A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

ritual of yours. I'm
curious, what did it imprison?'
    'A sky keep of the K'Chain Che'Malle. And ... other
things.'
    A sky keep? Gods below. 'Where did it come from?'
    'A warren, I suppose,' she said.
    She knew more than that, he suspected, but he did not
press the issue. Paran made some final adjustments to the
saddle, and said, 'Thank you, Ganath, for accompanying us
– we would not have survived without you.'
    'Perhaps, some day, I can ask of you a favour in return.'
    'Agreed.' He drew out a long, cloth-wrapped object that
had been strapped to the saddle, carried it over to Karpolan
Demesand.
    'High Mage,' he said.
    The corpulent man looked up. 'Ah, our payment.'
    'For services rendered,' Paran said. 'Do you wish me to
unwrap it?'
    'Hood no, Ganoes Paran – sorcery's the only thing keeping
my skull intact right now. Even scabbarded and
bundled as that sword now is, I can feel its entropy.'
    'Yes, it is an unpleasant weapon,' Paran said.
    'In any case, there is yet one more thing to be done.' A
gesture from Karpolan and one of the Pardu shareholders
came over, collected the otataral sword that had once
belonged to Adjunct Lorn. She carried it a short distance,
then set it on the ground and backed away. Another shareholder
arrived, cradling in his arms a large two-handed
mace. He positioned himself over the wrapped weapon,
then swung the mace down. And again, and again. Each
blow further shattered the otataral blade. Breathing hard,
the man stepped back and looked over at Karpolan
Demesand.
    Who then faced Paran once more. 'Collect your shard,
Master of the Deck.'
    'Thank you,' the Malazan replied, walking over.
Crouching, he pulled aside the cut and battered hide. He
stared down at the rust-hued slivers of metal for a halfdozen
heartbeats, then selected a shard about the length of
his index finger and not much wider. Carefully folding it
inside a fragment of hide, he then tucked it into his belt
pouch. He straightened and strode back to the High Mage.
    Karpolan Demesand sighed, slowly rose from the stool.
'It is time for us to go home.'
    'Have a safe journey, High Mage,' Paran said with a bow.
    The man attempted a smile, and the effort stole all
colour from his face. Turning away and helped by one of
the shareholders, he made his way to the carriage.
    'Pray,' Ganath said in a low voice at Paran's side, 'he
encounters no untoward opposition in the warrens.'
    Paran went to his horse. Then, arms resting on the
saddle, he looked over at Ganath. 'In this war,' he said,
'Elder forces will be involved. Are involved. The T'lan
Imass may well believe that they have annihilated the
Jaghut, but clearly that isn't the case. Here you stand, and
there are others, aren't there?'
    She shrugged.
    From behind them came the tearing sound of a warren
opening. Snapping traces, then the rumble of wheels.
    'Ganath—'
    'Jaghut are not interested in war.'
    Paran studied her for a moment longer, then he nodded.
Setting a foot in the stirrup, he pulled himself onto the
horse and collected the reins. 'Like you,' he said to
the Jaghut, 'I'm feeling a long way from home. Fare well in
your travels, Ganath.'
    'And you, Master of the Deck.'
    Eastward Paran rode along the length of the valley. The
river that had once carved through this land was long gone,
although the winding path of its course was evident, with
stands of brush and withered trees clustered here and there
where the last sinkholes had been, old oxbows and flats of
alluvial sands fanning out on the bends. After a league the
valley opened out into a shallow basin, raw cliffs to
the north and long, sloping slides of rubble to the south.
Directly ahead, a trail was visible climbing between deepcut
runoff channels.
    Reaching its base, Paran dismounted and led his mount
up the track. The afternoon heat was building, all the more
cloying for its unnatural humidity. Far to the west, likely
above the Raraku Sea, massive clouds were building. By the
time he reached the summit, those clouds had devoured
the sun and the breeze at his back was sweet with the
promise of rain.
    Paran found himself with a view far to the east, down
onto rolling hills dotted with domestic goats, the path leading
towards a more substantial road that cut north–south
along the edge of the plain, the southern route swinging
eastward towards a distant smudge of smoke and dust that
was, he suspected, G'danisban.
    Astride his horse once more, he set off at a canter.
    Before long, Paran came to the first herder's