She would discover the nature of the Adjunct’s mission later. Right now, however, it was time to kill the Coin Bearer. And the near proximity of the Imass made success all the more certain. Even Oponn’s powers could not overcome the influence of a Tellann Warren. Murdering the boy would be easy. Sorry waited, then smiled as Adjunct Lorn withdrew, heading north.
In minutes, the Coin of Oponn would be in her hands. And this day, a god might die.
As soon as Lorn was sufficiently distant Crokus ran to the warrior. Sorry rose slowly into a crouch, then moved forward in silence, her garotte in her hands.
______
The Hounds howled again, their eager cries closing in from all sides. Hairlock crouched, indecisive. Then the puppet faced the captain. “You’ll have to wait a little longer to die, Captain. I’ve no intention of allowing things to be rushed. No, I wish to linger over your demise.”
Chance sweaty in his hands, Paran shrugged. To his own surprise, it made little difference to him. If the Hounds arrived to find Hairlock gone, they’d probably take out their frustration on him, and that would be that. “You’ll come to regret the opportunity, Hairlock. Whether this sword’s magic is meant for you or not, I was looking forward to chopping you into kindling. Is your magic a match for my hatred? It would have been nice to find out.”
“Oh, sudden bravery! What do you know of hatred, Captain? When I return I’ll show you precisely what hatred can achieve.” The wooden figure gestured and a dozen feet away another tear opened in the air, this one exuding a fetid stench. “Stubborn mutts,” Hairlock muttered. “Until later, Captain,” and he scurried for the rent.
In the hut, Quick Ben’s grin turned savage. He jerked the dagger free with his right hand and, in a single, fluid motion, sliced the taut strings connecting the sticks.
“Goodbye, Hairlock,” he hissed.
Paran’s eyes widened as the puppet flopped onto his stomach. A moment later Hairlock let loose a shriek.
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like somebody cut your strings, Hairlock,” he said.
The Hounds were close. In moments they’d be all over them.
“Your life, Captain!” Hairlock cried. “Fling me into the Warren and your life is yours, I swear it!”
Paran leaned on his sword and made no reply.
“Pawn of Oponn,” Hairlock snarled, “I would spit on you if I could! Spit on your soul!”
The earth rumbled, and at once massive shapes moved around Paran, silently closing in on the immobile marionette. Paran recognized Gear, the Hound he’d wounded. He felt the sword in his hands answer that challenge with an eager tremor that reached into his arms. Gear’s head swung in his direction as it passed, and Paran saw a promise in its eyes. The captain smiled. If anything draws Oponn out, it will be the fight to come.
Hairlock shrieked one last time, and then the Hounds were upon him.
A large shadow passed across the hill and Paran looked up to see a Great Raven swooping over them. The bird cawed hungrily. “Too bad,” Paran said to it. “I doubt its remains would be palatable.”
Three Hounds began fighting over the splintered wood—all that was left of Hairlock. The remaining four, led by Gear, now turned to Paran.
The captain raised his sword and dropped into a combative crouch. “Come on, then. Through me to the god using me, just once let the tool turn in the Twins’ hands. Come on, Hounds, let us soak this ground with blood.”
The creatures fanned out into a half-circle, Gear in the center.
Paran’s smile broadened. Come to me, Gear. I’m tired of being used and death doesn’t seem so frightening anymore. Let’s be done with it.
Something heavy pressed down on him, as if a hand had reached down from the sky and tried to drive him into the earth. The Hounds flinched. Paran staggered, unable to breathe, a sudden darkness closing around the edges of his vision. The ground groaned beneath him, the yellowed grasses of the plain lying flat. Then the pressure lifted and chilled air flooded back into his lungs. Sensing a presence, the captain whirled.
“Step aside,” a tall, black-skinned, white-haired man said, as he pushed past to confront the Hounds. Paran almost dropped his sword. A Tiste Andii?
The man wore a massive two-handed sword strapped to his back. He stood before the Hounds, making no move toward the weapon. All seven had now arrayed themselves before them, but they shifted restlessly, warily eyeing the newcomer.
The Tiste Andii glanced at Paran. “Whatever you’ve done to draw the attention of gods, it was unwise,” he said, in Malazan.
