A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

Something twisted the
eye in this chamber and Picker almost staggered.
    'Gods below,' muttered Antsy. 'This place is magicked
– makes me sick to the stomach.'
    The images swirled, blurred, shifted in rippling waves
that crossed from every conceivable direction, a clash of
convergences inviting vertigo no matter where the eye
turned. Picker found herself gasping. She squeezed shut her
eyes, heard Antsy cursing as he backed out of the room.
    Raest's dry voice drifted faintly into her head. 'The
flux has increased. There appears to be some manner
of . . . deterioration. Even so, Corporal Picker, if you
focus your mind and concentrate on Ganoes Paran, the
efficacy of your will may prove sufficient to anchor in
place the Master's own card, which perhaps will awaken
his attention. Unless of course he is otherwise engaged.
Should your willpower prove unequal to the task, I am
afraid that what remains of your sanity will be torn away.
Your mind itself will be shredded by the maelstrom, leaving
you a drooling wreck.' After a moment, he added, 'Such a
state of being may not be desirable. Of course, should you
achieve it, you will not care one way or the other, which
you may consider a blessing.'
    'Well,' she replied, 'that's just great. Give me a moment,
will you?'
    She tugged from her memory the captain's not unpleasant
face, sought to fix it before her mind's eye. Ganoes Paran,
pay attention. Captain, wherever you are. This is Corporal
Picker, in Darujhistan. Ganoes, I need to talk to you.
    She saw him now, framed as would a card be framed
in the Deck of Dragons. She saw that he was wearing a
uniform, that of the Malazan soldier he had once been
– was that her memory, conjuring up her last sight of him?
But no, he looked older. He looked beaten down, smeared
in dust. Spatters of dried blood on his scarred leather jerkin.
The scene behind him was one of smoke and ruination, the
blasted remnants of rolling farmland, tracts defined by low
stone walls, but nothing green in sight. She thought she
could see bodies on that dead earth.
    Paran's gaze seemed to sharpen on her. She saw his
mouth move but no sound reached her.
    Ganoes! Captain – listen, just concentrate back on me.
    '—not the time, Corporal. We've landed in a mess. But
listen, if you can get word to them, try. Warn them, Picker.
Warn them off.'
    Captain – someone's after the temple – K'rul's Temple.
Someone's trying to kill us—
    '—jhistan can take care of itself, Pick. Baruk knows what
to do – trust him. You need to find out who wants it. Talk
to Kruppe. Talk to the Eel. But listen – pass on my warning,
please.'
    Pass it on to who? Who are you talking about, Captain? And
what was that about Kruppe?
    The image shredded before her eyes, and she felt
something like claws tear into her mind. Screaming, she
sought to reel back, pull away. The claws sank deeper, and
all at once Picker realized that there was intent, there was
malice. Something had arrived, and it wanted her .
    Shrieking, she felt herself being dragged forward, into
a swirling madness, into the maw of something vast and
hungry, something that wanted to feed on her. For a long,
long time, until her soul was gone, devoured, until nothing
of her was left.
    Pressure and darkness on all sides, ripping into her. She
could not move.
    In the midst of the savage chaos, she felt and heard the
arrival of a third presence, a force flowing like a beast to
draw up near her – she sensed sudden attention, a cold-eyed
regard, and a voice murmured close, 'Not here. Not now.
There were torcs once, that you carried. There was a debt, still
unpaid. Not now. Not here.'
    The beast pounced.
    Whatever had grasped hold of Picker, whatever was now
feeding on her, suddenly roared in pain, in fury, and the
claws tore free, slashed against its new attacker.
    Snarls, the air trembling to thunder as two leviathans
clashed.
    Dwarfed, forgotten, small as an ant, Picker crawled away,
leaking out her life in a crimson trail. She was weeping,
shivering in the aftermath of the thing's feeding. It had
been so . . . intractable, so horribly . . . indifferent. To who
she was, to her right to her own life. My soul . . . my soul
was . . . food. That's all. Abyss below—
    She needed to find a way out. All round her chaos
swarmed and shivered as the great forces battled on, there
in her wake. She needed to tell Antsy things, important
things. Kruppe. Baruk. And perhaps the most important
detail of all. When they'd walked into the