A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

reeling back to a
savage blow with the flat of Karsa's blade, both wrists
broken by the impact.
    Yet, as she toppled, she twisted, one foot lashing upward
towards the Toblakai's crotch.
    He caught her kick with one hand, blocking the blow,
then boldly lifted her into the air.
    She swung the other foot.
    And the Toblakai, laughing, released his sword and
snagged that leg as well.
    And held her there.
    Dangling.
    Behind Taralack Veed, there was a soft sigh, and the Gral,
blinking, turned round.
    Icarium smiled. Then said in a low voice, 'We have met,
I think. He and I. Perhaps long ago. A duel that was interrupted.'
    By Mappo. Has to be. Mappo, who saw a storm coming between these two. Oh, Trell . . .
    Taralack licked dry lips. 'Would you resume that duel,
Icarium?'
    The Jhag's brows lifted fractionally. Then he shook his
head, leaving that as his answer.
    Thank the spirits.
    From Preda Tomad Sengar, a grunt.
    'These games,' Samar Dev ventured, drawing his
attention, 'they are intended to entertain, yes? Each
contest more challenging than the last.'
    The Tiste Edur eyed her, expressionless, then he said,
'Among the audience, there are those who are entertained.'
    'Yes.'
    After a moment, he added, 'Yes, this Tarthenal will come
last. The decision was unanimous among our observers.'
Then he shrugged and said, 'I came to see for myself.
Although my judgement has no relevance.'
    'That Seguleh was very good,' Samar Dev said.
    'Perhaps. But she has sparred with no others.'
    'They hold her in great respect.'
    'Even now? When will he set her down?'
    She shook her head.
    Tomad Sengar turned away. 'The Tarthenal is superb.'
    'And yet your son is better.'
    This halted him once more and he stared back at her
with narrowed eyes. 'Your Tarthenal is superb,' he repeated.
'But he will die anyway.'
    The Tiste Edur walked away.
    Finally responding to shouts and entreaties from the
onlookers, Karsa Orlong set the woman down onto
the ground.
    Three Letherii healers rushed in to tend to her.
    Collecting his sword, Karsa straightened, then looked
round.
    Oh , thought Samar Dev, oh no.
    But Icarium was gone. As was his Gral keeper.
    The Toblakai walked towards her.
    'I didn't need to know,' she said.
    'No, you knew already.'
    Oh, gods!
    Then he drew closer and stared down at her. 'The Jhag
fled. The Trell who was with him is gone. Probably dead.
Now there is a desert warrior I could break with one hand.
There would have been none to stop us, this Icarium and
me. He knew that. So he fled.'
    'You damned fool, Karsa. Icarium is not the kind of
warrior who spars . Do you understand me?'
    'We would not have sparred, Samar Dev.'
    'So why spend yourself against him? Is it not these Edur
and their Letherii slaves you seek vengeance against?'
    'When I am finished with their Emperor, I will seek out
Icarium. We will finish what we began.'
    'Beware gathering the men before the battering ram,
Karsa Orlong.'
    'A foolish saying,' he pronounced after a moment.
    'Oh, and why is that?'
    'Among the Teblor, men are the battering ram. Look
upon me, Samar Dev. I have fought and won. See the sweat
on my muscles? Come lie with me.'
    'No, I feel sick.'
    'I will make you feel better. I will split you in two.'
    'That sounds fun. Go away.'
    'Must I hunt down another whore?'
    'They all run when they see you now, Karsa Orlong. In
the opposite direction, I mean.'
    He snorted, then looked round. 'Perhaps the Seguleh.'
    'Oh, really! You just broke her arms!'
    'She won't need them. Besides, the healers are mending
her.'
    'Gods below, I'm leaving.'
    As she strode away, she heard his rumbling laugh. Oh, I know you make sport of me. I know and yet I fall into your traps every time. You are too clever, barbarian. Where is that thick-skulled savage? The one to match your pose?
    * * *
    Dragging mangled legs, every lurch stabbing pain along the
length of his bent, twisted spine, Hannan Mosag squinted
ahead, and could just make out the scree of river-polished
stones rising like a road between the cliffs of the gorge. He
did not know if what he was seeing was real.
    Yet it felt right.
    Like home.
    Kurald Emurlahn, the Realm of Shadow. Not a fragment,
not a torn smear riven through with impurities. Home, as it
once was, before all the betrayals ripped it asunder. Paradise awaits us. In our minds. Ghost images, all perfection assembled by will and will alone. Believe what you see, Hannan Mosag. This is home.
    And yet it resisted. Seeking to reject him, his broken
body, his