A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

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 window-sill.
    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 grey 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 grey, 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, first born 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