A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

afford to – so, not a
protest, but a surrender, and they would line up to spit upon
his corpse. And warriors like Saur Bathrada and Kholb
Harat would draw their knives and crouch down, and with
pleasure in their eyes they would disfigure the senseless
body. For these two Edur had grown to love blood and pain,
and in that they were not alone.
    The king of Sepik was the last to die. He had been made
to witness the obliteration of his cherished people. It was
said that he was a benign ruler – oh how the Edur despised
that statement, as if it was an insult, a grievous, vicious insult. That wretched man collapsing between two warriors who
struggled to hold him upright, grasping his grey hair to
force his head up, to see. Oh, how he'd shrieked and wailed.
Until Tomad Sengar wearied of those cries and ordered the
king flung from the tower. And, as he fell, his wail became
a sound filled with relief. He looked upon those cobbles, rising
fast to meet him, as salvation. And this is our gift. Our only gift.
    Ahlrada Ahn drew out his Merude cutlasses once again,
studied their deadly sharp edges. The grips felt good, felt
proper, nestled in his large hands. He heard a stirring
among the warriors gathered on the deck and looked up to
see the one named Taralack Veed pushing through the
crowd, at his side Atri-Preda Yan Tovis and in their wake
the Jhag known as Icarium.
    Taller than most Edur, the silent, sad-faced warrior
carried naught but his old, single-edged sword. No bow, no
scabbard for the weapon in his right hand, no armour of
any kind. Yet Ahlrada Ahn felt a chill whisper through
him. Is he in truth a champion? What will we see this day,
beyond the gate?
    Two hundred Edur warriors, the Arapay warlock Sathbaro
Rangar – now dragging his malformed hulk on a route that
would intercept Icarium – and sixty Letherii archers. All
ready, all eager to begin the killing.
    The warlock squinted up at the Jhag, who halted before
him – not out of deference or even much in the way of
attentiveness; rather, because the twisted old man blocked
his path. 'I see,' Sathbaro Rangar said in a rasp, 'in you ...
nothing. Vast emptiness, as if you are not even here. And
your companion claims you to be a great warrior? I think we
are deceived.'
    Icarium said nothing.
    The human named Taralack Veed stepped forward, pausing
to spit on his hands and sweep them back through his
hair. 'Warlock,' he said in passable trader's tongue, 'when
the fight begins, you shall see the birth of all that waits
within him. This I promise. Icarium exists to destroy, exists
to fight, I mean to say, and that is all—'
    'Then why does he weep at your words?' Tomad Sengar
asked from behind Ahlrada Ahn.
    Taralack Veed turned, then bowed low. 'Preda, he grieves
for what is lost within him, for all that your warlock perceives
... the absence, the empty vessel. It is no matter.'
    'It is no matter.' Ahlrada Ahn did not believe that. He
could not. You fools'. Look at him! What you see, Sathbaro
Rangar, is nothing more than loss. Do none of you grasp the
significance of that? What do we invite among us? And this
Taralack Veed, this foul-smelling savage, see how nervous he
looks, as if he himself dreads what is coming – no, I am not blind
to the eager light in his eyes, but I see fear there, too. It cries out
in his every gesture.
    What are we about to do here?
    Tomad Sengar said, 'Warlock, prepare the path.'
    At that, everyone readied their weapons. Saur Bathrada
and Kholb Harat would lead, followed by Sathbaro Rangar
himself, and then Taralack and his charge, with the bulk of
the Edur behind them, and the Letherii appearing last,
arrows nocked.
    This would be Ahlrada Ahn's first foray against the
guardians of the throne. But he had heard enough tales.
Battle without quarter. Battle as vicious as any the Edur
had experienced. He adjusted his grip on the cutlasses and
moved into position, in the front line of the main body.
Low-voiced greetings reached him – every Edur warrior
emboldened by Ahlrada Ahn's presence in their ranks. Spearbreaker. Fearless, as if eager for death.
    Oh yes, I am that indeed. Death. My own.
    And yet ... do I not still dream of going home?
    He watched the ragged gate blister the air, then split
wide, limned in grey flames, its maw nothing but blurred
darkness.
    The warlock stepped to one side, and Saur and Kholb
lunged into it, vanished into the gloom. Sathbaro Rangar
followed, then Taralack and Icarium. And it was
Ahlrada Ahn's turn. He