A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

me to die. Or am
I the man I pretend to be? What is it, exactly, you're trying
to appeal to?'
    'But I love you!'
    And there was that word again. And whatever it meant
to her probably was not what it meant to him – not that
he knew what it meant to him, of course. He moved to
one side, as if intent on circling the bed even if it took
him through the outer wall, then halted and ran his
hands through his hair. 'Have you been leading me to this
moment all along?'
    'What?'
    He shook his head. 'Just wondering out loud. It's not
important.'
    'I want my life as it is, Cutter, only without him. I want
you instead of him. That's how I want it.'
    What would Murillio say in this situation? But no, I'm not
Murillio.
    Still . . .
    He'd be out through this window in a heartbeat. Duels with
wronged husbands? Hood's breath! He faced her. 'Is that
what you want?'
    'I just told you it was!'
    'No, that's not what I meant. I meant . . . oh, never
mind.'
    'You have to do it. For me. For us.'
    'He's at the mines west of the city? For how much
longer?'
    'Two days at least. You can go out there.'
    And suddenly she was standing in front of him, hands
on the sides of his face, her body pressing hard, and he
stared down into her dilated eyes.
    Excitement.
    I used to think . . . that look – this look . . . I used to
think . . .
    'My love,' she whispered. 'It has to be done. You see that,
don't you?'
    But it was always this, just this. Leading up to this moment.
Where she was taking me – or have I got it all wrong?
    'Challice—'
    But her mouth was on his now, and she swallowed down
all his words, until none were left.
    Spin round and rush back. Murillio still lies in the dust,
a crowd mechanically cheering in the pit below. The day
draws to a close, and a youth named Venaz gathers his gang
of followers and sets out for the tunnel called Steep.
    Not much need be said about Venaz. But let us give
him this. Sold to the mine by his stepfather – dear Ma too
drunk to even lift her head when the collectors showed up
and if she heard the clinking of coins, well, her thoughts
would have crawled the short distance to the moment
when she could buy another bottle, and no further. That
had been four years ago.
    The lesson that a child is not loved, not even by the one
who bore it, delivers a most cruel wound. One that never
heals, but instead stretches scar tissue over the mind's
eye, so that for that orphan's entire life the world beyond
is tainted, and it sees what others do not, and is blinded
by perpetual mistrust to all that the heart feels. Such was
Venaz, but to know is not to excuse, and we shall leave it
there.
    Venaz's pack consisted of boys a year or so younger
than him. They vied with each other for position in the
pecking order and were as vicious individually as they
were in a group. They were just versions of him, variations
only on the surface. They followed and would do anything
he told them to, at least until he stumbled, made a
mistake. And then they would close in like half-starved
wolves.
    Venaz walked emboldened, excited, delighted at this
amazing turn of events. The Big Man wanted Harllo
and not to pat him on the head either. No, there would
be even more blood spilled on this day, and if Venaz could
work it right, why, he might be the one to spill it – at the
Big Man's nod, that's all it would take, and maybe the Big
Man would see how good Venaz could be. Good enough,
maybe, to recruit him into his own household. Every noble
needed people like Venaz, to do the ugly stuff, the bad
stuff.
    They reached the slope leading to the mouth of the
tunnel. Three grown-ups were trying to fix the axle of a
cart and they looked up when Venaz arrived.
    'Where's Bainisk?' Venaz asked.
    'New vein,' one of them replied. 'He in trouble again?'
    'He got his moles with him?' It felt good being so important
he didn't have to answer the man's question.
    Shrugs all round.
    Venaz scowled. 'Has he got his moles with him?'
    The one who'd spoken slowly straightened. His backhanded
slap caught Venaz by surprise, and was hard
enough to knock the boy back. He was then grabbed and
thrown on to the stony ground. The man stood over him.
'Watch your mouth.'
    Venaz sat up, glaring. 'You ain't seen what just happened?
Up on the ridge?'
    Another grunted. 'We heard 'bout something.'
    'A duel – the Big Man killed someone!'
    'So what?'
    'And then he called for Harllo! He wants Harllo! And
I come to get him and you're stopping me and when he
hears—'
    He got no