A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

please, don't start again,
Hedge.'
    'Typical. People need to be dead to develop a real sense
of humour. You know, Captain, from this side the world
seems a whole lot funnier. Funny in a stupid, pointless way,
I'll grant you—'
    'Enough of that, Hedge. You think I don't sense the
desperation here? You're all in trouble – even worse, you
need us. The living, that is, and that's the part you don't
want to admit—'
    'I admitted it clear enough,' Hedge said. 'To Fid.'
    'Fiddler?'
    'Aye. He's not too far away from here, you know. With
the Fourteenth.'
    'He's with the Fourteenth? What, has he lost his mind?'
    Hedge smirked. 'Damn near, but, thanks to me, he's all
right. For now. This ain't the first time we've walked among
the living, Captain. Gods below, you shoulda seen us twist
Korbolo's hair – him and his damned Dogslayers – that was
a night, let me tell you—'
    'No, don't bother. I need your help.'
    'Fine, be that way. With what?'
    Paran hesitated. He'd needed to get to this point, yet
now that he'd arrived, this was suddenly the last place he
wanted to be. 'You, here,' he said, 'in Raraku – this sea, it's
a damned gate. Between whatever nightmare world you're
from, and mine. I need you, Hedge, to summon ... something.
From the other side.'
    The mass of ghosts collectively recoiled, the motion
snatching a tug of air seaward.
    The dead Bridgeburner mage Shank asked, 'Who you got
in mind, Captain, and what do you want it to do?'
    Paran glanced back over a shoulder at Ganath, then
back again. 'Something's escaped, Shank. Here, in Seven
Cities. It needs to be hunted down. Destroyed.' He
hesitated. 'I don't know, maybe there are entities out there
that could do it, but there's no time to go looking for them.
You see, this ... thing ... it feeds on blood, and the more
blood it feeds on, the more powerful it gets. The First
Emperor's gravest mistake, attempting to create his own
version of an Elder God – you know, don't you? What –
who – I am talking about. You know ... it's out there,
loose, unchained and hunting—'
    'Oh it hunted all right,' Hedge said. 'They set it free,
under a geas, then gave their own blood to it – the blood of
six High Mages, priests and priestesses of the Nameless
Ones – the fools sacrificed themselves.'
    'Why? Why set Dejim Nebrahl free? What geas did they
set upon it?'
    'Just another path. Maybe it'll lead where they wanted it
to, maybe not, but Dejim Nebrahl is now free of its geas.
And now it just ... hunts.'
    Shank asked, in a tone filled with suspicion, 'So,
Captain, who is it you want? To take the damned thing
down?'
    'I could only think of one ... entity. The same entity
that did it the first time. Shank, I need you to find the
Deragoth.'

CHAPTER NINE
    If thunder could be caught, trapped in stone, and all its
violent concatenation stolen from time, and tens of
thousands of years were freed to gnaw and scrape this
racked visage, so would this first witnessing unveil all
its terrible meaning. Such were my thoughts, then, and
such they are now, although decades have passed in the
interval, when I last set eyes upon that tragic ruin, so
fierce was its ancient claim to greatness.
    The Lost City of the Path'Apur
Prince I'farah of Bakun, 987–1032 Burn's Sleep
     
    H e had washed most of the dried blood away and
then had watched, as time passed, the bruises fade.
Blows to the head were, of course, more problematic,
and so there had been fever, and with fever in the
mind demons were legion, the battles endless, and there
had been no rest then. Just the heat of war with the self,
but, finally, that too had passed, and shortly before noon on
the second day, he watched the eyes open.
    Incomprehension should have quickly vanished, yet it did
not, and this, Taralack Veed decided, was as he had expected.
He poured out some herbal tea as Icarium slowly sat up. 'Here,
my friend. You have been gone from me a long time.'
    The Jhag reached for the tin cup, drank deep, then held
it out for more.
    'Yes, thirst,' the Gral outlaw said, refilling the cup. 'Not
surprising. Blood loss. Fever.'
    'We fought?'
    'Aye. A sudden, inexplicable attack. D'ivers. My horse
was killed and I was thrown. When I awoke, it was clear
that you had driven off our assailant, yet a blow to your
head had dragged you into unconsciousness.' He paused,
then added, 'We were lucky, friend.'
    'Fighting. Yes, I recall that much.' Icarium's unhuman
gaze sought out Taralack Veed's eyes, searching, quizzical.
    The Gral sighed.