The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1232 page)

‘Profound…huh.' Temper was silent for a long moment, studying the cobbles of the alley mouth. And then he lifted his helmed head, faced Shadowthrone, and said, ‘Fuck off.'

 

Sister Belie watched the man pick his way carefully through the mass of rubble that had once been the citadel gate. He wasn't especially tall. He had nothing of the brawn common to a veteran soldier, though a white scar was visible climbing one side of his jaw, up to a clipped ear – that didn't look like a sword cut, she decided.
Something bit him. Would Sister Reverence appreciate that? A Jaghut's tusk, perchance? Not likely.
No, there wasn't much to this man, nothing to explain the source of his defiance, his infuriating resistance to the will and voice of the Watered.

This was about to change, of course. The enemy commander had just made a fatal error in agreeing to this parley. For Sister Belie's blood was not watered, and this man was about to discover the power in the voice of a pure-born Forkrul Assail.

The smoke-stained, cracked walls of the citadel were proof of the effort the Watered commanders had made in seeking to conclude this siege; and the thousand or so rotting corpses lying on the killing ground beneath those walls marked the savage determination of the Shriven. But every assault thus far had ended in defeat.

Yes, the enemy has done well. But our patience is at an end. It is time to finish this.

The fool was unguarded. He came out alone – not that it would have mattered, for she would have used his own bodyguards to cut him down. Instead, she would make him take his own life, here, before the horrified eyes of his soldiers lining those battlements.

The enemy commander picked his way past the corpses and then drew to within ten paces of where she stood. Halting, he eyed her curiously for a moment, and then spoke in passable Kolansii. ‘A Pure, then. Is that the correct term? Not mixed blood – the ones you call
Watered
, as in “watered down”, presumably. No, you are a true Forkrul Assail. Have you come to…adjudicate?' And he smiled.

‘Human arrogance ever takes my breath away,' Sister Belie observed. ‘Perhaps, under certain circumstances, it is justified. For example, when dealing with your own kind, whom you have made helpless and at your mercy. Or in the matter of dealing with lesser beasts, when they presume to defy your tyranny. In the palace of the now dead king of Kolanse, there is a vast chamber crowded with stuffed trophies – animals slain by those of the royal line. Wolves, bears, cats. Eagles. Stags, elk, bhederin. They are given postures of ferocity, to mark that final moment of defiance – their presumption to the right to their own lives, one supposes. You are human – as human as was the king of Kolanse. Can you explain to me this sordid need to slay animals? Are we to believe that each and every beast in that chamber sought to kill its slayer?'

‘Well now,' the man replied, ‘I admit to having a personal opinion on such matters, but you have to understand, I never could comprehend the pleasure of slaughter. Those whom I have met who have enjoyed such activities, well, the reasons they tend to give don't make much sense to me. You could have simply asked the king of Kolanse.'

‘I did,' Sister Belie said, nodding.

His brows lifted. ‘And?'

‘He said it made him feel one with the animal he killed.'

‘Ah. I've heard similar.'

‘Accordingly,' she resumed, ‘I killed all his children and had them stuffed and displayed in the same chamber. It was my wish that he feel one with his offspring, too.'

‘I imagine that wasn't very successful.'

She shrugged. ‘Let us hear your opinion, then.'

‘Some needs are so pathetic they cannot be satisfied except by killing. I don't mean those among us who hunt out of necessity. That's just food. But let's face it, as soon as you start planting fields and keeping livestock, you don't need to hunt for food any more.'

‘The king also said it was his means of worshipping nature.'

‘By destroying it?'

‘Just my thought, human. But then, is that not your principal means of worship?'

‘Now that is a perceptive, if slightly painful, observation. But consider this – in killing and stuffing those children, were you not expressing the same detestable arrogance that so offended you in the first place?'

