A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

'We will
find a way,' he said. 'Now, we should continue on, before it
gets too dark.'
    'What is your hurry?' Skintick asked. 'The entire trail
down is bound to be treacherous, especially in this half-light.
What would be the point in taking a tumble and . . .'
Skintick went no further.
    And breaking a neck.
    In the uncomfortable silence that followed, only the
clack of the rings carried on, like a man chewing stones.
    After a moment, Clip stepped back from the ledge and
set out down the path once more.
    Nimander made to follow but Skintick grasped his arm,
forcing him round.
    'Enough,' Skintick growled, and Nenanda moved up
beside him, Desra joining them. 'We want to know what's
going on, Nimander.'
    Nenanda spoke. 'She didn't just fall – do you think we're
fools, Nimander?'
    'Not fools,' he replied, and then hesitated, 'but you must
play at being fools . . . for a little longer.'
    'He killed her, didn't he?'
    At Skintick's question Nimander forced himself to lock
gazes with his cousin, but he said nothing.
    Nenanda gave a sudden hiss and whirled to glare at
Aranatha, who stood nearby. 'You must have sensed something!'
    Her brows arched. 'Why do you say that?'
    He seemed moments from closing on her with a hand
upraised, but she too did not flinch, and after a moment a
look of sheer helplessness crumpled Nenanda's face and he
turned from them all.
    'He's not what he was,' said Desra. 'I've felt it – he's . . .
uninterested.'
    Of course she was speaking of Clip. Indeed they were
not fools, none of them. Still Nimander said nothing. Still
he waited.
    Skintick could no longer hold Nimander's gaze. He
glanced briefly at Desra and then stepped back. 'Fools, you
said. We must play at being fools.'
    Nenanda faced them once more. 'What does he want
with us? What did he ever want? Dragging us along as if we
were but his pets.' His eyes fixed on Desra. 'Flinging you on
your back every now and then to keep the boredom away
– and now you're saying what? Only that he's become bored
by the distraction. Well.'
    She gave no sign that his words wounded her. 'Ever since
he awakened,' she said. 'I don't think boredom is a problem
for him, not any more. And that doesn't make sense.'
    'Because,' added Skintick, 'he's still contemptuous of us.
Yes, I see your point, Desra.'
    'Then what does he want with us?' Nenanda demanded
again. 'Why does he still need us at all?'
    'Maybe he doesn't,' said Skintick.
    Silence.
    Nimander finally spoke. 'She made a mistake.'
    'Confronted him.'
    'Yes.' He stepped away from Skintick, setting his gaze
upon the descent awaiting them. 'My authority holds no
weight,' he said. 'I told her to stay away – to leave it alone.'
    'Leave it to Anomander Rake, you mean.'
    He faced Skintick again. 'No. That is too much of an
unknown. We – we don't know the situation in Black
Coral. If they're . . . vulnerable. We don't know anything
of that. It'd be dangerous to assume someone else can fix
all this.'
    They were all watching him now.
    'Nothing has changed,' he said. 'If he gets even so much
as a hint – it must be us to act first. We choose the ground,
the right moment. Nothing has changed – do you all
understand me?'
    Nods. And odd, disquieting expressions on every face
but Aranatha's – he could not read them. 'Am I not clear
enough?'
    Skintick blinked, as if surprised. 'You are perfectly clear,
Nimander. We should get moving, don't you think?'
    What – what has just happened here? But he had no
answers. Uneasy, he moved out on to the trail.
    The rest fell in behind him.
    Nenanda drew Skintick back, slowing their progress, and
hissed, 'How, Skin? How did he do that? We were there,
about to – I don't know – and then, all of a sudden, he just,
he just—'
    'Took us into his hands once more, yes.'
    'How?'
    Skintick simply shook his head. He did not think he
could find the right words – not for Nenanda, not for the
others. He leads. In the ways of leading, the ways the rest of us
do not – and can never – understand.
    I looked into his eyes, and I saw such resolve that I could
not speak.
    Absence of doubt? No, nothing so egotistic as that.
Nimander has plenty of doubts, so many that he's lost his fear
of them. He accepts them as easily as anything else. Is that the
secret? Is that the very definition of greatness?
    He leads. We follow – he took us into his hands, again, and
each one of us stood, silent, finding in ourselves what he had
just given us – that resolve, the will to go on – and it