A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

After all, you don't know what you're
going to meet on the other side, right? So, it's always better
holding onto the option of blowing things up.'
    'Wise counsel, Hedge. And those munitions will work
here?'
    'Absolutely, Captain. Death once called this home,
remember?'
    Paran studied the nearest statue. 'You intend to shatter
them.'
    'Aye.'
    'Timed charge.'
    'Aye.'
    'Only, you have five to set, and the farthest one looks
two, three hundred paces away.'
    'Aye. That's going to be a problem – well, let's call it a
challenge. Granted, Fid's better at this finesse stuff than
me. But tell me something, Captain – you're sure these
Deragoth ain't just going to hang round here?'
    'I'm sure. They'll return to their home realm – that's
what the first two did, didn't they?'
    'Aye, but they had their shadows. Might be these ones
will go hunting their own first.'
    Paran frowned. He'd not considered that. 'Oh, I see. Into
the Realm of Shadow, then.'
    'If that's where the Hounds of Shadow are at the
moment, aye.'
    Damn. 'All right, set your charges, Hedge, but don't start
the sand grains running just yet.'
    'Right.'
    Paran watched the sapper head off. Then he drew out his
Deck of Dragons. Paused, glancing over at Ganath, then
Karpolan Demesand. Both saw what he held in his hands.
    The Trygalle master visibly blanched, then hurried back to
his carriage. After a moment – and a long, unreadable look
– the Jaghut followed suit.
    Paran allowed himself a small smile. Yes, why announce
yourselves to whomever I'm about to call upon? He squatted,
setting the deck face-down on the mudstained walkway of
branches. Then lifted the top card and set it down to the
right. High House Shadow – who's in charge here, damned
Deck, you or me? 'Shadowthrone,' he murmured, 'I require
your attention.'
    The murky image of the Shadow House remained
singularly lifeless on the lacquered card.
    'All right,' Paran said, 'I'll revise my wording.
    Shadowthrone, talk to me here and now or everything
you've done and everything you're planning to do will get,
quite literally, torn to pieces.'
    A shimmer, further obscuring the House, then something
like a vague figure, seated on a black throne. A voice
hissed out at him, 'This had better be important. I'm busy
and besides, even the idea of a Master of the Deck nauseates
me, so get on with it.'
    'The Deragoth are about to be released, Shadowthrone.'
    Obvious agitation. 'What gnat-brained idiot would do
that?'
    'Can't be helped, I'm afraid—'
    'You!'
    'Look, I have my reasons, and they will be found in
Seven Cities.'
    'Oh,' the figure settled back down, 'those reasons. Well,
yes. Clever, even. But still profoundly stupid.'
    'Shadowthrone,' Paran said, 'the two Hounds of Shadow
that Rake killed. The two taken by Dragnipur.'
    'What about them?'
    'I'm not sure how much you know, but I freed them from
the sword.' He waited for another bout of histrionics, but
... nothing. 'Ah, so you know that. Good. Well, I have discovered
where they went ... here, where they conjoined
with their counterparts, and were then freed – no, not me.
Now, I understand that they have since been killed. For
good, this time.'
    Shadowthrone raised a long-fingered hand that filled
most of the card. Closed it into a fist. 'Let me see,' the god's
voice purred, 'if I understand you.' One finger snapped
upward. 'The Nameless Idiots go and release Dejim
Nebrahl. Why? Because they're idiots. Their own lies
caught up with them, so they needed to get rid of a servant
who was doing what they wanted him to do in the first
place, only doing it too well!' Shadowthrone's voice was
steadily climbing in pitch and volume. A second finger
shot into view. 'Then, you, the Master Idiot of the Deck of
Dragons, decide to release the Deragoth, to get rid of Dejim
Nebrahl. But wait, even better!' A third finger. 'Some other serious nasty wandering Seven Cities just killed two
Deragoth, and maybe that nasty is still close by, and would
like a few more trophies to drag behind his damned horse!'
His voice was now a shriek. 'And now! Now!' The hand
closed back into a fist, shaking about. 'You want me to send
the Hounds of Shadow to Seven Cities! Because it's finally
occurred to that worm-ridden walnut you call a brain that
the Deragoth won't bother with Dejim Nebrahl until they
find my Hounds! And if they come looking here in my
realm, there'll be no stopping them!' He halted suddenly,
the fist motionless. Then various fingers sprang into view
in an increasingly