A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

here.'
    'Oh,' he said, 'I deserve many things, Apsal'ara. But for
the moment, I will be content with your attention.'
    'What do you want? We can do nothing to stop this.
If I choose to greet my end lounging on the axle, why
not?'
    They were forced to begin walking, another step every
few moments – much slower now, so slow the pathos
stung through to her heart.
    'You have given up on your chain?' Draconus asked, as
if the manner in which he had brought her out here was of
no import, easily dismissed now.
    She decided, after a moment, that he was right. At the
very least, there'd been some . . . drama. 'Another few centuries,'
she said, shrugging, 'which I do not have. Damn
you, Draconus, there is nothing to see out here – let me go
back—'
    'I need to know,' he cut in, 'when the time comes to
fight, Apsal'ara – will you come to my side?'
    She studied him. A well-featured man, beneath that
thick, black beard. Eyes that had known malice long since
stretched to snapping, leaving behind a strange bemusement,
something almost regretful, almost . . . wise. Oh,
this sword's realm delivered humility indeed. 'Why?' she
demanded.
    His heavy brows lifted, as if the question surprised him.
'I have seen many,' he said, haltingly, 'in my time. So many,
appearing suddenly, screaming in horror, in anguish and
despair. Others . . . already numbed, hopeless. Madness arrives
to so many, Apsal'ara . . .'
    She bared her teeth. Yes, she had heard them. Above
the places where she hid. Out to the sides, beyond the
incessant rains, where the chains rolled and roped, fell
slack then lifted once more, where they crossed over, one
wending ever farther to one side, cutting across chain after
chain – as the creature at the end staggered blind, unknowing,
and before too long would fall and not rise again. The
rest would simply step over that motionless chain, until it
stretched into the wagon's wake and began dragging its
charge.
    'Apsal'ara, you arrived spitting like a cat. But it wasn't
long before you set out to find a means of escape. And you
would not rest.' He paused, and wiped a hand across his
face. 'There are so few here I have come to . . . admire.' The
smile Draconus then offered her was defenceless, shocking.
'If we must fall, then I would choose the ones at my side
– yes, I am selfish to the last. And I am sorry for dragging
you out here so unceremoniously.'
    She walked alongside him, saying nothing. Thinking.
At last, she sighed. 'It is said that only one's will can fight
against chaos, that no other weapons are possible.'
    'So it is said.'
    She shot him a look. 'You know me, Draconus. You know
. . . I have strength. Of will.'
    'You will fight long,' he agreed, nodding. 'So very long.'
    'The chaos will want my soul. Will seek to tear it apart,
strip away my awareness. It will rage all around me.'
    'Yes,' he said.
    'Some of us are stronger than others.'
    'Yes, Apsal'ara. Some of us are stronger than others.'
    'And these you would gather close about you, that we
might form a core. Of resistance, of stubborn will.'
    'So I have thought.'
    'To win through to the other side? Is there an other side ,
Draconus?'
    'I don't know.'
    'You don't know,' she repeated, making the words a snarl.
'All my life,' she said, 'I have chosen to be alone. In my
struggles, in my victories and my failings. Draconus, I will
face oblivion in the same way. I must – we all must. It does
nothing to stand together, for we each fall alone.'
    'I understand. I am sorry, then, Apsal'ara, for all this.'
    'There is no other side , Draconus.'
    'No, probably not.'
    She drew up more of her chain, settled its crushing
weight on to her shoulders, and then pulled away from
the man, back towards the wagon. No, she could not give
him anything, not when hope itself was impossible. He was
wrong to admire her. To struggle was her own madness, resisting
something that could not be resisted, fighting what
could not be defeated.
    This foe would take her mind, her self, tearing it away
piece by piece – and she might sense something of those
losses, at least to begin with, like vast blanks in her
memory, perhaps, or an array of simple questions she
could no longer answer. But before long, such knowledge
would itself vanish, and each floating fragment would swirl
about, untethered, alone, unaware that it had once been
part of something greater, something whole. Her life, all
her awareness, scattered into frightened orphans, whimpering
at every strange sound, every unseen tug