Thisembraceofduty.

Hesettled into thehigh-backed chair, stretched outhis legs, theawakeningfire’sflickering light licking thestuds ringing his knee-highleather boots. Resting hishead back, eyes closed, hespoke.‘Hoodknowshowyoumanagedtogetinhere,andIimagineSilanah’shacklesarelifting at this very moment,butifyouarenotheretokillme,thereiswineonthetabletoyourleft.Helpyourself.’

Scowling,sheedgedoutfromtheshadows.Allatoncethe chamber seemed toosmall, itswalls threateningtosnap tight around her. To sowillingly abandon the sky infavour of heavy stone andblackened timbers, no, shedidnotunderstandthisatall.‘Nothing but wine?’ Hervoice cracked slightly,remindingherthatithadbeensome time since she’d lastusedit.

His elongated eyesopened and he observed herwith unfeigned curiosity.‘Youprefer?’

‘Ale.’‘Sorry.Youwillneedto

go to the kitchens below forthat.’

‘Mare’smilk,then.’Hisbrows lifted. ‘Down

to the palace gate, turn left,walkhalfathousandleagues.Andthatisjustaguess,mindyou.’

Shrugging, she edgedclosertothehearth.‘Thegiftstruggles.’

‘Gift? I do notunderstand.’

She gestured at theflames.

‘Ah,’ he said, nodding.‘Well,youstandinthebreathof Mother Dark—’ and thenhe started. ‘Does she knowyou’re here? But then,’ hesettled back again, ‘howcouldshenot?’

‘Do you know who Iam?’sheasked.

‘AnImass.’‘I am Apsal’ara. His

night within the Sword, hisone night, he freed me. Hehadthetimeforthat.Forme.’Shefoundshewastrembling.

He was still studyingher. ‘And so you have comehere.’

Shenodded.‘You didn’t expect that

fromhim,didyou?’

‘No. Your father – hehadnoreasonforregret.’

He rose then, walkedover to the table and pouredhimself a goblet ofwine.Hestood with the cup in hand,staring down at it. ‘Youknow,’ he muttered, ‘I don’teven want this. The need…todosomething.’Hesnorted.‘“No reason for regret”,well…’

‘They look for him– inyou.Don’tthey?’

Hegrunted.‘Eveninmyname you will find him.Nimander. No, I’m not hisonly son. Not even hisfavoured one – I don’t thinkhehadanyof those,come tothink of it. Yet,’ and hegestured with the goblet,‘there I sit, in his chair,before his fire. This palacefeelslike…feelslike—’

‘Hisbones?’Nimander flinched,

looked away. ‘Too many

emptyrooms,that’sall.’‘I need some clothes,’

shesaid.He nodded distractedly.

‘Inoticed.’‘Furs.Skins.’‘You intend to stay,

Apsal’ara?’‘Atyourside,yes.’He turned at that, eyes

searchingherface.‘But,’ she added, ‘Iwill

notbehisburden.’A wry smile. ‘Mine,

then?’‘Name your closest

advisers,Lord.’He swallowed half the

wine, and then set the gobletdownonthetable.‘TheHighPriestess. Chaste now, and Ifear that does not serve herwell. Skintick, a brother.Desra, a sister. Korlat,Spinnock, my father’s mosttrustedservants.’

‘TisteAndii.’‘Ofcourse.’

‘Andtheonebelow?’‘Theone?’‘Didheonceadviseyou,

Lord? Do you stand at thebarsinthedoor’swindow,towatch him mutter and pace?Do you torment him? I wishtoknowthemanIwillserve.’

She saw clear anger inhis face. ‘Are you to be myjester now? I have heard ofsuch roles in human courts.Willyoucutthesinewsofmylegs and laugh as I stumble

and fall?’Hebaredhis teeth.‘If yours is to bemy face ofconscience,Apsal’ara,shouldyounotbeprettier?’

She cocked her head,madenoreply.

