A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

Imass within you,' Raest rasped. 'Even the language you speak echoes their guttural throats. Have you come forth to grovel at my feet? Are you my first acolyte, then, eager for my rewards?'
    'Alas,' the man replied, 'you are mistaken, sir. Kruppe – this humble, weak mortal who stands before you – bows to no man, be he Jaghut or god. Such are the nuances of this new age that you are felled by indifference, made insignificant in your mighty struggles by lowly Kruppe into whose dream you have ignobly stumbled. Kruppe stands before you so that you may gaze upon his benign countenance in the last moments before your demise. Magnanimous of Kruppe, all things considered.'
    Raest laughed. 'I have walked in the dreams of mortals before. You believe you are the master here, but you are mistaken.' The Tyrant's hand shot out, virulent power erupting from it. The sorcery engulfed Kruppe, blazing darkly, then faded, leaving not even a remnant of the man.
    A voice spoke to Raest's left: 'Rude, Kruppe proclaims. Disappointing, this precipitateness.'
    The Jaghut swung around, eyes narrowing. 'What game is this?'
    The man smiled. 'Why, Kruppe's game, of course.'
    A sound behind Raest alerted him, but too late. He spun – even as a massive flint sword crunched through his left shoulder, tearing a path that snapped ribs, sliced through sternum and spine. The blow dragged the Tyrant down and to one side. Raest sprawled, pieces of his body striking the ground around him. He stared up at the T'lan Imass.
    Kruppe's shadow moved over Raest's face and the Tyrant met the mortal man's watery eyes.
    'He is Clanless, of course. Unbound and beyond binding, yet the ancient call commands him still – to his dismay. Imagine his surprise at being found out. Onos T'oolan, Sword of the First Empire, is once more called upon by the blood that once warmed his limbs, his heart, his life of so very long ago.'
    The T'lan Imass spoke. 'You have strange dreams, mortal.'
    'Kruppe possesses many surprises, even unto himself.'
    'I sense,' Onos T'oolan continued, 'a Bone Caster's hand in this summoning.'
    'Indeed. Pran Chole of Kig Aven's clan of the Kron T'lan Imass, I believe he called himself.'
    Raest raised himself from the ground, drawing his sorcery around his body to hold its shattered parts in place. 'No T'lan Imass can withstand me,' he hissed.
    'A dubious claim,' Kruppe said. 'Even so, he is joined in this endeavour.'
    The Jaghut Tyrant straightened to see a tall, black-shrouded figure emerge from the streambed. He cocked his head as the apparition approached. 'You remind me of Hood. Is the Death Wanderer still alive?' He scowled. 'But, no. I sense nothing from you. You do not exist.'
    'Perhaps,' the figure replied, in a deep, soft tone that hinted of regret. 'If so,' he continued, 'then neither do you. We are both of the past, Jaghut.' The figure halted fifteen feet away from Raest and swung his hooded head in the dragon's direction. 'Her master awaits your arrival, Jaghut, but he waits in vain and for this you should thank us. He would deliver a kind of death from which there is no escape, even by such a creature as you.' The head turned, and the darkness within the hood once again regarded the Tyrant. 'Here, within a mortal's dream, we bring an end to your existence.'
    Raest grunted. 'In this age there are none who can defeat me.'
    The figure laughed, a low rumble. 'You are a fool, Raest. In this age even a mortal can kill you. The tide of enslavement has reversed itself. It is now we gods who are the slaves, and the mortals our masters – though they know it not.'
    'You are a god, then?' Raest's scowl deepened. 'You are a child to me if so.'
    'I was once a god,' the figure replied. 'Worshipped as K'rul, and my aspect was the Obilisk. I am the Maker of Paths – do you find significance in that ancient title?'
    Raest took a step back, raising his desiccated hands. 'Impossible,' he breathed. 'You passed into the Realms of Chaos – returned to the place of your birth – you are among us no more—'
    'As I said, things have changed,' K'rul said quietly. 'You have a choice, Raest. Onos T'oolan can destroy you. You have no understanding of what his title of Sword signifies – he is without equal in this world. You can fall ignobly beneath the blade of an Imass, or you can accompany me – for in one thing we are the same, you and I. Our time has passed, and the Gates of Chaos await us. What choice do you make?'
    'I make neither, Eldering One.'