A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

The House exists both as a cast
shadow and as its true physical manifestation. No
distinction can be made between the two. A nexus . . . but
that is not unusual for Azath constructs, is it? What is,
however, is that the gate to Kurald Emurlahn was vulnerable
in the first place, to such a usurpation.'
    'Necessity, I expect,' said Cotillion, frowning at seeing a
slow sweep of broad ripples approach the shore, their source
somewhere further out. Not at all what it seems . . .
    'What do you mean?'
    The god shrugged. 'The realm was shattered. Dying.'
    'The Azath participated in healing the fragments?
Intentional? By design, by intellect? Or in the manner that
blood dries to create a scab? Is the Azath nothing more
than some kind of natural immune system, such as our
bodies unleash to fight illness?'
    'The breadth of your scholarly knowledge is impressive,
Quick Ben.'
    'Never mind that. The warrens were K'rul's supreme
sacrifice – his own flesh, his own blood. But not the Elder Warrens – or so we are to believe. Whose veins were
opened to create those, Cotillion?'
    'I wish I knew. No, rather, I don't. I doubt it is relevant,
in any case. Does the Azath simply respond to damage, or
is there a guiding intelligence behind its actions? I cannot
answer you. I doubt anyone can. Does it even matter?'
    'I don't know, to be honest. But not knowing makes me
nervous.'
    'I have a key for you,' Cotillion said after a moment.
Trull Sengar and Onrack were now walking towards them.
'For the three of you, in fact. If you want it.'
    'here's a choice?'
    'Not for them,' Cotillion said, nodding in the direction
of Trull and the T'lan Imass. 'And they could use your
help.'
    'The same was true of Kalam Mekhar,' Quick Ben said.
'Not to mention Adjunct Tavore.'
    'They survived,' Cotillion replied.
    'You cannot be sure, though – not with Kalam. You can't
be entirely sure, can you?'
    'He was alive when the Deadhouse took him.'
    'So Shadowthrone claims.'
    'He would not lie.'
    The wizard barked a bitter laugh.
    'Kalam still lives, Quick Ben. The Deadhouse has him,
beyond the reach of time itself. Yet he will heal. The poison
will degrade, become inert. Shadowthrone saved the
assassin's life—'
    'Why?'
    'Now that is a harder question to answer,' Cotillion
admitted. 'Perhaps simply to defy Laseen, and you should
not be surprised if that is his only reason. Believe me, for
Shadowthrone, it suffices.' Be glad, Ben Adaephon Delat, that I do not tell you his real reason .
    Trull Sengar and Onrack drew close, then halted. The
Tiste Edur's new stone-tipped spear was strapped to his
back; he was wearing a long cape against the chill, the wool
dyed deep burgundy – one of the more useful treasures
found in the longhouse. It was held in place by an exquisite
silver brooch depicting some sort of stylized hammer. At his
side, Onrack the Broken's skeletal frame was so battered,
dented and fractured it was a wonder that the warrior was
still in one piece.
    The T'lan Imass spoke. 'This lake, god. The shore
opposite . . .'
    'What of it?'
    'It does not exist.'
    Cotillion nodded.
    Trull Sengar asked, 'How can that be? Onrack says it's
not a gate, on the other side. It's not anything at all.'
    Cotillion ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his
chin – realizing he needed to shave – and squinted out on
the water. 'The other side is . . . unresolved.'
    'What does that mean?' Quick Ben demanded.
    'To fully understand, you will have to go there, wizard.
The three of you – that is the path of your journey. And you
must leave soon.'
    'Forgive us for being unimpressed,' the Tiste Edur said
drily. 'The last nightmare you sent us into has made us
rather reluctant adventurers. We need a better reason,
Cotillion.'
    'I imagine you do.'
    'We're waiting,' Quick Ben said, crossing his arms.
    'Alas, I cannot help you. Any explanation I attempt will
affect your perception of what you will find, at your
journey's end. And that must not be allowed to happen,
because the manner in which you perceive will shape and
indeed define the reality that awaits you.' He sighed again.
'I know, that's not very helpful.'
    'Then summon Shadowthrone,' Trull Sengar said.
'Maybe he can do better.'
    Cotillion shrugged, then nodded.
    A dozen heartbeats later a mostly formless shadow rose in
their midst, from which emerged a knobby cane at the end of
a skinny, gnarled arm. The god glanced about, then down, to
find itself ankle-deep in water. Hissing, Shadowthrone picked
up the tattered ends