The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (49 page)

He sat back and waited.

Eventually, Mammot got swiftly to his feet. “I have some research to do,” he said distractedly. “As for you, Kruppe, Master Baruk wishes to speak with you immediately.”

“I thought I sensed the alchemist’s presence,” Kruppe said, rising with a soft grunt. “Ah, the rigors of these fated nights ever urge us on. Until later, then, Mammot.”

“Good-bye,” the scholar said, a frown on his face as he crossed the room. He entered the small chamber where Kruppe had spent the past hour.

Kruppe adjusted the sleeves of his cloak. Whatever had happened, it had been enough to jar Mammot’s etiquette, and that alone hinted at dire events. “Well,” he murmured, “best not keep Baruk waiting, then. At least,” he amended, as he headed for the door, “not for too long. Decorum demands that Kruppe retain his sense of dignity. He shall walk fast, yes. But walk he shall, for Kruppe needs time to think, to plan, to scheme, to anticipate, to backtrack with some thoughts, to leap ahead with others, to do all the things necessary. First and foremost, Kruppe must discern the nature of the woman who followed him, and who killed Chert, and who noted that Crokus saw the blood on her weapon, and who marked Rallick Nom as an assassin with his very arrival. She might well provide the key to everything, and more, for the Coin did indeed turn its face upon her, if only for a moment. And that, thinks Kruppe, shall return to us all, for good or ill.” He stopped and looked around, blinking rapidly. “At the very least,” he muttered, “Kruppe should leave Mammot’s room.” He glanced back at the chamber Mammot had entered. From within came the sounds of brittle pages being rapidly turned. Kruppe sighed in relief, then left.

_______

Crone ruffled her singed feathers and hopped about in agitation. Where was that alchemist? She had a thousand things to attend to before the night was done, though in truth she couldn’t think of any of them. Nevertheless, she disliked being kept waiting.

The door to the study opened and Baruk strode through, gathering a robe about his considerable bulk. “My apologies, Crone, I was otherwise indisposed.”

Crone grunted. Sorcery trailed from the man in thick, pungent streams. “My master, Lord Anomander Rake,” she said, without preamble, “has commanded that I tell you what I told him of my adventures on the Rhivi Plain.”

Baruk came up to where the Great Raven paced on the map table. The alchemist frowned. “You’ve been injured.”

“Pride, no more. Hearken then to my story.”

Baruk raised an eyebrow. The old witch’s mood was dark. He fell silent and she began.

“A small wooden puppet approaches from the north, a creation of soulshifting and sourced from a Warren of Chaos. Its power is immense, twisted, malign even to Great Ravens. It killed many of my kin as it slipped in and out of its Warren. It evidently took pleasure in such acts.” Crone snapped her beak in anger, then continued, “It pursues a power I could not approach, and whatever this power, it strikes directly for the Gadrobi Hills—my lord and I are agreed in this. The power seeks something within those hills, yet we are not native to this land. Hence we bring this news to you, Alchemist. Two forces are converging on the Gadrobi Hills. My lord asks you why.”

Baruk’s face had lost all its color. He turned slowly and walked to a chair. Sitting down, he steepled his hands before his face and closed his eyes. “The Malazan Empire seeks something it cannot hope to control, something buried within the Gadrobi Hills. Whether or not either force is capable of freeing that thing is another matter. Seeking is not the same as finding, and finding is not the same as succeeding.”

Crone hissed impatiently. “Who is buried there, Alchemist?”

“A Jaghut Tyrant, imprisoned by the Jaghut themselves. Generations of scholars and sorcerers have sought to find this barrow. None managed to discover even so much as a clue.” Baruk looked up, his expression lined with worry. “I know of one man, here in Darujhistan, who has gathered all the available knowledge concerning this burial place. I must confer with him. I can give your lord this, however. There lies a standing stone in the Gadrobi Hills—I know its location precisely. It is almost invisible, only its weathered top breaks the ground, perhaps a hand’s span in height. The remaining twenty feet are beneath the earth. You will see the remnants of many pits and trenches that have been excavated around it—all fruitless. For while the stone marks the beginning point, it is not the entrance to the barrow.”

“Where, then, is this entrance?”

“That I will not tell you. Once I speak with my colleague, perhaps I can give
you more details. Perhaps not. But the means by which the barrow is entered must remain a secret.”