‘It was an experiment to see if I too could feel one with those I had slain. Alas, I did not. I felt…sad. That I should have such power in my hands, and should choose to use it for destructive ends. And yet I discovered something else – a truth about myself, in fact. There is pleasure in destroying, and it is a most sordid kind of pleasure. I suspect this is what is confused with the notion of “oneness” by such chronic slayers.'

‘You're probably right.'

‘Because they are, in fact, not particularly intelligent.'

‘I assumed you would arrive at that opinion sooner or later.'

‘Why?'

‘Well, it sounds as if you feel a need to justify killing us, and while you have pity for the lesser beasts of this world, your definition of “lesser beasts” does not include humans. Yet, ironically, your justification is predicated on the very same notion of arrogant superiority that you found so reprehensible in the Kolanse royal family. The beast that knows no better can be slain with impunity. Of course, there is no logic to that notion at all, is there?'

Sister Belie sighed. ‘That was most enjoyable. Now I need you to take your own life, so that we may end this pointless battle. I would like to be able to tell you that your army will be well treated, and so on. But the truth is, I will command them – just as I command the Shriven. And with the power of my voice I will set them against my enemies, whoever they may be, and they will fight without fear. They will fight with a ferocity the like of which has never been seen among your kind, because I intend to
use
them, the way you use horses, or war dogs. In other words, like well-trained beasts.'

‘What a depressing notion, Forkrul Assail. Those pathetic needs I talked about? They all come down to power. The king killed those animals because he had the power to do so, and expressing that power made him feel good. But it never lasts long, so out he goes to kill some more. I find it pathetic. And all that you have just said to me here, well, it's really the same old shit. By your voice and the sorcery of Akhrast Korvalain you will seek to fill that void in your soul, the void that is the hunger for control, when the bitter truth is, you really control nothing, and the universe is destined to swallow you up just as it does everything else.'

‘You do not believe in the power to do good? To do what is right?'

‘The Hold of the Beasts wants vengeance. It wants to redress the balance of slaughter. Messy as that would be, at least I see the logic of it. But I fear it's too late. Their age is past, for now.'

‘We will prove the lie of your words, human.'

‘No, you won't. Because, Forkrul Assail, you are going to fail, and in failing you fail your allies as well, and for them the misery simply goes on and on. The only end to the tragedy of the beasts will come at the hands of humans – and to the Wolves I would advise patience. They need do nothing more, because we humans
will
destroy ourselves. It may take a while, because there's lots of us, but we'll do it in the end, because we are nothing if not thorough. As for you and your kind – you're not even relevant.'

‘Draw your knife, human. Kneel.'

‘I am sorry, but I can barely hear you.'

She blinked. ‘Draw your knife!'

‘Barely a whisper, I'm afraid.' He drew out a small wooden card. ‘I am Ganoes Paran. I was a soldier in the Malazan army, a marine, to be precise. But then I became the Master of the Deck of Dragons. I didn't ask for the title, and had no real understanding of the role for quite some time. But I'm getting the hang of it now.' He held up the card. ‘This is where your voice is going. It's another realm, where the only things hearing you – or, rather, succumbing to your power – are insects and worms in the mud. They're confused. They don't know what a
knife
is. They don't even know how to kneel.'

Sister Belie stepped forward. ‘Then I shall break you with my hands—'

He seemed to lean back, and suddenly he was gone. The card fell, clattered on the stones. She reached down, picked up it. The image was little more than a scratching of lines, a rough landscape, a hint of ground, low plants – and there, vague in the gloom, stood the man. He beckoned and in her mind she heard his voice.

‘Come after me, Forkrul Assail. I invite you to do battle with me here. No? Well, it was foolish of me to think you were that stupid. After all, I need only step out of this wretched place, leaving you trapped – and it'd be a long, long time before you found your way home. Well. We have now met. We are enemies known to one another, as it should be.

