A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

was sheer idiocy. The first House she had placed, Darkness, touched her hand ice-cold, loud with the crashing waves of violence and power run amok – and yet an odd flavour there, something like salvation. The Knight could be enemy or ally, or more likely neither. Just out there, unpredictable, self-absorbed. But Oponn rode the warrior's shadow, leaving House Dark tottering on the edge, suspended in a place between night and day. More than anything else, it had been Oponn's spinning coin that had demanded her choice to hold.
    Hairlock heard nothing. Wonderful.
    Even now, as she approached the command tent, the faint sound continued in her head, as it would for some time, she believed. The coin spun, and spun. Oponn whirled two faces to the cosmos, but it was the Lady's bet. Spin on, silver. Spin on.

CHAPTER THREE
    Thelomen Tartheno Tobbkai...
find the names of a people
so reluctant to fade
into oblivion ...
Their legend rots
ray cynical cast and blights
my eyes with bright glory ...
'Cross not the loyal cage
embracing their unassailable heart...
    ... Cross not these stolid menhirs,
ever loyal to the earth.'
Thelomen Tartheno Toblakai...
Still standing, these towering pillars
mar the gelid scape
of my mind ...
    Gothos' Folly (11.iv)
Gothos (b.?)
     
    The imperial trireme carved the deep-sea troughs like a relentless axe-blade, sails stretched and spars creaking under the steady wind. Captain Ganoes Paran remained in his cabin. He had long since grown tired of scanning the eastern horizon for the first sighting of land. It would come, and it would come soon.
    He leaned against the sloping wall opposite his bunk, watching the lanterns sway and idly tossing his dagger into the lone table's centre pole, which was now studded with countless tiny holes.
    A cool musty brush of air swept across his face and he turned to see Topper emerge from the Imperial Warren. It had been two years since he'd last seen the Claw Master. 'Hood's Breath, man,' Paran said, 'can't you find another colour of cloth? This perverse love of green must surely be curable.'
    The tall half-blood Tiste Andii seemed to be wearing the same clothes as the last time Paran had seen him: green wool, green leather. Only the countless rings spearing his long fingers showed any splash of contrary colour. The Claw Master had arrived in a sour mood and Paran's opening words had not improved it. 'You imagine I enjoy such journeys, Captain? Seeking out a ship on the ocean is a challenge of sorcery few could manage.'
    'Makes you a reliable messenger, then,' Paran muttered.
    'I see you've made no effort to improve on courtesy, Captain – I admit I understand nothing of the Adjunct's faith in you.'
    'Don't lose sleep over it, Topper. Now you've found me, what is the message?'
    The man scowled. 'She's with the Bridgeburners. Outside Pale.'
    'The siege continues? How old is your information?'
    'Less than a week, which is as long as I've been hunting you. In any case,' he continued, 'the deadlock is about to be broken.'
    Paran grunted. Then he frowned. 'Which squad?'
    'You know them all?'
    'Yes,' Paran asserted.
    Topper's scowl deepened, then he raised a hand and began examining his rings. 'Whiskeyjack's. She's one of his recruits.'
    Paran closed his eyes. It should not have surprised him. The gods are playing with me. Question is, which gods? Oh, Whiskey jack. You once commanded an army, back when Laseen was named Surly, back when you could have listened to your companion, when you could have made a choice. You could've stopped Surly. Hell, perhaps you could have stopped me. But now you command a squad, just a squad, and she's the Empress. And me? I'm a fool who followed his dream, and now all 1 desire is its end. He opened his eyes and regarded Topper. 'Whiskeyjack. The War of Seven Cities: through the breach at Aren, the Holy Desert Raraku, Pan'potsun, Nathilog ...'
    'All in the Emperor's time, Paran.'
    'So,' Paran said, 'I'm to take command of Whiskeyjack's squad. The mission will take us to Darujhistan, to the city of cities.'
    'Your recruit is showing her powers,' Topper said, grimacing. 'She's corrupted the Bridgeburners, possibly even Dujek Onearm and the entire Second and Third Armies on Genabackis.'
    'You can't be serious. Besides, my concern is with the recruit. With her. Only her. The Adjunct agrees we've waited long enough. Now you're telling me we've waited too long? I can't believe Dujek's about to become a renegade – not Dujek. Not Whiskeyjack