The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (401 page)

Onrack sought to tear his grip from Trull to reach for his sword, to block the Soletaken and so ensure Trull's escape—but the Edur had turned, had seen, and would not let go. Instead, he pulled, hard. Onrack stumbled back.

Knuckles pounded on the ground—the ape that Monok Ochem had become was, despite being gaunt with death, enormous. Patched grey and black skin,
tufts of silver-tipped black hair on the broad shoulders and the nape of the neck, a sunken-eyed, withered face, jaws stretching wide to reveal canines—voicing a deep, grating roar.

Then Monok Ochem simply vanished. Swallowed by a surge of chaos.

Onrack stumbled over something, crashed down onto hard-packed ground, gravel skidding under him. Beside him, on his knees, was Trull Sengar.

The fall had broken their grip, and the Tiste Edur was staring down at his left hand—where only a thin, white scar remained.

A single sun blazed down on them, and Onrack knew they had returned to his native realm.

The T'lan Imass slowly climbed to his feet. ‘We must leave this place, Trull Sengar. My kin shall pursue. Perhaps only Monok Ochem remains, but he will not relent.'

Trull raised his head. ‘Remains? What do you mean? Where did the others go?'

Onrack looked down on the Tiste Edur. ‘The Liosan were too late to realize. The turning of Tellann succeeded in driving all awareness from the seneschal. They were entirely unprepared. Ibra Gholan, Olar Shayn and Haran Epal walked into the warren of Kurald Thyrllan.'

‘Walked into? Why?'

Onrack managed a one-sided shrug. ‘They went, Trull Sengar, to kill the Liosan god.'

 

Little more than bones and scraps of armour, what had once been an army lay in the thick grey ash, encircling a steeply sloped pit of some kind. There was no way to tell whether the army had faced outward—defending some sort of subterranean entrance—or inward, seeking to prevent an escape.

Lostara Yil stood ankle-deep in the trail's ashes. Watching Pearl walk gingerly among the bones, reaching down every now and then to drag some item free for a closer look. Her throat was raw, her hatred of the Imperial Warren deepening with every passing moment.

‘The scenery is unchanging,' Pearl had noted, ‘yet never the same. I have walked this path before—this very path. There were no ruins, then. And no heap of bones or hole in the ground.'

And no winds to shift the ashes.

But bones and other larger objects had a way of rising to the surface, eventually. Or so it was true in the sands—why should ashes be any different? None the less, some of those ruins were massive. Vast expanses of flagstones, unstained, devoid even of dust. Tall, leaning towers—like the rotted stubs of fangs. A bridge spanning nothing, its stones so precisely set that a knife-tip could not be slipped between them.

Slapping the dust from his gloved hands, Pearl strode up. ‘Curious indeed.'

Lostara coughed, hacked out grey sputum. ‘Just find us a gate and get us out of here,' she rasped.

‘Ah, well, as to that, my dear, the gods are smiling down upon us. I have found a gate, and a lively one it is.'

She scowled at him, knowing he sought the inevitable question from her, but she was in no mood to ask it.

‘Alas, I know your thoughts,' Pearl continued after a moment, with a quick wry grin. He pointed back towards the pit. ‘Down there…unfortunately. Thus, we are left with a dire choice. Continue on—and risk you spitting out your lungs—in search of a more easily approachable gate. Or take the plunge, as it were.'

‘You're leaving the choice to me?'

‘Why not? Now, I'm waiting. Which shall it be?'

She drew the scarf over her mouth and nose once more, tightened the straps on her pack, then marched off…towards the pit.

Pearl fell in step. ‘Courage and foolishness, the distinction so often proves problematic—'

‘Except in hindsight.' Lostara kicked herself free of a rib cage that had fouled her stride, then swore at the resultant clouds of ash and dust. ‘Who were these damned soldiers? Do you know?'

‘I may possess extraordinary powers of observation and unfathomable depths of intelligence, lass, but I cannot read when there is nothing to be seen. Corpses. Human, in so far as I can tell. The only detail I can offer is that they fought this battle knee-deep in this ash…meaning—'

‘That whatever crisped this realm had already happened,' Lostara cut in. ‘Meaning, they either survived the event, or were interlopers…like us.'