Abruptly his furycollapsed, and his eyes fellaway. ‘It is the exile he haschosen.Didyoutest thelockonthatdoor?Itisbarredfromwithin.But then,we havenoproblem forgiving him.Adviseme, then. I ama lord

and it is in my power to dosuch things. To pardon thecondemned. Yet you haveseen the crypts below us.How many prisoners cringebeneathmyironhand?’

‘One.’‘And I cannot free him.

Surelythatisworthajokeortwo.’

‘Ishemad?’‘Clip?Possibly.’‘Then no, not even you

can free him. Your father

took scores for the chains ofDragnipur, scores just likethisClip.’

‘I dare say he did notcallitfreedom.’

‘Normercy,’shereplied.‘They are beyond a lord’sreach,eventhatofagod.’

‘Then we fail them all.Bothlordsandgods–wefailthem,ourbrokenchildren.’

This,sherealized,wouldnot be an easyman to serve.‘He drew others to him –

yourfather.Otherswhowerenot Tiste Andii. I remember,in his court, in Moon’sSpawn.’

Nimander’s eyesnarrowed.

She hesitated, unsure,andthenresumed.‘Yourkindareblindtomanythings.Youneed others close to you,Lord. Servants who are notTiste Andii. I am not one ofthese…jestersyouspeakof.Nor, it seems, can I be your

conscience, ugly as I am toyoureyes—’

He held up a hand.‘Forgive me for that, I begyou.Isoughttowoundandsospokeanuntruth,justtoseeitsting.’

‘I believe I stung youfirst,mylord.’

Hereachedagainforthewine, and then stood lookinginto the hearth’s flames.‘Apsal’ara, Mistress ofThieves. Will you now

abandon that life, to becomean adviser to a Tiste Andiilord? All because my father,at the very end, showed youmercy?’

‘I never blamed him forwhat he did. I gave him nochoice. He did not free meoutofmercy,Nimander.’

‘Thenwhy?’She shook her head. ‘I

don’t know. But I mean tofindout.’

‘And this pursuit – for

ananswer–hasbroughtyouhere, to Black Coral. To …me.’

‘Yes.’‘Andhow longwillyou

stand at my side, Apsal’ara,whilst I govern a city, signwrits,debatepolicies?WhilstIslowlyrot in theshadowofa father I barely knew and alegacyIcannothopetofill?’

Her eyes widened.‘Lord,thatisnotyourfate.’

He wheeled to her.

‘Really? Why not? Please,adviseme.’

She cocked her head asecond time, studied the tallwarrior with the bitter,helpless eyes. ‘For so longyou Tiste Andii prayed forMotherDark’s lovingregard.Forsolongyouyearnedtobereborn to purpose, to lifeitself. He gave it all back toyou.Allofit.Hedidwhatheknewhadtobedone,foryoursake.You,Nimander,andall

the rest. And now you sithere, inhis chair, inhis city,among his children. And herholy breath, it embraces youall. Shall I give you what Ipossess of wisdom? Verywell.Lord,evenMotherDarkcannot hold her breath forever.’

‘Shedoesnot—’‘Whena child is born it

mustcry.’‘You—’‘With itsvoice, it enters

the world, and it must entertheworld.Now,’shecrossedher arms, ‘will you continuehidinghere in thiscity?IamtheMistressofThieves,Lord.I know every path. I havewalked them all. And I haveseenwhatthereistobeseen.If you and your people hidehere, Lord, you will all die.AndsowillMotherDark.Beherbreath.Becastout.’

‘But we are in thisworld,Apsal’ara!’

‘One world is notenough.’

‘Then what must wedo?’

‘What your fatherwanted.’

‘Andwhatisthat?’She smiled. ‘Shall we

findout?’

‘You have some nerve,DragonMaster.’

A child shrieked fromsomewhere down the

walkway.Withoutturning,Ganoes

Paran sighed and said,‘You’refrighteningtheyoungonesagain.’

