Malazan 08 toll the hounds

This novel is dedicated to the memory of my father, R S Lundin, 1931-2007 You are missed Table of Contents About The Author 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-Eye Virtues Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Book Three – To Die in the Now Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen 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 Epilogue About The Author STEVEN ERIKSON is an archaeologist and anthropologist and a graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop His previous novels in The Malazan Book of the Fallen series—Gardens of the Moon, Deadhouse Gates, Memories of Ice, House of Chains, Midnight Tides, The Bonehunters, and Reaper's Gale—have met with widespread international acclaim and established him as a major voice in the world of fantasy fiction He lives in Canada Also by Steven Erikson Gardens of the Moon Deadhouse Gates Memories of Ice House of Chains Midnight Tides The Bonehunters Reaper's Gale Acknowledgements Gratitude as always goes to my advance readers: Bowen, Rick, Mark and Chris, with special thanks to Bill and Hazel for their kind words and support over the course of what proved to be a difficult year Appreciation also goes to the staff of the Black Stilt Cafe and the Pacific Union Cafe for their generous loan of office space Love to Clare and Bowen, for everything Dramatis Personae Cutter, an assassin Scillara, his companion Iskaral Pust, High Priest of Shadow, the Magi, God of the Bhokarala Sister Spite, a Soletaken Mogora, Iskaral's occasional wife Barathol Mekhar, a tourist Chaur, a gentle man Mappo Runt, a Trell Picker, a retired Bridgeburner and partner in K'rul's Bar Blend, a retired Bridgeburner and partner in K'rul's Bar Antsy, a retired Bridgeburner and partner in K'rul's Bar Mallet, a retired Bridgeburner and healer Bluepearl, a retired Bridgeburner Fisher, a bard, a regular at K'rul's Bar Duiker, once the Malazan Empire's Imperial Historian Bellam Nom, a young man Rallick Nom, an awakened assassin Torvald Nom, a cousin of Rallick's Tiserra, Torvald's wife Coll, a Council Member in Darujhistan Estraysian D'Arle, a Council Member in Darujhistan Hanut Orr, a Council Member in Darujhistan, nephew of the late Turban Orr Shardan Lim, a Council Member in Darujhistan Murillio, a consort Kruppe, a round little man Meese, proprietor of the Phoenix Inn Irilta, a regular at the Phoenix Inn Scurve, barkeep at the Phoenix Inn Sulty, server at the Phoenix Inn Challice, wife of Vidikas, daughter of Estraysian D'Arle Gorlas Vidikas, newest Council Member in Darujhistan, past Hero of the Fete Krute of Talient, an agent of the Assassins' Guild Gaz, a killer Thordy, Gaz's wife Master Quell, Trygalle Trade Guild navigator and sorcerer Faint, a shareholder Reccanto Ilk, a shareholder Sweetest Sufferance, a shareholder Glanno Tarp, a shareholder Amby Bole, a retired Mott Irregular and newfound shareholder Jula Bole, a retired Mott Irregular and newfound shareholder Precious Thimble, a retired Mott Irregular and newfound shareholder Gruntle, a caravan guard on extended leave Stonny Menackis, a caravan guard Harllo, a child Bedek, Harllo's 'uncle' Myrla, Harllo's 'aunt' Snell, a child Bainisk, Venaz, Scorch, a newly hired bodyguard 'Said she'd be back.' 'That's it? That's all she said?' 'Something else Something about "them damned torcs".' He finally glanced up, his eyes bleak as ever 'Sit down, Blend Please I don't like being alone, not right now She'll be back.' At that moment a bell began ringing overhead and both Malazans ducked at the deafening clangour 'Clods below!' swore Blend 'Who's up in the belfry?' Duiker was frowning 'The only other person here is Scillara I suppose ' and then he fell silent, and the wasted misery in his eyes deepened Blend sat down 'She'd better get tired soon, or I'll have to go up there.' They sat, weathering the clanging Blend studied Duiker, wondering at his ever-deepening despondency And then a realization struck her 'I thought we unshipped that bell.' 'We did, Blend It's in the cellar.' 'Oh.' No wonder he looked so wretched ***** 'Plan on cutting off its head?' Samar Dev asked Karsa Orlong was standing over the Hound he had killed At her question he grunted 'I could use a kitchen knife to finish the job See how my blade cut through that spine? Like chopping down a tree.' She found she was trembling, decided it was exhaustion 'They're your daughters, aren't they?' Karsa glanced over at the two Toblakai girls, who stood watching, silent, expectant 'I raped a mother and a daughter.' 