Toll the hounds free download

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly ISBN 9781409092445 Version 1.0 www.randomhouse.co.uk Archaeologist and anthropologist Steven Erikson is a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop His first fantasy novel, Gardens of the Moon, marked the opening chapter in his epic 'Malazan Book of the Fallen' sequence and was shortlisted for a World Fantasy Award The equally acclaimed subsequent volumes are Deadhouse Gates, Memories of Ice, House of Chains, Midnight Tides, The Bonehunters and Reaper's Gale The thrilling eighth instalment in this remarkable story, Toll the Hounds, is coming soon from Bantam Press Steven Erikson lives in Victoria, British Columbia www.rbooks.co.uk Acclaim for Steven Erikson's The Malazan Book of the Fallen: 'Steven Erikson is an extraordinary writer My advice to anyone who might listen to me is: treat yourself' Stephen R Donaldson 'Give me the evocation of a rich, complex and yet ultimately unknowable other world, with a compelling suggestion of intricate history and mythology and lore Give me mystery amid the grand narrative Give me a world in which every sea hides a crumbled Atlantis, every ruin has a tale to tell, every broken blade is a silent legacy of struggles unknown Give me in other words, the fantasy work of Steven Erikson a master of lost and forgotten epochs, a weaver of ancient epics' Salon.com 'I stand slack-jawed in awe of The Malazan Book of the Fallen This masterwork of the imagination may be the high watermark of epic fantasy' Glen Cook 'Truly epic in scope, Erikson has no peer when it comes to action and imagination, and joins the ranks of Tolkien and Donaldson in his mythic vision and perhaps then goes one better' SF Site 'Rare is the writer who so fluidly combines a sense of mythic power and depth of world with fully realized characters and thrilling action, but Steven Erikson manages it spectacularly' Michael A Stackpole 'Like the archaeologist that he is, Erikson continues to delve into the history and ruins of the Malazan Empire, in the process revealing unforeseen riches and annals that defy expectation This is true myth in the making, a drawing upon fantasy to recreate histories and legends as rich as any found within our culture' Interzone 'Gripping, fast-moving, delightfully dark Erikson brings a punchy, mesmerizing writing style into the genre of epic fantasy, making an indelible impression Utterly engrossing' Elizabeth Hayden 'Everything we have come to expect from this most excellent of fantasy writers; huge in scope, vast in implication and immensely, utterly entertaining' alienonline 'One of the most promising new writers of the past few years, he has more than proved his right to A-list status' Bookseller 'Erikson's strengths are his grown-up characters and his ability to create a world every bit as intricate and messy as our own' J V Jones 'An author who never disappoints on delivering stunning and hard-edged fantasy is Steven Erikson a master of modern fantasy' WBQ magazine 'Wondrous voyages, demons and gods abound dense and complex ultimately rewarding' Locus 'Erikson is able to create a world that is both absorbing on a human level and full of magical sublimity A wonderfully grand conception splendidly written fiendishly readable' Adam Roberts 'A multi-layered tale of magic and war, loyalty and betrayal Complexly drawn characters occupy a richly detailed world in this panoramic saga' Library Journal 'Epic in every sense of the word Erikson shows a masterful control of an immense plot the worlds of mortals and gods meet in what is a truly aweinspiring clash' Enigma 'Erikson's novels have fast been redefining the definition of 'epic' these novels are some of the most ambitious and imaginative works of fantasy of recent years' Interzone 'Nobody does it better than Erikson a fantastic addition to the best fantasy series around' SFFWorld By Steven Erikson GARDENS OF THE MOON DEADHOUSE GATES MEMORIES OF ICE HOUSE OF CHAINS MIDNIGHT TIDES THE BONEHUNTERS REAPER'S GALE published by Bantam Books TOLL THE HOUNDS Soon to be published by Bantam Press Also by Steven Erikson BLOOD FOLLOWS THE HEALTHY DEAD THE DEVIL DELIVERED FISHIN' WITH GRANDMA MATCHIE Toll The Hounds A Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen STEVEN ERIKSON Table of Contents Title Page Dedication Acknowledgements Maps DRAMATIS PERSONAE Prologue BOOK ONE VOW TO THE SUN CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX BOOK TWO COLD-EYED VIRTUES CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE BOOK THREE TO DIE IN THE NOW CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN BOOK FOUR TOLL THE HOUNDS CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Epilogue This novel is dedicated to the memory of my father, R S Lundin, 1931–2007 You are missed 'It's called delegation,' Shadowthrone snapped 'It's called idiocy.' 'Well, hee hee I dare say he'll find what he's looking for, won't he?' 'Aye, with the ink still wet.' They said nothing then for a time, until Cotillion drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, and then said, 'We should give him a few days, I think.' And this time, he was not speaking of Iskaral Pust 'Unless you want to get cut to pieces, yes, a few days.' 