‘Not nearly enough.’The iron-shodheel of a canecracked hard on the stone.‘Isn’t that always the way,heehee!’

‘I don’t think Iappreciate the new titleyou’re giving me,Shadowthrone.’

Avaguedarksmear, thegod moved up alongsideParan. The cane’s gleaminghead swung its silver snarlout over the valley. ‘Masterof theDeckofDragons.Toomuchofamouthful.It’syour… abuses. I so dislikeunpredictable people.’ Hegiggled again. ‘People.Ascendants. Gods. Thick-skulleddogs.Children.’

‘Where is Cotillion,Shadowthrone?’

‘You should be tired ofthatquestionbynow.’

‘Iamtiredofwaitingforananswer.’

‘Then stop asking it!’The god’s manic shriekechoed through the fortress,rattled wild along corridorsand through hallways beforeechoing back to where theystoodatopthewall.

‘That has certainlycaught their attention,’ Paranobserved,noddingtoadistant

barrowwheretwotall,almostskeletalfiguresnowstood.

Shadowthrone sniffed.‘Theyseenothing.’Hehissedalaugh.‘Blindedbyjustice.’

Ganoes Paran scratchedat his beard. ‘What do youwant?’

‘Whence comes yourfaith?’

‘Excuseme?’The cane rapped and

skittered on the stone. ‘Yousit with the Host in Aren,

defying every imperialsummons. And then youassault the Warrens withthis.’ He suddenly cackled.‘You should have seen theEmperor’s face! And thenames he called you, my,even the court scriberscringed!’He paused. ‘Wherewas I? Yes, I was beratingyou,DragonMaster.Areyoua genius? I doubt it.Leavingmenochoicebuttoconcludethatyou’reanidiot.’

‘Isthatall?’‘Issheoutthere?’‘Youdon’tknow?’‘Doyou?’Paran slowly nodded.

‘Now I understand. It’s allabout faith. A notionunfamiliartoyou,Itakeit.’

‘This siege ismeaningless!’

‘Isit?’Shadowthrone hissed,

one ethereal hand reachingout, as if to claw at Paran’s

face. Instead, it hovered,twisted and then shrank intosomething vaguely fist-shaped. ‘You don’tunderstandanything!’

‘I understand this,’Paran replied. ‘Dragons arecreaturesofchaos.TherecanbenoDragonMaster,makingthetitlemeaningless.’

‘Exactly.’Shadowthronereached out to gather up atangled snarl of spider’swebfrom beneath the wall’s

casing. He held it up,apparently studying thecocooned remnant of adesiccatedinsect.

Miserable turd. ‘Here iswhat I know, Shadowthrone.Theendbeginshere.Doyoudeny it? No, you can’t, elseyouwouldn’tbehauntingme—’

‘Not even you canbreachthepowersurroundingthiskeep,’thegodsaid.‘Youhave blinded yourself. Open

your gate again, GanoesParan,findsomewhereelsetolodge your army. This ispointless.’ He flung the webaway and gestured with theheadofhiscane.‘Youcannotdefeat those two, we bothknowthat.’

‘But they don’t, dothey?’

‘They will test you.Soonerorlater.’

‘I’mstillwaiting.’‘Perhapseventoday.’

‘Willyouwageronthat,Shadowthrone?’

The god snorted. ‘YouhavenothingIwant.’

‘Liar.’‘Then I have nothing

youwant.’‘Actually, as it happens

…’‘Doyouseemeholding

a leash? He’s not here. He’soffdoingother things.We’reallies,doyouunderstand?Analliance. Not a damned

marriage!’Paran grinned. ‘Oddly

enough, I wasn’t eventhinkingofCotillion.’

‘A pointless wager inanycase.Ifyouloseyoudie.Orabandonyourarmytodie,which I can’t see you doing.Besides,you’renowherenearasdeviousasIam.Youwantthis wager? Truly? Evenwhen I lose, I win. EvenwhenIlose…Iwin!’

