A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

replied
the one named Cotillion. 'But is this one really the right
audience? I can almost smell the bear grease from here.'
    'That's Lock,' said Shadowthrone. 'He was rolling in
something a while ago.'
    Karsa leaned forward on the strange saddle that Samar
Dev had had fitted for Havok back in Letheras. 'If I am a
clerk, then one prophecy will prove true.'
    'Oh, and which one would that be?' Cotillion asked,
seemingly amused that Karsa was capable of speech.
    'The tyranny of the number counters will be a bloody
one.'
    Shadowthrone wheezed laughter, then coughed into the
silence of the others and said, 'Hmmm.'
    Cotillion's eyes had narrowed. 'In Darujhistan, a temple
awaits you, Toblakai. A crown and a throne for the
taking.'
    Karsa scowled. 'Not more of that shit. I told the Crippled
God I wasn't interested. I'm still not. My destiny belongs to
me and none other.'
    'Oh,' said Shadowthrone, cane wavering about once
again, like a headless snake, 'we're not encouraging you to
take it. Far from it. You on that throne would be . . . distressing.
But he will drive you, Toblakai, the way hunters
drive a man-eating lion. Straight into the spike-filled pit.'
    'A smart lion knows when to turn,' Karsa said. 'Watch as
the hunters scatter.'
    'It is because we understand you, Toblakai, that we do
not set the Hounds upon you. You bear your destiny like a
standard, a grisly one, true, but then, its only distinction is
in being obvious. Did you know that we too left civilization
behind? The scribblers were closing in on all sides, you
see. The clerks with their purple tongues and darting eyes,
their shuffling feet and sloped shoulders, their bloodless
lists. Oh, measure it all out! Acceptable levels of misery
and suffering!' The cane swung down, thumped hard on
the ground. 'Acceptable? Who the fuck says any level is
acceptable? What sort of mind thinks that?'
    Karsa grinned. 'Why, a civilized one.'
    'Indeed!' Shadowthrone turned to Cotillion. 'And you
doubted this one!'
    Cotillion grimaced. 'I stand corrected, Shadowthrone. If
the Crippled God has not yet learned his lesson with this
warrior, more lessons are bound to follow. We can leave
him to them. And leave this Toblakai, too.'
    'Barring one detail,' Shadowthrone said in a rasp. 'Toblakai,
heed this warning, if you value that destiny you
would seek for yourself. Do not stand in Traveller's path. Ever.'
    Karsa's grin broadened. 'We are agreed, he and I.'
    'You are?'
    'I will not stand in his path, and he will not stand in
mine.'
    Shadowthrone and Cotillion were silent then, considering.
    Leaning back, Karsa collected the lone rein. Havok
lifted his head, nostrils flaring. 'I killed two Deragoth,'
Karsa said.
    'We know,' said Cotillion.
    'Their arrogance was their soft underbelly. Easy to reach.
Easy to plunge in my hands. I killed them because they
thought me weak.'
    Cotillion's expression grew mocking. 'Speaking of
arrogance . . .'
    'I was speaking,' said Karsa as he swung Havok round, 'of
lessons.' Then he twisted in the saddle. 'You laugh at those
coming to the Crippled God. Perhaps one day I will laugh
at those coming to you.'
    Cotillion and Shadowthrone, with the Hounds gathering
close, watched the Toblakai ride away on his Jhag horse.
    A thump of the cane. 'Did you sense the ones in his
sword?'
    Cotillion nodded.
    'They were . . .' Shadowthrone seemed to struggle with
the next word, '. . . proud.'
    And again, Cotillion could do little more than nod.
    Abruptly, Shadowthrone giggled, the sound making the
two new Hounds flinch – a detail he seemed not to notice.
    'Oh,' he crooned, 'all those poor clerks!'
    'Is that a cloud on the horizon?'
    At Reccanto Ilk's query, Mappo glanced up and followed
the man's squinting gaze. He rose suddenly. 'That's more
than a cloud,' he said.
    Sweetest Sufferance, sitting nearby, grunted and
wheezed herself upright, brushing sand from her ample
behind. 'Master Qu – ellll!' she sang.
    Mappo watched as the crew started scrabbling, checking
the leather straps and fastening rings and clasps dangling
from the carriage. The horses shifted about, suddenly restless,
eyes rolling and ears flattening. Gruntle came up to
stand beside the Trell. 'That's one ugly storm,' he said, 'and
it looks to be bearing down right on us.'
    'These people baffle me,' Mappo admitted. 'We are about
to get obliterated, and they look . . . excited.'
    'They are mad, Mappo.' He eyed the Trell for a long
moment, then said, 'You must be desperate to have hired
this mob.'
    'Why