A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

poor
teeth! Oh no, we shall be as the wind! Not a fitful, gusting
wind, but a steady, roaring wind, a stentorian wind that
races across the entire world, the very wake of our extraordinary
speed, oh, how your hoofs shall blur to all eyes!'
    Reaching the mule, the High Priest of Shadow leapt into
the air.
    Shying in alarm, the mule sidestepped.
    A squeal from Iskaral Pust, then a grunt and muted oof as
he struck and rolled in the dust and stones, wet robes
flapping heavily and spraying sand about, while the mule
trotted a safe distance away then turned to regard its
master, long-lashed eyes blinking.
    'You disgust me, beast! And I bet you think it's mutual,
too! Yet even if you thought that, why, then I'd agree with
you! Out of spite! How would you like that, horrid
creature?' The High Priest of Shadow picked himself up
and brushed sand from his robes. 'He thinks I will hit him.
Strike him, with a large stick. Foolish mule. Oh no, I am
much more cunning. I will surprise him with kindness ...
until he grows calm and dispenses with all watchfulness,
and then ... ha! I shall punch him in the nose! Won't he
be surprised! No mule can match wits with me. Oh yes,
many have tried, and almost all have failed!'
    He worked a kindly smile on to his sun-wizened face,
then slowly approached the mule. 'We must ride,' he
murmured, 'you and I. Fraught with haste, my friend, lest
we arrive too late and too late will never do.' He came
within reach of the reins where they dangled beneath the
mule's head. Paused as he met the creature's eyes. 'Oh ho,
sweet servant, I see malice in that so-placid gaze, yes? You
want to bite me. Too bad. I'm the only one who bites
around here.' He snatched up the reins, narrowly avoiding
the snapping teeth, then clambered onto the mule's broad,
sloped back.
    Twenty paces from the shoreline and the world shifted
around them, a miasmic swirl of shadows closing on all
sides. Iskaral Pust cocked his head, looked round, then,
satisfied, settled back as the mule plodded on.
     
    A hundred heartbeats after the High Priest of Shadow
vanished into his warren, a squat, wild-haired Dal Honese
woman crept out of some nearby bushes, dragging a large
ale cask behind her. It held water, not ale, and the lid had
been pried off.
    Grunting and gasping with the effort, Mogora struggled
to bring the cask down into the shallows. She tipped it to
one side and – a mostly toothless grin on her wrinkled
features – watched a half-dozen young freshwater sharks
slide like snakes into Raraku Sea.
    Then she kicked the cask over and scrambled out of the
water, a cackle escaping her as, with a flurry of gestures, she
opened a warren and plunged into it.
     
    Folding one shadow upon another, Iskaral Pust swiftly
traversed a score of leagues. He could half-see, half-sense
the desert, buttes and chaotic folds of arroyo and canyon he
passed through, but none of it interested him much, until,
after almost a full day's travel, he caught sight of five sleek
shapes crossing the floor of a valley ahead and to his left.
    He halted the mule on the ridge and, eyes narrowing,
studied the distant shapes. In the midst of attacking a
caravan. 'Arrogant pups,' he muttered, then drove his heels
into the mule's flanks. 'Charge, I say! Charge, you fat,
waddling bastard!'
    The mule trotted down the slope, braying loudly.
    The five shapes caught the sound and their heads turned.
As one, the T'rolbarahl shifted direction and now raced
towards Iskaral Pust.
    The mule's cries rose in pitch.
    Spreading out, the D'ivers flowed noiselessly over the
ground. Rage and hunger rushed ahead of them in an
almost visible bow wave, the power crackling, coruscating
between the Shadow warren and the world beyond.
    The beasts to either side wheeled out to come in from a
flanking position, while the three in the centre staggered
their timing, intending to arrive in quick succession.
    Iskaral Pust was having trouble focusing on them, so
jolted and tossed about was he on the mule's back. When
the T'rolbarahl had closed to within thirty paces, the mule
suddenly skidded to a halt. And the High Priest of Shadow
was thrown forward, lunging over the animal's head. Head
ducking, somersaulting over, then thumping down hard on
his back in a spray of gravel and dust.
    The first creature reached him, forearms lifting, talons
unsheathed as it sailed through the air, then landing on the
spot where Iskaral Pust had fallen – only to find him not
there. The second and third beasts