Parannodded. ‘And that

has ever been your game,Shadowthrone. You see, Iknow you better than youthink. Yes, I would wagerwith you. They shall not trymethisday.Weshallrepulsetheir assault … again. Andmore Shriven and Wateredwilldie.Weshall remain theitchtheycannotscratch.’

‘All because you havefaith?Fool!’

‘Those are theconditions of this wager.

Agreed?’The god’s form seemed

to shift about, almostvanishing entirely at onemoment before reappearing,and the cane head struckchipsfromthemerlon’swornedge.‘Agreed!’

‘If you win and Isurvive,’resumedParan,‘youget what youwant fromme,whatever that is, andassumingit’s inmypowertogrant. If I win, I get what I

wantfromyou.’‘Ifit’sinmypower—’‘Itis.’Shadowthrone muttered

something under his breath,and then hissed. ‘Very well,tellmewhatyouwant.’

AndsoParantoldhim.The god cackled. ‘And

youthinkthat’sinmypower?You think Cotillion has nosayinthematter?’

‘If he does, best you goand ask him, then. Unless,’

Paranadded,‘itturnsoutthat,asIsuspect,youhavenoideawhereyourallyhasgotto.Inwhichcase,LordofShadows,you will do as I ask, andanswertohimlater.’

‘I answer to no one!’Another shriek, the echoesracing.

Paran smiled. ‘Why,Shadowthrone, I knowpreciselyhowyoufeel.Now,whatisityouseekfromme?’

‘I seek the source of

your faith.’ The canewaggled. ‘That she’s outthere. That she seeks whatyou seek. That, upon thePlain of Blood and Chains,you will find her, and standfacingher–asifyoutwohadplannedthisallalong,whenIdamned well know youhaven’t!You don’t even likeeachother!’

‘Shadowthrone, Icannotsellyoufaith.’

‘So lie, damn you, just

doitconvincingly!’Hecouldhearsilkwings

flapping, the sound ashredding of the wind itself.A boy with a kite. DragonMaster. Ruler over all thatcannot be ruled. Ride thehowling chaos and call itmastery – who are youfooling?Lad, letgonow.It’stoomuch. But hewould not,hedidn’tknowhow.

The man with thegreying beard watches, and

cansaynothing.Distress.He glanced to his left,

buttheshadowwasgone.A crash from the

courtyard below drew himround.The throne, amassofflames, had broken throughthe mound beneath it. Andthesmokeleaptskyward,likeabeastunchained.

CHAPTERTWO

IlookaroundatthelivingStillandboundHandsandkneestostoneBywhatwefound

Wasanightaswearying

Asanyjustpast?WasadawnanycruellerTofindusthisaghast?

ByyourhandyouarestayingAndthisisfairButyourwordsofbloodAretoobittertobear

SongofSorrowsUnwitnessed

NapanBlight

FROM HERE ONWARDS, HECOULDNOTTRUSTTHESKY.THEALTERNATIVE, he observed ashe examined the desiccated,rotted state of his limbs,invited despondency. TulasShorn looked round, notingwith faint dismay thetruncated lines of sight, anaffliction cursing all whomustwalktheland’sbatteredsurface. Scars he had lookeddown upon from a greatheight only a short time

earlier now posed dauntingobstacles, a host of furrowedtrenchescarvingdeep,jaggedgouges across his intendedpath.

Sheiswoundedbutdoesnot bleed. Not yet, at anyrate.No,Iseenow.Thisfleshis dead. Yet I am drawn tothis place.Why? He walked,haltingly, up to the edge ofthe closest crevasse. Peereddown. Darkness, a breathcool and slightly sour with

decay. And … somethingelse.

TulasShornpausedforamoment,andthensteppedoutinto space, and plungeddownward.

Threadbareclothing toreloose, whipped wild as hisbody struck rough walls,skidded and rebounded in aknock of withered limbs,tumbling amidst hissing gritand sand, the feathery brushand then snag of grass roots,

and now stones spilling tofollowhimdown.

