A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

chaos-stained mind.
    Mother Dark. Father Light. Look upon your crippled children. Upon me. Upon Emurlahn. Heal us. Do you not see the world fashioned in my mind? All as it once was. I hold still to this purity, to all that I sought to create in the mortal realm, among the tribes I brought to heel – the peace I demanded, and won.
    None could have guessed my deepest desire. The Throne of Shadow – it was for me. And by my rule, Kurald Emurlahn would grow strong once again. Whole. Rightfully in its place.
    Yes, there was chaos – the raw unbound power coursing like impassable rivers, isolating every island of Shadow. But I would have used that chaos – to heal.
    Chains. Chains to draw the fragments together, to bind them together.
    The Fallen God was a tool, nothing more.
    But Rhulad Sengar had destroyed all that. In the reach
of a child's hand. And now, everything was dying.
Poisoned. Crumbling into dissolution.
    He reached the base of the scree, smooth round pebbles
clacking beneath his clawed fingers. Coarse sand under his
nails, wet, biting. My world .
    Rain falling in wisps of mist, the pungent smell of moss
and rotting wood. And on the wind . . . the sea.
Surmounting the steep slope of stones, the boles of
Blackwood trees stood arrayed like sentinels.
    There were no invasive demons here. This world was the
world of the Tiste Edur.
    The shadow of a gliding owl slipped over the glistening
slide, crossing his intended path, and Hannan Mosag froze.
    No. It cannot be. There is no-one alive to claim that title.
    He is dead.
    He was not even Tiste Edur!
    And yet, who stood alone before Rhulad Sengar? Yes, she has his severed finger. The owl – most ancient of omens – the owl, to mark the coming of the one.
    Yet anger surged within him.
    It is for me to choose. Me! Mother Dark! Father Light! Guide me to the Throne of Shadow. Emurlahn reborn! It is this, I tell you both, this or the King in Chains, and behind him the Crippled God! Hear my offer!
    'Andii, Liosan, Edur, the Armies of the Tiste . No betrayal.
The betrayals are done – bind us to our words as you have
bound each other. Light, Dark and Shadow, the first
elements of existence. Energy and void and the ceaseless
motion of the ebb and flow between them. These three
forces – the first, the greatest, the purest. Hear me. I would
so pledge the Edur to this alliance! Send to me those who
would speak for the Andii. The Liosan. Send them – bring
your children together!
    'Mother Dark. Father Light. I await your word. I
await . . .'
    He could go no further.
    Weeping, Hannan Mosag rested his head on the stones.
'As you say,' he muttered. 'I will not deny the omen. Very
well, it is not for me to choose.
    'He shall be our Mortal Sword of Emurlahn – no, not the
old title. The new one, to suit this age. Mortal Sword.' Madness – why would he even agree? Letherii . . .
    'So be it.'
    Dusk had arrived. Yet he felt a sliver of warmth against
one cheek, and he lifted his head. The clouds had broken,
there, to the east – a welling band of darkness.
    And, to the west, another slash parting the overcast.
    The lurid glow of the sun.
    'So be it,' he whispered.
    Bruthen Trana stepped back as the prostrate Warlock King
flinched, Hannan Mosag's legs drawing up like an insect in
death.
    A moment later, the warlock's bloodshot eyes prised
open. And seemed to see nothing for a moment. Then they
flicked upward. 'Warrior,' he said thickly, then grimaced
and spat a throatful of phlegm onto the grimy pavestones.
'Bruthen Trana. K'ar Penath speaks boldly of your loyalty,
your honour. You are Tiste Edur – as we all once were.
Before – before Rhulad.' He coughed, then pushed himself
into a sitting position, raising his head with obvious effort
to glower up at Bruthen Trana. 'And so, I must send you
away.'
    'Warlock King, I serve this empire—'
    'Errant take this damned empire! You serve the Tiste
Edur!'
    Bruthen Trana regarded the broken creature below, said
nothing.
    'I know,' Hannan Mosag said, 'you would lead our
warriors – through the palace above us. Room by room,
cutting down every one of the Chancellor's pernicious
spies. Cutting Rhulad free of the snaring web spun about
him – but that fool on his throne could not recognize freedom
if it sprouted wings on his shoulders. He will see it as
an attack, a rebellion. Listen to me! Leave the Chancellor
to us!'
    'And Karos Invictad?'
    'All of them, Bruthen Trana. So I vow before you.'
    'Where do you wish me to go, Warlock