The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (622 page)

‘Wasn't sure,' Paran replied. ‘Five…or seven. Well, now I know. The two shadow hounds from Dragnipur found their…counterparts, and so were reunited. Then, it seems, someone freed them.'

‘Something paid us a visit,' Hedge said, ‘the night us ghosts annihilated the Dogslayers. Into Sha'ik's camp.'

Paran turned to regard the ghost. ‘You haven't mentioned this before, sapper.'

‘Well, they didn't last long anyway.'

‘What in Hood's name do you mean,
they didn't last long
?'

‘I mean, someone killed them.'

‘Killed them? Who? Did a god visit that night? One of the First Heroes? Or some other ascendant?'

Hedge was scowling. ‘This is all second-hand, mind you, but from what I gathered, it was Toblakai. One of Sha'ik's bodyguards, a friend of Leoman's. Afraid I don't know much about him, just the name, or, I suppose, title, since it's not a real name—'

‘A bodyguard named Toblakai killed two Deragoth Hounds?'

The ghost shrugged, then nodded. ‘Aye, that's about right, Captain.'

Paran drew off his helm and ran a hand through his hair –
gods below, do I need a bath
– then returned his attention to the distant statues and the intervening lowlands. ‘Those lakes look shallow – we should have no trouble getting there.'

The carriage door opened and the Jaghut sorceress Ganath emerged. She eyed the black stone monuments. ‘Dessimbelackis. One soul made seven – he believed that would make him immortal. An ascendant eager to become a god—'

‘The Deragoth are far older than Dessimbelackis,' Paran said.

‘Convenient vessels,' she said. ‘Their kind were nearly extinct. He found the few last survivors and made use of them.'

Paran grunted, then said, ‘That was a mistake. The Deragoth had their own history, their own story and it was not told in isolation.'

‘Yes,' Ganath agreed, ‘the Eres'al, who were led unto domestication by the Hounds that adopted them. The Eres'al, who would one day give rise to the Imass, who would one day give rise to humans.'

‘As simple as that?' Hedge asked.

‘No, far more complicated,' the Jaghut replied, ‘but for our purposes, it will suffice.'

Paran returned to his horse. ‘Almost there – I don't want any more interruptions – so let's get going, shall we?'

 

The water they crossed stank with decay, the lake bottom thick with black mud and, it turned out, starfish-shaped leeches. The train of horses struggled hard to drag the carriage through the sludge, although it was clear to Paran that Karpolan Demesand was using sorcery to lighten the vehicle in some way. Low mudbanks ribboning the lake afforded momentary respite, although these were home to hordes of biting insects that swarmed hungrily as the shareholders came down from the carriage to pull leeches from horse-legs. One such bank brought them close to the far shore, separated only by a narrow channel of sluggish water that they crossed without difficulty.

Before them was a long, gentle slope of mud-streaked gravel. Reaching the summit slightly ahead of the carriage, Paran reined in.

Nearest him, two huge pedestals surrounded in rubble marked where statues had once been. In the eternally damp mud around them were tracks, footprints, signs of some kind of scuffle. Immediately beyond rose the first of the intact monuments, the dull black stone appallingly lifelike in its rendition of hide and muscle. At its base stood a structure of some kind.

The carriage arrived, and Paran heard the side door open. Shareholders were leaping down to establish a defensive perimeter.

Dismounting, Paran walked towards the structure, Hedge coming up alongside him.

‘Someone built a damned house,' the sapper said.

‘Doesn't look lived in.'

‘Not now, it don't.'

Constructed entirely from driftwood, the building was roughly rectangular, the long sides parallel to the statue's pedestal. No windows were visible, nor, from this side, any entrance. Paran studied it for a time, then headed towards one end. ‘I don't think this was meant as a house,' he said. ‘More like a temple.'

‘Might be right – that driftwood makes no joins and there ain't no chinking or anything to fill the gaps. A mason would look at this and say it was for occasional use, which makes it sound more like a temple or a corral…'

They reached one end and saw a half-moon doorway. Branches had been set in rows in the loamy ground before it, creating a sort of walkway. Muddy feet had trod its length, countless sets, but none very recent.

‘Wore leather moccasins,' Hedge observed, crouching close to study the nearest prints. ‘Seams were topside except at the back of the heel where there's a cross-stitch pattern. If this was Genabackis, I'd say Rhivi, except for one thing.'

‘What?' Paran asked.