'I wasn't sure he'd, well, accept Right up until the moment he ' Cotillion winced and looked up the street, as if straining to see some lone, wandering, lost figure dragging a sword in one hand But no, he wouldn't be coming back 'You know, I did offer to explain It might have eased his conscience But he wasn't interested.' 'Listen to these damned bells,' said Shadowthrone 'My head's hurting enough as it is Let's go, we're done here.' And so they were, and so they did Two streets from his home, Bellam Nom was grasped from behind and then pushed up against a wall The motion ripped pain through his broken arm Gasping, close to blacking out, he stared into the face of the man accosting him, and then slumped 'Uncle.' And he saw, behind Rallick, another vaguely familiar face 'And Uncle.' Frowning, Rallick eased back 'You look a mess, Bellam.' And Torvald said, 'The whole damned Nom clan is out hunting for you.' 'Oh.' 'It won't having the heir to the House going missing for days,' Torvald said 'You've got responsibilities, Bellam Look at us, even we weren't so wayward in our young days, and we're heirs to nothing So now we've got to escort you home See how you've burdened us?' And they set out 'I trust,' Rallick said, 'that whoever you tangled with fared worse, Bellam.' 'Ah, I suppose he did.' 'Well, that's something at least.' After they had ushered the young man through the gate, peering after him to make sure he actually went inside, Rallick and Torvald set off 'That was a good one,' Rallick said, 'all that rubbish about us in our youth.' 'The challenge was in keeping a straight face.' 'Well now, we weren't so bad back then At least until you stole my girlfriend.' 'I knew you hadn't forgotten!' 'I suggest we go now to sweet Tiserra, where I intend to my best to steal her back.' 'You're not actually expecting she'll make us breakfast, are you?' 'Why not?' 'Tiserra is nobody's servant, cousin.' 'Oh, well You can keep her, then.' Torvald smiled to himself It was so easy working Rallick It had always been so easy, getting him to end up thinking precisely what Torvald wanted him to think Rallick walked beside him, also pleased as from the corner of his eye he noted Torvald's badly concealed, faintly smug smile Putting his cousin at ease had never taxed Rallick It was a comfort, at times, how some things never changed When Sister Spite stepped on to the deck, she saw Cutter near the stern, leaning on the rail and staring out over the placid lake She hid her surprise and went to join him 'I am returning to Seven Cities,' she said He nodded 'That's close enough.' 'Ah, well, I am pleased to have your company, Cutter.' He glanced over at her 'Get what you wanted?' 'Of course not, and mostly.' 'So, you're not upset?' 'Only in so far as I failed in sinking my teeth into my sister's soft throat But that can wait.' If he was startled by her words, he did not show it 'I would have thought you'd want to finish it, since you came all this way.' 'Oh, there are purposes and there are purposes to all that we do, my young friend In any case, it is best that I leave immediately, for reasons I care not to explain Have you said your goodbyes?' He shrugged 'I think I did that years ago, Spite.' 'Very well, shall we cast off?' A short time later, the ship slipping easily just out from the shoreline, on a westward heading, they both stood at the port rail and observed the funeral procession's end, there at a new long barrow rising modestly above the surrounding hills Crowds upon crowds of citizens ringed the mound The silence of the scene, with the bells faint and distant, made it seem ethereal, like a painted image, solemn through the smoke haze They could see the cart, the ox Spite sighed 'My sister once loved him, you know.' 'Anomander Rake? No, I didn't know that.' 'His death marks the beginning.' 'Of what?' 'The end, Cutter.' He had no response to that A few moments drifted past 'You said she loved him once What happened?' 'He acquired Dragnipur At least, I imagine that was the cause She is well named, is my sister.' Envy Cutter shot her a glance, thinking of her own name, this beautiful woman at his side, and wisely he said nothing, nothing at all The bell that wasn't there had finally stopped its manic ringing, and Scillara was able to climb back on to the temple roof, so that she could gaze out over the city She could see the lake, where one lone ship had unfurled sails to ride the morning breeze She knew those sails and she tracked them for a time Who was on board? Well, Spite for certain And, if he'd any sense, Barathol With smiling Chaur at his side, the giant child with his childish love that would never know betrayal, at least until the day, hopefully decades hence, when the blacksmith bowed to old age and took to bed for the last time She could almost see him, his face, the deep wrinkles, the dimming of his dark eyes, and all the losses of his life falling away, veil by veil, until he ceased looking outward entirely Chaur would not understand What he would feel would crash blind as a boar in a thicket, crash right through him It would be a dreadful thing to witness, to see the poor child tangled in the clutches of pain he could not understand, and