A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

darkening, eyes bulging—
    Then the girl hovering over him. Frowning for a lifetime.
    Stupid stupid stupid —
    Before she reached into his gaping mouth, then gently
withdrew the spine.
    Whimpering behind that first delicious breath, Noto
Boil closed his eyes, becoming aware once again that those
indrawn breaths in fact delivered stabbing agony across his
entire chest. He opened tear-filled eyes.
    The girl still loomed over him, but her attention was, it
seemed, elsewhere. Not even towards the temple entrance
–but down the main avenue.
    Where someone was pounding infernal drums, the
thunder making the cobbles shiver and jump beneath him
–causing yet more pain –
    And this day started so well ...
     
    'Not Soletaken,' Paran was saying to the goddess writhing
on her throne, the pierced hand and its otataral spike
pinning her here, to this realm, to this dreadful extremity,
'not Soletaken at all, although it might at first seem so.
Alas, Poliel, more complicated than that. My outrider's
comment earlier, regarding my eyes – well, that was
sufficient, and from those howls we just heard, it turns out
the timing is about right.'
    The captain glanced down once more at the woman on
the tiles. Unconscious, perhaps dead. He didn't think the
Hounds would bother with her. Gathering the reins, he
straightened in his saddle. 'I can't stay, I'm afraid. But let
me leave you with this: you made a terrible mistake.
Fortunately, you won't have long to regret it.'
    Concussions in the city, coming ever closer.
    'Mess with mortals, Poliel,' he said, wheeling his horse
round, 'and you pay.'
     
    The man named Brokeface – who had once possessed
another name, another life – cowered to one side of the altar
chamber's entranceway. The three priests had fled back down
the hallway. He was, for the moment, alone. So very alone. All
over again. A poor soldier of the rebellion, young and so proud
back then – shattered in one single moment.
    A Gral horse, a breath thick with the reek of wet grass,
teeth like chisels driving down through flesh, through
bone, taking everything away. He had become an unwelcome
mirror to ugliness, for every face turning upon his
own had twisted in revulsion, or worse, morbid fascination.
And new fears had sunk deep, hungry roots into his soul,
flinching terrors that ever drove him forward, seeking to
witness pain and suffering in others, seeking to make of his
misery a legion, soldiers to a new cause, each as broken as he.
    Poliel had arrived, like a gift – and now that bastard had
killed her, was killing her even now – taking everything
away. Again.
    Horse hoofs skidded on tiles and he shrank back further
as the rider and his mount passed through the doorway, the
beast lifting from trot to canter down the wide corridor.
    Brokeface stared after them with hatred in his eyes.
    Lost. All lost.
    He looked into the altar chamber—
     
    Quick Ben landed cat-like; then, in the cascade of virulent
agony sloughing from the imprisoned goddess not three
paces to his right, he collapsed onto his stomach, hands
over his head. OK, very funny, Shadowthrone. He turned his
head and saw Torahaval, lying motionless an arm's reach to
his left.
    Poor girl – I should never have tormented her so. But ...
show me a merciful child and I will truly avow a belief in
miracles, and I'll throw in my back-pay besides. It was her over-sensitivity
that done her in. Still, what's life without a few
thousand regrets?
    There was otataral in this room. He needed to collect
her and drag her clear, back outside. Not so hard, once he
was out of this chaotic madhouse. So, it turned out – to his
astonishment – that Shadowthrone had played it true.
    It was then that he heard the howl of the Hounds, in
thundering echo from the hallway.
     
    Paran emerged from the tunnel then sawed his horse hard
to the left, narrowly avoiding Shan – the huge black beast
plunging past, straight into the Grand Temple. Rood
followed, then Baran – and in Baran's enormous jaws a hissing,
reptilian panther, seeking to slow its captor down with
unsheathed talons scoring the cobbles, to no avail. In their
wake, Blind and Gear.
    As Gear raced into the temple, the Hound loosed a
howl, a sound savage with glee – as of some long-awaited
vengeance moments from consummation.
    Paran stared after them for a moment, then saw Noto
Boil, lying down, the nameless girl hovering over him. 'For
Hood's sake,' he snapped. 'There's no time for that – get
him on his feet.