'A day? Are you mad? Why did you not leave me?'
'Had I done so, Malazan, your friends would have killed me.'
'Ah, there is that. But, you know, I don't believe you.'
'You are right. It is simple. I could not.'
'All right, that will do.'
Corabb closed his eyes – the effort making no difference. He was probably blind by now. He had heard that prisoners left too long without light in their dungeon cells went blind. Blind before mad, but mad, too, eventually.
And now he heard sounds, drawing nearer… from somewhere. He'd heard them before, a half-dozen times at least, and for a short while there had been faint shouting. Maybe that had been real. The demons of panic come to take the others, one by one. 'Sergeant, are you named Strings or Fiddler?'
'Strings for when I'm lying, Fiddler for when I'm telling the truth.'
'Ah, is that a Malazan trait, then? Strange-'
'No, not a trait. Mine, maybe.'
'And how should I name you?'
'Fiddler.'
'Very well.' A welcome gift. 'Fiddler. I was thinking. Here I am, trapped. And yet, it is only now, I think, that I have finally escaped my prison. Funny, isn't it?'
'Damned hilarious, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas. What is that sound?'
'You hear it, too?' Corabb held his breath, listened. Drawing closerThen something touched his forehead.
Bellowing, Corabb tried to twist away.
'Wait! Damn you, I said wait!'
Fiddler called out, 'Gesler?'
'Aye, calm down your damned friend here, will you?'
Heart pounding, Corabb settled back. 'We were lost, Malazan. I am sorry-'
'Be quiet! Listen to me. You're only about seventy paces from a tunnel, leading out – we're all out, you understand me? Bottle got us out. His rat brought us through. There was a rock fall blocking you up ahead – I've dug through-'
'You crawled back in?' Fiddler demanded. 'Gesler-'
'Believe me, it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Now I know – or I think I know – what Truth went through, running into that palace. Abyss take me, I'm still shaking.'
'Lead us on, then,' Corabb said, reaching back to grasp Fiddler's harness once more.
Gesler made to move past him. 'I can do that-'
'No. I have dragged him this far.'
'Fid?'
'For Hood's sake, Gesler, I've never been in better hands.'
Chapter Eight
Sarkanos, Ivindonos and Ganath stood looking down on the heaped corpses, the strewn pieces of flesh and fragments of bone. A field of battle knows only lost dreams and the ghosts clutch futilely at the ground, remembering naught but the last place of their lives, and the air is sullen now that the clangour is past, and the last moans of the dying have dwindled into silence.
While this did not belong to them, they yet stood. Of Jaghut, one can never know their thoughts, nor even their aspirations, but they were heard to speak, then.
'All told,' said Ganath. 'This sordid tale here has ended, and there is no-one left to heave the standard high, and proclaim justice triumphant.'
'This is a dark plain,' said Ivindonos, 'and I am mindful of such things, the sorrow untold, unless witnessed.'
'Not mindful enough,' said Sarkanos.
'A bold accusation,' said Ivindonos, his tusks bared in anger. 'Tell me what I am blind to. Tell me what greater sorrow exists than what we see before us.'
And Sarkanos made reply, 'Darker plains lie beyond.'
Stela Fragment (Yath Alban)
Anonymous There were times, Captain Ganoes Paran reflected, when a man could believe in nothing. No path taken could alter the future, and the future remained ever unknown, even by the gods. Sensing those currents, the tumult that lay ahead, achieved little except the loss of restful sleep, and a growing suspicion that all his efforts to shape that future were naught but conceit.
He had pushed the horses hard, staying well clear of villages and hamlets where the Mistress stalked, sowing her deadly seeds, gathering to herself the power of poisoned blood and ten thousand deaths by her hand. Before long, he knew, that toll would rise tenfold. Yet for all his caution, the stench of death was inescapable, arriving again and again as if from nowhere, and no matter how great the distance between him and inhabited areas.
Whatever Poliel's need, it was vast, and Paran was fearful, for he could not understand the game she played here.
Back in Darujhistan, ensconced within the Finnest House, this land known as Seven Cities had seemed so far from the centre of things – or what he believed would soon become the centre of things. And it had been, in part, that mystery that had set him on this path, seeking to discover how what happened here would become enfolded into the greater scheme. Assuming, of course, that such a greater scheme existed.
