A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

the Ghost King, but I doubt there is a
single detail he does not know in Black Coral. They will not
heed that until they make a terrible mistake and then it will be
too late. 'Seerdomin, yes. The Benighted.'
    A faint smile from Anomander Rake. 'Itkovian was
a most extraordinary man. This newborn cult interests
me, and I am not so sure it would have pleased him. He
saw himself as a soldier, a failed one at that – the fall of
Capustan devastated him.' He paused for a moment, clearly
remembering, then he said, 'They were but a mercenary
company, modest in complement – nothing like the
Crimson Guard. I dare say even the Crimson Guard would
have failed to hold Capustan.'
    Spinnock Durav remained silent, attentive. He had been
away during that time. Another journey on behalf of his
Lord. Hunting a dragon, of all things. Conversations like the
one he'd found at the end of that quest were not worth
repeating.
    'He could forgive everyone but himself.'
    No wonder you liked him.
    Anomander Rake sighed. 'I cannot say how long you will
need, Spinnock. As long, perhaps, as you can manage.'
    As the significance of that statement settled into
Spinnock Durav he felt an uncharacteristic flash of dismay.
    Angry at himself, he slowly settled his hands on the arms of
the chair, fingers curling round the smooth wood, hoping
he'd left nothing in his expression. This is what I do and will
do. Until my end. She is young, so young – oh, there's no point
in thinking about . . . about any of that. About her at all. Was
he able to keep the anguish from his eyes? What thoughts
– doubts – rustled through his Lord now as he watched his
old friend? Feeling defeated, Spinnock Durav glanced over
at Anomander Rake.
    The ruler of Black Coral sat frowning at his smouldering
boots.
    So, how long has he been thus? 'I have always . . . managed,
Lord.'
    'Yes, you have. I am curious. What so afflicts Seerdomin?'
    'A crisis of faith, I think.' Life like Kef Tanar, this skipping
across paths. He does it so well, this man whom I have never
defeated in our tabletop wars, not in ten thousand years. But
I can stay with you, Lord, at least this far. 'He has ceased
making his daily pilgrimage. Among those living out there,
there have grown . . . expectations. Which, it seems, he is
unable to meet.'
    'You tread carefully, Spinnock Durav. That is unlike
you.'
    'I do not possess all the details yet.'
    'But you shall.'
    'Eventually, yes.'
    'And then?'
    Spinnock looked across at Rake. 'I will do what needs
doing.'
    'Best hurry, then.'
    Ah, yes, I see now.
    'The Redeemer is a most helpless god,' Anomander Rake
said after a time. 'Unable to refuse, unable to give. A sea
sponge swallowing the entire sea. Then the next one and
the one after that. Can it simply go on for ever? But for
Itkovian, I would think not.'
    'Is that a sort of faith, Lord?'
    'Perhaps it is. Is his ability to forgive truly endless? To
take on the pain and guilt of others for all eternity? I admit,
I have some serious difficulties with this cult's root tenets
– oh, as I said, I greatly admired Itkovian, the Shield Anvil
of the Grey Swords. I even understand, to some extent,
his gesture with the Kron T'lan Imass. As the Redeemer,
however . . . I cannot but wonder at a god so willing to
assume the crimes and moral flaws of its followers, while in
turn demanding nothing – no expectation of a change in
behaviour, no threat of punishment should they continue
to transgress. Absolution – yes, I grasp the notion, but
absolution is not the same as redemption, is it? The former
is passive. The latter demands an effort, one with implicit
sacrifice and hardship, one demanding all the higher
qualities of what we call virtues.'
    'Yet he is called the Redeemer.'
    'Because he takes on the task of redemption for all who
come to him, all who pray to him. And yes, it is an act of
profound courage. But he does not expect the same of his
people – he appears to possess no expectations whatsoever.'
    This was most loquacious of his Lord, evidence of a long,
careful condensation of thought, of considerable energy
devoted to the nature of the cult clinging to the very edge
of Black Coral and Night, all of which seemed . . . unusual.
'He leads by example, then.'
    A sudden glitter of interest in Anomander Rake's eyes
and he studied Spinnock Durav intently. 'Has any one
follower stumbled on to that possibility, Spinnock Durav?'
    'I do not know. I, er, don't think so – but, Lord, I am too
far outside all of it at