loss he could not fathom Who would care for him then? And what of dear Scillara? Why was she not with them? She wished she had an answer to that But she had come to certain truths about herself Destined, she now believed, to provide gentle comfort to souls in passing A comforting bridge, yes, to ease the loneliness of their journey She seemed doomed ever to open her arms to the wrong lover, to love fully yet never be so loved in return It made her pathetic stock in this retinue of squandered opportunities that scrawled out the history of a clumsy life Could she live with that? Without plunging into self-pity? Time would tell, she supposed Scillara packed her pipe, struck sparks and drew deep A sound behind her made her turn— As Barathol stepped close, one hand sliding up behind her head, leaned forward and kissed her A long, deep, determined kiss When he finally pulled away, she gasped Eyes wide, staring up into his own He said, 'I am a blacksmith If I need to forge chains to keep you, I will.' She blinked, and then gave him a throaty laugh 'Careful, Barathol Chains bind both ways.' His expression was grave 'Can you live with that?' 'Give me no choice.' Ride, my friends, the winds of love! There beside a belfry where a man and a woman find each other, and out in the taut billows of sails where another man stares westward and dreams of sweet moonlight, a garden, a woman who is the other half of his soul Gentle gust through a door, sweet sigh, as a guard comes home and is engulfed by his wife, who had suffered an eternal night of fears, but she holds him now and all is well, all is right, and children yell in excitement and dance in the kitchen The river of grief has swept through Darujhistan, and morning waxes in its wake There are lives to rebuild, so many wounds to mend A bag of coins thumps on to the tabletop before a woman new to her blessed widowhood, and she feels as if she has awakened from a nightmare of decades, and this is, for her, a private kind of love, a moment for herself and no one else Picker strides into the bar and there waits Blend, tears in her eyes, and Samar Dev watches from a table and she smiles but that smile is wistful and she wonders what doors wait for her, and which ones will prove unlocked, and what might lie beyond And in a temple, Iskaral Pust blots dry the ink and crows over his literary genius Mogora looks on with jaded eyes, but is already dreaming of alliances with Sordiko Qualm The bhokarala sit in a clump, exchanging wedding gifts Two estate guards, after a busy night, burst into a brothel, only to find nobody there Love will have to wait, and is anyone really surprised at their ill luck? At the threshold of a modest home and workshop, Tiserra stands facing the two loves of her life And, for the briefest of moments, her imagination runs wild She then recovers herself and, in a light tone, asks, 'Breakfast?' Torvald is momentarily startled Rallick just smiles There is a round man, circumference unending, stepping ever so daintily through rubble on his way back to the Phoenix Inn It will not to be a stranger to sorrow, if only to cast sharp the bright wonder of sweeter things And so, even as he mourns in his own fashion (with cupcakes), so too he sighs wistfully Love is a city, yes indeed, a precious city, where a thousand thousand paths wend through shadow and light, through air stale and air redolent with blossoms, nose-wrinkling perfume and nose-wrinkling dung, and there is gold dust in the sewage and rebirth in the shedding of tears And at last, we come to a small child, walking into a duelling school, passing through gilded streams of sunlight, and he halts ten paces from a woman sitting on a bench, and he says something then, something without sound A moment later two imps trundle into view and stop in their tracks, staring at Harllo, and then they squeal and rush towards him The woman looks up She is silent for a long time, watching Mew and Hinty clutching the boy And then a sob escapes her and she makes as if to turn away— But Harllo will have none of that 'No! I've come home That's what this is, it's me coming home!' She cannot meet his eyes, but she is weeping none the less She waves a hand 'You don't understand, Harllo That time, that time – I have no good memories of that time Nothing good came of it, nothing.' 'That's not true!' he shouts, close to tears 'That's not true There was me.' As Scillara now knew, some doors you cannot hold back Bold as truth, some doors get kicked in Stonny did not know how she would manage this But she would She would And so she met her son's eyes, in a way that she had never before permitted herself to And that pretty much did it And what was said by Harllo, in silence, as he stood there, in the moments before he was discovered? Why, it was this: See, Bainisk, this is my mother EPILOGUE Rage and tell me then Not every tale is a gift When anguish gives the knife One more twist And blood is thinned by tears Cry out the injustice Not every tale is a gift In a world harsh with strife Leaving us bereft Deeds paling through the years And I will meet your eye Neither flinching nor shy As I fold death inside life And face you down With a host of mortal fears And I will say then Every tale is a gift And the scars borne by us both Are easily missed In the distance between us Bard's Curse Fisher kel Tath Nimander stood on the roof of the keep, leaning with his arms on the battlement's cold stone, and watched the distant figure of Spinnock Durav as he crossed the old killing ground A fateful, fretful meeting awaited that warrior, and Nimander was worried, for it was by Nimander's own command that Spinnock now went to find the woman he loved Skintick arrived to stand at his side 'It's madness,' said Nimander 'It should be Durav on the throne Or Korlat.' 