A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

building's
thick walls, dust snapping out from the cracks. Groaning
sounds pushed up from beneath them as foundations
buckled, tugging at the surrounding streets.
    'We must hurry away!' Brokeface said.
     
    Dismounting, dragging a stumbling, gasping Noto Boil with
one hand, Paran kicked down the doors to the Temple of
Soliel – a modest but most satisfying burst of power that
was sufficient, he trusted, to apprise the Sweet Goddess of
his present frame of mind.
    The girl slipped past him as he crossed the threshold and
cast him a surprisingly delighted glance as she hurried
ahead to the central chamber.
    On the corridor's walls, paintings of figures kneeling,
heads bowed in blessing, beseeching or despair – likely
the latter with this damned goddess, Paran decided.
Depending in folds from the arched ceiling were funeral
shrouds, no doubt intended to prepare worshippers for the
worst.
    They reached the central chamber even as the ground
shook – the Grand Temple was collapsing. Paran pulled
Noto Boil to his side, then pushed him stumbling towards
the altar. With luck it'll bury the damned Deragoth. But I'm
not holding my breath.
    He drew out a card and tossed it onto the floor. 'Soliel,
you are summoned.'
    The girl, who had been standing to the right of the altar,
suddenly sagged, then looked up, blinking owlishly. Her
smile broadened.
    Paran vowed, then, that he would seek to recall every
detail of the goddess's upon her enforced appearance, so
exquisite her bridling fury. She stood behind the altar, as
androgynous as her now-dead sister, her long fingers – so
perfect for closing eyelids over unseeing eyes – clutching,
forming fists at her side, as she said in a grating voice, 'You
have made a terrible mistake—'
    'I'm not finished yet,' he replied. 'Unleash your power,
Soliel. Begin the healing. You can start with Noto Boil
here, in whom you shall place a residue of your power,
sufficient in strength and duration to effect the healing of
the afflicted in the encamped army outside the city. Once
you are done with him, others will arrive, Poliel's cast-offs.
Heal them as well, and send them out—' His
voice hardened. 'Seven Cities has suffered enough,
Soliel'
    She seemed to study him for a long moment, then she
shrugged. 'Very well. As for suffering, I leave that to you,
and through no choice of mine.'
    Paran frowned, then turned at a surprised shout from
behind them.
    The captain blinked, and grinned. 'Quick Ben!'
    The wizard and Brokeface were dragging a woman
between them – the one he had last seen in the altar
chamber of the Grand Temple – and all at once, Paran
understood. Then, immediately thereafter, realized that
he understood ... nothing.
    Quick Ben looked up at the altar and his eyes narrowed.
'That her? Hood's breath, I never thought ... never mind.
Ganoes Paran, this was all by your hand? Did you know the
Hounds were for me?'
    'Not entirely, although I see how you might think that
way. You bargained with Shadowthrone, didn't you? For,'
he gestured at the unconscious woman, 'her.'
    The wizard scowled. 'My sister.'
    'He has released the Deragoth,' Soliel said, harsh and
accusory. 'They tore her apart!'
    Quick Ben's sister moaned, tried gathering her legs under
her.
    'Shit,' the wizard muttered. 'I'd better leave. Back to the
others. Before she comes round.'
    Paran sighed and crossed his arms. 'Really, Quick—'
    'You more than anybody should know about a sister's
wrath!' the wizard snapped, stepping away. He glanced over
at Brokeface, who stood, transfixed, staring up at Soliel.
'Go on,' he said. 'You were right. Go to her.'
    With a faint whimper, Brokeface stumbled forward.
    Paran watched as Quick Ben opened a warren.
    The wizard hesitated, looked over at the captain.
'Ganoes,' he said, 'tell me something.'
    'What?'
    'Tavore. Can we trust her?'
    The question felt like a slap, stinging, sudden. He
blinked, studied the man, then said, 'Tavore will do, wizard,
what needs to be done.'
    'To suit her or her soldiers?' Quick Ben demanded.
    'For her, friend, there is no distinction.'
    Their gazes locked for a moment longer, then the wizard
sighed. 'I owe you a tankard of ale when it's all over.'
    'I will hold you to it, Quick.'
    The wizard flashed that memorable, infuriating grin, and
vanished into the portal.
    As it whispered shut behind him, the woman, his sister,
lifted herself to her hands and knees. Her hair hung down,
obscuring her face, but Paran could hear her clearly as she
said, 'There was a