Bones snappedwhen hestruck the boulder-studdedfloor of the fissure. Moresandpoureddownonallsideswiththesoundofserpents.

He did not move for atime. The dust, billowing inthe gloom, slowly settled.Eventually,hesatup.Oneleghad broken just above theknee. The lower part of thelimb remained attached by

little more than a fewstretches of skin and sinew.He set the break and waitedwhile the two ragged endsslowly fused. The four ribsthat now thrust broken tipsout from the right sideofhischest were not particularlydebilitating, so he left them,conservinghispower.

A short while later hemanaged to stand, hisshoulders scraping walls. Hecould make out the usual

assortment of splinteredbones littering the unevenfloor, but thesewere only ofmildinterest,thefragmentsofbestialsoulsclingingtothemwrithing like ghostly worms,disturbedbythenewcurrentsintheair.

He began walking,following the odd scent hehad detected from above. Itwas stronger down here, ofcourse, and with eachawkward step along the

winding channel there arosewithin him a certainanticipation, bordering onexcitement.Close,now.

The skull was set on aspear shaft of corrodedbronze, rising to chest heightand blocking the path. In aheap at the shaft’s base wastherestoftheskeleton,everybonesystematicallyshattered.

Tulas Shorn halted twopaces from the skull.‘Tartheno?’

The voice rumblingthrough his head spoke,however, in the language ofthe Imass. ‘Bentract. SkanAhlgreetsyou,Revenant.’

‘Your bones are toolargeforaT’lanImass.’

‘Yes, but no salvationcameofthat.’

‘Who did this to you,SkanAhl?’

‘Her body lies a fewpacesbehindme,Revenant.’

‘If you so wounded her

in your battle that she died,how was it that she coulddestroy your body with suchvigour?’

‘I did not say she wasdead.’

Tulas Shorn hesitated,and then snorted. ‘No,nothing liveshere.Eithersheisdeadorsheisgone.’

‘Icanhardlyarguewithyou, Revenant. Now then, dothis one thing: look behindyou.’

Bemused, he did so.Sunlight fighting its waydown through dust. ‘I seenothing.’

‘Thatisyourprivilege.’‘Idonotunderstand.’‘Isawhersteppastme.I

heardherslidetotheground.I heard her cry out in pain,andthenweep,andwhentheweeping was done, all thatremained was her breathing,untilthattooslowed.But…Ican still hear it. The lift and

fall of her chest, with eachrise of the moon – when itsfaint light reaches down –how many times? Many. Ihavelostcount.Whydoessheremain?Whatdoesshewant?She will not answer. Sheneveranswers.’

Saying nothing, TulasShorn edged past the stakeand its dusty skull. Fivestrides further on, he halted,stareddown.

‘Does she sleep,

Revenant?’Tulas slowly crouched.

He reached down andtouched the delicate rib cagelying inashallowdepressionat his feet. A newborn’sfossilizedbones,glued to theground by calcifiedlimestone.Borntothetideofthe moon, were you, littleone? Did you draw even asingle breath? I think not.‘T’lanImass,wasthistheendofyourchase?’

‘Shewasformidable.’‘AJaghut.Awoman.’‘I was the last on her

trail.Ifailed.’‘And is it that failure

that tormentsyou,SkanAhl?Or that she now haunts you,here behind you, for everhiddenfromyoursight?’

‘Awaken her! Or betterstill, slay her, Revenant.Destroyher.Forallweknow,she is the very last Jaghut.Kill her and the war will be

over,andIwillknowpeace.’‘There is little peace in

death, T’lan Imass.’ Ah,child, the wind at nightmoans through you, does it?Night’s very own breath, tohaunthimforalleternity.

‘Revenant,turnmyskull.Iwouldseeheragain.’

Tulas Shornstraightened. ‘I will not stepbetweenyouinthiswar.’

