A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

looked as if it awaited
some kind of attachment, if the intricate loops of metal
were anything more than decorative. The object stood on
a platform of the same peculiar, dull metal, and again there
was no obvious separation between it and the platform
itself.
    'Have you managed to identify its purpose?' Venitt asked
the old, mostly bald man at his side.
    'Well,' Bugg conceded, 'I have some theories.'
    'I would be interested in hearing them.'
    'You will find others in the city,' Bugg said. 'No two alike,
but the same nonetheless, if you know what I mean.'
    'No, I don't, Bugg.'
    'Same manufacture, same mystery as to function. I've
never bothered actually mapping them, but it may be that
there is some kind of pattern, and from that pattern, the
purpose of their existence might be comprehended.
Possibly.'
    'But who built them?'
    'No idea, Venitt. Long ago, I suspect – the few others I've
seen myself are mostly underground, and further out
towards the river bank. Buried in silts.'
    'In silts . . .' Venitt continued staring, then his eyes
slowly widened. He turned to the old man. 'Bugg, I have a
most important favour to ask of you. I must continue on my
way, out of Letheras. I need a message delivered, however,
back to my master. To Rautos Hivanar.'
    Bugg shrugged. 'I see no difficulty managing that,
Venitt.'
    'Good. Thank you. The message is this: he must come
here, to see this for himself. And – and this is most important
– he must bring his collection of artifacts.'
    'Artifacts?'
    'He will understand, Bugg.'
    'All right,' the old man said. 'I can get over there in a
couple of days . . . or I can send a runner if you like.'
    'Best in person, Bugg, if you would. If the runner garbles
the message, my master might end up ignoring it.'
    'As you like, Venitt. Where, may I ask, are you going?'
    The Indebted scowled. 'Bluerose, and then on to Drene.'
    'A long journey awaits you, Venitt. May it prove dull and
uneventful.'
    'Thank you, Bugg. How go things here?'
    'We're waiting for another shipment of materials. When
that arrives, we can finish up. Your master has pulled
another of my crews over for that shoring-up project at his
estate, but until the trusses arrive that's not as inconvenient
as it might be.' He glanced at Venitt. 'Do you
have any idea when Hivanar will be finished with all of
that?'
    'Strictly speaking, it's not shoring-up – although that is
involved.' He paused, rubbed at his face. 'More of a
scholarly pursuit. Master is extending bulwarks out into the
river, then draining and pumping the trenches clear so that
the crews can dig down through the silts.'
    Bugg frowned. 'Why? Is he planning to build a breakwater
or a pier?'
    'No. He is recovering . . . artifacts.'
    Venitt watched the old man look back at the edifice, and
saw the watery eyes narrow. 'I wouldn't mind seeing those.'
    'Some of your foremen and engineers have done just that
. . . but none were able to work out their function.' And yes, they are linked to this thing here. In fact, one piece is a perfect replica of this, only on a much smaller scale. 'When you
deliver your message, you can ask to see what he's found,
Bugg. I am sure he would welcome your observations.'
    'Perhaps,' the old man said distractedly.
    'Well,' Venitt said. 'I had best be going.'
    'Errant ignore you, Venitt Sathad.'
    'And you, Bugg.'
    'If only . . .'
    That last statement was little more than a whisper, and
Venitt glanced back at Bugg as he crossed the courtyard on
his way out. A peculiar thing to say.
    But then, old men were prone to such eccentricities.
    Dismounting, Atri-Preda Bivatt began walking among the
wreckage. Vultures and crows clambered about from one
bloated body to the next, as if confused by such a
bounteous feast. Despite the efforts of the carrion eaters, it
was clear to her that the nature of the slaughter was
unusual. Huge blades, massive fangs and talons had done
the damage to these hapless settlers, soldiers and drovers.
And whatever had killed these people had struck before –
the unit of cavalry that had pursued Redmask from Drene's
North Gate had suffered an identical fate.
    In her wake strode the Edur Overseer, Brohl Handar.
'There are demons,' he said, 'capable of this. Such as those
the K'risnan conjured during the war . . . although they
rarely use teeth and claws.'
    Bivatt halted near a dead hearth. She pointed to a sweep
of dirt beside it. 'Do your demons leave tracks such as
these?'
    The Edur warrior came to her side. 'No,' he said after