‘Well, these folk have wide feet. Really wide.'

The ghost's head slowly turned towards the building's entrance. ‘Captain, someone died in there.'

Paran nodded. ‘I can smell it.'

They looked over as Ganath and Karpolan Demesand – the latter flanked by the two Pardu shareholders – approached. The Trygalle merchant-mage made a face as the foul stench of rotting meat reached him. He scowled over at the open doorway. ‘The ritual spilling of blood,' he said, then uncharacteristically spat. ‘These Deragoth have found worshippers. Master of the Deck, will this detail prove problematic?'

‘Only if they show up,' Paran said. ‘After that, well, they might end up having to reconsider their faith. This could prove tragic for them…'

‘Are you reconsidering?' Karpolan asked.

‘I wish I had that luxury. Ganath, will you join me in exploring the interior of the temple?'

Her brows rose fractionally, then she nodded. ‘Of course. I note that darkness rules within – do you have need for light?'

‘It wouldn't hurt.'

Leaving the others, they walked side by side towards the doorway. In a low voice, Ganath said, ‘You suspect as I do, Ganoes Paran.'

‘Yes.'

‘Karpolan Demesand is no fool. He will realize before long.'

‘Yes.'

‘Then we should display brevity in our examination.'

‘Agreed.'

Reaching the doorway, Ganath gestured and a dull, bluish light slowly rose in the chamber beyond.

They stepped within.

A single room – no inner walls. The floor was mud, packed by traffic. A shattered, up-ended tree-stump dominated the centre, the roots reaching out almost horizontally, as if the tree had grown on flat bedrock, sending its tendrils out to all sides. In the centre of this makeshift altar the core of the bole itself had been carved into a basin shape, filled now by a pool of black, dried blood. Bound spreadeagled to outstretched roots were two corpses, both women, once bloated by decay but now rotted into gelatinous consistency as if melting, bones protruding here and there. Dead maggots lay in heaps beneath each body.

‘Sedora Orr,' Paran surmised, ‘and Darpareth Vayd.'

‘That seems a reasonable assumption,' Ganath said. ‘The Trygalle sorceress must have been injured in some way, given her stated prowess.'

‘Well, that carriage was a mess.'

‘Indeed. Have we seen enough, Ganoes Paran?'

‘Blood ritual – an
Elder
propitiation. I would think the Deragoth have been drawn near.'

‘Yes, meaning you have little time once you have effected their release.'

‘I hope Karpolan is up to this.' He glanced over at the Jaghut. ‘In a true emergency, Ganath, can you…assist?'

‘Perhaps. As you know, I am not pleased with what you intend here. What would please me even less, however, is being torn apart by Hounds of Darkness.'

‘I share that aversion. Good. So, if I call upon your assistance, Ganath, you will know what to do?'

‘Yes.'

Paran turned about. ‘It may sound unreasonable,' he said, ‘but my sympathy for the likely plight of these worshippers has diminished somewhat.'

‘Yes, that is unreasonable. Your kind worship from fear, after all. And what you unleash here will be the five faces of that fear. And so shall these poor people suffer.'

‘If they weren't interested in the attention of their gods, Ganath, they would have avoided the spilling of blood on consecrated ground.'

‘Someone among them sought that attention, and the power that might come from it. A High Priest or shaman, I suspect.'

‘Well then, if the Hounds don't kill that High Priest, his followers will.'

‘A harsh lesson, Ganoes Paran.'

‘Tell that to these two dead women.'

The Jaghut made no reply.

They walked from the temple, the light fading behind them.

Paran noted Karpolan Demesand's fixed regard, the dread plain, undeniable, and he slowly nodded. The Trygalle master turned away and, exhausted as he had been earlier, his weariness seemed to increase tenfold.

Hedge came close. ‘Could've been shareholders,' he suggested.

‘No,' said Ganath. ‘Two women, both expensively attired. One must presume that the shareholders met their fate elsewhere.'

Paran said to Hedge, ‘Now comes your final task, sapper. Summoning the Deragoth – but consider this first – they're close, and we need time to—'

‘Run like Hood's bowels, aye.' Hedge lifted a satchel into view. ‘Now, before you ask me where I been hiding this, don't bother. Here in this place, details like that don't matter.' He grinned. ‘Some people would like to take gold with 'em when they go. Me, I'll take Moranth munitions over gold any day. After all, you don't know what you're going to meet on the other side, right? So, it's always better holding onto the option of blowing things up.'