'It's your lack of confidence we find so charming,' Skintick replied 'Is that supposed to be amusing?' 'Well, it amuses me, Nimander I settle for that, most times Listen, it's simple and it's complicated His blood courses strong within you, stronger than you realize And like it or not, people will follow you Listen to you Spinnock Durav was a good example, I'd venture He took your command like a body blow, and then he set out to follow it Not a word of complaint – your irritated impatience stung him.' 'Precisely my point It was none of my business in the first place I had no right to be irritated or impatient.' 'You were both because you cared, and you barely know the man You may not know it, but you made friends in that throne room, right then and right there Korlat's eyes shone And the High Priestess actually smiled Like a mother, both proud and indulgent They are yours, Nimander.' He hesitated, and then added, 'We all are.' Nimander wasn't ready to contemplate such notions 'How fares Nenanda?' 'Recovering, as thin-skinned as ever.' 'And Clip?' Skintick shrugged 'I wish I could say humbled.' 'I wish you could as well.' 'He's furious Feels cheated, personally slighted He'll be trouble, I fear, an eternal thorn in your side.' Nimander sighed 'They probably felt the same at the Andara, which was why they sent him to find us.' 'On a wave of cheering fanfare, no doubt.' Nimander turned 'Skin, I truly not know if I can this.' 'Unlike Anomander Rake, you are not alone, Nimander The burden no longer rests upon one person She is with us now.' 'She could have left us Aranatha.' 'Aranatha was not Aranatha for some time – perhaps you don't remember when she was younger Nimander, our sister was a simpleton Barely a child in her mind, no matter that she grew into a woman.' 'I always saw it as innocence.' 'There again, your generosity of spirit.' 'My inability to discriminate, you mean.' They were silent for a time Nimander glanced up at the spire 'There was a dragon up there.' 'Silanah Er, very close to Anomander Rake, I'm told.' 'I wonder where she went?' 'You could always awaken Tiam's blood within you, and find out, Nimander.' 'Ah, no thank you.' Spinnock Durav had moved out past Night and had reached the razed stretch that had been a squalid encampment, where a monastery was now under construction, although for the moment a military tent was the temple wherein dwelt Salind, the High Priestess of the Redeemer Would she accept him? Mother Dark, hear me please For Spinnock Durav, who stood in your son's place, again and again Give him peace Give him happiness At the Great Barrow there were other workers, pilgrims for the most part, raising a lesser burial mound, to hold the bones of someone named Seerdomin, who had been chosen to stand eternal vigilance at the foot of the Redeemer It was odd and mysterious, how such notions came to pass Nimander reminded himself that he would have to send a crew out there, to see if they needed any help 'What are you thinking, Lord Nimander?' Nimander winced at the title 'I was thinking,' he said, 'about prayers How they feel cleaner when one says them not for oneself, but on behalf of someone else.' He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable 'I was praying for Spinnock Anyway, that's what I was thinking Well, the High Priestess says there are things we need to talk about I'd best be off.' As he turned, Skintick said, 'It's said that Anomander Rake would stand facing the sea.' 'Oh, and?' 'Nothing It's just that I've noticed that you've taken to staring out over land, out to that Great Barrow Is there something about the Redeemer that interests you?' And Nimander just smiled, and then he went inside, leaving Skintick staring after him In a chamber devoted to the most arcane rituals, forty-seven steps beneath the ground floor of the High Alchemist's estate, two iron anvils had been placed within an inscribed circle The torches lining the walls struggled to lift flames above their blackened mouths Sitting at a table off to one side was the witch, Derudan, a hookah at her side, smoke rising from her as if she steamed in the chilly air At the edge of the circle stood Vorcan, who now called herself Lady Varada, wrapped tight inside a dark grey woollen cloak The Great Raven, Crone, walked as if pacing out the chamber's dimensions, her head crooking again and again to regard the anvils Baruk was by the door, eyeing Vorcan and Derudan The last of the T'orrud Cabal The taste in his mouth was of ashes There were servants hidden in the city, and they were even now at work To bring about a fell return, to awaken one of the Tyrants of old Neither woman in this room