A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

high as to be for ever wreathed in clouds. I want to walk those airy halls and call them my own. Our own. Unless I have no choice but to lock Sheltatha in some crypt, where she can rave and shriek disturbing no-one —
    'I should tear your throat out.'
    The croak, coming from beneath the boughed shelter,
triggered a sigh from Sukul. She approached until she came
round to the front and could look within. Her sister had sat
up, although her head was bowed, that long, crimson hair
obscuring her face. Her long nails at the end of her
dangling hands glistened as if leaking oil. 'Your fever has
broken – that is well.'
    Sheltatha Lore did not look up. 'Is it? I called for you –
when Ruin was clawing loose – when he turned upon me
– that self-serving, heartless bastard! Turned on me! I called on you! '
    'I heard, sister. Alas, too far away to do much about it –
that fight of yours. But I came at last, didn't I? Came, and
freed you.'
    Silence for a long moment; then, her voice dark and
brutal, 'Where is she, then?'
    'Menandore?'
    'It was her, wasn't it?' Lore looked up suddenly, revealing
amber eyes, the whites stained like rust. A ghastly gaze, yet
wide and searching. 'Striking me from behind – I suspected
nothing – I thought you were there, I thought – you were there, weren't you!'
    'As much a victim as you, Sheltatha. Menandore had
prepared long for that betrayal, a score of rituals – to drive
you down, to leave me helpless to intervene.'
    'She struck first, you mean.' The statement was a half-snarl.
'Were we not planning the same, Sukul?'
    'That detail is without much relevance now, isn't it?'
    'And yet, dear sister, she didn't bury you, did she?'
    'Not through any prowess on my part. Nor did I bargain
for my freedom. No, it seemed Menandore was not interested
in destroying me.' Sukul could feel her own sneer of
hatred twisting her features. 'She never thought I was
worth much. Sukul Ankhadu, Dapple, the Fickle. Well, she
is about to learn otherwise, isn't she?'
    'We must find an Azath,' Sheltatha Lore said, baring
brown teeth. 'She must be made to suffer what I suffered.'
    'I agree, sister. Alas, there are no surviving Azath in this
place – on this continent, I mean. Sheltatha Lore – will you
trust me? I have something in mind – a means of trapping
Menandore, of exacting our long-awaited revenge. Will
you join me? As true allies – together, there are none here
powerful enough to stop us—'
    'You fool, there is Silchas Ruin.'
    'I have an answer for him as well, sister. But I need your
help. We must work together, and in so doing we will
achieve the demise of both Menandore and Silchas Ruin.
Do you trust me?'
    Sheltatha Lore's laugh was harsh. 'Cast that word away,
sister. It is meaningless. I demand vengeance. You have
something to prove – to us all. Very well, we shall work
together, and see what comes of it. Tell me your grand plan,
then. Tell me how we shall crush Silchas Ruin who is without
equal in this realm—'
    'You must conquer your fear of him,' Sukul said, glancing
away, studying the glade, noting how the shafts of sunlight
had lengthened, and the ruined wall surrounding them now
hunched like crumbling darkness. 'He is not indomitable.
Scabandari proved that well enough—'
    'Are you truly so stupid as to believe that?' Sheltatha
demanded, clambering free of the lean-to, straightening
like some anthropomorphic tree. Her skin gleamed,
polished and the colour of stained wood. 'I shared the
bastard's barrow for a thousand eternities. I tasted his
dreams, I sipped at the stream of his secretmost thoughts –
he grew careless . . .'
    Sukul scowled at her kin. 'What are you saying?'
    The terrible eyes fixed mockingly on her. 'He stood on
the field of battle. He stood, his back to Scabandari –
whom he called Bloodeye and was that not hint enough?
Stood, I tell you, and but waited for the knives.'
    'I do not believe you – that must be a lie, it must be!'
    'Why? Wounded, weaponless. Sensing the fast approach
of this realm's powers – powers that would not hesitate in
destroying him and Bloodeye both. Destroying in the
absolute sense – Silchas was in no condition to defend
against them. Nor, he well knew, was Scabandari, for all
that idiot's pompous preening over the countless dead. So,
join in Scabandari's fate, or . . . escape ?'
    'Millennia within a barrow of an Azath – you call that an
escape, Sheltatha?'
    'More than any of us – more even than Anomandaris,'
she said, her eyes