A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

predated on for so long they were little more than savages.'
    'And are they still there?'
    'No. The Logros T'lan Imass slaughtered them. Not so long ago.'
    Karsa bared his teeth. 'T'lan Imass. A name from the Teblor past.'
    'Closer than that,' Leoman muttered, then he straightened. 'Seek leave from Sha'ik to journey into the Jhag Odhan. You would make an impressive sight on the battlefield, astride a Jhag horse. Did your kind fight on horseback, or simply use them for transport?'
    Karsa smiled in the darkness. 'I will do as you say, Leoman. But the journey will take long – do not wait for me. If you and your scouts are still beyond the Whirlwind upon my return, I will ride out to find you.'
    'Agreed.'
    'What of Felisin?'
    Leoman was silent for a moment, then he replied, 'Ghost Hands has been awakened to the ... threat.'
    Karsa sneered. 'And what value will that be? I should kill Bidithal and be done with it.'
    'Toblakai, it is more than you that troubles Ghost Hands. I do not believe he will remain in camp much longer.
And when he leaves, he will take the child with him.'
    'And that is a better option? She will become no more than his nurse.'
    'For a time, perhaps. I will send someone with them, of course. If Sha'ik did not need you – or at least believe she does – I would ask you.'
    'Madness, Leoman. I have travelled once with Ghost Hands. I shall not do so again.'
    'He holds truths for you, Toblakai. One day, you will need to seek him out. You might even need to ask for his help.'
    'Help? I need no-one's help. You speak unpleasant words. I will hear them no more.'
    Leoman's grin was visible in the gloom. 'You are as you always are, friend. When will you journey into the Jhag Odhan, then?'
    'I shall leave tomorrow.'
    'Then I had best get word to Sha'ik. Who knows, she might even condescend to see me in person, whereupon I might well succeed in ending her distraction with this House of Chains—'
    'This what?'
    Leoman waved a dismissive hand. 'The House of Chains. A new power in the Deck of Dragons. It is all they talk about these days.'
    'Chains,' Karsa muttered, swinging round to stare at Urugal. 'I so dislike chains.'
    'I will see you in the morning, Toblakai? Before you depart?'
    'You shall.'
    Karsa listened to the man stride away. His mind was a maelstrom. Chains. They haunted him, had haunted him ever since he and Bairoth and Delum rode out from the village. Perhaps even before then. Tribes fashioned their own chains, after all. As did kinship, and companions, and stories with their lessons in honour and sacrifice. And chains as well between the Teblor and their seven gods. Between me and my gods. Chains again, there in my visions – the dead I have slain, the souls Ghost Hands says I drag behind me. I am – all that I am – has been shaped by such chains.
    This new House – is it mine?
    The air in the clearing was suddenly cold, bitterly so. A final, thrashing rush as the last of the snakes fled the clearing. Karsa blinked his eyes into focus, and saw Urugal's indurated visage ... awakening.
    A presence, there in the dark holes of the face's eyes.
    Karsa heard a howling wind, filling his mind. A thousand souls moaning, the snapping thunder of chains. Growling, he steeled himself before the onslaught, fixed his gaze on his god's writhing face.
    'Karsa Orlong. We have waited long for this. Three years, the fashioning of this sacred place. You wasted so much time on the two strangers – your fallen friends, the ones who failed where you did not. This temple is not to be sanctified by sentimentality. Their presence offends us. Destroy them this night.'
    The seven faces were all wakeful now, and Karsa could feel the weight of their regard, a deathly pressure behind which lurked something . . . avid, dark and filled with glee.
    'By my hand,' Karsa said to Urugal, 'I have brought you to this place. By my hand, you have been freed from your prison of rock in the lands of the Teblor – yes, I am not the fool you believe me to be. You have guided me in this, and now you are come. Your first words are of chastisement? Careful, Urugal. Any carving here can be shattered by my hand, should I so choose.'
    He felt their rage, buffeting him, seeking to make him wither beneath the onslaught, yet he stood before it unmoving, and unmoved. The Teblor warrior who would quail before his gods was no more.
    'You have brought us closer,' Urugal eventually rasped. 'Close enough to sense the precise location of what we