‘Very possibly emerging from the very gate we now approach.'

‘To cross blades with whom?'

Pearl shrugged. ‘I have no idea. But I have a few theories.'

‘Of course you do,' she snapped. ‘Like all men—you hate to say you don't know and leave it at that. You have an answer to every question, and if you don't you make one up.'

‘An outrageous accusation, my dear. It is not a matter of making up answers, it is rather an exercise in conjecture. There is a difference—'

‘That's what you say, not what I have to listen to. All the time. Endless words. Does a man even exist who believes there can be too many words?'

‘I don't know,' Pearl replied.

After a moment she shot him a glare, but he was studiously staring ahead.

They came to the edge of the slope and halted, looking down.

The descent would be treacherous, jumbled bones, swords jagged with decay, and an unknown depth of ash and dust. The hole at the base was perhaps ten paces across, yawning black.

‘There are spiders in the desert,' Lostara muttered, ‘that said build such traps.'

‘Slightly smaller, surely.'

She reached down and collected a thigh bone, momentarily surprised at its weight, then tossed it down the slope.

A thud.

Then the packed ash beneath their boots vanished.

And down they went, amidst explosions of dust, ashes and splinters of bone. A hissing rush—blind, choking—then they were falling through a dry downpour. To land heavily on yet another slope that tumbled them down a roaring, echoing avalanche.

It was a descent through splintered bones and bits of iron, and it seemed unending.

Lostara was unable to draw breath—they were drowning in thick dust, sliding and rolling, sinking then bursting free once more. Down, down through absolute darkness. A sudden, jarring collision with something—possibly wood—then a withered, rumpled surface that seemed tiled, and down once more.

Another thump and tumble.

Then she was rolling across flagstones, pushed on by a wave of ash and detritus, finally coming to a crunching halt, flat on her back, a flow of frigid air rising up on her left side—where she reached out, groping, then down, to where the floor should have been. Nothing. She was lying on an edge, and something told her that, had she taken this last descent, Hood alone would greet her at its conclusion.

Coughing from slightly further up the slope on her right. A faint nudge as the heaped bones and ashes on that side shifted.

Another such nudge, and she would be pushed over the edge. Lostara rolled her head to the left and spat, then tried to speak. The word came out thin and hoarse. ‘Don't.'

Another cough, then, ‘Don't what?'

‘Move.'

‘Oh. That doesn't sound good. It's not good, is it?'

‘Not good. Another ledge. Another drop…this one I think for ever.'

‘Judicious use of my warren seems appropriate at this point, don't you think?'

‘Yes.'

‘A moment, then…'

A dull sphere of light emerged, suspended above them, its illumination struggling in the swirling clouds of dust.

It edged closer—grew larger. Brightened.

Revealing all that was above them.

Lostara said nothing. Her chest had contracted as if unwilling to take another breath. Her heart thundered. Wood. An X-shaped cross, tilting over them, as tall as a four-storey building. The glint of enormous, pitted spikes.

And nailed to the cruciform—

—a dragon.

Wings spread, pinned wide. Hind limbs impaled. Chains wrapped about its neck, holding its massive wedge-shaped head up, as if staring skyward—

—to a sea of stars marked here and there with swirls of glowing mist.

‘It's not here…' Pearl whispered.

‘What? It's right above—'

‘No. Well, yes. But…look carefully. It's enclosed in a sphere. A pocket warren, a realm unto itself—'

‘Or the entranceway,' she suggested. ‘Sealing—'

‘A gate. Queen of Dreams, I think you're right. Even so, its power doesn't reach us…thank the spirits and gods and demons and ascendants and—'

‘Why, Pearl?'

‘Because, lass—that dragon is aspected.'

‘I thought they all were.'

‘Aye. You keep interrupting me, Lostara Yil. Aspected, I was saying. But not to a warren. Gods! I cannot fathom—'

‘Damn you, Pearl!'

‘Otataral.'

‘What?'

‘Otataral. Her aspect is otataral, woman!
This is an otataral dragon
.'

 

Neither spoke for a time. Lostara began edging herself away from the ledge, shifting weight incrementally, freezing at every increase in the stream of dust slipping away beneath her.

