A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

indifferently
trespassed by things that should know better.
Now, you have worn out Kruppe's ears, distended Kruppe's
largesse unto bursting his trouser belt, and heretofore
otherwise exhausted his vast intellect.' He rose with a
grunt, then patted his tummy. 'A mostly acceptable repast,
although Kruppe advises that you inform your cook that
the figs were veritably mummified – from the Jaghut's own
store, one must assume, yes, hmm?'
    There had been some sense, Paran had eventually concluded,
within that quagmire of verbosity. Enough to
frighten him, in any case, leading him to a more intense
examination of the Deck of Dragons. Wherein the chaos
was more pronounced than it ever had been before. And
there, in its midst, the glimmer of a path, a way through –
perhaps simply imagined, an illusion – but he would have
to try, although the thought terrified him.
    He was not the man for this. He was stumbling, halfblind,
within a vortex of converging powers, and he found
he was struggling to maintain even the illusion of control.
    Seeing Apsalar again had been an unexpected gift. A girl
no longer, yet, it appeared, as deadly as ever. Nonetheless,
something like humanity had revealed itself, there in her
eyes every now and then. He wondered what she had gone
through since Cotillion had been banished from her outside
Darujhistan – beyond what she had been willing to tell
him, that is, and he wondered if she would complete her
journey, to come out the other end, reborn one more time.
    He rose in his stirrups to stretch his legs, scanning the
south for the telltale shimmer that would announce his
destination. Nothing but heat-haze yet, and rugged, treeless
hills rising humped on the pan. Seven Cities was a hot,
blasted land, and he decided that even without plague, he
didn't like it much.
    One of those hills suddenly vanished in a cloud of dust
and flying debris, then a thundering boom drummed
through the ground, startling the horses. As he struggled to
calm them – especially his own mount, which had taken
this opportunity to renew its efforts to unseat him, bucking
and kicking – he sensed something else rolling out from the
destroyed mound.
    Omtose Phellack.
    Settling his horse as best he could, Paran collected the
reins and rode at a slow, jumpy canter towards the ruined
hill.
    As he neared, he could hear crashing sounds from within
the barrow – for a barrow it was – and when he was thirty
paces distant, part of a desiccated body was flung from the
hole, skidding in a clatter through the rubble. It came to a
stop, then one arm lifted tremulously, dropping back down
a moment later. A bone-helmed skull flew into view, ropes
of hair twisting about, to bounce and roll in the dust.
    Paran reined in, watching as a tall, gaunt figure climbed
free of the barrow, slowly straightening. Grey-green skin,
trailing dusty cobwebs, wearing a silver-clasped harness and
baldric of iron mail from which hung knives in copper
scabbards – the various metals blackened or green with
verdigris. Whatever clothing had once covered the figure's
body had since rotted away.
    A Jaghut woman, her long black hair drawn into a single
tail that reached down to the small of her back. Her tusks
were silver-sheathed and thus black. She slowly looked
round, her gaze finding and settling on him. Vertical pupils
set in amber studied Paran from beneath a heavy brow. He
watched her frown, then she asked, 'What manner of
creature are you?'
    'A well-mannered one,' Paran replied, attempting a
smile. She had spoken in the Jaghut tongue and he had
understood ... somehow. One of the many gifts granted by
virtue of being the Master? Or long proximity with Raest
and his endless muttering? Either way, Paran surprised himself
by replying in the same language.
    At which her frown deepened. 'You speak my tongue as
would an Imass ... had any Imass bothered to learn it. Or
a Jaghut whose tusks had been pulled.'
    Paran glanced over at the partial corpse lying nearby.
'An Imass like that one?'
    She drew her thin lips back in what he took to be a
smile. 'A guardian left behind – it had lost its vigilance.
Undead have a tendency towards boredom, and
carelessness.'
    'T'lan Imass.'
    'If others are near, they will come now. I have little time.'
    'T'lan Imass? None, Jaghut. None anywhere close.'
    'You are certain?'
    'I am. Reasonably. You have freed yourself ... why?'
    'Freedom needs an excuse?' She brushed dust and webs
from her lean body, then faced west. 'One of my