was unaware of this, and the fear was palpable in its persistent distraction The fate of Darujhistan – and of the T'orrud Cabal – was not their reason for being here, however The door swung open with a creak and in strode Caladan Brood, carrying in one hand the sword Dragnipur He paused just inside and glowered across at Vorcan, and then Derudan 'This has nothing to with you,' he told them Vorcan bowed 'Forgive us, Warlord, but we will stay.' Clearing his throat, Baruk said, 'My fault, Warlord It seems they not trust me – not in such close proximity to that weapon.' Brood bared his teeth 'Am I not guardian enough?' Seeing Vorcan's faint smile, Baruk said, 'The lack of trust is mutual, I am afraid I am more at ease with these two here in front of us, rather than, um, my starting at every shadow.' The warlord continued staring at Vorcan 'You'd try for me, Assassin?' Crone cackled at the suggestion 'I assume,' Vorcan said, 'there will be no need.' Brood glanced at Baruk 'What a miserable nest you live in, High Alchemist Never mind, it's time.' They watched him walk into the circle They watched him set Dragnipur down, bridging the two anvils He took a single step back, then, and grew still as he stared down at the sword 'It is beautiful,' he said 'Fine craftsmanship.' 'May you one day be able to compliment its maker in person,' Vorcan said 'Just don't expect me to make the introduction I don't know where they will all spill out, so long as it isn't in my city.' Brood shrugged 'I am the wrong one from whom to seek reassurance, Assassin.' He drew the huge hammer from his back and readied the weapon 'I'm just here to break the damned thing.' No one spoke then, and not one of the watchers moved a muscle as the warlord took a second step back and raised the hammer over his head He held it poised for a moment 'I'd swear,' he said in a low rumble, 'that Burn's smiling in her sleep right now.' And down came the hammer Fisher was waiting in the garden, strangely fresh, renewed, when Lady Envy returned home She had walked in the midst of thousands, out to a barrow She had watched, as had all the others, as if a stranger to the one fallen But she was not that She found a delicate decanter of the thinnest Nathii greenglass, filled with amber wine, and collected two goblets, and walked out to join the bard He rose from the bench he had been sitting on and would have taken a step closer to her, but then he saw her expression The bard was wise enough to hide his sigh of relief He watched her fill both goblets to the brim 'What happened?' he asked She would not speak of her time at the barrow She would, in fact, never speak of it Not to this man, not to anyone 'Caladan Brood,' she replied, 'that's what happened And there's more.' 'What?' She faced him, and then drained her goblet 'My father He's back.' Oh frail city An empty plain it was, beneath an empty sky Weak, flickering fire nested deep in its ring of charred stones, now little more than ebbing coals A night, a hearth, and a tale now spun, spun out 'Has thou ever seen Kruppe dance?' 'No I think not Not by limb, not by word.' 'Then, my friends, settle yourselves for this night And witness ' And so they did Bard and Elder God, and oh how Kruppe danced Blind to the threat of frowns, blind to dismay, rolling eyes, blind even to contempt – although none of these things came from these two witnesses But beyond this frail ring of warm light, out in that vast world so discordant, so filled with tumult, judgement harsh and gleeful in cruelty, there can be no knowing the cast of arrayed faces No matter One must dance, and dance did Kruppe, oh, yes, he did dance The night draws to an end, the dream dims in the pale silver of awakening Kruppe ceases, weary beyond reason Sweat drips down the length of his ratty beard, his latest affectation A bard sits, head bowed, and in a short time he will say thank you But for now he must remain silent, and as for the other things he would say, they are between him and Kruppe and none other Fisher sits, head bowed While an Elder God weeps The tale is spun Spun out Dance by limb, dance by word Witness! This ends the Eighth Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen Table of Contents Toll The Hounds Table of Contents Acknowledgements DRAMATIS PERSONAE PROLOGUE BOOK ONE VOW TO THE SUN CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX BOOK TWO COLD-EYED VIRTUES CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE BOOK THREE TO DIE IN THE NOW CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN BOOK FOUR TOLL THE HOUNDS CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR EPILOGUE ... Hounds had thundered against the sides of the wagon The Hounds had plunged into the maw of darkness at the very centre There had been a stranger, an unchained stranger Taunting the Hounds – the. .. Books TOLL THE HOUNDS Soon to be published by Bantam Press Also by Steven Erikson BLOOD FOLLOWS THE HEALTHY DEAD THE DEVIL DELIVERED FISHIN' WITH GRANDMA MATCHIE Toll The Hounds A Tale of the Malazan... indifference It was, as the elders had said, god-touched Back in the village, a mother and daughter were told of the flight of their children The daughter wept The mother did not Instead, there was heat