A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

his hands. The captain grinned even as tremors of terror reached through his hands from the sword. 'Oponn! Dear Twins, I call on you! Now!'
    The air groaned. Paran stumbled over someone, who loosed a stream of curses. Sheathing his sword, he reached down, hand closing on brocaded cloth. He pulled the god to his feet. 'Why you?' Paran demanded. 'I wanted your sister.'
    'Madness, mortal!' the male Twin snapped. 'To call me here! So close to the Queen of Darkness – here, within a god-slaying sword!'
    Paran shook him. Filled with a mindless, bestial rage, the captain shook the god. He heard the Hounds howl, and fought back a sudden desire to join his voice to their cries.
    The Twin, terror in his bright eyes, clawed at Paran. 'What – what are you doing?'
    Paran stopped, his attention drawn to two chains that had gone slack. 'They're coming.'
    The wagon seemed to leap upward, rocked as it had never been before. The thunder of the impact filled the air, wood and ice cascading down.
    'They have your scent, Twin.'
    The god shrieked, battered his fists into Paran's face, scratching, kicking, but the captain held on. 'Not the luck that pulls.' He spat blood. 'The luck ... that pushes—'
    The wagon was hammered again, its wheels bucking into the air to come down with a splintering, echoing concussion. Paran had no time to wonder at the savage strength that coursed through him, a strength sufficient to hold down a god gripped in panic. He simply held on.
    'Please!' the Twin begged. 'Anything! Just ask it! Anything within my powers.'
    'The Hounds' chains,' Paran said. 'Break them.'
    'I – I cannot!'
    The wagon shuddered sickeningly, distant wood splintering. Paran dragged the Twin a pace as it rolled forward again. 'Think of a way,' he said. 'Or the Hounds will have you.'
    'I – I cannot be sure, Paran.'
    'What? You can't be sure of what?'
    The Twin gestured towards the blackness. 'In there. The chains are held in place within it – within the Warren of Darkness, within Kurald Galain. Should they enter ... I do not know – I cannot be certain, but the chains may disappear.'
    'How can they enter?'
    'They could be leaving one nightmare only to enter another.'
    'It cannot be worse, Twin. I asked you, how?'
    'Bait.'
    'What?'
    The Twin smiled shakily. 'As you said, they're coming. But, Paran, you must release me. By all means, hold me before the portal, but please, at the last moment ...'
    'I release my hold on you.'
    The god nodded.
    'Very well.'
    The Hounds struck the wagon again, and this time they broke through. Clutching the Twin, Paran spun round to see the beasts charging out of the gloom. His captive shrieked.
    The Hounds leaped.
    Paran released the god, dropping flat to the ground as the Hounds passed through the air above. The Twin vanished. The Hounds flashed past, disappeared into the portal in silence, and were gone.
    Paran rolled to his feet, even as darkness reached out for him, not with the cold of oblivion but with a breath like warm, sighing wind.
    He opened his eyes to find himself on his hands and knees on the plain's yellowed grass, beside a flattened, blood-smeared patch where the body of a Hound had once lain. Insects buzzed close by. His head aching, Paran climbed to his feet. The other Hound's body was gone as well. What had he done? And why? Of all the things that the Twin could have offered him ... Tattersail ... Toc the Younger... Then again, to pluck a soul back through Hood's Gate was not likely within Oponn's power to achieve. Had he freed the Hounds? He realized he would probably never know.
    He staggered over to the horses. At least, for a short time there, he had been unchained. He had been free, and what he had done he had done by his own choice. My own choice.
    He looked to the south. Darujhistan and the Adjunct await me. Finish what you started, Paran. Finish it once and for all.
     
    'Damn inconvenient,' Coll growled as Crokus completed tying the bandage. 'She was good,' he added. 'She knew exactly what to do. I'd say she'd been trained. Sort of fits, since she was dressed like a mercenary.'
    'I still don't understand,' Crokus said, sitting back on his haunches. He glanced at Murillio and Kruppe. Both remained unconscious. 'Why did she attack us? And why didn't she kill me?'
    Coll did not reply. He sat glaring at his horse, which stood a dozen feet away, quietly cropping grass. He'd already voiced a dozen foul curses at the beast, and Crokus suspected that their relationship had been, as