‘But it isawaryoucanend!’

‘Icannot.Nor,itisclear,can you. Skan Ahl, I mustleave you now.’ He lookeddownatthetinybones.‘Bothofyou.’

‘Since my failure,Revenant, I have entertainednot a single visitor. You arethefirsttofindme.Areyouofsuch cruelty as to condemnme to an eternity in thisstate? She defeated me. Iaccept this.But Ibegofyou,grantmethedignityoffacing

myslayer.’‘You pose a dilemma,’

Tulas Shorn said after amoment’s consideration.‘What you imagine to bemercy may not prove anysuch thing, should Iacquiesce. And then there isthis: I am not particularlyinclined tomercy, SkanAhl.Not with respect to you. Doyoubegintocomprehendmydifficulty? I could indeedreach out and swing your

skull round, and you maycurse me for all time. Or Icould elect to do nothing, toleave everything as I havefound it – as if I was neverhere – and so earn yourdarkest resentment. In eithercase, you will see me ascruel. Now, this does notoffend me overmuch. As Isaid, I am not stirred tokindness.ThematterIfaceis:howcrueldoIwishtobe?’

‘ThinkonthatprivilegeI

spoke of earlier, Revenant.Yoursimplegiftofbeingabletoturnyourselfround, toseewhat hides behind you. Weboth understand that what isseenmaynotbewelcome.’

Tulas Shorn grunted.‘T’lan Imass, I know allabout looking over myshoulder.’Hewalkedbacktotheskull.‘ShallIbethebrushofwind, then?A single turn,anewworldtounfold.’

‘Willsheawaken?’

‘I think not,’ he replied,reaching out and settling onewithered fingertip against thehugeskull.‘Butyoucantry.’A slow increase in pressure,andwithagratingsqueal theskullswunground.

The T’lan Imass beganhowling in Tulas Shorn’swake as he walked back upthechannel.

Gifts are never whattheyseem.And thepunishinghand? It, too, is not what it

seems. Yes, these twothoughts are worthy of longechoes, stretching into thiswretchedfuture.

Asifanyonewilllisten.

Vengeance,held tight likeaniron-shod spear in her hand,and how it burned. Ralatacould feel its searing heat,and the painwas now a gift,something she could feedupon, like a hunter crouchedover a fresh kill. She’d lost

her horse. She’d lost herpeople. Everything had beentaken away from her,everything except this finalgift.

Thebrokenmoonwasablurred smear almost lost inthe green glow of theStrangers in the Sky. TheSkincutBarghaststoodfacingeast, her back to thesmouldering coals from thehearth,andlookedoutuponaplainthatseemedtoseethein

thejadeandsilverlight.Behind her the black-

haired warrior namedDraconus spoke in low toneswith the Teblor giant. Theytalked often in some foreigntongue – Letherii, shesupposed,not that she’devercared to learn it. Even thesimpler trader’s languagemade her head ache, but onoccasion she caught someLetherii word that had madeits way into the pidgin cant,

so she knew they werespeaking of the journeyahead.

East. It was, for themoment, convenient for herto travel in their company,despite having to constantlyfend off the Teblor’s clumsyadvances.Draconuswasableto find game where noneseemedtoexist.Hecouldcallwater up from crackedbedrock. More than just awarrior.A shaman.And in a

scabbard of midnight woodstrappedtohisbacktherewasaswordofmagic.

She wanted it. Shemeant to have it. A weaponsuited to the vengeance shedesired. With such a sword,she could kill the wingedslayerofhersisters.

In hermind sheworkedthrough scenarios. A knifeacross theman’s throatwhenhe slept, and then a stabthroughaneyefortheTeblor.

Simple,quick,andshewouldhavewhat shewanted. If notfortheemptinessofthisland.If not for the thirst andstarvationthatwouldfollow–no, for the time beingDraconus must live. ForUblala,however,ifshecouldarrange a terrible accident,thenshewouldnothavehimto worry about on the nightshe went for the sword. Thedilemma of finding for theoafafataldemisehereonthis

featurelessplainstilldefeatedher.Butshehadtime.