'Ah, well, isn't that nice.' 'It was my right.' 'Funny, that.' 'What?' 'That idea of "rights" The way that claiming a right so often results in someone else losing theirs At which point it all comes down to who's holding the biggest sword.' 'I won that right when I killed their men This was tribal war, Witch.' He paused 'And I was young.' 'Gods below, you're actually telling me you have regrets?' The Toblakai turned away from the dead Hound and faced his daughters 'I have many,' he answered 'But, not these two.' 'And if they feel differently about it, Karsa?' 'Why should they? I gave them life.' 'I think,' Samar Dev said, 'that I shall never understand you.' She eyed the girls 'Do they know what we're saying? Of course not, they couldn't have learned any Seven Cities language I've not seen you speak to them, Karsa What are you waiting for?' 'I am waiting,' he replied, 'for when I can think of something to say.' At that moment another woman emerged from an alley mouth and, gaze fixed on Karsa Orlong, walked over 'Toblakai,' she said, 'I have a message to deliver to you.' She was speaking Malazan 'I don't know you,' Karsa said to her in the same language 'The feeling's mutual,' she snapped, 'but let's not let that get in the way.' She hesitated 'Do you want this message private, or maybe I should just shout it so everybody can hear.' Karsa shot Samar Dev an amused look 'Did I ever tell you, Witch, that I liked Malazans?' 'Yes,' she replied, sighing 'You need not shout, Malazan Nor will we hide in some corner So, tell me this mysterious message, but first, tell me who it is from.' 'All right It's from Hood, I think.' Samar Dev snorted 'Let me guess "Keep up the good work, yours truly."' The Malazan woman regarded her 'Well now, after all this is done, permit me to buy you a drink.' Samar Dev's brows rose 'The message,' Karsa growled 'Right It's this You must not leave Darujhistan.' 'And if I do?' 'Then you will have lost your one opportunity to fulfil a vow you once made.' 'I have made many vows.' 'I'm shocked to hear that.' Karsa was smiling, but something deadly had awakened in it 'Will you tell me more?' The woman hesitated again 'I'm reconsidering This really needs to be private - no offence, Witch he called you that, yes? It's just that—' 'Tell me,' Karsa demanded Samar Dev was impressed to see that the Malazan woman did not flinch from Karsa's dangerous smile 'Toblakai, you will be needed.' 'To what?' 'Why, to kill a god.' 'Which god?' The Malazan woman stared, discomfited for the first time since arriving 'You were supposed to run away when I told you that Any sane person would.' 'Then you found the wrong warrior,' said Samar Dev, her mouth dry 'And you were right, I wish I hadn't heard that I'm going to walk away now, so you can finish delivering your message.' 'Go to K'rul's Bar,' said the Malazan 'Tell them Picker sent you Breakfast, decent wine, and if Blend offers to prepare you a bath and maybe soap you down some, be nice to her.' 'Generous of you, I think.' 'That's me,' Picker said Samar Dev set out in search of K'rul's Bar A breakfast sounded very fine indeed, as did the notion of decent wine As for the bath, well, if it was indeed offered, why, she suspected she'd be too weary to resist ***** Tens of thousands now followed the ox cart and its burden as it made its way down from Lakefront and into the Gadrobi District Bells rang; the Great Ravens wheeled, adding their wretched cries And already, from the hills beyond Two-Ox Gate, clouds of dust rose into the morning sky Caladan Brood did not need to hew each stone, or drive spade into stony soil The warren of Tennes had been awakened, and the flesh of Bum was given new shape and new purpose In this chosen place, a hill was being transformed And by the time Brood led the ox up to the barrow's passage entrance, and took the body of Anomander Rake into his arms, the chamber within was ready And when he then emerged, pausing as if startled upon seeing the tens of thousands of silent mourners forming a ring round the hill's base, an enormous capstone had risen into view, splitting the grassy ground And when with one hand Caladan Brood had guided it into place, he drew his hammer To seal the barrow for ever Anomander Rake was interred in darkness Weaponless, accompanied by no gifts, no wealth, no treasured possessions His flesh was not treated against the ravages of decay The blood and gore