A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

tell me, Quick?'
    'The darkness is sorcery. Remember whenever Anomander Rake arrived some place with his warren unveiled? That weight, the trembling ground, the overwhelming pressure?'
    'Don't tell me the Son of Darkness is coming—'
    'I hope not. I mean, I don't think so. He's busy – I'll explain later. No, this is more, uh, primal, I think.'
    'Those howls,' Kalam grated. 'Two hounds, Quick Ben. I had a run in with them myself. They're like the Shadow Hounds, only somehow worse—'
    The wizard was staring across at him.
    'Stop it, Quick. I don't like that look. I got away because I loosed a handful of azalan demons at them. Didn't stop those hounds, but it was enough for me to make good my escape.'
    Quick Ben's brows slowly arched. '"A handful of azalan demons," Kalam? And where have you been lately?'
    'You ain't the only one with a few tales to tell.'
    The wizard cautiously rose into a crouch, scanned the area on the other side of the crumbled wall. 'Two Hounds
of Darkness, you said. The Deragoth, then. So, who broke their chains, I wonder?'
    'That's just typical!' Kalam snapped. 'What don't you know?'
    'A few things,' the wizard replied under his breath. 'For example, what are those hounds doing here?'
    'So long as we stay out of their path, I couldn't care less—'
    'No, you misunderstood.' Quick Ben nodded towards where his gaze was fixed on the clearing beyond. 'What are they doing here?'
    Kalam groaned.
     
    Their bristly hackles were raised above their strangely humped, massive shoulders. Thick, long necks and broad, flattened heads, the jaw muscles bulging. Scarred, black hides, and eyes that burned pure and empty of light.
    As large as a steppe horse, but bulkier by far, padding with heads lowered into the flagstoned square. There was something about them that resembled a hyena, and a plains bear as well. A certain sly avidness merged with arrogant brutality.
    They slowed, then halted, lifting glistening snouts into the air.
    They had come to destroy. To tear life from all flesh, to mock all claims of mastery, to shatter all that stood in their path. This was a new world for them. New, yet once it had been old. Changes had come. A world of vast silences where once kin and foe alike had opened throats in fierce challenge.
    Nothing was as it had been, and the Deragoth were made uneasy.
    They had come to destroy.
    But now hesitated.
    With eyes fixed on the one who had arrived, who now stood before them, at the far end of the square.
    Hesitate. Yes.
    Karsa Orlong strode forward. He addressed them, his voice low and rumbling. 'Urugal's master had . . . ambitions,' he said. 'A dream of mastery. But now he understands better, and wants nothing to do with you.' Then the Teblor smiled. 'So I do.'
    Both hounds stepped back, then moved to open more space between them.
    Karsa smiled. You do not belong here. 'You would let me pass?' He continued on. And I have had my fill of strangers. 'Do you remember the Toblakai, beasts? But they had been gentled. By civilization. By the soft trappings of foolish peace. So weakened that they could not stand before T'lan Imass, could not stand before Forkrul Assail and Jaghut. And now, they cannot stand before Nathii slavers.
    'An awakening was needed, friends. Remember the Toblakai, if it comforts you.' He strode directly between the two hounds, as if he intended to accept their invitation to pass.
    The hounds attacked.
    As he knew they would.
    Karsa dropped into a crouch that leaned far to his left, as he brought up the massive stone sword over his head, point sliding left – directly into the path of the hound charging from that side.
    Striking it in the chest.
    The heavy sternum cracked but did not shatter, and the rippled blade edge scored a bloody path down along the ribs.
    Karsa's crouch then exploded after his weapon, his legs driving his shoulder forward and up to hammer the beast at the level of its collar bones.
    Jaws snapped above the back of the Toblakai's neck, then the impact jolted through warrior and hound both.
    And the latter's sword-gouged ribs splintered.
    Jaws closed around Karsa's right leg just below the knee.
    And he was lifted clear of the ground. Then thrown to
one side, though the jaws did not loosen. The wrench snapped the sword from his hands.
    Molars ground against bone, incisors shredded muscle. The second hound closed on Karsa, savagely shaking the leg in its jaws.
    The first hound staggered away a few paces, left foreleg dragging, blood spilling