'Do you not think I welcomed all that he has delivered? Treach promised me souls, and his human servant has provided them.'
'In other words, the Tiger of Summer and the Barghast gods have followed through on their sides of the deal. Now, you'd better do the same, and that includes relinquishing Talamandas when the time comes. Hold to the spirit of the agreement, Hood … unless you learned nothing from the mistakes you made with Dassem Ultor …'
The wizard felt seething rage burgeon from the Lord of Death, yet the god remained silent.
'Aye,' Quick Ben growled, 'think on that. In the meantime, you're going to ease loose your power, sufficient to carry me over this crowd of Barghast, and into the plaza in front of the Thrall. Then you're going to withdraw, far enough to give Talamandas the freedom he's supposed to have. Hover behind his painted eyes, if you so desire, but no closer. Until I decide I need you once more.'
'You will be mine one day, mortal -'
'No doubt, Hood. In the meantime, let's just luxuriate in the anticipation, shall we?' With these words, the wizard released his grip on the god's cloak. The presence flinched back.
Power flowed steady, the currents of air drawing Quick Ben and the sticksnare clinging to his shoulder over the tops of the canopies.
Talamandas hissed. 'What has happened? I, uh, vanished for a moment.'
'Everything's fine,' the wizard murmured. 'Does the power feel true, Sticksnare?'
'Aye, it does. This, this I can use.'
'Glad to hear it. Now, guide us to the plaza.'
A thin gauze of old smoke dulled the stars overhead. Captain Paran sat on the wide steps of the Thrall's main entrance. Directly ahead, at the end of a wide avenue, stood the gatehouse. Visible through its open doorway, in the plaza beyond, firelight from Barghast camps gleamed through gathering mists.
The Malazan was exhausted, yet sleep would not come to him. His thoughts had wandered countless paths since he'd left Cafal's company two bells earlier. Barghast shoulder-men still worked in the chamber, dismantling the canoes, collecting ancient weapons. Outside that room and beyond that activity, the Thrall seemed virtually deserted, lifeless.
The empty halls and corridors led Paran inexorably to what he imagined his parents' estate in Unta might now look like, with his mother and father dead, Felisin chained to a line in some mining pit a thousand leagues away, and dear sister Tavore dwelling in a score opulent chambers in Laseen's palace.
A house alone with its memories, looted by servants and guards and the street's gutter rats. Did the Adjunct ever ride past? Did her thoughts turn to it in the course of her busy day?
She was not one to spare a moment to sentiment. Cold-eyed, hers was a brutal rationality, pragmatism with a thousand honed edges — to cut open anyone foolish enough to come close.
The Empress would be well pleased with her new Adjunct.
And what of you, Felisin? With your wide smile and dancing eyes? There is no modesty in the Otataral Mines, nothing to shield you from the worst of human nature. You'll have been taken under wing none the less, by some pimp or pit-thug.
A flower crushed underfoot.
Yet your sister has it in mind to retrieve you — that much I know of her. She might well have thrown in a guardian or two for the length of your sentence.
But she'll not be rescuing a child. Not any more. No smile, and something hard and deadly in those once-dancing eyes. You should have found another way, sister. Gods, you should have killed Felisin outright — that would have been a mercy.
And now, now I fear you will some day pay dearly.
Paran slowly shook his head. His was a family none would envy. Tom apart by our own hands, no less. And now, we siblings, each launched on our separate fates. The likelihood of those fates' one day converging never seemed so remote.
The worn steps before him were flecked with ash; as if the only survivor in this city was the stone itself. The darkness felt solemn, sorrowful. All the sounds that should have accompanied the night, in this place, were absent. Hood feels close this night.
One of the massive double doors behind him swung open. The captain glanced back over a shoulder, then nodded. 'Mortal Sword. You look well… rested.'
The huge man grimaced. 'I feel beaten to within a finger's breadth of my life. That's a mean woman.'
'I've heard men say that of their women before, and always there's a pleased hint to the complaint. As I hear now.'
Gruntle frowned. 'Aye, you're right. Funny, that.'
'These stairs are wide. Have a seat if you like.'
