A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

some silent order, Ibra Gholan lifted his stone
weapon and faced Onrack.
    Cotillion raised his hands. 'Wait! Onrack, do not answer
my question. Let's forget I ever asked it. There's no need for
this – haven't we enough enemies as it is?'
    'You,' said Monok Ochem to the god, 'are dangerous. You
think what must not be thought, you speak aloud what
must not be said. You are as a hunter who walks a path no-one
else can see. We must consider the implications.' The
bonecaster turned away, bony feet scraping as he walked
towards the chamber of the First Throne. After a moment,
Ibra Gholan lowered his blade and thumped off in Monok
Ochem's wake.
    Cotillion reached up to run his hand through his hair
once again, and found his brow slick with sweat.
    'And so,' Trull Sengar said, with a hint of a smile, 'you
have taken our measure, Cotillion. And from this visit, we
in turn receive equally bitter gifts. Namely, the suggestion
that all we do here, in defence of this First Throne, is without
meaning. So, do you now elect to withdraw us from
this place?' His eyes narrowed on the god, and the ironic
half-smile gave way to ... something else. 'I thought
not.'
    Perhaps indeed I walk an unseen path – one even I am blind
to – but now the necessity of following it could not be greater. 'We will not abandon you,' he said.
    'So you claim,' muttered Minala behind him.
    Cotillion stepped to one side. 'I have summoned
Shadowthrone,' he said to her.
    A wry expression. 'Summoned?'
    'We grant each other leave to do such things, Minala, as
demands dictate.'
    'Companions in truth, then. I thought that you were subservient
to Shadowthrone, Cotillion. Do you now claim
otherwise?'
    He managed a smile. 'We are fully aware of each other's
complementary talents,' he replied, and left it at that.
    'There wasn't enough time,' she said.
    'For what?'
    'For training. For the years needed ... for them. To grow
up. To live.'
    He said nothing, for she was right.
    'Take them with you,' Minala said. 'Now. I will remain,
as will Apt and Panek. Cotillion, please, take them with
you.'
    'I cannot.'
    'Why?'
    He glanced over at Onrack. 'Because, Minala, I am not
returning to the Realm of Shadow—'
    'Wherever you are going,' she said in a suddenly harsh
voice, 'it must be better than this!'
    'Alas, would that I could make such a promise.'
    'He cannot,' said Onrack. 'Minala, he now in truth sets
out on an unseen path. It is my belief that we shall not see
him again.'
    'Thank you for the vote of confidence,' Cotillion said.
    'My friend has seen better days,' Trull Sengar said, reaching
out to slap Onrack on the back. The thump the blow
made was hollow, raising dust, and something clattered
down within the warrior's chest. 'Oh,' said the Tiste Edur,
'did that do something bad?'
    'No,' Onrack replied. 'The broken point of a spear. It had
been lodged in bone.'
    'Was it irritating you?'
    'Only the modest sound it made when I walked. Thank
you, Trull Sengar.'
    Cotillion eyed the two. What mortal would call a T'lan
Imass friend? And, they fight side by side. I would know more
of this Trull Sengar. But, as with so many things lately, there
was no time for that. Sighing, he turned, and saw that the
youth Panek now guarded the choke-point, in Ibra
Gholan's absence.
    The god headed that way.
    Panek swung to face him. 'I miss him,' he said.
    'Who?'
    'Edgewalker.'
    'Why? I doubt that sack of bones could fight his way out
of a birch-bark coffin.'
    'Not to fight at our sides, Uncle. We will hold here.
Mother worries too much.'
    'Which mother?'
    A hideous, sharp-toothed smile. 'Both.'
    'Why do you miss Edgewalker, then?'
    'For his stories.'
    'Oh, those.'
    'The dragons. The foolish ones, the wise ones, the living
ones and the dead ones. If every world were but a place on
the board, they would be the game pieces. Yet no single
hand directs them. Each is wild, a will unto itself. And then
there are the shadows – Edgewalker explained about those
– the ones you can't see.'
    'He explained, did he? Well, clearly the hoary bastard
likes you more than he does me.'
    'They all cast shadows, Uncle,' Panek said. 'Into your
realm. Every one of them. That's why there's so many ...
prisoners.'
    Cotillion frowned, then, slowly, inexorably as comprehension
    dawned, the god's eyes widened.
     
    Trull Sengar watched the god move past Panek, one hand
tracking along the stone wall, as if Cotillion were suddenly
drunk. 'I wonder what that was all about? You'd think
Panek just kneed him between