‘Come back to the fire,beloved,’ the Teblor called,‘and drink some tea. It hasrealleavesinitandstuffthatsmellsnice.’

Ralata massaged hertemples for a moment, andthen turned about. ‘I am notyour beloved. I belong to noone.Ineverwill.’

At seeing the half-smileonthefaceofDraconusashe

tossed another dung chip ontothefire,Ralatascowled.‘Itis rude,’ she pronounced asshe walked over, squatteddownandtookthecupUblalaproffered, ‘to talk in alanguage I don’t understand.You could be plotting myrape and murder for all Iknow.’

The warrior’s browsarched.‘Now,whywouldwewant to do that, Barghast?Besides,’headded,‘Ublalais

courtingyou.’‘He might as well give

upnow.Idon’twanthim.’Draconus shrugged. ‘I

have explained to him thatmostofwhatwecallcourtingboils down to just beingthere. Every time you turn,you see him, until hiscompany feels perfectlynatural to you. “Courting istheartofgrowinglikemouldon the one you want.”’ Hepaused, scratched at the

stubble on his jaw. ‘I can’tlayclaim to thatobservation,but I don’t recallwho said itfirst.’

Ralata spat into the fireto announce her disgust.‘We’renotalllikeHetan,youknow. She used to say shegaugedtheattractivenessofaman by imagining how helookedwhen shewas staringupathisredfaceandbulgingeyes.’Shespatagain.‘IamaSkincut, a slayer, a collector

ofscalps.WhenIlookuponaman, I imagine what he’lllook likewith theskinofhisfaceslicedaway.’

‘She’s not very nice, isshe?’UblalaaskedDraconus.

‘Tryinghard,youmean,’Draconusreplied.

‘Makes me want to sexherevenmorethanbefore.’

‘That’showthesethingswork.’

‘It’s torture. I don’t likeit.No,Ido.No,Idon’t.Ido.

Oh, I’m going to polish myhammer.’

Ralata stared at Ublalaas he surged to his feet andthumpedoff.

LowandinthelanguageoftheWhiteFaces,Draconusmurmured, ‘He means thatliterally,bytheway.’

Sheshothimalook,andsnorted. ‘Iknew that.Hehasno wits for anything else.’She hesitated, and then said,‘His armour looks

expensive.’‘It cost dearly, aye,

Ralata. He wears it well,better than one might havehoped.’Henodded,mostlytohimself, she suspected, andsaid, ‘He will stand well, Ithink,whenthetimecomes.’

She remembered thiswarrior killing Sekara theVile, snapping the oldwoman’s neck. The ease ofthe gesture, the way heseemed to embrace her to

keep her from falling, as ifherlifelessbodystillclungtosomething like dignity. Hewas not a man easilyunderstood. ‘What are youtwo seeking? You walk intotheeast.Why?’

‘There are unfortunatethingsintheworld,Ralata.’

She frowned. ‘I don’tknowwhatthatmeans.’

He sighed, studied thefire. ‘Have you ever steppedon something

unintentionally? Out througha doorway, a suddencrunching underfoot. Whatwasit?Aninsect?Asnail?Alizard?’Heliftedhisheadandfixed herwith his dark eyes,the embers gleaming in luridreflection. ‘Not worth asecond thought,was it?Suchare the vagaries of life. Anant dreaming ofwar, awaspdevouring a spider, a lizardstalking the wasp. All thesedramas,andcrunch–allover

with. What to make of it?Nothing,Isuppose.Ifyou’vea heart, you apportion outsome small measure of guiltand remorse, and thencontinueonyourway.’

She shook her head,baffled. ‘You stepped onsomething?’

