House of Chains

by Steven Erikson

  Beside him, Leoman of the Flails raised a hand to halt his company, then gestured Corabb to follow as he trotted his mount towards the newcomers.

  Mathok nodded in greeting. ‘We have missed you, Leoman—’

  ‘My shaman has fallen unconcious,’ Leoman cut in. ‘He chose oblivion over terror. What is going on in the oasis, Mathok?’

  The warleader made a warding sign. ‘Raraku has awakened. Ghosts have risen, the Holy Desert’s very own memories.’

  ‘And who is their enemy?’

  Mathok shook his head. ‘Betrayal upon betrayal, Leoman. I have withdrawn my warriors from the oasis and encamped them between Sha’ik and the Malazans. Chaos has claimed all else—’

  ‘So you do not have an answer for me.’

  ‘I fear the battle is already lost—’

  ‘Sha’ik?’

  ‘I have the Book with me. I am sworn to protect it.’

  Leoman frowned.

  Shifting on his saddle, Corabb glared northeastward. Preternatural darkness engulfed the oasis, and it seemed to swarm as if filled with living creatures, winged shadows, spectral demons. And on the ground beneath, he thought he could see the movement of masses of soldiery. Corabb shivered.

  ‘To Y’Ghatan?’ Leoman asked.

  Mathok nodded. ‘With my own tribe as escort. Leaving almost nine thousand desert warriors at your disposal . . . for you to command.’

  But Leoman shook his head. ‘This battle will belong to the Dogslayers, Mathok. There is no choice left to me. I have not the time to greatly modify our tactics. The positions are set—she waited too long. You did not answer me, Mathok. What of Sha’ik?’

  ‘The goddess holds her still,’ the warleader replied. ‘Even Korbolo Dom’s assassins cannot get to her.’

  ‘The Napan must have known that would happen,’ Leoman muttered. ‘And so he has planned . . . something else.’

  Mathok shook his head. ‘My heart has broken this night, my friend.’

  Leoman studied the old warrior for a time, then he nodded. ‘Until Y’Ghatan, then, Mathok.’

  ‘You ride to Sha’ik?’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘Tell her—’

  ‘I will.’

  Mathok nodded, unmindful of the tears glistening down his lined cheeks. He straightened suddenly in his saddle. ‘Dryjhna once belonged to us, Leoman. To the tribes of this desert. The Book’s prophecies were sewn to a far older skin. The Book was in truth naught but a history, a telling of apocalyptic events survived—not of those to come—’

  ‘I know, my friend. Guard well the Book, and go in peace.’

  Mathok wheeled his horse to face the west trail. An angry gesture and his riders followed as he rode into the gloom.

  Leoman stared after them for a long moment.

  Howls shattered the night.

  Corabb saw his commander suddenly bare his teeth as he glared into the darkness ahead. Like two beasts about to come face to face. Spirits below, what awaits us?

  ‘Weapons!’ Leoman snarled.

  The company thundered forward, along the trail Corabb had now traversed what seemed countless times.

  The closer they drew to the oasis, the more muted the sound of their passage, as if the darkness was devouring all sound. Those howls had not been repeated, and Corabb was beginning to wonder if they had been real at all. Perhaps not a mortal throat at all. An illusion, a cry to freeze all in their tracks—

  The vanguard entered a defile and suddenly quarrels sprouted from riders and horses. Screams, toppling warriors, stumbling horses. From further back in the column, the clash of swords and shields.

  Dogslayers!

  Somehow, Corabb and his horse found themselves plunging clear. A figure darted close to his left and he shrieked, raising his weapon.

  ‘It’s me, damn you!’

  ‘Leoman!’

  His commander’s horse had been killed beneath him. He reached up.

  Corabb clasped Leoman’s arm and vaulted him onto his horse’s back.

  ‘Ride, Bhilan! Ride!’

  Black-armoured horse warriors plunged through the low wall, massive axes whirling in their gauntleted hands.

  Quick Ben yelped and dived for cover.

  Cursing, Kalam followed, Korbolo Dom’s bound body bouncing on his shoulders. He flung himself down beside the wizard as hoofs flashed over them, raining sand and bits of mortar.

  Then the heavy cavalry was past.

