A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

time to push back, that's all.
Still, that damage to your hands worries me.'
    'Aranatha did what she could – I will be fine.' He did
not explain how the wounding felt more spiritual than
physical. Aranatha had indeed healed the crushed bones,
the mangled flesh. Yet he still cradled them as if crippled,
and in his dreams at night he found himself trapped in
memories of that heavy block of obsidian sliding over his
fingertips, the pain, the spurting blood – and he'd awaken
slick with sweat, hands throbbing.
    The very same hands that had strangled Phaed – almost
taking her life. The pain felt like punishment, and now,
in the city before them, he believed that once more they
would know violence, delivering death with terrible
grace.
    They reined in before the gate's archway. Sigils crowded
the wooden doors, painted in the same thick, black dye
that marred the walls to either side.
    Nenanda spoke from the wagon's bench. 'What are we
waiting for? Nimander? Let's get this over with.'
    Skintick twisted in the saddle and said, 'Patience,
brother. We're waiting for the official welcoming party.
    The killing will have to come later.'
    Kallor climbed down from the back of the wagon and
walked up to the gate. 'I hear singing,' he said.
    Nimander nodded. The voices were distant, reaching
them in faint waves rippling out from the city's heart.
There were no other sounds, such as one would expect from
a crowded, thriving settlement. And through the archway
he could see naught but empty streets and the dull faces of
blockish buildings, shutters closed on every window.
    Kallor had continued on, into the shadow of the gate
and then out to the wide street beyond, where he paused,
his gaze fixed on something to his left.
    'So much for the welcoming party,' Skintick said,
sighing. 'Shall we enter, Nimander?'
    From behind them came Aranatha's melodic voice. 'Be
warned, cousins. This entire city is the Abject Temple.'
    Nimander and Skintick both turned at that.
    'Mother bless us,' Skintick whispered.
    'What effect will that have on us?' Nimander asked her.
'Will it be the same as in the village that night?'
    'No, nothing like that has awakened yet.' Then she
shook her head. 'But it will come.'
    'And can you defend us?' Nenanda asked.
    'We will see.'
    Skintick hissed under his breath and then said, 'Now
that's reassuring.'
    'Never mind,' Nimander replied. Wincing, he tightened
his grip on the reins and with a slight pressure of his legs he
guided his horse into the city.
    The others lurched into motion behind him.
    Coming to Kallor's side Nimander followed the old man's
gaze down the side street and saw what had so captured his
attention. The ruin of an enormous mechanism filled the
street a hundred paces down. It seemed to have come from
the sky, or toppled down from the roof of the building
nearest the outer wall – taking most of the facing wall
with it. Twisted iron filled its gaping belly, where flattened,
riveted sheets had been torn away. Smaller pieces of the
machine littered the cobbles, like fragments of armour, the
iron strangely blue, almost gleaming.
    'What in the Abyss is that?' Skintick asked.
    'Looks K'Chain Che'Malle,' Kallor said. 'But they would
offer up no gods, dying or otherwise. Now I am curious,'
and so saying he bared his teeth in a smile not directed
at anyone present – which was, Nimander decided, a good
thing.
    'Aranatha says the entire city is sanctified.'
    Kallor glanced over. 'I once attempted that for an entire
empire.'
    Skintick snorted. 'With you as the focus of worship?'
    'Of course.'
    'And it failed?'
    Kallor shrugged. 'Everything fails, eventually.' And he
set out for a closer examination of the ruined machine.
    'Even conversation,' muttered Skintick. 'Should we
follow him?'
    Nimander shook his head. 'Leave him. If the city is a
temple, then there must be an altar – presumably somewhere
in the middle.'
    'Nimander, we could well be doing everything they want
us to do, especially by bringing Clip to that altar. I think
we should find an inn, somewhere to rest up. We can then
reconnoitre and see what awaits us.'
    He thought about that for a moment, and then nodded.
'Good idea. Lead the way, Skin, see what you can find.'
    They continued on down the main street leading from
the gate. The tenements looked lifeless, the shops on the
ground level empty, abandoned. Glyphs covered every wall
and door, spread out from every shuttered window to as
far as a hand could reach if someone was leaning out.