A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

new god of war. Why wouldn't he be here? We are at war, after all. I will think of this ... development, Bidithal. At the moment, however, I cannot – assuming it is true – see its relevance.'
    'Perhaps, Chosen One, the most significant relevance is also the simplest one: Ghost Hands is not the broken, useless man he once was. And, given his ... ambivalence to our cause, he presents us with a potential threat—'
    'I think not,' Sha'ik said. 'But, as I said, I will give it some thought. Now, your vast web of suspicions has snared L'oric as well? Why?'
    'He has been more elusive of late than is usual, Chosen One. His efforts to disguise his comings and goings have become somewhat extreme.'
    'Perhaps he grows weary of your incessant spying, Bidithal.'
    'Perhaps, though I am certain he remains unaware that the one ever seeking to maintain an eye on his activities is indeed me. Febryl and the Napan have their own spies, after all. I am not alone in my interests. They fear L'oric, for he has rebuffed their every approach—'
    'It pleases me to hear that, Bidithal. Call off your shadows, regarding L'oric. And that is a command. You better serve the Whirlwind's interests in concentrating on Febryl, Korbolo Dom and Kamist Reloe.'
    He bowed slightly. 'Very well, Chosen One.'
    Sha'ik studied the old man. 'Be careful, Bidithal.'
    She saw him pale slightly, then he nodded. 'I am ever that, Chosen One.'
    A slight wave of her hand dismissed him.
    Bidithal bowed once more, then, gripping his walking stick, he hobbled from the chamber. Out through the intervening chambers, past a dozen of Mathok's silent desert warriors, then out, finally into the cool night air.
    Call off my shadows, Chosen One? Command or no, I am not so foolish as to do that.
    Shadows gathered around him as he strode down the narrow alleyways between tents and huts. Do you remember the dark?
    Bidithal smiled to himself. Soon, this fragment of shattered warren would become a realm unto itself. And the Whirlwind Goddess would see the need for a priesthood, a structure of power in the mortal world. And in such an organization, there would be no place for Sha'ik, except perhaps a minor shrine honouring her memory.
    For now, of course, the Malazan Empire must be dealt with, summarily, and for that Sha'ik, as a vessel of the Whirlwind's power, would be needed. This particular path of shadows was narrow indeed. Bidithal suspected that Febryl's alliance with the Napan and Kamist Reloe was but temporary. The mad old bastard had no love for Malazans. Probably, his plans held a hidden, final betrayal, one concluding in the mutual annihilation of every interest but his own.
    And I cannot pierce to the truth of that, a failure on my part that forces my hand. I must be . . . pre-emptive. I must side with Sha'ik, for it will be her hand that crushes the conspirators.
    A hiss of spectral voices and Bidithal halted, startled from his dark musings.
    To find Febryl standing before him.
    'Was your audience with the Chosen One fruitful, Bidithal?'
    'As always, Febryl,' Bidithal smiled, wondering at how the ancient High Mage managed to get so close before being detected by his secret guardians. 'What do you wish of me? It's late.'
    'The time has come,' Febryl said in a low, rasping tone. 'You must choose. Join us, or stand aside.'
    Bidithal raised his brows. 'Is there not a third option?'
    'If you mean you would fight us, the answer is, regrettably, no. I suggest, however, we withhold on that discussion for the moment. Instead, hear our reward for you – granted whether you join us or simply remove yourself from our path.'
    'Reward? I am listening, Febryl.'
    'She will be gone, as will the Malazan Empire. Seven Cities will be free as it once was. Yet the Whirlwind Warren will remain, returned to the Dryjhna – to the cult of the Apocalypse which is and always has been at the heart of the rebellion. Such a cult needs a master, a High Priest, ensconced in a vast, rich temple, duly honoured by all. How would you shape such a cult?' Febryl smiled. 'It
seems you have already begun, Bidithal. Oh yes, we know all about your ... special children. Imagine, then, all of Seven Cities at your disposal. All of Seven Cities, honoured to deliver to you their unwanted daughters.'
    Bidithal licked his lips, eyes shifting away. 'I must think on this—'
    'There's no more time for that. Join us, or stand aside.'
    'When do you begin?'
    'Why, Bidithal, we already have. The Adjunct and her legions are