A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

no inequity. Our desire is of equal value as far as we are concerned. We accept your bargain.'
    'How do I know you will not betray me?'
    The Letherii turned to Iron Bars. 'She doesn't trust us.'
    The man strode to halt directly before the Tiste Andii woman. 'Acquitor, tell her I am an Avowed, of the Crimson Guard. If she would, she can seek the meaning of that. By laying her hand on my chest. Tell her I shall honour our pact.'
    'I've not told you what it is yet. She wants us to throw the thing she's holding into the sea.'
    "That's it?'
    'Doing so will end her existence. Which seems to be what she wants.'
    'Tell her to seek the cast of my soul.'
    'Very well.'
    The suspicious look in the woman's eyes grew more pronounced, but she stepped forward and set her left hand on the man's chest.
    The hand flinched away and the woman staggered back a step, shock, then horror, writ on her face. 'How – how could you do – why?'
    Seren said, 'Not the response you sought, I think, Iron Bars. She is ... appalled.'
    'That is of no concern,' the man replied. 'Does she accept my word?'
    The woman straightened, then, to Seren's question, she nodded and said, 'I cannot do otherwise. But ... I had forgotten ... this feeling.'
    'What feeling?'
    'Sorrow.'
    'Iron Bars,' Seren said, 'whatever this "Avowed" means, she is overwhelmed with ... pity.'
    'Yes well,' he said, turning away, 'we all make mistakes.'
    The woman said, 'I will lead you now.'
    'What is your name?'
    'Sandalath Drukorlat.'
    'Thank you, Sandalath. It grieves me to know that our gift to you is oblivion.'
    She shrugged. 'Those who I once loved and who loved me believe I am gone in truth. There is no need for grief.'
    No need for grief. Where, then, does the pity lie?
    'Stand up, lads,' Iron Bars said, 'she's making ready to go.'
    Mape lay on the knoll like something dead, but the Nacht's head slowly turned as Withal and Rhulad strode into view. She had stolen a hammer from the smithy some time back, to better facilitate her destruction of Pule's nests, and now carried it with her everywhere. Withal watched askance as the gnarled, black-skinned creature lifted the hammer into view, eyes still fixed on him and the Tiste Edur, as if contemplating murder.
    Of the three Nachts, Mape made him the most nervous. Too much intelligence glittered in her small black eyes, too often she watched with something like a smile on her apish face. And the strength the creatures had displayed was sufficient to make any man worried. He knew Mape could tear his arms from his shoulders, were she so inclined.
    Perhaps the Crippled God had bound them, as demons could be bound, and it was this and this alone that kept the beasts from Withal's throat. An unpleasant notion.
    'What's to stop me,' Rhulad asked in a growl, 'from driving the sword right through his scrawny chest?'
    'Do not ask that question of me, Edur. Only the Crippled God can answer it. But I don't think it could ever be that easy. He's a clever bastard, and there in that tent his power is probably absolute.'
    'The vastness of his realm,' Rhulad said, sneering.
    Yes. Now why do those words, said in that way, interest me?
    The ragged canvas shelter was directly ahead, smoke drifting from the side that had been drawn open. As they approached, the air grew hotter, drier, the grasses withered and bleached underfoot. The earth seemed strangely blighted.
    They came opposite the entrance. Within, the god's huddled form in the gloom. Tendrils of smoke rising from the brazier.
    A cough, then, 'Such anger. Unreasonable, I think, given the efficacy of my gift.'
    'I don't want to go back,' Rhulad said. 'Leave me here. Choose someone else.'
    'Unwitting servants to our cause appear ... from unexpected sources. Imagine, an Avowed of the Crimson Guard. Be glad it was not Skinner, or indeed Cowl. They would have taken more notice of you, and that would not have been a good thing. We're not yet ready for that.' A hacking cough. 'Not yet ready.'
    'I'm not going back.'
    'You detest the flesh given you. I understand. But, Rhulad Sengar, the gold is your payment. For the power you seek.'
    'I want nothing more of that power.'
    'But you do,' the Crippled God said, clearly amused. 'Consider the rewards already reaped. The throne of the Tiste Edur, the woman after whom you lusted for years – now in your possession, to do with as you please. Your brothers, bowing one and all before you. And a burgeoning prowess with the sword—'
    'It's not mine, though, is it?