A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

lifted clear when
someone was working at the table. Resting on the polished
wood surface were a dozen or so objects, both metal and
fired clay, not one of which revealed any obvious function.
    Rautos Hivanar still silent and standing now at his side,
Bugg scanned the objects for a long moment, then reached
out and picked up one in particular. Heavy, unmarked by
pitting or rust, seamlessly bent almost to right angles.
    'Your engineers,' Rautos Hivanar said, 'could determine
no purpose to these mechanisms.'
    Bugg's brows rose at the man's use of the word
'mechanism'. He hefted the object in his hands.
    'I have attempted to assemble these,' the merchant continued,
'to no avail. There are no obvious attachment
points, yet, somehow, they seem to me to be of a piece.
Perhaps some essential item is still buried beneath the river,
but we have found nothing for three days now, barring a
wheelbarrow's worth of stone chips and shards – and these
were recovered in a level of sediment far below these
artifacts, leading me to believe that they pre-date them by
centuries, if not millennia.'
    'Yes,' Bugg muttered. 'Eres'al, a mated pair, preparing
flint for tools, here on the bank of the vast marsh. He
worked the cores, she did the more detailed knapping.
They came here for three seasons, then she died in childbirth,
and he wandered with a starving babe in his arms
until it too died. He found no others of his kind, for they
had been scattered after the conflagration of the great
forests, the wildfires sweeping out over the plains. The air
was thick with ash. He wandered, until he died, and so was
the last of his line.' He stared unseeing at the artifact,
even as its weight seemed to burgeon, threatening to
tug at his arms, to drag him down to his knees. 'But Icarium
said there would be no end, that the cut thread was
but an illusion – in his voice, then, I could hear his
father.'
    A hand closed on his shoulder and swung him round.
Startled, he met Rautos Hivanar's sharp, glittering eyes.
Bugg frowned. 'Sir?'
    'You – you are inclined to invent stories. Or, perhaps, you
are a sage, gifted with unnatural sight. Is this what I am
hearing, old man? Tell me, who was this Icarium? Was that
the name of the Eres'al? The one who died?'
    'I am sorry, sir.' He raised the object higher. 'This artifact
– you will find it is identical to the massive object at the
inn, barring scale. I believe this is what your servant
wanted you to realize – as he himself did when he first
looked upon the edifice once we had brought down the
walls enclosing it.'
    'Are you certain of all this?'
    'Yes.' Bugg gestured at the array of items on the table. 'A
central piece is missing, as you suspected, sir. Alas, you will
not find it, for it is not physical. The framework that
will hold it together is one of energy, not matter. And,' he
added, still in a distracted tone, 'it has yet to arrive.'
    He set the artifact back down and walked from the
chamber, back up the corridor, through the dry-rack room,
out onto the terrace. Unmindful of the two workers pausing
to stare across at him as Rautos Hivanar appeared as if
in pursuit – the merchant's hands were spread, palms up, as
if beseeching, although the huge man said not a word, his
mouth working in silence, as though he had been struck
mute. Bugg's glance at the large man was momentary. He
continued on, along the passage between estate wall and
compound wall, to the side postern near the front gate.
    He found himself once more on the street, only remotely
noticing the passers-by in the cooler shade of afternoon.
    It has yet to arrive.
    And yet, it comes.
    'Watch where you're walking, old man!'
    'Leave off him – see how he weeps? It's an old man's right
to grieve, so leave him be.'
    'Must be blind, the clumsy fool . . .'
    And here, long before this city was born, there stood a temple, into which Icarium walked – as lost as any son, the child severed from the thread. But the Elder God within could give him nothing. Nothing beyond what he himself was preparing to do.
    Could you have imagined, K'rul, how Icarium would take what you did? Take it into himself as would any child seeking a guiding hand? Where are you, K'rul? Do you sense his return? Do you know what he seeks?
    'Clumsy or not, it's a question of manners and proper
respect.'
    Bugg's threadbare tunic was grasped and he was dragged
to one side, then flung up against a wall. He stared at a battered
face beneath the rim of a helm. To one side,