A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

this
interminable walk?
    The Liosan of old had it right. Justice was unequivocal.
Explanations revealed the cowardice at the core of every
criminal, the whining expostulations, the series of masks
each one tried on and discarded in desperate succession.
The not-my-fault mask. The it-was-a-mistake mask. You-don't-understand and see-me-so-helpless and have-pity-I'm-weak
– he could see each expression, perfectly arranged
round eyes equally perfect in their depthless pit of self-pity
( come in there's room for everyone ). Mercy was a flaw, a sudden
moment of doubt to undermine the vast, implacable
structure that was true justice. The masks were meant
to stir awake that doubt, the last chance of the guilty to
squirm free of proper retribution.
    Clip had no interest in pity. Acknowledged no flaws
within his own sense of justice. The criminal depends
upon the compassion of the righteous and would use that
compassion to evade precisely everything that that criminal
deserved. Why would any sane, righteous person fall
into such a trap? It permitted criminals to thrive (since
they played by different rules and would hold no pity or
compassion for those who might wrong them ). No, justice
must be pure. Punishment left sacrosanct, immune to compromise.
    He would make it so. For his modest army, for the much
larger army to come. His people. The Tiste Andii of Black
Coral. We shall rot no longer. No more dwindling fires, drifting
ashes, lives wasted century on century – do you hear me, O
Lord? I will take your people, and I will deliver justice.
    Upon this world.
    Upon every god and ascendant who ever wronged us, betrayed
us, scorned us.
    Watch them reel, faces bloodied, masks awry, the self-pity in
their eyes dissolving – and in its place the horror of recognition.
That there is no escape this time. That the end has arrived, for
every damned one of them.
    Yes, Clip had read his histories. He knew the Liosan,
the Edur, he knew all the mistakes that had been made,
the errors in judgement, the flaws of compassion. He knew,
too, the true extent of the Black-Winged Lord's betrayal.
    Of Mother Dark, of all the Tiste Andii. Of those you left in
the Andara. Of Nimander and his kin.
    Your betrayal, Anomander Rake, of me.
    The sun was going down. The rings clacked and clacked,
and clacked. Below, the salt pan was cast in golden
light, the hovels crouched on the near shoreline blessed
picturesque by distance and lack of detail. Smoke from a
cookfire now rose from their midst. Signs of life. Flames
to beat back the coming darkness. But it would not last. It
never lasted.
    The High Priestess pushed the plate away. 'That's it,' she
said. 'Any more and I will burst.' A first level acolyte
ducked in to take the plate, scurrying off with such haste
that she almost spilled the towering heap of cracked crayfish
shells.
    Leaning back, the High Priestess wiped the melted
butter from her fingers. 'It's typical,' she said to the half-dozen
sisters seated at the table, 'the nets drag up a sudden,
unexpected bounty, and what do we do? Devour it entire.'
    'Kurald Galain continues to yield surprises,' said the
Third Sister, 'why not expect more to come?'
    'Because, dearest, nothing lasts for ever. Surrounding
Kharkanas, there once stood forests. Until we chopped
them down.'
    'We were young—'
    'And that would be a worthy defence,' the High Priestess
cut in, 'if we have not, here in our old age, just repeated the
stupidity. Look at us. Come the morrow all our clothes will
cease to fit. We will discover, to our horror, bulges where
none existed before. We see pleasure as an excuse for all
manner of excess, but it is a most undisciplined trait. Now,
sermon ended. Someone pour the tea.'
    More first level acolytes slithered in.
    A rustling of small bells at the corridor door preceded
the arrival of a temple guardian. The woman, clad in scale
armour and ringed leather, marched up to halt beside the
High Priestess. She lowered the grille face-piece on her
helm and leaned close to whisper – lips unseen and so
unreadable by any – a brief message.
    The High Priestess nodded, and then gestured the
guardian away. 'Second and Third Sister, remain in your
seats. You others, take your tea to the Unlit Garden. Sixth
Sister, once there you can stop hiding that flask and top up
everyone else, yes?'
    Moments later, only three women remained in the
chamber, as even the acolytes had been sent away.
    The door opened again and the guardian reappeared,
this time