“It seems I never learn,” Paran replied.
The Tiste Andii smiled. “Then we are much alike, mortal.”
Mortal?
The Hounds paced back and forth, growling and snapping the air. The Tiste Andii watched them, then spoke. “Enough meddling. I see you, Rood,” he said to one Hound, mangy brown, scarred, and yellow-eyed. “Take your kin and leave. Tell Shadowthrone I won’t tolerate his interference. My battle with Malaz is my own. Darujhistan is not for him.”
Rood was the only Hound not growling. Its glowing eyes bore steadily into the Tiste Andii’s.
“You have heard my warning, Rood.”
Paran watched as the Tiste Andii cocked his head. Slowly he returned his attention to the captain. “Gear wishes you dead.”
“It’s the price I pay for showing mercy.”
The Tiste Andii raised an eyebrow.
Paran shrugged. “See the scar he carries?”
“That was your mistake, mortal. You must finish what you set out to do.”
“Next time. What happens now?”
“For the moment, mortal, they find the thought of killing me more desirable than that of killing you.”
“And what are their chances?”
“The answer to that is evident in how long they’ve been hesitating, wouldn’t you think, mortal?”
The Hounds attacked faster than anything Paran could have imagined. His heart lurched as a flurry of motion closed in around the other man. As the captain stepped back an invisible fist of darkness exploded behind his eyes, a snapping of massive chains, the groan of huge wooden wheels. He squeezed shut his eyes against the staggering pain, then forced them open again to see that the fight was over. The Tiste Andii had his sword in his hands, its black blade slick with blood—blood that boiled and swiftly became ash. Two Hounds lay unmoving, one to either side of him. A wayward wind drew a wintry breath across the scene with a sound like a gasp, shivering the grasses.
Paran saw that one Hound had been nearly decapitated, while the other had been sliced across its broad chest—it did not look like a killing wound, but the creature’s eyes, one blue the other yellow, stared sightlessly skyward.
Rood yelped and the others backed away.
Paran tasted blood in his mouth. He spat, then raised a hand to find blood trickling from his ears. The pain in his head was ebbing. He looked up just as the Tiste Andii’s head came round to face him. Seeing death in the man’s eyes, Paran stepped back and half raised his sword, though the effort took all his strength. He watched, uncomprehending, as the Tiste Andii shook his head. “For a moment I thought . . . No, I see nothing now . . .”
Paran blinked stinging tears from his eyes, then wiped his cheeks. He started on seeing that the stain of those tears on his forearm was pink. “You just killed two Hounds of Shadow.”
“The others withdrew.”
“Who are you?”
The Tiste Andii did not answer, his attention once more on the Hounds.
Behind them a cloud of shadow was forming in the air, deepening and thickening in its center. A moment later it dissipated, and a black, shrouded, translucent figure stood in its place, hands tucked into its sleeves. Shadows commanded whatever face lay hidden beneath the hood.
The Tiste Andii lowered his sword’s point to the ground. “They were warned, Shadowthrone. I want one thing understood. You may prove my match here, especially if your Rope is about. But I pr
omise you, it will be messy, and there are those who will avenge me. Your existence, Shadowthrone, could become uncomfortable. Now, I’ve yet to lose my temper. Withdraw your Realm’s influence from the proceedings, and I will leave it at that.”
“I am not involved,” Shadowthrone said quietly. “My Hounds found the quarry I sought. The hunt is over.” The god’s head tilted to observe the two dead creatures. “Over for all time, for Doan and Ganrod.” Shadowthrone looked up. “There is no release for them?”
“None. Nor for any who would pursue vengeance.”
A sigh issued from the hooded darkness of the god’s face. “Ah, well. As I said, I am not involved. However, the Rope is.”
“Recall him,” the Tiste Andii commanded. “Now.”
“He will be severely displeased, Anomander Rake. His plans extend far beyond Darujhistan, seeking to reach the Malazan throne itself.”
