A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

am fine, although we had better do something about
all those old women following us. I will spit myself on my
own sword before I let them get me. Ooh what a nice little
boy! Enough of that, I say.'
    'Give me that helm,' Leoman said.
    'It's about time you recognized your destiny, Adjunct
Slayer.'
     
    Corabb's head was pounding by the time they reached the
Temple of Scalissara. Leoman had elected not to wear
the great helm, even with its sodden quilted under-padding
removed – without which it would have been too loose in
any case. At least the old women were gone; in fact, the
route they had taken was almost deserted, although they
could hear the chaotic sounds of crowds in the main
thoroughfares, being driven from the city, out onto the west
road that led to Lothal on the coast. Panic rode the
sweltering currents, yet it was clear that most of the four
thousand soldiers now under Leoman's command were out
in the streets, maintaining order.
    Seven lesser temples, each dedicated to one of the Seven
Holies, encircled the octagonal edifice now sanctified in
the name of the Queen of Dreams. The formal approach
was spiral, wending through these smaller domed
structures. The flanking compound walls had been twice
defaced, first with rededication to Malazan gods soon after
the conquest; then again with the rebellion, when the
temples and their new foreign priesthoods had been
assailed, the sanctuaries sundered and hundreds slaughtered.
Friezes and metopes, caryatids and panels were all ruined now,
entire pantheons defiled and made incomprehensible.
    All, that is, but the temple of the Queen of Dreams, its
impressive fortifications making it virtually impregnable.
There were in any case mysteries surrounding the Queen,
Corabb knew, and it was generally believed that her cult
had not originated in the Malazan Empire. The Goddess of
Divinations cast a thousand reflections upon a thousand
peoples, and no one civilization could claim her as
exclusively its own. So, having battered futilely at the
temple's walls for six days, the rebels had concluded that
the Queen was not their enemy after all, and had thereafter
left her in peace. Desire and necessity, Leoman had said,
laughing, upon hearing the tale.
    Nonetheless, as far as Corabb was concerned, the
goddess was ... foreign.
    'What business do we have,' Corabb asked, 'visiting this
temple?'
    Leoman replied with a question of his own: 'Do you
recall, old friend, your vow to follow me no matter what
seeming madness I undertake?'
    'I do, Warleader.'
    'Well, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, you shall find yourself
sorely tested in that promise. For I intend to speak with the
Queen of Dreams.'
    'The High Priestess—'
    'No, Corabb,' said Leoman, 'with the goddess herself.'
     
    'It is a difficult thing, killing dragons.'
    Blood the colour of false dawn continued to spread
across the buckled pavestones. Mappo and Icarium
remained beyond its reach, for it would not do to make
contact with that dark promise. The Jhag was seated on a
stone block that might have once been an altar but had
been pushed up against the wall to the left of the entrance.
The warrior's head was in his hands, and he had said
nothing for some time.
    Mappo alternated his attention between his friend and
the enormous draconean corpse rearing over them. Both
scenes left him distraught. There was much worthy of
grieving in this cavern, in the terrible ritual murder that
had taken place here, and in the fraught torrent of
memories unleashed within Icarium upon its discovery.
    'This leaves naught but Osserc,' Mappo said. 'And
should he fall, the warren of Sere shall possess no ruler. I
believe, Icarium, that I am beginning to see a pattern.'
    'Desecration,' the Jhag said in a whisper, not looking up.
    'The pantheon is being made vulnerable. Fener, drawn
into this world, and now Osserc – the very source of
wer under assault. How many other gods and goddesses
are under siege, I wonder? We have been away from things
too long, my friend.'
    'Away, Mappo? There is no away.'
    The Trell studied the dead dragon once more. 'Perhaps
you are right. Who could have managed such a thing?
Within the dragon is the heart of the warren itself, its wellfount
of power. Yet ... someone defeated Sorrit, drove her
down into the earth, into this cavern within a sky keep,
and spiked her to Blackwood – how long ago, do you think?
Would we not have felt her death?' With no answers forthcoming
from Icarium, Mappo edged closer to the blood
pool and