A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

power.'
    'Was it Humbrall Taur's hope that his child would find these Founding Spirits?'
    'He embraces a grave risk, yet he knows the White Face clans are vulnerable. The young spirits are too weak to resist the Pannion Domin. They will be enslaved or destroyed. When comfort is torn away, all that will be revealed is a weakness of faith, an absence of strength. The clans will be crushed by the Domin's armies. Humbrall Taur reaches for power, yet he gropes blindly.'
    'And when I tell him that the ancient spirits have been found ... will he believe me?'
    'You are our only hope. You must convince him.'
    'I freed you from the wards,' Quick Ben said.
    'What do you ask in return?'
    Trotts needs to survive his wounds. He must be recognized as champion, so that he can legitimately take his place among the council of chiefs. We need a position of strength, Talamandas.'
    'I cannot return to the tribes, Wizard. I will only be driven away once again.'
    'Can you channel your power through a mortal?'
    The sticksnare slowly cocked his head.
    'We've a Denul healer, but like me, he's having trouble making use of his warren – the Pannion's poison—'
    'To be gifted with our power,' Talamandas said, 'he must be led to this warren, to this place.'
    'Well,' Quick Ben said, 'why don't we figure out a way to achieve that?'
    Talamandas slowly turned to survey his spirit kin. After a moment he faced the wizard once again. 'Agreed.'
     
    A rogue javelin arced up towards Twist as the Black Moranth and his passenger began their descent. The quorl darted to one side, then quickly dropped towards the Circle. Laughter and cursing voices rose from the gathered warriors, but no further gestures were made.
    Paran cast one last scan over the squad standing guard around Trotts and Mulch, then jogged to where Twist and a blistered Mallet were dismounting amidst challenges and threatening weapons.
    'Clear them a path, damn you!' the captain bellowed, thrusting a Senan tribesman aside as he pushed closer. The man righted himself with a growl, then showed his filed teeth in a challenge. Paran ignored it. Five jostling strides later, he reached Twist and Mallet.
    The healer's eyes were wide with alarm. 'Captain—'
    'Aye, it's heating up, Mallet. Come with me. Twist, you might want to get the Abyss out of here—'
    'Agreed. I shall return to Sergeant Antsy's squad. What has happened?'
    Trotts won the fight, but we might lose the war. Get going, before you get skewered.'
    'Yes, Captain.'
    Taking the healer by one arm, Paran swung about and began pushing through the crowd. 'Trotts needs you,' he said as they walked. 'It's bad. A crushed throat—'
    'Then how in Hood's name is he still alive?'
    'Mulch opened a hole above his lungs and the bastard's breathing through that.'
    Mallet frowned, then slowly nodded. 'Clever. But Captain, I may not be much use to you, or Trotts—'
    Paran's head snapped around. 'You'd better be. If he dies, so do we.'
    'My warren—'
    'Never mind the excuses, just heal the man, damn you!'
    'Yes, sir, but just so you know, it'll probably kill me.'
    'Fener's balls!'
    'It's a good exchange, sir. I can see that. Don't worry, I'll heal Trotts – you'll all get out of this, and that's what matters right now.'
    Paran stopped. He closed his eyes, fighting the sudden waves of pain from his stomach. Through clenched teeth, he said, 'As you say, Mallet.'
    'Aimless is waving us over—'
    'Aye, go on, then, Healer.'
    'Yes, sir.'
    Mallet disengaged his arm and headed over to the squad.
    Paran forced open his eyes.
    Look at the bastard. Not a falter in his step. Not a blink at his fate. Who – what are these soldiers?
     
    Mallet pushed Mulch aside, knelt next to Trotts, met the warrior's hard eyes and reached out a hand.
    'Mallet!' Mulch hissed. 'Your warren—'
    'Shut up,' Mallet said, eyes closing as his fingers touched the collapsed, mangled throat.
    He opened his warren, and his mind shrieked as virulent power rushed into him. He felt his flesh swelling, splitting, heard the blood spurt and Mulch's shocked cry. Then the physical world vanished within a thrashing sea of pain.
    Find the path, dammit! The mending way, the vein of order – gods! Stay sane, Healer. Hold on . . .
    But he felt his sanity being torn away, devoured. His sense of self was being shredded to pieces before his mind's eye, and he could do nothing. He drew on that core of health within his own soul, drew on its power, felt it pour through his fingertips to the ravaged