“This avails us nothing! My lord—”

“Is extremely powerful,” Baruk cut in. “His intentions are anything but clear, Crone, no matter that we are allied. What lies within that barrow can destroy a city—this city. That I will not allow to enter Rake’s hands. You shall have the location of the standing stone, for it is there that the hunters must first go. I have one question to ask, Crone. This puppet, are you certain it pursues this other power?”

Crone bobbed her head. “It tracks. It hides when necessary. You assume both powers are Malazan. Why?”

Baruk grunted. “First, they want Darujhistan. They’ll do anything to win it. They’ve had access to vast libraries among the lands they’ve conquered. The Jaghut barrow is no secret in and of itself. Second, you said both powers came down from the north. They can only be Malazan. Why one hides from the other is beyond me, though I wouldn’t doubt that there are competing factions within the Empire—any political entity as large as that one is bound to be rife with discord. In any case, they pose a direct threat to Darujhistan and, by extension, to your lord’s desires to prevent the Malazan Empire from conquering us. Assuming that the powers are Malazan seems warranted.”

Crone’s displeasure was obvious. “You will be kept informed of the activities on the Rhivi Plain. My lord must decide whether to intercept these powers before they reach the Gadrobi Hills.” She turned an angry eye on Baruk. “He has received little assistance from his allies. I trust when we next speak that situation will be remedied.”

The alchemist shrugged. “My first meeting with Anomander Rake has proved my only meeting with him. Assistance demands communication.” His tone hardened. “Inform your lord that the present dissatisfaction exists with us as much as it does with him.”

“My lord has been busy with his side of things,” Crone muttered, flapping to the windowsill.

Baruk stared at the bird as she prepared to leave. “Busy?” he asked darkly. “In what way?”

“In due time, Alchemist,” Crone purred. A moment later she was gone.

Baruk cursed, and with an angry gesture returned the window to its place and slammed the shutters. Doing this through magic and from a distance was not as satisfying as it would have been had he done it physically. Grumbling, he rose and walked to the mantelpiece. As he poured himself some wine, he paused. Less than half an hour ago he’d conjured a demon. It was not an ambitious conjuring: he’d needed a spy, not a killer. Something told him he’d be calling upon far deadlier creatures in the near future. He scowled, then took a mouthful of wine. “Mammot,” he whispered, as he opened his Warren, “I need you.”

He smiled as a scene appeared in his head, of a small room and a stone hearth. Seated in the chair opposite his point of view was Kruppe. “Good. I need you both.”

_______

The Hound that approached Quick Ben was wide and heavy, its fur a pasty white. As it trotted up to the wizard, he saw that its eyes were also white. The creature possessed no pupils. It stopped a short distance away and sat.

Quick Ben bowed. “You are the Hound called Blind,” he said, “mate to Baran and mother of Gear. I come seeking no harm. I would speak with your master.”

He heard a growl beside him and froze. Slowly, he turned his head and looked down. Less than a foot from his right leg lay another Hound, mottled brown and tan, lean and scarred. Its eyes were fixed on Blind. “Baran.” He nodded. Another growl answered Baran’s, this one behind the wizard. He turned further to see, ten feet away, a third Hound, this one long, black and sleek. Its eyes, fixed on him, glowed red. “And Shan,” he said quietly. He faced Blind again. “Have you found your quarry, or are you my escort?”

Baran rose silently beside him, its shoulders level with his chest. Blind stood, then trotted off to the left. She stopped and looked back. Twin growls spurred Quick Ben after them.

The land around them changed slowly, details slipping into sourceless shadows and re-emerging subtly altered. On what the wizard thought of as the north horizon, a gray forest climbed a slope to what might have been a wall. This wall was in place of sky—maybe it
was
sky—but to Quick Ben it looked strangely close, even though the forest was leagues away. Glancing overhead did not help him confirm or refute his feeling that this realm was bordered by a magical wall, for it, too, seemed close, almost within reach. Yet black clouds rode winds above him, skewing his perceptions and making him dizzy.

Another Hound had joined their company. This one, a male, was dark gray, one of its eyes blue, the other yellow. Though it didn’t come close, Quick Ben judged that it was the largest of those around him, and its movement hinted at deadly speed. He knew it as Doan, firstborn to the pack’s leader, Rood, and its first mate, Pallick.

