A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

annihilated the Dogslayers. Into Sha'ik's camp.'
    Paran turned to regard the ghost. 'You haven't
mentioned this before, sapper.'
    'Well, they didn't last long anyway.'
    'What in Hood's name do you mean, they didn't last long?'
    'I mean, someone killed them.'
    'Killed them? Who? Did a god visit that night? One of
the First Heroes? Or some other ascendant?'
    Hedge was scowling. 'This is all second-hand, mind you,
but from what I gathered, it was Toblakai. One of Sha'ik's
bodyguards, a friend of Leoman's. Afraid I don't know
much about him, just the name, or, I suppose, title, since
it's not a real name—'
    'A bodyguard named Toblakai killed two Deragoth
Hounds?'
    The ghost shrugged, then nodded. 'Aye, that's about
right, Captain.'
    Paran drew off his helm and ran a hand through his hair
– gods below, do I need a bath – then returned his attention
to the distant statues and the intervening lowlands. 'Those
lakes look shallow – we should have no trouble getting
there.'
    The carriage door opened and the Jaghut sorceress
Ganath emerged. She eyed the black stone monuments.
'Dessimbelackis. One soul made seven – he believed that
would make him immortal. An ascendant eager to become
a god—'
    'The Deragoth are far older than Dessimbelackis,' Paran
said.
    'Convenient vessels,' she said. 'Their kind were nearly
extinct. He found the few last survivors and made use of
them.'
    Paran grunted, then said, 'That was a mistake. The
Deragoth had their own history, their own story and it was
not told in isolation.'
    'Yes,' Ganath agreed, 'the Eres'al, who were led unto
domestication by the Hounds that adopted them. The
Eres'al, who would one day give rise to the Imass, who
would one day give rise to humans.'
    'As simple as that?' Hedge asked.
    'No, far more complicated,' the Jaghut replied, 'but for
our purposes, it will suffice.'
    Paran returned to his horse. 'Almost there – I don't want
any more interruptions – so let's get going, shall we?'
     
    The water they crossed stank with decay, the lake bottom
thick with black mud and, it turned out, starfish-shaped
leeches. The train of horses struggled hard to drag the
carriage through the sludge, although it was clear to Paran
that Karpolan Demesand was using sorcery to lighten the
vehicle in some way. Low mudbanks ribboning the lake
afforded momentary respite, although these were home to
hordes of biting insects that swarmed hungrily as the shareholders
came down from the carriage to pull leeches from
horse-legs. One such bank brought them close to the far
shore, separated only by a narrow channel of sluggish water
that they crossed without difficulty.
    Before them was a long, gentle slope of mud-streaked
gravel. Reaching the summit slightly ahead of the carriage,
Paran reined in.
    Nearest him, two huge pedestals surrounded in rubble
marked where statues had once been. In the eternally damp
mud around them were tracks, footprints, signs of some
kind of scuffle. Immediately beyond rose the first of the
intact monuments, the dull black stone appallingly lifelike
in its rendition of hide and muscle. At its base stood a
structure of some kind.
    The carriage arrived, and Paran heard the side door
open. Shareholders were leaping down to establish a
defensive perimeter.
    Dismounting, Paran walked towards the structure,
Hedge coming up alongside him.
    'Someone built a damned house,' the sapper said.
    'Doesn't look lived in.'
    'Not now, it don't.'
    Constructed entirely from driftwood, the building was
roughly rectangular, the long sides parallel to the statue's
pedestal. No windows were visible, nor, from this side, any
entrance. Paran studied it for a time, then headed towards
one end. 'I don't think this was meant as a house,' he said.
'More like a temple.'
    'Might be right – that driftwood makes no joins and
there ain't no chinking or anything to fill the gaps. A
mason would look at this and say it was for occasional use,
which makes it sound more like a temple or a corral ...'
    They reached one end and saw a half-moon doorway.
    Branches had been set in rows in the loamy ground before
it, creating a sort of walkway. Muddy feet had trod its
length, countless sets, but none very recent.
    'Wore leather moccasins,' Hedge observed, crouching
close to study the nearest prints. 'Seams were topside
except at the back of the heel where there's a cross-stitch
pattern. If this was Genabackis, I'd say Rhivi, except for
one thing.'
    'What?' Paran asked.
    'Well, these folk have wide feet.