covering his face was not even washed away None of these gestures belonged to the Tiste Andii, for whom the soul's departure leaves the flesh blind, insensate and indifferent Dying delivers one into the river of darkness, that passes into and out of the ruined city of Kharkanas, the womb long dead, long abandoned Into the river, and the river must travel on, ever on Caladan Brood sealed the barrow, and upon the capstone of bleached dolomite he set a symbol, carved deep into the stone's face An ancient Barghast glyph, its meaning precise and yet a thing of countless layers - although this is known only to those who in life come to face it directly A single Barghast glyph Which said Grief ***** When Baruk had vanished inside his carriage and the conveyance had rumbled off on its way to the High Alchemist's venerable estate; when the huge Toblakai warrior and Picker had concluded their conversation, and each had gone their own way, the former trailed by his daughters and the limping dog; when the place where two warriors had met in mortal combat bore nothing but a scattering of masonry, sun-darkened swaths of spilled blood and the motionless forms of dead Hounds of Light when all this had come to pass, two figures emerged from the shadows One was barely visible despite the harsh sunlight: ghostly, leaning on a cane And after a time of silence, this one spoke in a rasping voice To begin with, a single word: 'Well?' And his companion replied in kind 'Well.' The cane tapped a few times on the cobbles The companion then said, 'It's out of our hands now, until the end.' 'Until the end,' agreed Shadowthrone 'You know, Cotillion, I never much liked Caladan Brood.' 'Really? I never knew.' 'Do you think ' 'I think,' said Cotillion, 'that we need not worry on that count.' Shadowthrone sighed 'Are we pleased? It was delicate the timing Are we pleased? We should be.' 'The damned Hounds of Light,' said Cotillion, 'that was unexpected Two, yes But ten? Gods below.' 'Hmph! I was more worried by my Magus's temporary sanity.' 'Is that what you call it?' 'He had a chance - a slim one, but he had a chance Imagine that one wielding Dragnipur.' Cotillion regarded his companion 'Are you suggesting he would not have relinquished it? Ammeanas, really That was all your play I'm not fooled by his seemingly going rogue on you You vowed you'd not try to steal the sword But of course you never mentioned anything about one of your High Priests doing it for you.' 'And it would have been mine!' Shadowthrone hissed in sudden rage 'If not for that confounded fat man with the greasy lips! Mine!' 'Iskaral Pust's, you mean.' Shadowthrone settled down once more, tapped his cane 'We'd have seen eye to eye, eventually.' 'I doubt it.'' 'Well, who cares what you think, anyway?' 'So where is he now?' 'Pust? Back in the temple, poring through the archives of the Book of Shadows.' 'Looking for what?' 'Some provision, any provision, for a High Priest of Shadow having two wives.' 'Is there one?' 'How should I know?' 'Well,' Cotillion said, 'didn't you write it?' Shadowthrone shifted about 'I was busy.' 'So who did?' Shadowthrone would not answer Cotillion's brows rose 'Not Pust! The Book of Shadows, where he's proclaimed the Magus of the High House Shadow?' '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 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 got to escort you home See, See how you've burdened us?' And they set out 'I trust,' Rallick said, 'that whoever you tangled with faired worse, Bellam.' 'Ah, I suppose he did.' 'Well, that's something at least.' After they had ushered the young man through the gate, peering through 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 ending 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 to ever 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 bellows 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 He 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.' Now, 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 no 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 T'iam'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 pour 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 ... 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. .. 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... pestilence, the slayers and enslavers of the Teblor Where the Nathii bred like lemmings until it seemed there would be no place left in the world for anyone or anything but them Like the dog, the two