Turning her head, she could make out Pearl. He had unveiled enough of his warren to draw himself upward, hovering slightly above the slope. His gaze remained fixed on the crucified dragon.

‘Some help down here…' Lostara growled.

He started, then looked down at her. ‘Right. My deepest apologies, lass. Here, I shall extend my warren…'

She felt herself lifted into the air.

‘Make no struggle, lass. Relax, and you'll float up beside me, then pivot upright.'

She forced herself to grow still, but the result was one of rigid immobility.

Pearl chuckled. ‘Lacks grace, but it will do.'

A half-dozen heart-beats later she was beside him, hovering upright.

‘Try to relax again, Lostara.'

She glared at him, but he was staring upward once more. Reluctantly, she followed his gaze.

‘It's still alive, you know,' Pearl whispered.

‘Who could have done this?'

‘Whoever it was, we have a lot for which to thank him, her…or them. This thing devours magic. Consumes warrens.'

‘All the old legends of dragons begin with the statement that they are the essence of sorcery. How, then, could this thing even exist?'

‘Nature always seeks a balance. Forces strive for symmetry. This dragon answers every other dragon that ever existed, or ever will.'

Lostara coughed and spat once more, then she shivered. ‘The Imperial Warren, Pearl. What was it before it was…turned to ash?'

He glanced over at her, eyes narrowing. He shrugged and began brushing dust from his clothes. ‘I see no value in lingering in this horrendous place—'

‘You said there was a gate down here—not
that
one, surely—'

‘No. Beyond that ledge. I suspect the last time it was used was by whoever or whatever nailed this dragon onto the cross. Surprisingly, they didn't seal the gate behind them.'

‘Careless.'

‘More like supremely confident, I would think. We'll make our descent a little more orderly this time, agreed? You need not move—leave this to me.'

‘I despise that suggestion in principle, Pearl, but what I hate more is that I see no choice.'

‘Haven't you had your fill of bared bones yet, lass? A simple sweet smile would have sufficed.'

She fixed him with a look of steel.

Pearl sighed. ‘A good try, lass. We'll work on it.'

As they floated out over the ledge, Lostara looked up one last time, but not at the dragon, rather at the starscape beyond. ‘What do you make of that night sky, Pearl? I do not recognize the constellations…nor have I ever before seen those glowing swirls in any night sky I've looked at.'

He grunted. ‘That's a foreign sky—as foreign as can be. A hole leading into alien realms, countless strange worlds filled with creatures unimaginable—'

‘You really don't know, do you?'

‘Of course I don't!' he snapped.

‘Then why didn't you just say so?'

‘It was more fun conjecturing creatively, of course. How can a man be the object of a woman's interest if he's always confessing his ignorance?'

‘You want me to be interested in you? Why didn't you say no? Now I will hang on your every word, of course. Shall I gaze adoringly into your eyes as well?'

He swung on her a glum look. ‘Men really have no chance, do they?'

‘Typical conceit to have thought otherwise, Pearl.'

They were falling gently through darkness. The sorcerous globe of light followed, but at some distance, smudged and faint behind the suspended dust.

Lostara looked downward, then snapped her head up and closed her eyes, fighting vertigo. Through gritted teeth she asked, ‘How much farther do we sink, do you think?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You could've given a better answer than that!' When he made no reply she glanced over at him through slitted eyes.

He looked positively despondent.

‘Well?' she demanded.

‘If these are the depths of despair, lass, we're almost there.'

 

As it turned out, another hundred heartbeats passed before they reached the dust-laden floor. The sphere of light arrived a short while later, illuminating the surrounding area.

The floor was solid rock, uneven and littered with still more bones. No walls were in sight.

The magic that had slowly lowered them dissipated. Pearl took two strides then gestured, and, as if he had flung aside an invisible current, the glimmering outlines of a gate appeared before them. The Claw grunted.

‘Now what?' Lostara asked.

‘Thyr. Or, to be more precise, the Elder Warren from which Thyr derived. I can't recall its name. Kurald something. Tiste. Not Edur, not Andii, but the other one. And…' he added in a low voice, ‘the last things to use it left tracks.'