A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

were ... things near the faded edge of the memory. Some of them moving about feebly. Osric stomped through the deep snow towards them, speaking as he went. 'Creatures stumble out. You will find such all along the verge. Most of them quickly die, but some linger.'
    'What are they?'
    'Demons, mostly.'
    Osric changed direction slightly, closing on one such creature, from which steam was rising. Its four limbs were moving, claws scraping through the slush surrounding it.
    Father and son halted before it.
    Dog-sized and reptilian, with four hands, similar to an ape's. A wide, flat head with a broad mouth, two slits for nostrils, and four liquid, slightly protruding eyes in a diamond pattern, the pupils vertical and, in the harsh glare of the snow and sky, surprisingly open.
    'This one might suit Kurald Thyrllan,' Osric said.
    'What kind of demon is it?' L'oric asked, staring down at the creature.
    'I have no idea,' Osric replied. 'Reach out to it. See if it is amenable.'
    'Assuming it has any mind at all,' L'oric muttered, crouching down.
    Can you hear me? Can you comprehend?
    The four eyes blinked up at him. And it replied. 'Sorcerer. Declaration. Recognition. We were told you'd come, but so soon? Rhetorical.'
    I am not from this place, L'oric explained. You are dying, I think.
    'Is that what this is? Bemused.'
    I would offer you an alternative. Have you a name?
    'A name? You require that. Observation. Of course. Comprehension. A partnership, a binding of spirits. Power from you, power from me. In exchange for my life. Uneven bargain. Position devoid of clout.'
    No, I will save you none the less. We will return to my world . . . to a warmer place.
    'Warmth? Thinking. Ah, air that does not steal my strength. Considering. Save me, Sorcerer, and then we will talk more of this alliance.'
    L'oric nodded. 'Very well.'
    'It's done?' Osric asked.
    His son straightened. 'No, but it comes with us.'
    'Without the binding, you will have no control over the demon, L'oric. It could well turn on you as soon as you return to Raraku. Best we resume our search, find a creature more tractable.'
    'No. I will risk this one.'
    Osric shrugged. 'As you like, then. We must proceed now to the lake, where you first appeared.'
    L'oric watched his father walk away, then halt and veer once more into his dragon form.
    'Eleint!' the demon cried in the High Mage's mind. 'Wonder. You have an Eleint for a companion!'
    My father.
    'Your father! Excited delight! Eager. I am named Greyfrog, born of Mirepool's Clutch in the Twentieth Season of Darkness. Proudly. I have fathered thirty-one clutches of my own —'
    And how, Greyfrog, did you come here?
    'Sudden moroseness. One hop too far.'
    The dragon approached.
     
    Greyfrog dragged itself onto the warm sand. L'oric turned about, but the gate was already closing. So, he had found his father, and the parting had been as blunt as the meeting. Not precisely indifference. More like ... distraction. Osric's interest was with Osric. His own pursuits.
    Only now did a thousand more questions rise in L'oric's thoughts, questions he should have asked.
    'Regret?'
    L'oric glanced down at the demon. 'Recovering, Greyfrog? I am named L'oric. Shall we now discuss our partnership?'
    'I smell raw meat. I am hungry. Eat. Then talk. Firm.'
    'As you wish. As for raw meat ... I will find you something that is appropriate. There are rules, regarding what you can and cannot kill.'
    'Explain them to me. Cautious. Not wishing to offend. But hungry.'
    'I shall...'
     
    Vengeance had been her lifeblood for so long, and now, within days, she would come face to face with her sister, to play out the game's end run. A vicious game, but a game none the less. Sha'ik knew that virtually every conceivable advantage lay with her. Tavore's legions were green, the territory was Sha'ik's own, her Army of the Apocalypse were veterans of the rebellion and numerically superior. The Whirlwind Goddess drew power from an Elder Warren – she now realized – perhaps not pure but either immune or resistant to the effects of otataral. Tavore's mages amounted
to two Wickan warlocks both broken of spirit, whilst Sha'ik's cadre included four High Mages and a score of shamans, witches and sorcerers, including Fayelle and Henaras. In all, defeat seemed impossible.
    And yet Sha'ik was terrified.
    She sat alone in the central chamber of the vast, multi-roomed tent that was her palace. The braziers near the throne were slowly dimming, shadows encroaching on all