  Kalam pushed the Napan off his back and twisted onto his side to glare at Quick Ben. ‘Who in Hood’s name were those bastards?’

  ‘We’d best lie low for a time,’ the wizard muttered with a grimace, rubbing grit from his eyes. ‘Raraku’s unleashed her ghosts—’

  ‘And are they the ones singing? Those voices are right inside my head—’

  ‘Mine, too, friend. Tell me, had any conversations with a Tanno Spiritwalker lately?’

  ‘A what? No. Why?’

  ‘Because that is what you’re hearing. If it was a song woven around these ancient ghosts we’re seeing, well, we’d not be hearing it. In fact, we’d not be hearing much of anything at all. And we’d have been chopped into tiny pieces by now. Kalam, that Tanno song belongs to the Bridgeburners.’

  What?

  ‘Makes you wonder about cause and effect, doesn’t it? A Tanno stole our tale and fashioned a song—but for that song to have any effect, the Bridgeburners had to die. As a company. And now it has. Barring you and me—’

  ‘And Fiddler. Wait! Fid mentioned something about a Spiritwalker in Ehrlitan.’

  ‘It would have had to have been direct contact. A clasping of hands, an embrace, or a kiss—’

  ‘That bastard sapper—I remember he was damned cagey about something. A kiss? Remind me to give Fiddler a kiss next time I see him, one he’ll never forget—’

  ‘Whoever it was and however it happened,’ Quick Ben said, ‘the Bridgeburners have now ascended—’

  ‘Ascended? What in the Queen’s name does that mean?’

  ‘Damned if I know, Kalam. I’ve never heard of such a thing before. A whole company—there’s no precedent for this, none at all.’

  ‘Except maybe the T’lan Imass.’

  The wizard’s dark eyes narrowed on his friend. ‘An interesting thought,’ he murmured. Then sighed. ‘In any case, Raraku’s ghosts have risen on that song. Risen . . . to battle. But there’s more—I swear I saw a Wickan standard back near the Dogslayer trenches just as we were hightailing it out of there.’

  ‘Well, maybe Tavore’s taken advantage of all this—’

  ‘Tavore knows nothing of it, Kalam. She carries an otataral sword, after all. Maybe the mages she has with her sense something, but the darkness that’s descended on this oasis is obscuring everything.’

  Kalam grunted. ‘Any other good news to tell me, Quick?’

  ‘The darkness is sorcery. Remember whenever Anomander Rake arrived some place with his warren unveiled? That weight, the trembling ground, the overwhelming pressure?’

  ‘Don’t tell me the Son of Darkness is coming—’

  ‘I hope not. I mean, I don’t think so. He’s busy—I’ll explain later. No, this is more, uh, primal, I think.’

  ‘Those howls,’ Kalam grated. ‘Two hounds, Quick Ben. I had a run in with them myself. They’re like the Shadow Hounds, only somehow worse—’

  The wizard was staring across at him.

  ‘Stop it, Quick. I don’t like that look. I got away because I loosed a handful of azalan demons at them. Didn’t stop those hounds, but it was enough for me to make good my escape.’

  Quick Ben’s brows slowly arched. ‘ “A handful of azalan demons,” Kalam? And where have you been lately?’

  ‘You ain’t the only one with a few tales to tell.’

  The wizard cautiously rose into a crouch, scanned the area on the other side of the crumbled wall. ‘Two Hounds of Darkness, you said. The Deragoth, then. So, who broke their chains, I wonder?’

  ‘Th
at’s just typical!’ Kalam snapped. ‘What don’t you know?’

  ‘A few things,’ the wizard replied under his breath. ‘For example, what are those hounds doing here?’

  ‘So long as we stay out of their path, I couldn’t care less—’

  ‘No, you misunderstood.’ Quick Ben nodded towards where his gaze was fixed on the clearing beyond. ‘What are they doing here?’

  Kalam groaned.

  Their bristly hackles were raised above their strangely humped, massive shoulders. Thick, long necks and broad, flattened heads, the jaw muscles bulging. Scarred, black hides, and eyes that burned pure and empty of light.

  As large as a steppe horse, but bulkier by far, padding with heads lowered into the flagstoned square. There was something about them that resembled a hyena, and a plains bear as well. A certain sly avidness merged with arrogant brutality.