‘You cannot enslave my army. If you want to defeat us, you'll have to do it the hard way. Oh, by the way, I enjoyed our little talk. I think I now understand you better than you do me, which is an advantage I intend to exploit. Oh, if you could see your expression now—'

With a snarl she snapped the card in half, flung the pieces to the ground. Whirling, she marched back to where her officers waited. ‘Summon Brother Grave – assemble the legions. We shall end this!'

One of the Watered stepped forward tremulously and bowed. ‘Pure, we need reinforcements—'

‘And you shall have them. We shall sustain this assault – give them no rest. Brother Grave waits with three legions. I will have that human's hide nailed to the wall of this citadel.'

The Watered grinned. ‘A worthy trophy, Pure.'

She faced the edifice once more. ‘
I will
,' she whispered, ‘
because I can
.'

 

‘You fool,' snapped Noto Boil. ‘She almost had you, didn't she?'

Paran wiped at the mud caked on his boots. ‘Find Fist Bude. Get the reserves ready. This one's going to be messy. And tell Mathok to mount up for a sortie – before the bastards get a chance to set up.'

‘Did she seek to command you?'

‘I told you, I had an answer to that. But you're right, those Forkrul Assail move damned fast. It was close. Closer than I would have liked, but then,' he smiled at the healer, ‘we've stirred them up. Got
two
purebloods over there now – and more legions to boot.'

‘Let me guess – all according to your plan.'

‘Where's Ormulogun? I need him to work on that etching – in case we need to get the Hood out of here.'

Noto Boil sighed, and set off to look for the Imperial Artist. He chewed on his fish spine until he tasted blood.

 

‘You always could pick them, couldn't you, woman?' She'd been walking in her sleep again, this time out and down the steps into the cellar, where waited a dead friend. He was sitting on one of the kegs Antsy called the Sours – one of those that held bodies of damned Seguleh. Not that they were there any more, but that pickling concoction was still one of the foulest brews she'd ever smelled.

Was it Bluepearl who'd given it a taste? She couldn't remember, but…probably.

He was sitting working a knife tip under filthy fingernails.

‘Am I sleeping again?' Picker asked.

‘Yeah,' Bluepearl replied. ‘But I'm telling ya, Pick, getting dragged into your dreams like this ain't much fun.'

‘You know what's happened to this city?'

He grimaced, frowned at his nails. ‘I voted against settling here – do you remember that? But the count didn't go my way – story of my life. And then Darujhistan went and killed me.'

‘But you didn't know why, did you? I can tell you why now, Bluepearl. I know why now.'

He sheathed his knife and the sound the weapon made as it locked in the scabbard was sharp enough to make her breath catch. Looked across at her and said, ‘We resanctified this place, did you know that? Spilling all that blood – it was stirring when we moved in, but then we went and drenched the stones in that red stuff.'

‘Meaning?'

He shrugged, drew out his knife again and began cleaning his nails, each gesture the same as the time before. ‘In here, Pick, we're safe.'

She snorted. ‘Maybe for you.'

‘You got to go soon, Sergeant. Out of the city. Will there be trouble, you doing that?'

‘You called me Sergeant.'

‘Aye, I did. Because I'm passing on orders here. That's all.'

‘Whose orders?'

He examined his nails. ‘There's no such thing, Picker, as retiring from the Bridgeburners.'

‘Go back to Hood!'

He grunted in amusement, clicked his knife home, the sound louder and more disturbing than the first time. ‘Where Hood's at I ain't going, Pick. We got us the right commander again, the one we should've had right from the start. By whose order, Sergeant?' He drew out his knife and set to his nails again. ‘Whiskeyjack.'

‘What's he got to do with any of this? I know who I'm supposed to find. I even know where he's holed up – and staying outa Darujhistan tells me he's smarter than he looks.' Lifting an arm, she caught a flash of silver. Stared in horror at the torcs now encircling her upper arms. ‘Gods below! How did these come back! Get 'em off me!'

‘Treach needs you now. Tiger of Summer and all that.' He grinned at her. ‘It's all brewing up, my love.'

‘Shit! I just put 'em on because they looked nice!'