A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

wolf.'
    He cocked his head. 'A Hound of Shadow.'
    'A wolf,' she said again. 'The loveliest, sweetest wolf in
the world ...'
     
    Quick Ben opened his eyes and looked around.
    Bottle sat across from him, the only one present in the
clearing. From somewhere nearby there was shouting,
angry, sounds of rising violence. 'Nicely done,' Bottle said.
'Shadowthrone threw you right into their path, so much of
you that, had the Hounds caught you, I'd now be burying
this carcass of yours. You used his warren to get here. Very
nice – a thread must've survived, wizard, one even
Shadowthrone didn't see.'
    'What's going on?'
    The soldier shrugged. 'Old argument, I think. Kalam and
Fiddler found Apsalar – with blood on her knives. They
figure you're dead, you see, though why—'
    Quick Ben was already on his feet. And running.
    The scene he came upon moments later was poised on
the very edge of disaster. Kalam was advancing on Apsalar,
his long-knives out, the otataral blade in the lead
position. Fiddler stood to one side, looking both angry and
helpless.
    And Apsalar. She simply faced the burly, menacing
assassin. No knives in her hands and something like
resignation in her expression.
    'Kalam!'
    The man whirled, as did Fiddler.
    'Quick!' the sapper shouted. 'We found her! Blood on
the blades – and you—'
    'Enough of all that,' the wizard said. 'Back away from her,
Kalam.'
    The assassin shrugged, then scabbarded his weapons.
'She wasn't big on explanations,' he said in a frustrated
growl. 'As usual. And I would swear, Quick, she was
wanting this—'
    'Wanting what?' he demanded. 'Did she have her knives
out? Is she in a fighting stance, Kalam? Is she not a Shadow
Dancer? You damned idiot!' He glared at Apsalar, and in a
lower voice, added, 'What she wants ... ain't for us to
give ...'
    Boots on stones sounded behind him, and Quick Ben
swung round to see Bottle, at his side Captain Faradan Sort.
    'There you all are,' the captain said, clearly struggling to
keep her curiosity in check. 'We're about to march. With
luck, we'll reach the Fourteenth this night. Sinn seems to
think so, anyway.'
    'That's good news,' Quick Ben said. 'Lead on, Captain,
we're right with you.'
    Yet he held back, until Apsalar walked past him, then he
reached out and brushed her sleeved arm.
    She looked over.
    Quick Ben hesitated, then nodded and said, 'I know it
was you, Apsalar. Thank you.'
    'Wizard,' she said, 'I have no idea what you are talking
about.'
    He let her go. No, what she wants ain't for us to give. She
wants to die.
     
    Layered in dust, wan with exhaustion, Cotillion strode into
the throne room, then paused.
    The Hounds were gathered before the Shadow Throne,
two lying down, panting hard, tongues lolling. Shan paced
in a circle, the black beast twitching, its flanks slashed and
dripping blood. And, Cotillion realized, there were wounds
on the others as well.
    On the throne sat Shadowthrone, his form blurred as if
within a roiling storm-cloud. 'Look at them,' he said in a
low, menacing voice. 'Look well, Cotillion.'
    'The Deragoth?'
    'No, not the Deragoth.'
    'No, I suppose not. Those look like knife cuts.'
    'I had him. Then I lost him.'
    'Had who?'
    'That horrid little thousand-faced wizard, that's who!' A
shadowy hand lifted, long fingers curling. 'I had him, here
in this very palm, like a melting piece of ice.' A sudden
snarl, the god tilting forward on the throne. 'It's all your
fault!'
    Cotillion blinked. 'Hold on, I didn't attack the Hounds!'
    'That's what you think!'
    'What is that supposed to mean?' Cotillion demanded.
    The other hand joined the first one, hovering, clutching
the air in spasmodic, trembling rage. Then another snarl –
and the god vanished.
    Cotillion looked down at Baran, reached out towards the
beast.
    At a low growl, he snatched his hand back. 'I didn't!' he
shouted.
    The Hounds, one and all staring at him, did not look
convinced.
     
    Dusk muted the dust in the air above the camp as Captain
Ganoes Paran – leading his horse – and the cutter Noto
Boil, and the girl – whose name was Naval D'natha –
climbed the slope and passed through the first line of
pickets.
    The entire camp looked as if it had been struck by a freak
storm. Soldiers worked on repairing tents, re-splicing ropes,
carrying stretchers. Horses loose from their paddocks still
wandered about, too skittish to permit anyone close
enough to take their bits.
    'The Hounds,' Paran said. 'They came through here. As
did, I suspect, the Deragoth. Damned