  They slowed, then halted, lifting glistening snouts into the air.

  They had come to destroy. To tear life from all flesh, to mock all claims of mastery, to shatter all that stood in their path. This was a new world for them. New, yet once it had been old. Changes had come. A world of vast silences where once kin and foe alike had opened throats in fierce challenge.

  Nothing was as it had been, and the Deragoth were made uneasy.

  They had come to destroy.

  But now hesitated.

  With eyes fixed on the one who had arrived, who now stood before them, at the far end of the square.

  Hesitate. Yes.

  Karsa Orlong strode forward. He addressed them, his voice low and rumbling. ‘Urugal’s master had . . . ambitions,’ he said. ‘A dream of mastery. But now he understands better, and wants nothing to do with you.’ Then the Teblor smiled. ‘So I do.’

  Both hounds stepped back, then moved to open more space between them.

  Karsa smiled. You do not belong here. ‘You would let me pass?’ He continued on. And I have had my fill of strangers. ‘Do you remember the Toblakai, beasts? But they had been gentled. By civilization. By the soft trappings of foolish peace. So weakened that they could not stand before T’lan Imass, could not stand before Forkrul Assail and Jaghut. And now, they cannot stand before Nathii slavers.

  ‘An awakening was needed, friends. Remember the Toblakai, if it comforts you.’ He strode directly between the two hounds, as if he intended to accept their invitation to pass.

  The hounds attacked.

  As he knew they would.

  Karsa dropped into a crouch that leaned far to his left, as he brought up the massive stone sword over his head, point sliding left—directly into the path of the hound charging from that side.

  Striking it in the chest.

  The heavy sternum cracked but did not shatter, and the rippled blade edge scored a bloody path down along the ribs.

  Karsa’s crouch then exploded after his weapon, his legs driving his shoulder forward and up to hammer the beast at the level of its collar bones.

  Jaws snapped above the back of the Toblakai’s neck, then the impact jolted through warrior and hound both.

  And the latter’s sword-gouged ribs splintered.

  Jaws closed around Karsa’s right leg just below the knee.

  And he was lifted clear of the ground. Then thrown to one side, though the jaws did not loosen. The wrench snapped the sword from his hands.

  Molars ground against bone, incisors shredded muscle. The second hound closed on Karsa, savagely shaking the leg in its jaws.

  The first hound staggered away a few paces, left foreleg dragging, blood spilling out beneath it.

  Karsa made no effort to pull away from the beast seeking to chew off his lower leg. Instead, he pushed himself upright on his one free leg and lunged into the hound. Arms wrapping around the rippling body behind the shoulders.

  With a bellow, the Teblor lifted the hound. Hind legs kicked in wild panic, but he was already wrenching the entire beast over.

  The jaws were torn loose even as Karsa drove the creature down onto its back.

  Flagstones cracked with explosions of dust.

  The Teblor then sank to his knees, straddling the writhing hound, and closed both hands around its throat.

  A snarling frenzy answered him.

  Canines ripped into his forearms, the jaws gnawed frantically, chewing free chunks of skin and flesh.

  Karsa released one hand and pushed it against the hound’s lower jaw.

  Muscles contracted as two unhuman strengths collided.

  Legs scored Karsa’s body, the claws tearing through leathers and into flesh, but the Teblor continued pushing. Harder and harder, his other hand edging up to join in the effort.

  The kicks went wild. Panicked.

  Karsa both felt and heard a grinding pop, then the flat head of the hound cracked against the flagstones.

  A strange keening sound twisted out from the throat.

  And the warrior pulled his right hand back, closed it into a fist, and drove it down into the animal’s throat.

  Crushing trachea.

  The legs spasmed and went limp.

  With a roar, Karsa reared upright, dragging the hound by its neck, then hammering it down once more. A loud snap, a spray of blood and saliva.

  He straightened, shook himself, his mane raining blood and sweat, then swung his gaze to where the other hound had been.

  Only a blood trail remained.

  Karsa staggered over to his sword, retrieved it, then set off on that glistening path.

  Kalam and Quick Ben slowly rose from behind the wall and stared in silence after the giant warrior.