‘Wise counsel, Hedge. And those munitions will work here?'

‘Absolutely, Captain. Death once called this home, remember?'

Paran studied the nearest statue. ‘You intend to shatter them.'

‘Aye.'

‘Timed charge.'

‘Aye.'

‘Only, you have five to set, and the farthest one looks two, three hundred paces away.'

‘Aye. That's going to be a problem – well, let's call it a challenge. Granted, Fid's better at this finesse stuff than me. But tell me something, Captain – you're sure these Deragoth ain't just going to hang round here?'

‘I'm sure. They'll return to their home realm – that's what the first two did, didn't they?'

‘Aye, but they had their shadows. Might be these ones will go hunting their own first.'

Paran frowned. He'd not considered that. ‘Oh, I see. Into the Realm of Shadow, then.'

‘If that's where the Hounds of Shadow are at the moment, aye.'

Damn
. ‘All right, set your charges, Hedge, but don't start the sand grains running just yet.'

‘Right.'

Paran watched the sapper head off. Then he drew out his Deck of Dragons. Paused, glancing over at Ganath, then Karpolan Demesand. Both saw what he held in his hands. The Trygalle master visibly blanched, then hurried back to his carriage. After a moment – and a long, unreadable look – the Jaghut followed suit.

Paran allowed himself a small smile.
Yes, why announce yourselves to whomever I'm about to call upon
? He squatted, setting the deck face-down on the mudstained walkway of branches. Then lifted the top card and set it down to the right.
High House Shadow – who's in charge here, damned Deck, you or me?
‘Shadowthrone,' he murmured, ‘I require your attention.'

The murky image of the Shadow House remained singularly lifeless on the lacquered card.

‘All right,' Paran said, ‘I'll revise my wording. Shadowthrone, talk to me here and now or everything you've done and everything you're planning to do will get, quite literally, torn to pieces.'

A shimmer, further obscuring the House, then something like a vague figure, seated on a black throne. A voice hissed out at him, ‘This had better be important. I'm busy and besides, even the
idea
of a Master of the Deck nauseates me, so get on with it.'

‘The Deragoth are about to be released, Shadowthrone.'

Obvious agitation. ‘What gnat-brained idiot would do that?'

‘Can't be helped, I'm afraid—'

‘
You!
'

‘Look, I have my reasons, and they will be found in Seven Cities.'

‘Oh,' the figure settled back down, ‘those reasons. Well, yes. Clever, even. But still profoundly stupid.'

‘Shadowthrone,' Paran said, ‘the two Hounds of Shadow that Rake killed. The two taken by Dragnipur.'

‘What about them?'

‘I'm not sure how much you know, but I freed them from the sword.' He waited for another bout of histrionics, but…nothing. ‘Ah, so you know that. Good. Well, I have discovered where they went…here, where they conjoined with their counterparts, and were then freed – no, not me. Now, I understand that they have since been killed. For good, this time.'

Shadowthrone raised a long-fingered hand that filled most of the card. Closed it into a fist. ‘Let me see,' the god's voice purred, ‘if I understand you.' One finger snapped upward. ‘The Nameless Idiots go and release Dejim Nebrahl. Why? Because they're idiots. Their own lies caught up with them, so they needed to get rid of a servant who was doing what they wanted him to do in the first place, only doing it too well!' Shadowthrone's voice was steadily climbing in pitch and volume. A second finger shot into view. ‘Then, you, the Master Idiot of the Deck of Dragons, decide to release the Deragoth, to get rid of Dejim Nebrahl. But wait, even better!' A third finger. ‘Some
other
serious nasty wandering Seven Cities just killed two Deragoth, and maybe that nasty is still close by, and would like a few more trophies to drag behind his damned horse!' His voice was now a shriek. ‘And now! Now!' The hand closed back into a fist, shaking about. ‘You want me to send the Hounds of Shadow to Seven Cities! Because it's finally occurred to that worm-ridden walnut you call a brain that the Deragoth won't bother with Dejim Nebrahl until they find my Hounds! And if they come looking here in my realm, there'll be no stopping them!' He halted suddenly, the fist motionless. Then various fingers sprang into view in an increasingly chaotic pattern. Shadowthrone snarled and the frenzied hand vanished. A whisper: ‘Pure genius. Why didn't I think of that?' The tone began rising once more. ‘Why?
Because I'm not an idiot!!
'