A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

What – who—'
    He had stopped.
    Head lolling, Scillara caught a blurred glimpse of a squat figure emerging from darkness.
    The guard released her wrist and her arm fell with a thump onto damp, foul mud. She saw him reaching for his sword.
    Then his head snapped up with a sound of cracked teeth, followed by a hot spray that spattered across Scillara's thighs. Blood.
    She thought she saw a strange emerald glow trailing from one hand of the guard's killer – a hand taloned like a huge cat's.
    The figure stepped over the crumpled form of the guard, who had ceased moving, and slowly crouched down beside Scillara.
    'I've been looking for you,' the man growled. 'Or so I've just realized. Extraordinary, how single lives just fold into the whole mess, over and over again, all caught up in the greater swirl. Spinning round and round, and ever downward, it seems. Ever downward. Fools, all of us, to think we can swim clear of that current.'
    The shadows were strange on him. As if he stood beneath palms and tall grasses – but no, there was only the night sky above the squat, broad-shouldered man. He was tattooed, she realized, in the barbs of a tiger.
    'Plenty of killing going on lately,' he muttered, staring down at her with amber eyes. 'All those loose threads being knotted, I expect.'
    She watched him reach down with that glowing, taloned hand. It settled, palm-downward, warm between her
breasts. The tips of the claws pricked her skin and a tremble ran through her.
    That spread, coursing hot through her veins. That heat grew suddenly fierce, along her throat, in her lungs, between her legs.
    The man grunted. 'I thought it was consumption, that rattling breath. But no, it's just too much durhang. As for the rest, well, it's an odd thing about pleasure. Something Bidithal would have you never know. Its enemy is not pain. No, pain is simply the path taken to indifference. And indifference destroys the soul. Of course, Bidithal likes destroyed souls – to mirror his own.'
    If he continued speaking beyond that, she did not hear, as sensations long lost flooded into her, only slightly blunted by the lingering, satisfying haze of the durhang. She felt badly used between her legs, but knew that feeling would pass.
    'Outrage.'
    He was gathering her into his arms, but paused. 'You spoke?'
    Outrage. Yes. That. 'Where are you taking me?' The question came out between coughs, and she pushed his arms aside to bend over and spit out phlegm while he answered.
    'To my temple. Fear not, it's safe. Neither Febryl nor Bidithal will find you there. You've been force-healed, lass, and will need to sleep.'
    'What do you want with me?'
    'I'm not sure yet. I think I will need your help, and soon. But the choice is yours. Nor will you have to surrender ... anything you don't want to. And, if you choose to simply walk away, that is fine as well. I will give you money and supplies – and maybe even find you a horse. We can discuss that tomorrow. What is your name?'
    He reached down once more and lifted her effortlessly.
    'Scillara.'
    'I am Heboric, Destriant to Treach, the Tiger of Summer and the God of War.'
    She stared up at him as he began carrying her along the path. 'I am afraid I am going to disappoint you, Heboric. I think I have had my fill of priests.'
    She felt his shrug, then he smiled wearily down at her. 'That's all right. Me too.'
     
    Felisin awoke shortly after L'oric returned with a freshly slaughtered lamb for his demon familiar, Greyfrog. Probably, the High Mage reflected when she first stirred beneath the tarpaulin, she had been roused to wakefulness by the sound of crunching bones.
    The demon's appetite was voracious, and L'oric admired its singlemindedness, if not its rather untidy approach to eating.
    Felisin emerged, wrapped in her blankets, and walked to L'oric's side. She was silent, her hair in disarray around her young, tanned face, and watched the demon consuming the last of the lamb with loud, violent gulps.
    'Greyfrog,' L'oric murmured. 'My new familiar.'
    'Your familiar? You are certain it's not the other way round? That thing could eat both of us.'
    'Observant. She is right, companion L'oric. Maudlin. I would waddle. Alas. Torpid vulnerability. Distraught. All alone.'
    'All right.' L'oric smiled. 'An alliance is a better word for our partnership.'
    'There is mud on your boots, and snagged pieces of reed and grass.'
    'I have travelled this night, Felisin.'
    'Seeking allies?'
    'Not intentionally. No, my search was