A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

realize.'
    Including, bitch, my fear of you. 'You think you can give
me away, Menandore?'
    The eyes flared with amusement or contempt or both.
'Speak then, Udinaas, let us hear your bold claims.'
    'You both think you summoned me here, don't you? For
your stupid tug of war. But the truth is, I summoned the two
of you.'
    'You are mad—'
    'Maybe so, Menandore. But this is my dream. Not yours.
Not his. Mine .'
    'You fool,' she spat. 'Just try banishing us—'
    Udinaas opened his eyes, stared up at a cold, clear night
sky, and allowed himself a smile. My dream, your nightmare. He pulled the furs tighter about himself, drawing up his legs
– making sure they weren't broken. Stiffness in the knees –
normal, what came of scrabbling over rock and ice – but
warm with life. 'All is well,' he whispered.
    'Good,' said Kettle.
    Udinaas turned, looked up. She was crouched at his side.
'Why are you awake?' he demanded.
    'I'm not. And neither are you. That temple, it fell over.
After you left.'
    'Hope it crushed the Errant flat, then.'
    'No. You'd already sent him away. Her too.'
    'But not you.'
    'No. You didn't know I was there.'
    'All right, so I am still dreaming. What do you want?'
    'That temple. It couldn't have held all those souls. All
that grief. It was broken and that's why it fell over. That
was what you were supposed to see. So you'd understand
when everything happens. And not be sad. And be able to
do what he wants you to do, just not in the way he thought
it would be. That's all.'
    'Good. Now crawl back to your own dreams, Kettle.'
    'Okay. Just remember, don't cry too soon. You have to
wait.'
    'Really. How long before I do this crying?'
    But she was gone.
    He'd caught some damn fever from the rotting ice.
Shivering and hallucinating for three – maybe four – nights
now. Bizarre dreams inside dreams and on and on.
Delusions of warmth, the comfort of furs not sodden with
sweat, the balm of mysterious conversations where meaning
wasn't an issue. I like this life. It's predictable. Mostly. And when it isn't, it feels no different. I take whatever comes at me. As if each night I receive lessons in . . . in taking control.
    Now it was time for the huge table heaped with all his
favourite foods.
    They said he was gaunt as a wraith.
    But every night he ate his fill.
    With the dawn light pushing the shadows into the clefts
and valleys and transforming the snow-clad peaks into
molten gold, Seren Pedac rose from her furs and stood, feeling
grimy and dishevelled. The high altitude left her throat
sore and her eyes dry, and her allergies only exasperated
those conditions. Shivering in the cutting wind, she
watched Fear Sengar struggling to relight the fire. Long-frozen
wood was reluctant to burn. Kettle had been
gathering grasses and she now squatted down beside the
Tiste Edur with her offerings.
    A ragged cough from where Udinaas lay still buried in
furs. After a moment, he slowly sat up. Face flushed with
fever, sweat on his brow, his eyes dull. He hacked out a
noise Seren belatedly realized was laughter.
    Fear's head snapped round as if wasp-stung. 'This
amuses you? You'd rather another cold meal to start the
day?'
    Udinaas blinked over at the Tiste Edur, then shrugged
and looked away.
    Seren cleared her throat. 'Whatever amused him, Fear,
had nothing to do with you.'
    'Speaking for me now?' Udinaas asked her. He tottered
weakly to his feet, still wrapped in the furs. 'This might be
another dream,' he said. 'At any moment that white-skinned
warrior perched over there might transform into a
dragon. And the child Kettle will open her mouth like
a door, into which Fear Sengar will plunge, devoured by his
own hunger to betray.' The flat, murky eyes fixed on Seren
Pedac. 'And you will conjure lost ages, Acquitor, as if the
follies of history had any relevance, any at all.'
    The whirl and snap of a chain punctuated the bizarre
pronouncements.
    Udinaas glanced over at Clip, and smiled. 'And you're
dreaming of sinking your hands into a pool of blood, but
not any old blood. The question is, can you manipulate
events to achieve that red torrent?'
    'Your fever has boiled your brain,' the Tiste Andii warrior
said with an answering smile. He faced Silchas Ruin. 'Kill
him or leave him behind.'
    Seren Pedac sighed, then said, 'Clip, when will we begin
our descent? Lower down, there will be herbs to defeat his
fever.'
    'Not for days,' he replied, spinning the chain in his right
hand. 'And even then . . . well, I doubt you'll find