A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

certainties
and convictions.
    Perhaps, this time, he would dispense with empires. This
time, yes, he would crush everything, until every wretched
mortal scrabbled in the dirt, fighting over grubs and roots.
Was that not the perfect realm for a broken throne?
    Yes, and what better proof of my right to claim that throne?
Kallor alone turns his back on civilization. Look on, Fallen
One, and see me standing before you. Me and none other.
    I vow to take it all down. Every brick. And the world can
look on, awed, in wonder. The gods themselves will stare,
dumbfounded, amazed, bereft and lost. Curse me to fall each
and every time, will you? But I will make a place where no fall
is possible. I will defeat that curse, finally defeat it.
    Can you hear me, K'rul?
    No matter. You will see what there is to see, soon enough.
    These were, he decided, glorious times indeed.

BOOK THREE

TO DIE IN THE NOW
    Push it on to the next moment
Don't think now, save it
For later when thinking will show
Its useless face
When it's too late and worry is wasted
In the rush for cover
    Push it past into that pocket
So that it relents its gnawing presence
And nothing is worth doing
In pointless grace
When all the valid suppositions
Smother your cries
    Push it over into the deep hole
You don't want to know
In case it breaks and makes you feel
Cruel reminders
When all you could have done is now past
No don't bother
    Push it well into the corner
It's no use, so spare me the grief
You didn't like the cost so bright, so high
The bloodiest cut
When all you sought was sweet pleasure
To the end of your days
    Push it on until it pushes back
Shout your shock, shout it
You never imagined you never knew what
Turning away would do
Now wail out your dread in waves of disbelief
It's done it's dead
    Push your way to the front
Clawing the eyes of screaming kin
No legacy awaits your shining children
It's killed, killed
Gone the future all to feed some holy glory
The world is over. Over.
    Siban's Dying Confession
Siban of Aren

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    We watched him approach from a league away
Staggering beneath the weight of all he held
In his arms
We thought he wore a crown but when he came near
The circlet was revealed as the skin of a serpent
Biting its tail
We laughed and shared the carafe when he fell
Cheering as he climbed back upright
In pleasing charm
We slowed into silence when he arrived
And saw for ourselves the burden he carried
Kept from harm
We held stern in the face of his relieved smile
And he said this fresh young world he had found
Was now ours
We looked on as if we were grand gods
Contemplating a host of undeserved gifts
Drawing knives
Bold with pride we cut free bloodied slices
Shared out this bright dripping bounty
And ate our fill
We saw him weep then when nothing was left
Backing away with eyes of pain and dismay
Arms falling
But wolves will make of any world a carcass
We simply replied with our natures revealed
In all innocence
We proclaimed with zeal our humble purity
Though now he turned away and did not hear
As the taste soured
    And the betrayal of poison crept into our limbs
We watched him walk away now a league maybe more
His lonely march
His mourning departure from our kindness
His happy annihilation of our mindless selves
Snake-bit unto death
    The Last Days of Our Inheritance
Fisher kel Tath
    The vast springs of the carriage slammed down
to absorb the thundering impact; then, as the
enormous conveyance surged back up, Gruntle
caught a momentary glimpse of one of the Bole brothers,
his grip torn loose, wheeling through the grainy air. Arms
scything, legs kicking, face wide with bemused surprise.
    His tether snapped taut, and Gruntle saw that the idiot
had tied it to one of his ankles. The man plunged down
and out of sight.
    The horses were screaming, manes whipping in their
frantic heaves forward across stony, broken ground.
Shadowy figures voiced muted cries as the beasts trampled
them under hoof, and the carriage rocked sickeningly over
bodies.
    Someone was shrieking in his ear, and Gruntle twisted
round on his perch on the carriage roof, to see the other
Bole brother – Jula – tugging on the tether. A foot
appeared – moccasin gone, long knobby toes splayed wide
as if seeking a branch – and then the shin and lumpy knee.
A moment later Amby reached up, found a handhold, and
pulled himself back on to the roof. Wearing the strangest
grin Gruntle had ever seen.
    In the half-light the Trygalle carriage raced onward,
plunging through