A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

the circular stairs, nodded distractedly at the two soldiers stationed there, then made his way up the ladder to the roof platform.
    The Destriant was already there. Karnadas studied Itkovian as the Shield Anvil joined him. 'Yours, sir, is a troubled mien.'
    'Aye, I do not deny it. I have had discourse with Prince Jelarkan, which closed with his displeasure. Subsequently, I spoke with Hetan. Destriant, my faith is assailed.'
    'You question your vows.'
    'I do, sir. I admit to doubting their veracity.'
    'Has it been your belief, Shield Anvil, that your rules of conduct existed to appease Fener?'
    Itkovian frowned as he leaned on the merlon and stared out at the smoke-wreathed enemy camps. 'Well, yes—'
    'Then you have lived under a misapprehension, sir.'
    'Explain, please.'
    'Very well. You found a need to chain yourself, a need to enforce upon your own soul the strictures as defined by your vows. In other words, Itkovian, your vows were born of a dialogue with yourself – not with Fener. The chains are your own, as is the possession of the keys with which to unlock them when they are no longer required.'
    'No longer required?'
    'Aye. When all that is encompassed by living ceases to threaten your faith.'
    'You suggest, then, that my crisis is not with my faith, but with my vows. That I have blurred the distinction.'
    'I do, Shield Anvil.'
    'Destriant,' Itkovian said, eyes still on the Pannion encampments, 'your words invite a carnal flood.'
    The High Priest burst out laughing. 'And with it a dramatic collapse of your dour disposition, one hopes!'
    Itkovian's mouth twitched. 'Now you speak of miracles, sir.'
    'I would hope—'
    'Hold.' The Shield Anvil raised a gauntleted hand. 'There is movement among the Beklites.'
    Karnadas joined him, suddenly sober.
    'And there,' Itkovian pointed, 'Urdomen. Scalandi to their flanks. Seerdomin moving to positions of command.'
    'They will assail the redoubts first,' the Destriant predicted. 'The Mask Council's vaunted Gidrath in their strongholds. That may earn us more time—'
    'Find me my messenger corps, sir. Alert the officers. And a word to the prince.'
    'Aye, Shield Anvil. Will you stay here?'
    Itkovian nodded. 'A worthy vantage point. Go, then, sir.'
    Beklite troops were massing in a ring around the Gidrath stronghold out on the killing ground. Spearpoints glittered in the sunlight.
    Now alone, Itkovian's eyes narrowed as he studied the preparations. 'Ah, well, it has begun.'
     
    The streets of Capustan were silent, virtually empty beneath a cloudless sky, as Gruntle made his way down Calmanark Alley. He came to the curved wall of the self-contained Camp known as Ulden, kicked through the rubbish cluttering a stairwell leading down below street level and hammered a fist on the solid door cut into the wall's foundations.
    After a moment it creaked open.
    Gruntle stepped through into a narrow corridor, its floor a sharply angled ramp leading back up to ground level twenty paces ahead, where bright sunlight showed, revealing a central, circular courtyard.
    Buke shut the massive door behind him, struggled beneath the weight of the bar as he lowered it back into the slots. The gaunt, grey-haired man then faced Gruntle. 'That was quick. Well?'
    'What do you think?' the caravan captain growled. 'There's been movement. The Pannions are marshalling. Messengers riding this way and that—'
    'Which wall were you on?'
    'North, just this side of Lektar House, as if it makes any difference. And you? I forgot to ask earlier. Did the bastard go hunting the streets last night?'
    'No. I told you, the Camps are helping. I think he's still trying to figure out why he came up empty the night before last – it's got him rattled, enough for Bauchelain to notice.'
    'Not good news. He'll start probing, Buke.'
    'Aye. I said there'd be risks, didn't I?'
    Aye, trying to keep an insane murderer from finding victims – without his noticing – with a siege about to begin . . . Abyss take you, Buke, what you're trying to drag me into. Gruntle glanced up the ramp. 'Help, you said. How are your new friends taking this?'
    The old man shrugged. 'Korbal Broach prefers healthy organs when collecting for his experiments. It's their children at risk.'
    'Less so if they'd been left ignorant.'
    'They know that.'
    'Did you say children?'
    'Aye, we've got at least four of the little watchers on the house at all times. Homeless urchins – there's plenty enough of the real kind for them to blend in. They're keeping