A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

it seems. You are at my side, Mappo, to protect the
world. From me.'
    'It is not that simple.'
    'Isn't it?'
    'No. I am here to protect the friend I look upon now,
from the ... the other Icarium ...'
    'This must end, Mappo.'
    'No.'
    Icarium faced the dragon once more. 'Ice,' he said in
murmur. 'Omtose Phellack.' He turned to Mappo. 'We shall
leave here now. We travel to the Jhag Odhan. I must seek
out kin of my blood. Jaghut.'
    To ask for imprisonment. Eternal ice, sealing you from all
life. But they will not trust that. No, they will seek to kill you.
Let Hood deal with you. And this time, they will be right. For
their hearts do not fear judgement, and their blood ... their
blood is as cold as ice.
     
    Sixteen barrows had been raised half a league south of
Y'Ghatan, each one a hundred paces long, thirty wide, and
three man-heights high. Rough-cut limestone blocks
and internal columns to hold up the curved roofs, sixteen
eternally dark abodes, home to Malazan bones. Newly cut,
stone-lined trenches reached out to them from the distant
city, carrying Y'Ghatan's sewage in turgid flows swarming
with flies. Sentiments, Fist Keneb reflected sourly, could
not be made any clearer.
    Ignoring the stench as best he could, Keneb guided his
horse towards the central barrow, which had once been
surmounted by a stone monument honouring the empire's
fallen. The statue had been toppled, leaving only the broad
pedestal. Standing on it now were two men and two dogs,
all facing Y'Ghatan's uneven, whitewashed walls.
    The Barrow of Dassem Ultor and his First Sword, which
held neither Dassem nor any of his guard who had fallen
outside the city all those years ago. Most soldiers knew the
truth of that. The deadly, legendary fighters of the First
Sword had been buried in unmarked graves, to keep them
from desecration, and Dassem's own grave was believed to
be somewhere outside Unta, on Quon Tali.
    Probably empty.
    The cattle-dog, Bent, swung its huge head to watch
Keneb push his horse up the steep slope. Red-rimmed eyes,
set wide in a nest of scars, a regard that chilled the Malazan,
reminding him yet again that he but imagined his own
familiarity with that beast. It should have died with
Coltaine. The animal looked as though pieced together
from disparate, unidentifiable parts, only roughly approximating
a dog's shape. Humped, uneven shoulder muscles, a
neck as thick round as a grown man's thigh, misshapen,
muscle-knitted haunches, a chest deep as a desert lion's.
Beneath the empty eyes the creature was all jaw, overwide,
the snout misaligned, the three remaining canines visible
even when Bent's fierce mouth was closed, for most of the
skin covering them had been torn away at the Fall, and
nothing had replaced it. One shorn ear, the other healed
flat and out to the side.
    The stub that was all that was left of Bent's tail did not
wag as Keneb dismounted. Had it done so, Keneb allowed
the possibility that he would have been shocked to death.
    The mangy, rat-like Hengese dog, Roach, trotted up to
sniff at Keneb's left boot, whereupon it squatted ladylike
and urinated against the leather. Cursing, the Malazan
stepped away, cocking one foot for a savage kick, then halting
the motion at a deep growl from Bent.
    Warleader Gall rumbled a laugh. 'Roach but claims this
heap of stones, Fist. Hood knows, there's no-one below to
get offended.'
    'Too bad one cannot say the same for the other barrows,'
Keneb said, drawing off his riding gloves.
    'Ah, but that insult belongs at the feet of the citizens of
Y'Ghatan.'
    'Roach should have displayed more patience, then,
Warleader.'
    'Hood take us, man, she's a damned dog. Besides, you
think she'll run out of piss any time soon?'
    If I had my way, she'd run out of a lot more besides. 'Not
likely, I'll grant you. That rat has more malign fluids in it
than a rabid bhederin bull.'
    'Poor diet.'
    Keneb addressed the other man: 'Fist Temul, the
Adjunct wishes to know if your Wickan scouts have ridden
round the city.'
    The young warrior was a child no longer. He had grown
two hand's-widths since Aren. Lean, hawk-faced, with far
too many losses pooled in his black eyes. The Crow clan
warriors who had so resented his command at Aren were
silent these days. Gaze fixed on Y'Ghatan, he gave no
indication of having heard Keneb's words.
    More and more like Coltaine with every passing day, Gall
says. Keneb knew enough to wait.
    Gall cleared his throat. 'The west road shows signs of an
exodus, no more than a day or two