A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

the ... the truth, K'rul?' That, in striding through the warrens, we travel through your very flesh. That, when we draw upon the power of the warrens, we draw your very blood? Who knows?'
    She felt a casual shrug in his reply.
    Anomander Rake, Draconus, Osric, a handful of others. And now you. Forgive me, Lady Envy, I have no wish to be a tyrant. My presence within the warrens has ever been passive – you are free to do as you choose, as is every other creature who swims my immortal blood. I have but one excuse, if you will. This Crippled God, this stranger from an unknown realm . . . Lady Envy, I am frightened.
    A chill stole through her as the words sank into her mind.
    K'rul continued after a moment. We have lost allies in our foolishness. Dassem Ultor, who was broken by Hood's taking of his daughter at the Time of the Chaining – this was a devastating blow. Dassem Ultor, the First Sword reborn —
    'Do you think,' she asked slowly, 'that Hood would have taken her for the Chaining, had I answered the summons?' Am I, she wondered, to blame for Dassem Ultor's loss?
    Hood alone could answer that question, Lady Envy. And he'd
    likely lie, in any case. Dassem, his Champion – Dessembrae – had
    grown to rival his power. There is little value in worrying such questions,
    beyond the obvious lesson that inaction is a deadly choice. Consider: from
    Dassem's fall, a mortal empire now totters on the edge of chaos. From Dassem's
    fall, the Shadow Throne found a new occupant. From Dassem's fall. . . ah,
    well, the tumbling dominoes are almost countless. It is done.
    'What is it you wish of me, now, K'rul?'
    There was need. To show you the vastness of the threat. This Pannion Domin is but a fragment of the whole, yet you must lead my chosen into its very heart.
    'And once there? Am I a match for the power that resides there?'
    Perhaps, but that is a path it may prove unwise to take, Lady Envy. I shall trust in your judgement, and in that of others, unwitting and otherwise. Indeed, you may well choose to cut the knot that is at the heart of the Domin. Or, you may find a way to loosen it, to free all that has been bound for three hundred thousand years.
    'Very well, we shall play it as it comes. What joy! I can leave now? I so long to return to the others, to Toc the Younger in particular. He's a darling, isn't he?'
    Take great care of him, Lady. The scarred and the flawed are what the Crippled God seeks in his servants. I shall endeavour to keep Toc's soul from the Chained One's grasp, but, please, maintain your guard. Also . . . there is something else to that man, something . . . wild. We shall have to await its awakening before understanding comes to us, however. Oh, one last thing...
    'Yes?'
    Your party nears the Domin's territory. When you return to them, you must not attempt your warren in an effort to hasten your journey.
    'Why?'
    Within the Pannion Domin, Lady, my blood is poisoned. It is a poison you can defeat, but Toc the Younger cannot.
    Garath awoke, rose and stretched before her. K'rul was gone.
    'Oh my,' Lady Envy whispered, suddenly soaked in sweat. 'Poisoned. By the Abyss ... I need a bath. Come, Garath, let us go collect the Third. Shall I awaken him with a kiss?'
    The dog glanced over at her.
    'Twin scars on his mask, and the imprint of painted lips! Would he be the Fourth, then, or the Fifth? How do they count lips, do you think? One upper, one lower, or both together? Let's find out.'
     
    Dust and the dark swirl of sorcery rose beyond the hills directly ahead.
    'Shield Anvil,' Farakalian said, 'have our allies already sprung a trap?'
    Itkovian frowned. 'I do not know. No doubt we shall discover the truth when they elect to reappear and inform us.'
    'Well,' the soldier muttered, 'that is a fight before us. An ugly one, by the looks of the magic unleashed.'
    'I'll not argue that observation, sir,' the Shield Anvil replied. 'Riders, re-form as inverted crescent, hands to weapons. Slow trot to first line-of-sight.'
    The decimated wing fell into formation, rode on.
    They were close to the trader road, now, Itkovian judged. If a caravan had been hit by some of these K'Chain Che'Malle, the outcome was foregone. A caravan with an attendant mage or two might well make a fight of it, and from the brimstone stench that now wafted towards them, the latter circumstance seemed the likeliest.
    As they approached a rise, a row of T'lan Imass emerged to stand along its crest, backs to Itkovian and his riders. The