She nodded. “I was witness to Mammot's end, yes? He was opposed by myself: and a most remarkable wizard. The flesh that was Mammot was destroyed by a Moranth incendiary. The Jaghut spirit survived but was taken: by an Azath.” Her heavy-lidded eyes appraised him.
“Azath? Here, in Darujhistan?”
“Indeed, such mysterious conjurings, known for their hunger for mages, will impose upon our efforts: a certain caution, yes?”
“Where has it arisen?”
“In the garden of Sinital's estate. Did I not also mention a Moranth incendiary? Lady Sinital's F?te had some unusual guests, yes?”
“Malazans?”
“Twice my life saved-the wizard of whom I spoke, who commands within him seven Warrens-”
“Seven?” Baruk said, flinching. “Hood's Breath, is that even possible?”
“If they mean ill, it shall fall to the Son of Darkness to meet the challenge.”
Both stiffened as power surged into life somewhere nearby. The alchemist was on his feet, fists clenched. “A demon is unleashed,” he hissed.
“I feel it as well,” Derudan said, her face white. “Of great power.”
“A Demon Lord.” Baruk nodded. “This is what Rake awaited.”
Derudan's eyes widened and she pulled on her mouthpiece before asking, “Is he capable of defeating such a creature? Son of Darkness he is, but feel this creature's power, yes?”
“I don't know,” Baruk said quietly. “If not, then the city is doomed.”
At that point there came another blow, followed by another. The witch and the alchemist stared at each other in recognition. Two of their Cabal had just died violent deaths.
“Paral,” she whispered in fear.
“And Tholas,” Baruk said. “It's begun, and damn Rake for being so right.”
She looked at him blankly.
Baruk grimaced. “Vorcan.”
Standing on the stained, pitted bronze tiles of the belfry's roof, Anomander Rake's head snapped around. His eyes deepened to black.
The wind clawed at his long, silver hair and his grey cloak, its moan hollow and lost. He raised his gaze momentarily to Moon's Spawn as it moved west. He could feel its pain, as if the wounds it had received at Pale were somehow echoed in his own body. A flash of regret crossed his lean features.
Air buffeted him and he heard the heavy flap of wings. Rake smiled.
“Silanah,” he said softly, knowing she would hear him. The red dragon slipped between two towers and banked, returning to his position. “I know you sense the Demon Lord's presence, Silanah. You would help me in this. I know, I know.” He shook his head. “Return to Moon's Spawn, dear friend. This battle is mine. Yours is done. But know this: if I fail, you may seek to avenge my death.”
Silanah swept overhead and loosed a thin wail.
“Go home,” Rake whispered.
The red dragon cried again, then swung westward and rose through the night air.
He sensed a presence at his side and turned to find a tall, hooded man sharing his view of the city below. “Unwise,” Rake murmured,” to appear unannounced.”
The man sighed. “The stones beneath your feet, Lord, are newly sanctified. I am reborn.”
“There is no place in the world for an Eldering god,” Rake said. “Take my word for it.”
K'rul nodded. “I know. I anticipated returning to the Realms of Chaos, with a Jaghut Tyrant for company. Alas, he evaded me.”
“And found imprisonment elsewhere.”
“I am relieved.”
The two were silent for a long minute, then K'rul sighed. “I am lost. In this world. In this time.”
Rake grunted. “You are not alone with those sentiments, Eldering One.”
“Do I follow in your steps, Lord? Do I seek out new battles, new games to play in the company of Ascendants? Are you rewarded in spirit for your efforts?”
“Sometimes,” Rake said quietly. “But mostly, no, I am not.”
The hooded face turned to the Tiste And?. “Then why?”
“I know no other way of living.”
“I have no means of assisting you this night, Anomander Rake. I am manifest in this sanctified place, and manifest in a lone mortal's dreams, but nowhere else.”
“I will do my best, then,” Rake said, “to avoid damaging your temple.”
K'rul bowed, then vanished.
Alone once again, Rake turned his attention to the street below. An apparition arrived. it paused to sniff the air, then began changing-veering. A Lord of the Galayn, and a Soletaken.
