A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

him, resounding now with veracity. He scowled. The table – the card, with my image painted upon it. Jen'isand Rul, the Unaligned newly come to the Deck of Dragons . . . powers unknown. I have walked within a sword. It seems now that I can walk . . . anywhere.
    And this place, this place ... I am in the Firmest House. Gods, I am in a House of the Azath!
    He heard a sound, a shuffling motion approaching the twin doors opposite, and slowly turned, reaching for the sword belted at his hip.
    The wooden portals swung wide.
    Hissing, Paran backed up a step, his blade sliding from its scabbard.
    The Jaghut standing before him was almost fleshless, ribs snapped and jutting, strips of flayed skin and muscle hanging in ghastly ribbons from his arms. His gaunt, ravaged face twisted as he bared his tusks. 'Welcome,' he rumbled. 'I am Raest. Guardian, prisoner, damned. The Azath greets you, as much as sweating stone is able. I see that, unlike the two sleeping in the threshold, you have no need for doors. So be it.' He lurched a step closer, then cocked his head. 'Ah, you are not here in truth. Only your spirit.'
    'If you say so.' His thoughts travelled back to that last night of the fete. The debacle in the estate's garden. Memories of sorcery, detonations, and Paran's unexpected journey into the realm of Shadow, the Hounds and Cotillion. A journey such as this one ... He studied the Jaghut standing before him. Hood take me, this creature is the Jaghut Tyrant – the one freed by Lorn and the T'lan Imass – or, rather, what's left of him. 'Why am I here?'
    The grin broadened. 'Follow me.'
    Raest stepped into the corridor and turned to his right, each bared foot dragging, grinding as if the bones beneath the skin were all broken. Seven paces along, the hallway ended with a door on the left and another directly in front. The Jaghut opened the one on the left, revealing a circular chamber beyond, surrounding spiral stairs of root-bound wood. There was no light, yet Paran found he could see well enough.
    They went down, the steps beneath them like flattened branches spoking out from the central trunk The air warmed, grew moist and sweet with the smell of humus.
    'Raest,' Paran said as they continued to descend, 'the assassin and the Guild Master ... you said they were asleep – how long have they been lying there?'
    'I measure no days within the House, mortal. The Azath took me. Since that event, a few outsiders have sought entry, have probed with sorceries, have indeed walked the yard, but the House has denied them all. The two within the threshold were there when I awoke, and have not moved since. It follows, then, that the House has already chosen.'
    As the Deadhouse did Kellanved and Dancer. 'All very well, but can't you awaken them?'
    'I have not tried.'
    'Why not?'
    The Jaghut paused, glanced back up at the captain. 'There has been no need.'
    'Are they guardians as well?' Paran asked as they resumed the descent.
    'Not directly. I suffice, mortal. Unwitting servants, perhaps. Your servants.'
    'Mine? I don't need servants – I don't want servants. Furthermore, I don't care what the Azath expects of me. The House is mistaken in its faith, Raest, and you can tell it that for me. Tell it to find another ... another whatever I am supposed to be.'
    'You are the Master of the Deck. Such things cannot be undone.'
    'The what? Hood's breath, the Azath had better find a way of undoing that choice, Jaghut,' Paran growled.
    'It cannot be undone, as I've already told you. A Master is needed, so here you are.'
    'I don't want it!'
    'I weep a river of tears for your plight, mortal. Ah, we have arrived.'
    They stood on a landing. Paran judged that they had gone down six, perhaps seven levels into the bowels of the earth. The stone walls had disappeared, leaving only gloom, the ground underfoot a mat of snaking roots.
    'I can go no further, Master of the Deck,' Raest said. 'Walk into the darkness.'
    'And if I refuse?'
    'Then I kill you.'
    'Unforgiving bastard, this Azath,' Paran muttered.
    'I kill you, not for the Azath, but for the wasted effort of this journey. Mortal, you've no sense of humour.'
    'And you think you do?' the captain retorted.
    'If you refuse to go further, then ... nothing. Apart from irritating me, that is. The Azath is patient. You will make the journey eventually, though the privilege of my escort occurs but once, and that once is now.'
    'Meaning I won't have your cheery company next time? How will I cope?'
    'Miserably,