A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

Rel's
chamber, after all, his residence. Wards carved into the
floor, rituals suspended in the damp air, enough sorcery to
set teeth on edge and raise hairs on the nape of the neck.
Oh, officially this well-furnished room might be referred to
as a cell, but that euphemistic absurdity would not last
much longer.
    The bastard's agents were everywhere. Whispering their
stories in taverns, on street corners, beneath the straddled
legs of whores and noblewomen. The Jhistal priest was
becoming a hero – the lone survivor of the Fall at Aren, the
only loyal one, that is. The one who managed to escape
the clutches of the traitors, be they Sha'ik's own, or the betrayers
in the city of Aren itself. Mallick Rel, who alone professes to
know the truth.
    There were seeds from a certain grass that grew on the
Seti Plains, Pearl recalled, that were cleverly barbed, so
that when they snagged on something, or someone, they
were almost impossible to remove. Barbed husks, that
weakened and cracked apart only after the host had
travelled far. Such were rumours, carried on breaths from
one host to the next, the barbs holding fast. And when the
necessary time has passed, when every seed is in place, what
then? What shall unfold at Mallick Rel's command? Pearl did
not want to think about it.
    Nor did he want to think about this: he was very
frightened.
    'Claw, speak with him.'
    'Him. I admit, I cannot yet decide which "him" you are
referring to, priest. In neither case, alas, can I fathom your
reasons for making such a request of me. Tayschrenn is no
friend of yours—'
    'Nor is he a fool, Claw. He sees far ahead, does
Tayschrenn. No, there is no reason I would urge you to
speak with the Imperial High Mage. His position grows
ever more precarious as it is. You seek, yes, to confabulate?
Plainly, then, I urge you, Claw, to descend to the
catacombs, and there speak with Korbolo Dom. You have
not heard his story, and in humility I would advise, it is
time that you did.'
    Pearl closed his eyes on the rain-lashed scene through
the window. 'Of course. He was in truth an agent of
Laseen's, even when he fought on behalf of Sha'ik. His
Dogslayers, they were in place to turn upon Sha'ik and
crush her utterly, including killing both Toblakai
and Leoman of the Flails. But there, during the Chain of
Dogs, he stumbled upon a greater betrayal in the making.
Oh yes, Mallick Rel, I can see how you and he will twist
this – I imagine you two have worked long and hard, during
those countless "illegal" sojourns of yours down in the catacombs
– indeed, I know of them – the Claw remain
outside your grasp, and that will not change, I assure you.'
    'It is best,' the man said in his sibilant voice, 'that you
consider my humble suggestion, Claw, for the good of your
sect.'
    'For the good of ...' Gods below, he feels ready to threaten
the Claw! How far has all this madness gone? I must speak with
Topper – maybe it's not too late ...
    'This rain,' Mallick Rel continued behind him, 'it shall
make the seas rise, yes?'

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
    Truth is a pressure, and I see us all shying away. But, my
friends, from truth there can be no escape.
    The Year of Ten Thousand Lies
Kayessan
     
    A rhizan, clinging to the limp folds of the imperial
standard, its hunger forgotten, its own life but a
quiescent spark within its tiny body, had listened
intently to the entire conversation.
    A dromon was easing its way among the nearest transports,
towing a sleek, black-hulled warship; and from the
shoreline watched the Adjunct and Admiral Nok, along
with Fist Keneb, Quick Ben and Kalam Mekhar. Few words
were exchanged among them, until the arrival of Sergeant
Gesler and Corporal Stormy. At that point, things got
interesting.
    'Adjunct,' Gesler said in greeting. 'That's our ship. That's
the Silanda.'
    Admiral Nok was studying the gold-hued marine.
'Sergeant, I understand you claim that you can sail that
unpleasant craft.'
    A nod. 'With a couple squads, aye, and that's it. As for
the crew below manning the oars, well, when we need 'em
to row, they'll row.'
    Stormy added, 'We lived with 'em long enough they
don't scare us no more, sir, not even Gesler here an' he
jumps every time he looks in that fancy silver mirror of his.
An' those heads, they don't make our skins crawl neither,
no more—'
    'Stop talking like a sailor, Adjutant Stormy,' Nok said.
    A smile amidst the red, bristling beard. 'Ain't no
Adjutant any more, Admiral.'
    Thin brows rose, and Nok said, 'Title alone gifts