Anomander Rake . . . Paran recalled Tattersail’s convictions after scrying her Deck of Dragons. The Knight of High House Dark, the Son of Darkness, the lord with the black sword and its deadly chains. Ruler of Moon’s Spawn, or so she thought. She saw this coming. This very moment, the clash between Shadow and Dark, the blood spilled . . .
“I fight my own battles,” Rake growled. “And I’d rather deal with Laseen on the Malazan throne than with a servant of Shadow. Recall him.”
“One last point,” Shadowthrone said, a giggle escaping him, “I am not responsible for whatever actions the Rope might take against you.”
A smile entered Rake’s tone. “Convince him of the wise course, Shadowthrone. I have no patience for your games. If I am pushed, by either you, your Hounds, or by the Rope, I’ll make no distinction. I will assail the Shadow Realm, and you are invited to try to stop me.”
“You lack all subtlety,” the god said, sighing. “Very well.” He paused and shadows swirled around him. “He has been recalled. Forcibly extracted, as it were. The field is yours once again, Anomander Rake. The Malazan Empire is all yours, as is Oponn,” Shadowthrone added.
“Oponn?” Rake’s head turned slowly, and the captain once again looked into eyes of deep, cold blue. Paran’s spirits sank. The Tiste Andii’s gaze fell to the sword, then again to Shadowthrone. “Begone,” Rake said. “The matter is ended.”
Shadowthrone dipped his head. “For now.” The god raised his hands and shadows gathered around him. The surviving Hounds closed in, leaving their dead kin where they lay. The shadows thickened, became opaque, entirely hiding those within. When they dispersed, the lord and his Hounds were gone.
Paran eyed the Tiste Andii who now faced him. After a moment the captain shrugged.
Rake’s brows rose. “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s the extent of your comments? Do I speak with Oponn directly? I thought I sensed a presence before, but when I looked more carefully . . . nothing.” Rake shifted grip on his sword, the point rising. “Do you hide within, Oponn?”
“Not as far as I’m aware,” Paran replied. “Apparently Oponn saved my life or, rather, brought me back to life. I’ve no idea why, but I’ve been told that I’ve become Oponn’s tool.”
“You are journeying to Darujhistan?”
Paran nodded.
“May I approach?” Rake asked, sheathing his sword.
“Why not?”
The Tiste Andii strode up to him and laid a hand against his chest. Paran felt nothing untoward. Rake stepped back. “Oponn may have been within you in the past, but it seems the Twins have hastily withdrawn. I see their signs, but no god controls you now, mortal.” He hesitated. “Their treatment of you was . . . unkind. If Caladan Brood was here he could heal that . . . You’re no longer Oponn’s tool.” The Tiste’s eyes remained blue, but they’d lightened to the color of the sky. “But your sword is.”
There was a squawk nearby and both turned to see a Great Raven alight on one of the Hound’s bodies. It plucked out an eye and gobbled it down. Paran fought back a wave of nausea. The huge battered bird hopped toward them.
“This man’s sword, Master,” the raven said, “is not Oponn’s only tool, I’m afraid.”
Paran shook his head, his only surprise the realization that nothing surprised him anymore. He sheathed his sword.
“Speak on, Crone,” Rake commanded.
The raven cocked its head at Paran. “Here, Master?”
Rake frowned. “Perhaps not.” He faced the captain again. “Hold on to that weapon until your luck turns. When that happens, and if you’re still alive, break it or give it to your worst enemy.” A grin crossed his features. “Thus far, it seems your luck holds.”
Paran hesitated. “I’m free to go?”
Lord Anomander Rake nodded.
The captain looked around, then strode off in search of the surviving horses.
Minutes later, the shock came to Paran, driving him to his knees. Toc was gone. He’d dragged the man with him in his relentless, mindless pursuit across the plain. He looked up, eyes unseeing. He’d called Hairlock his enemy. He’d proclaimed Lorn’s death his final goal. As if these two things would answer the anguish within him, would heal the pain of loss. But the demon is within me.
Oponn had been unkind . . . What had Rake meant? Have any of these thoughts been my own? Look at me—my every move seems a desperate search for someone to blame, always someone else. I’ve made being a tool of a god an excuse, a justification for not thinking, for simply reacting. And others have died for it.