Doan trotted alongside Blind for a time, then, when they came to the crest of a low rise, he bolted forward. Reaching the crest, Quick Ben saw their destination. He sighed. Just as the image carved upon the altar within the temples dedicated to Shadowthrone, Shadowkeep rose from the plain like an enormous lump of black glass, fractured with curving planes, rippled in places, with some corners glistening white as if crushed. The largest surface facing them—a wall, he supposed—was mottled and dull, as if it was a cortex, the weathered surface of obsidian.

There were no windows as such, but many of the slick surfaces looked semi-translucent and seemed to glow with an inner light. As far as Quick Ben could see, there was no door, no gate, no drawbridge.

They arrived, and the wizard exclaimed in surprise as Blind strode into the stone and disappeared. He hesitated, and Baran came as close to nudging him as Quick Ben allowed. He walked up to the mottled stone and held out his hands as he stepped into it. He felt nothing, passing through effortlessly to find himself in a hallway that could have been found in any mundane estate.

Barren of trappings, the corridor led straight forward for, perhaps, thirty feet and ended at double doors. Blind and Doan sat to either side of these doors, which now opened of their own accord.

Quick Ben entered the room beyond. The chamber was domed. Opposite him stood a simple obsidian throne on a slightly raised dais. The dull, cobbled floor bore no rugs, and the walls were bare except for torches spaced every ten feet. Quick Ben counted forty, but the light was fitful, seeming to struggle against encroaching shadows.

At first he thought the throne unoccupied, but as he approached he saw the figure seated there. It seemed composed of almost translucent shadows, vaguely human in form, but hooded, preventing even the glint of eyes. Still, Quick Ben could feel the god’s attention fixed solely on him, and he barely repressed a shiver.

Shadowthrone spoke, his voice calm and clear. “Shan tells me you know the names of my Hounds.”

Quick Ben stopped before the dais. He bowed. “I was once an acolyte within your temple, Lord.”

The god was silent for a time, then he said, “Is it wise to admit such a thing, Wizard? Do I look kindly upon those who once served me but then abandoned my ways? Tell me. I would hear from you what my priests teach.”

“To begin upon the Path of Shadow and then to leave it is rewarded by the Rope.”

“Meaning?”

“I am marked for assassination by all who follow your ways, Lord.”

“Yet here you stand, Wizard.”

Quick Ben bowed again. “I would strike a deal, Lord.”

The god giggled, then raised a hand. “No, dear Shan. Strike naught.”

Quick Ben stiffened. The black Hound stepped around him, and ascended the dais. She lay down before her god and eyed the wizard blankly.

“Do you know why I just saved your life, Wizard?”

“I do, Lord.”

Shadowthrone leaned forward. “Shan wants you to tell me.”

Quick Ben met the Hound’s red stare. “Shadowthrone loves deals.”

The god sighed and sank back. “Acolyte, indeed. Well, then, Wizard, speak on, while you can.”

“I must begin with a question, Lord.”

“Ask it.”

“Does Gear still live?”

Shan’s eyes flared and she half rose before the god’s hand touched her head.

“Now that,” Shadowthrone said, “is quite a question. You’ve managed something few, alas, have been able to do. Wizard, my curiosity is piqued. So, I answer you: yes, Gear survives. By all means, continue.”

“Lord, I would deliver into your hands the one who offended your Hound.”

“How? He belongs to Oponn.”

“Not him, Lord. But the one who led Gear to that chamber. The one who sought to take Gear’s soul, and would have succeeded if not for Oponn’s mortal tool.”

“In exchange for what?”

Quick Ben cursed inwardly. He could read nothing from the god’s tone, and that made things even trickier than he’d expected. “My life, Lord. I wish the Rope’s reward lifted from me.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” He hesitated, then continued, “I wish to choose the time and place, Lord. Otherwise, this one of whom I speak will escape your Hounds through its Warren of Chaos. Only I can prevent that. Thus, it must be part of the deal. All that you need do is have your Hounds ready. I will call upon you at the proper moment, providing you with the creature’s precise location. The rest is up to your Hounds.”

“You’ve planned this well, Wizard,” Shadowthrone said. “As of yet, I can think of no way to kill both the creature and you. I commend you. How then, do you intend to call upon me? Surely, you’ll not once again enter my realm.”