A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

on the other side of the stream.
    'Indeed,' Lady Envy replied. 'And those within are aware of us.'
    He shot her a glance. 'How aware?'
    She shrugged. 'We are strangers from Lamatath – a priest within has the power to quest, but he's easily led. You forget—' She smiled. 'I have had generations in which to perfect my innocuous persona.'
    Innocuous? Hood's breath, woman, have you got that wrong!
    'I already have the priest in hand, my dear, all unsuspecting, of course. Indeed, I believe if we ask they will grant us accommodation. Follow me.'
    He stumbled after her. 'Accommodation? Have you lost your mind, Lady?'
    'Hush, young man. I am feeling amicable at the moment – you wouldn't want to see me cross, would you?'
    'No. Absolutely not. Still, Lady Envy, this is a risk we—'
    'Nonsense! You must learn to have faith in me, Toc the Younger.' She reached out, curled an arm about his lower back and pulled him close. 'Walk with me, dearest. There, isn't this nice? The brushing contact of our hips, the sudden familiarity that sends the heart racing. The dampness of the rain, matching—'
    'Yes, yes, Lady! Please, no more details, else my walking prove most awkward.'
    She laughed. 'I believe I have finally succeeded in charming you, my love. And now I wonder, upon what path shall I lead you? So many choices! How exciting. Tell me, do you think me cruel, Toc the Younger?'
    He kept his gaze on the temple.
    They stepped into the cool water of the stream, the flow swirling around their ankles but no higher.
    'Yes,' he replied at length.
    'I can be. In fact, I usually am. I suspected you always knew. I sympathize with your desire to resist, you know. What lies ahead, do you think?'
    'I don't know. Well, here we are. Do we knock?'
    Lady Envy sighed. 'I hear the patter of feet.'
    The door on their left creaked open, revealing a naked, emaciated man of indeterminate age, pale-skinned, head and eyebrows shaved, his watery grey eyes fixed on Lady Envy.
    'Welcome, mistress,' the man said. 'Please, enter. The Pannion Domin extends its hospitality' – his eyes flicked past her to take in the wolf and dog, then the Seguleh – 'to you and your companions.' He stepped back.
    With an unreadable glance at Toc, Lady Envy followed the priest.
    The compound's hot, moist air was rife with the stench of decay, and as soon as the Malazan strode from the shadow of the gate, he saw the source of the smell. A score of bodies lined the inside walls, large iron hooks jutting from beneath their breast bones, feet dangling an arm's length above the ground. The stone at their backs was stained yellow and deep red. Eyeless heads hung downward, strands of hair dripping with rainwater.
    The priest, seeing where the attention of his guests had focused, surveyed the corpses with a faint smile. 'The villagers have been delivered. Once the labours of building this temple were completed, they were given their reward. They remain before us as reminders of our Lord's mercy.'
    'A rather peculiar version of mercy,' Toc muttered, struggling against a wave of nausea.
    'One you will come to understand in time, sir,' the priest replied. 'Please. A meal is being prepared. Seerdomin Kahlt – the master of this temple – awaits you within the guest hall.'
    'How kind,' Lady Envy said. 'An extraordinary construction, this temple of yours.'
    Pulling his gaze from the murdered villagers, Toc studied the edifice rearing before them. The pyramidal shape continued down to ground level, the copper sheathing broken only by a dozen randomly placed skylights, each paned with slabs of thin rose quartzite. A narrow but high portal marked the entrance, framed by four massive cut-stones – a broad threshold underfoot, two tapering, flanking menhirs, and a single lintel stone overhead. The corridor beyond was three strides in length, revealing the breadth of the pyramid's foundations.
    The air within, as they emerged into a wide and shallow chamber, proved hotter than in the compound, the light tinted pink and fractiously cast by the windows. A low table awaited them, crowded with footstuffs and lined by pillows on which to recline. Standing before another triangular doorway – this one directly opposite the entrance – stood a huge figure in arcane, black-wrought armour. A double-bladed, long-handled axe leaned on the door's frame to his left. The warrior was bare-headed, his pate shaved, and his angular beardless face revealed old scars along his jawline and down the length of