  Shadows had begun swarming in the darkness. They gathered like capemoths to the carcass of the Deragoth, then sped away again as if in terror.

  Kalam rolled his shoulders, then, long-knives in his hands, he approached the hound.

  Quick Ben followed.

  They studied the mangled carcass.

  ‘Wizard . . .’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Let’s drop off the Napan and get out of here.’

  ‘A brilliant plan.’

  ‘I just thought it up.’

  ‘I like it very much. Well done, Kalam.’

  ‘Like I’ve always told you, Quick, I ain’t just a pretty face.’

  The two swung about and, ignoring the shadows pouring out of the burgeoning shattered warren of Kurald Emurlahn, returned to where they had left Korbolo Dom.

  ‘Friend?’

  Heboric stared at the four-eyed, squat demon that had leapt onto the path in front of him. ‘If we’d met, demon, I’m sure I would have remembered it.’

  ‘Helpful explanation. Brother to L’oric. He lies in clearing twelve paces to your left. Hesitant revision. Fifteen paces. Your legs are nearly as short as mine.’

  ‘Take me to him.’

  The demon did not move. ‘Friend?’

  ‘More or less. We share certain flaws.’

  The creature shrugged. ‘With reservations. Follow.’

  Heboric set off into the petrified forest after the shambling demon, his smile broadening as it prattled on.

  ‘A priest with the hands of a tiger. Sometimes. Other times, human hands glowing depthless green. Impressed. Those tattoos, very fine indeed. Musing. I would have trouble tearing out your throat, I think. Even driven by hunger, as I always am. Thoughtful. A fell night, this one. Ghosts, assassins, warrens, silent battles. Does no-one in this world ever sleep?’

  They stumbled into a small clearing.

  L’oric’s armour was stained with drying blood, but he looked well enough, seated cross-legged, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. On the dusty ground before him lay a spread of the Deck of Dragons.

  Grunting, Heboric settled down opposite the High Mage. ‘Didn’t know you played with those.’

  ‘I never do,’ L’oric replied in a murmur. ‘Play, that is. A Master has come to the Deck, and that Master has just sanctioned the House of Chains.’

  Heboric’s eyes widened. Then narrowed, and he slowly
nodded. ‘Let the gods rail, he or she had to do just that.’

  ‘I know. The Crippled God is now as bound as is every other god.’

  ‘In the game, aye, after so long outside it. I wonder if he’ll one day come to regret his gambit.’

  ‘He seeks this fragment of Kurald Emurlahn, and is poised to strike, though his chances are less now than they were at sunset.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Bidithal is dead.’

  ‘Good. Who?’

  ‘Toblakai.’

  ‘Oh. Not good.’

  ‘Yet Toblakai has become, I believe, the Knight in the House of Chains.’

  ‘That is damned unfortunate . . . for the Crippled God. Toblakai will kneel to no-one. He cannot afford to. He will defy all prediction—’

  ‘He has already displayed that penchant this night, Ghost Hands, to the possible ruination of us all. Still, at the same time, I have come to suspect he is our only hope.’ L’oric opened his eyes and stared across at Heboric. ‘Two Hounds of Darkness arrived a short while ago—I could sense their presence, though fitfully, but could get no closer. Otataral, and the very darkness that shrouds them.’

  ‘And why should Toblakai step into their path? Never mind, I can answer that myself. Because he’s Toblakai.’

  ‘Aye. And I believe he has already done so.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And now, I believe, but one Deragoth remains alive.’

  ‘Gods forbid,’ Heboric breathed.

  ‘Toblakai even now pursues it.’

  ‘Tell me, what brought the hounds here? What or who has Toblakai just thwarted?’

  ‘The cards are ambivalent on that, Destriant. Perhaps the answer is yet to be decided.’

  ‘Relieved to hear some things remain so, truth be told.’

  ‘Ghost Hands. Get Felisin away from this place. Greyfrog here will accompany you.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I must go to Sha’ik. No, say nothing until I finish. I know that you and she were once close—perhaps not in a pleasing manner, but close none the less. But that mortal child is soon to be no more. The goddess is about to devour her soul even as we speak—and once that is done, there shall be no return. The young Malazan girl you once knew will have ceased to exist. Thus, when I go to Sha’ik, I go not to the child, but to the goddess.’