A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

Samar Dev. But we fought,
once, Icarium and I. It was interrupted before I could kill
him.'
    'Karsa—'
    But the Toblakai was smiling. 'Your words please me,
woman. I will face him again, then.'
    She stared at him in the gloom of the hold, but said
nothing.
     
    On another ship in the fleet, Taralack Veed was curled up
in the hold, back to the sloping, sweating hull, as shivers
racked through him.
    Icarium stood before him, and was speaking:'... difficult
to understand. The Letherii seemed so contemptuous of me
before, so what has changed? Now I see worship and hope
in their eyes, their deference unnerves me, Taralack
Veed.'
    'Go away,' the Gral mumbled. 'I'm not well. Leave
me.'
    'What ails you is not physical, I fear, my friend. Please,
come up on deck, breathe deep this enlivening air – it will
soothe you, I am certain of it.'
    'No.'
    Icarium slowly crouched until his grey eyes were level
with Taralack's belligerent stare. 'I awoke that morning
more refreshed, more hopeful than I have ever been – I feel
the truth of that claim. A warmth, deep within me, soft and
welcoming. And it has not diminished since that time. I do
not understand it, friend—'
    'Then,' the Gral said in a grating voice, bitter with
venom, 'I must tell you once more. Who, what you are. I
must tell you, prepare you for what you must do. You leave
me no choice.'
    'There is no need,' Icarium said in a soft tone, reaching
out one hand and resting it on Taralack Veed's shoulder.
    'You fool!' the Gral hissed, twisting away from that
touch. 'Unlike you,' he spat, 'I remember!'
    Icarium straightened, looked down on his old friend.
'There is no need,' he said again, then turned away. You do
not understand.
    There is no need.
     
    He stood on the highest tower of Mock's Hold, expressionless
eyes on the chaos in the city below. The Adjunct's
ships were drawing away from the harbour, out into the
unlit waters of the bay beyond.
    To his right, less than three strides away, was the fissure
that gave the far side of the platform an alarming cant. The
crack was recent, no more than a year old, reaching all
the way down the keep into the cellars below, and the
repairs by the engineers seemed desultory, verging on
incompetent. The old heart of the Malazan Empire was
wounded, and he did not expect it to survive much longer.
    After a time, he sensed a presence behind him, but did
not turn. 'Emperor,' he said in his quiet voice, 'it has been
a long time, hasn't it?'
    Shadowthrone's whisper reached out to him, like a chilling
caress. 'Must this be your way, Tayschrenn? Each and
every time.' A soft snort, the voice drawing closer as it continued,
'You've let yourself be caged. Again. You drive me
mad.'
    'You have had a busy night,' the Imperial High Mage
observed.
    'Ah, you sensed my ... activities? Of course you did. So,
not as caged as it would seem.'
    'I endeavour,' said Tayschrenn, 'to take the long view on
such matters.' He paused, then added, 'As do you.' He
glanced over at the insubstantial smear of darkness at his
side. 'Your new role would not have changed you that
much, I suspect.'
    'You schemed with Quick Ben and Kalam,'
Shadowthrone said. 'You travelled all the way to Seven
Cities to do it, yet what have your plans achieved? The
Empress on shifting sands, a Jhistal priest waddling unfettered
in the corridors of power, the Claw infiltrated and
decimated and my loyal Wickans assailed – but tell me this,
Tayschrenn, could you have ever predicted D'rek's answer
to the betrayal of the priests and priestesses?'
    'Betrayal?'
    'D'rek slaughtered your kin! Every temple!'
    The High Mage was silent for a dozen heartbeats, as the
god at his side grew ever more agitated. Then Tayschrenn
said, 'A year ago, an old friend of mine set out, in haste,
from here – sailing to the Grand Temple of D'rek in Kartool
City.'
    'You knew all that?'
    Tayschrenn half-smiled. 'The ship he hired was mine.
Alas, he was unaware of that detail.'
    'I knew it!' Shadowthrone hissed. 'You never left the
cult!'
    'The Worm of Autumn is the harbinger of death, and
death comes to us all. Us mortals, that is. How can one
leave the acceptance of that? What would be the point?'
    'This empire was mine! Not D'rek's! Not yours!'
    'Emperor, your paranoia always disturbed me more than
your acquisitiveness. In any case, Laseen now rules ... for
the moment. Unless,' he squinted at the god, 'you are
planning a triumphant return?'
    'To save everyone from themselves? I think not. Hate is
the world's