A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

narrow
room he found himself in. A storage chamber of some kind,
a larder, perhaps. The shelves were mostly empty. He was
alone.
    The motion left him exhausted – he did not have the
strength to draw his arm back from where it rested on his
midsection.
    He closed his eyes.
    A dozen slow, even breaths, and he found himself standing,
in some other place. A courtyard garden, unkempt and
now withered, as if by years of drought. The sky overhead
was white, featureless. A stone-walled pool was before him,
the water smooth and unstirred. The air was close and
unbearably hot.
    Cutter willed himself forward, but found he could not
move. He stood as if rooted to the ground.
    To his left, plants began crackling, curling black as a
ragged hole formed in the air. A moment later two figures
stumbled through that gate. A woman, then a man. The
gate snapped shut in their wake, leaving only a swirl of ash
and a ring of scorched plants.
    Cutter tried to speak, but he had no voice, and after a
few moments it was clear that they could not see him. He
was as a ghost, an unseen witness.
    The woman was as tall as the man, a Malazan which he
was certainly not. Handsome in a hard, unyielding way.
She slowly straightened.
    Another woman now sat on the edge of the pool. Fairskinned,
delicately featured, her long golden-hued hair
drawn up and bound in an elaborate mass of braids. One
hand was immersed in the pool, yet no ripples spanned outward.
She was studying the water's surface, and did not look
up as the Malazan woman spoke.
    'Now what?'
    The man, two vicious-looking flails tucked in his belt,
had the look of a desert warrior, his face dark and flat, the
eyes slitted amidst webs of squint-lines. He was armoured as
if for battle. At his companion's question he fixed his gaze
on the seated woman and said, 'You were never clear on
that, Queen of Dreams. The only part of this bargain I'm
uneasy about.'
    'Too late for regrets,' the seated woman murmured.
    Cutter stared at her anew. The Queen of Dreams. A
goddess. It seemed that she too had no inkling that Cutter
was somehow present, witnessing this scene. But this was
her realm. How could that be?
    The man had scowled at the Queen's mocking observation.
'You seek my service. To do what? I am done leading armies,
done with prophecies. Give me a task if you must, but make
it straightforward. Someone to kill, someone to protect – no,
not the latter – I am done with that, too.'
    'It is your ... scepticism ... I most value, Leoman of the
Flails. I admit, however, to some disappointment. Your
companion is not the one I anticipated.'
    The man named Leoman glanced over at the Malazan
woman, but said nothing. Then, slowly, his eyes widened
and he looked back at the goddess. 'Corabb?'
    'Chosen by Oponn,' the Queen of Dreams said. 'Beloved
of the Lady. His presence would have been useful ...' A
faint frown, then a sigh, and still she would not look up as
she said, 'In his stead, I must countenance a mortal upon
whom yet another god has cast an eye. To what end, I
wonder? Will this god finally use her? In the manner that
all gods do?' She frowned, then said, 'I do not refute this ...
alliance. I trust Hood understands this well enough. Even
so, I see something unexpected stirring ... in the depths of
these waters. Dunsparrow, did you know you were marked?
No, I gather you did not – you were but newborn when
sanctified, after all. And then stolen away, from the temple,
by your brother. Hood never forgave him for that, and took
in the end a most satisfying vengeance, ever turning away
a healer's touch when nothing else was needed, when that
touch could have changed the world, could have shattered
an age-old curse.' She paused for a moment, still staring
down into the pool. 'I believe Hood now regrets his
decision – his lack of humility stings him yet again.
Dunsparrow, with you, I suspect, he may seek
restitution ...'
    The Malazan woman was pale. 'I had heard of my
brother's death,' she said in a low voice. 'But all death
comes by Hood's hand. I see no need for restitution in this.'
    'By Hood's hand. True enough, and so too Hood chooses
the time and the manner. Only on the rarest of occasions,
however, does he manifestly intervene in a single mortal's
death. Consider his usual ... involvement ... as little more
than withered fingers ensuring the seamless weave of life's
fabric, at least until the arrival of the knot.'
    Leoman spoke: 'Ponder the delicacies of dogma some
other time, you two, I already