A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

it a hard fight,' he whispered, 'for what that is worth.'
    He watched her eyes flicker open. She stared up at him as recognition arrived. 'Captain. Ganoes.'
    'Adjunct.'
    'They have killed me.'
    'Who?'
    She managed a stained smile. 'I don't know. Two women. Looked like ... thieves. Thugs. Do you see ... the irony, Ganoes Paran?'
    Thin-lipped, he nodded.
    'No ... glorious end ... for the Adjunct. If you'd come ... a few minutes sooner ...'
    The captain said nothing. He watched the life leave Lorn, feeling nothing. Ill luck, knowing me, Adjunct. I'm sorry for that. Then he collected the Otataral sword and slipped it into his scabbard.
    Above him two voices spoke in unison. 'You gave him our sword.'
    He straightened to find himself facing Oponn. 'The Rope took it from me, to be more precise.'
    The Twins could not conceal their fear. They looked upon Paran with something akin to pleading. 'Cotillion spared you,' the sister said, 'the Hounds spared you. Why?'
    Paran shrugged. 'Do you blame the knife, or the hand wielding it?'
    'Shadowthrone never plays fair,' the brother whined, hugging himself.
    'You and Cotillion both used mortals,' the captain said, baring his teeth, 'and paid for it. What do you want from me? Sympathy? Help?'
    'That Otataral blade—' the sister said.
    'Will not be used to do your dirty work,' Paran finished. 'You'd best flee, Oponn. I imagine even now Cotillion has given Shadowthrone the sword Chance, and the two are putting their heads together to plan how best to use it.'
    The Twin Jesters flinched.
    Paran laid a hand over the sword's sticky grip. 'Now. Else I return Cotillion's favour.'
    The gods vanished.
    The captain drew a deep breath. He turned once again to Lorn.
    Her armour removed, she proved light in his arms.
     
    The air roared around Anomander Rake as he plummeted, but he made no other sound, his Warren drawn in tight around him. Below, now sweeping lazy circles over Darujhistan, was the dun dragon – Rake's equal in size, with the power to match.
    But it was a fool, hunting for him in the streets below.
    Rake carefully spread his wings, angling towards the Galayn lord. His hind limbs reached down, talons spreading. He drew in the air around him, preparing for a burst of power. He was Kurald Galain, Tiste Andii, and darkness was his home.
    The Galayn lord was immediately beneath him now, growing larger with incredible speed. Rake opened his mouth, head snapping back as he bit into a wall of air. This sound brought the dun dragon's gaze upward, but it was already too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
    I am the House
imprisoning in my birth
demonic hearts,
so locked in each chamber
some trembling enraged
antiquity.
And these roots of stone
spread the deepest cracks
in parched ground
holding for ever the dream
of fruit, ah, pilgrims
come to my door
and starve ...
    Azath (ii.iii)
Adaephon (b.?)
     
    The compound beyond the gate was empty. Crokus ran across it, wondering if he was too late. He bounded up the steps and reached for the door latch. A burst of energy flung him backwards.
    Dazed, the thief found himself sitting on the paving stones before the steps, his flesh tingling. At the door a deep crimson glow slowly faded. A ward. 'Hood!' he hissed, climbing to his feet. He'd run into barriers like these before, in the Higher Estates. There was no way to get through them.
    Cursing again, Crokus whirled and raced to the gate. He emerged on to the street and looked around, seeing no one. If those Crimson Guard still protected him, they weren't showing themselves.
    There was a slight chance that the garden entrance to Baruk's estate was unguarded by magic – a very slight chance. He ran down the street and turned into the first alley to his right. There'd be a wall to scale, but he did not consider that much of an obstacle.
    He came to the alley's end and skidded to a halt on the street beyond. The wall was high, he saw. He'd need a running start. Crokus trotted across the street, trying to catch his breath. What was the point of all this? Couldn't Baruk take care of himself, after all? Wasn't he a High Mage, and hadn't even Fingers commented on the alchemist's sorcerous defences?
    He hesitated, scowling at the wall opposite him.
    At that moment a piercing, earth-shaking scream was loosed directly above the street. Crokus threw himself against the wall behind him as an enormous shape descended into the gaslight. Filling the street, it struck the ground less than twenty yards to the thief's left.