Rake had also said, “Finish what you start.” He would have to deal with his own demons later. There could be no turning back. But it had been wrong to think that what he planned would end the pain within him. Adding Lorn’s blood to his stained hands would not achieve what he sought.
Paran rose, collected the reins of the surviving horses. He led the beasts back to the scene of the fight. The Tiste Andii had vanished, but the Hounds remained, motionless dark humps in the yellow grass. He dropped the reins and approached one. The slice across its chest still leaked blood. Crouching, Paran reached out, ran his fingers along the animal’s hide. See what the desire for murder gets you? Hood’s Breath, but you were a beautiful beast. His fingertips brushed blood. The captain recoiled at the contact, but it was too late. Something rippled up his arm, swept through him. He fell back into darkness, the sound of chains rattling taut.
Paran found himself walking and he was not alone. Through the gloom he could make out figures on all sides, each shackled with long iron chains, leaning forward as if pulling at an immense weight. The ground underfoot was barren, lifeless. Overhead there was nothing but darkness. Beneath the constant creak of the chains was a heavier sound that Paran could feel through the soles of his boots. Alone unchained, he fell back toward the source of that sound, passing chained figures, many of them not human. A shape appeared, hulking, pitching. A wagon, impossibly huge, its wooden wheels taller than a man. Driven by an insatiable desire to discover what it carried, Paran moved closer.
A chain ripped across his chest, throwing him from his feet. An ear-piercing howl sounded directly above him. Claws gouged his left arm, pinning it to the ground. A chain rippled under his back. He struggled as a cold wet nose and savage teeth pushed under his chin. The jaws opened, slipped around his neck, then tightened.
Paran lay perfectly still, waiting for the fatal clenching of those jaws. Instead, they pulled away. He found himself staring up into the Hound’s eyes, one blue, one brown. A massive collar of iron circled its neck. The beast lunged away. The chain under him snapped taut, flinging Paran into the air. He felt more than heard the wagon groan sideways, even as he landed sprawling into the path of one of the wooden wheels.
A hand grasped the collar of his cloak and dragged him clear. The captain scrambled to his feet.
A voice beside him spoke. “Any man who has earned mercy from Hounds and walks here unchained is a man worth talking to. Walk with me.”
The shadow of a cowl hid the stranger’s features. The man was big, dressed in rags. After releasi
ng Paran he resumed straining on his chain. “Never before,” he grunted, “has this prison been so tested.” He hissed as the wagon lurched yet again to the Hounds’ frantic attempts to escape. “I fear this will overturn.”
“And if it does?”
The face swung to him briefly and in the darkness Paran saw the flash of teeth. “The pulling will get harder.”
“Where are we?”
“The Warren within the Sword. Did not Dragnipur take your life, too?”
“If it had, would I not be chained as well?”
“True enough. What then are you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” Paran admitted. “I saw the Hounds killed by Rake’s sword. Then I touched the blood of one of the slain beasts.”
“That explains their confusion. They thought you one of their own . . . at first. You were wise to submit to that Hound’s challenge.”
“Too frightened to move, you mean.”
The stranger laughed. “Even so.”
“What is your name?”
“Names are meaningless. Rake killed me. Long ago. That is enough.”
Paran fell silent. Eternity, chained here, forever pulling. And I ask for the man’s name. Would any apology suffice?
The wagon bucked savagely, earth ripped from under its wheels. Figures fell, wailing. The Hounds howled their fury.
“Gethol’s Breath,” the stranger gasped. “Will they never cease?”
“I don’t think they will,” Paran said. “Can those chains be broken?”
“No. None have managed it yet, that is, and there are dragons among us. But these Hounds . . .” He sighed. “It is astonishing, but already I long for the peace their arrival has shattered.”
“Perhaps I can help.”
The stranger barked a laugh. “By all means, try.”
Paran moved away, heading toward the Hounds. He had no plan in mind. But I alone am unchained. The thought stopped him and he smiled. Unchained. No one’s tool. He continued on, wondering. He passed figures straining step by step, some silent, some muttering in madness. None raised its head to glance as he passed. The sound of bestial gasping reached him. “Hounds!” Paran called. “I would help!”
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 46