‘In a manner ofspeaking.’ He nudged theembersandwatchedassparksspun upward. ‘No matter. Afewants survived.Noend to

the little bastards, in fact. Icould crush a thousand nestsunderheel and it’dnotmakea whit of difference. That’sthe best way of thinkingabout it, in fact.’Hemet hereyes again. ‘Does that makeme cold? What did I leavebehind in those chains, Iwonder,stillshackledthere,ahost of forlorn virtues …whatever. I am having odddreamsoflate.’

‘I dream only of

vengeance.’‘Themoreyoudreamof

one particular and pleasingthing, Ralata, the quicker itpalls. The edges get worndown, the lustre fades. Toleavesuchobsessionsbehind,dreamofthemoften.’

‘You speak like an oldman, a Barghast shaman.Riddlesandbadadvice,OnosToolan was right to discountthem all.’ She almost lookedtothewest,pasthisshoulder,

as if she might find herpeopleandtheWarleader,allmarching straight for them.Instead, she finished the lastoftheteainhercup.

‘Onos Toolan,’Draconusmuttered,‘anImassname. A strange warleaderfor the Barghast to have …will you tell me the tale ofthat,Ralata?’

She grunted. ‘I have noskillfortales.Hetantookhimfor a husband. He was from

the Gathering, when all theT’lan Imass answered thesummons of Silverfox. Shereturned to him his life,ending his immortality, andthen Hetan found him. Afterthe end of the PannionWar.Hetan’s father was HumbrallTaur, who had united theWhite Face clans, but hedrowned during the landingupon the shores of thiscontinent—’

‘A moment, please.

Your tribes are not native tothiscontinent?’

She shrugged. ‘TheBarghast gods wereawakenedtosomeperil.Theyfilled the brains of theshamanswiththeirpanic,likesour piss. We must returnhere, to our originalhomeland, to face an ancientenemy.Sowewere told, butnot much else. We thoughtthe enemy was the TisteEdur. Then the Letherii, and

then the Akrynnai. But itwasn’tanyof them,andnowwe are destroyed, and ifSekaraspoketruly,thenOnosToolan is dead, and so isHetan. They’re all dead. Ihope the Barghast gods diedwiththem.’

‘Can you tell me moreabouttheseT’lanImass?’

‘They knelt before amortal man. In the midst ofbattle,theyturnedtheirbackson the enemy. I will say no

moreofthem.’‘Yetyouchosetofollow

OnosToolan—’‘He was not among

those. He stood alone beforeSilverfox, a thing of bones,anddemanded—’

ButDraconushadleanedforward,almostoverthefire.‘“A thingofbones”?T’lan–Tellann! Abyss below!’ Hesuddenly rose, startlingRalata further, and shewatched as he paced, and it

seemed black ink wasbleeding out from thescabbard at his back, a stainthat hurt her eyes. ‘Thatbitch,’hesaidinalowgrowl.‘Youselfish,spitefulhag!’

Ublala heard theoutburst and he suddenlyloomed into the dull glowofthe fire, his huge maceleaning over one shoulder.‘What’d she do, Draconus?’HeglaredatRalata.‘ShouldIkill her? If she’s being

spelfishandsightful–what’srape mean, anyway? It’s gottodowithsex?CanI—’

‘Ublala,’ Draconus cutin, ‘I was not speaking ofRalata.’

The Teblor lookedround. ‘I don’t see no oneelse,Draconus.She’shiding?Whoever she is, I hate her,unless she’s pretty. Is shepretty? Mean is all right ifthey’repretty.’

The warrior was staring

at Ublala. ‘Best climb intoyour furs, Ublala, and getsome sleep. I’ll stand firstwatch.’

‘All right. Iwasn’t tiredanyway.’ He swung aboutandsetoffforhisbedroll.

‘Be careful with thosecurses,’Ralata said inahiss,risingtoherfeet.‘Whatifhestrikes first and then asksquestions?’

Heglancedacrossather.‘The T’lan Imass were

undead.’Shenodded.‘Shen