You will turn it all into dust—every dream, nothing but dust, sifting down through their hands.
But, Elder God, these humans—they have left you behind. They don’t need you to turn to dust all their dreams. They don’t need anyone else to do that. ‘This,’ he said, facing Errastas, ‘is what we should intend.’
The Errant’s brows rose, his solitary eye bright. ‘What, pray tell?’
‘To stand before our children—the young gods—and tell them the truth.’
‘Which is?’
‘Everything they claim as their own can be found in the mortal soul. Those gods, Errastas, are not needed. Like us, they have no purpose. None at all. Like us, they are a waste of space. Irrelevant.’
The Errant’s hands twitched. He flung away the pebbles. ‘Is misery all we get from you, Knuckles? We have not yet launched our war and you’ve already surrendered.’
‘I have,’ agreed Sechul Lath, ‘but that is a notion you do not fully understand. There is more than one kind of surrender—’
‘Indeed,’ snapped the Errant, ‘yet the face of each one is the same—a coward’s face!’
Knuckles eyed him, amused.
Errastas made a fist. ‘What,’ he said in a low rasp, ‘is so funny?’
‘The one who surrenders to his own delusions is, by your terms, no less a coward than any other.’
Kilmandaros straightened. She had taken upon herself the body of a Tel Akai, still towering above them but not quite as massively as before. She smiled without humour at the Errant. ‘Play no games with this one, Errastas. Not bones, not words. He will tie your brain in knots and make your head ache.’
Errastas glared at her. ‘Do you think me a simpleton?’
The smile vanished. ‘Clearly, you think that of me.’
‘When you think with your fists, don’t complain when you appear to others as witless.’
‘But I complain with my fists as well,’ she replied. ‘And when I do, even you have no choice but to listen, Errastas. Now, best be careful, for I feel in the mood for complaining. We have stood here all night, whilst the ether beyond this place has stirred something to life—my nerves are on fire, even here, where all lies in lifeless ruin. You say you have summoned the others. Where are they?’
‘Coming,’ the Errant replied.
‘How many?’
‘Enough.’
Knuckles started. ‘Who defies you?’
‘It is not defiance! Rather—must I explain myself?’
‘It might help,’ said Sechul Lath.
‘I am not defied by choice. Draconus—within Dragnipur it’s not likely he hears anything. Grizzin Farl is, I think, dead. His corporeal flesh is no more.’ He hesitated, and then added with a scowl, ‘Ardata alone has managed to evade me, but she was never of much use anyway, was she?’
‘Then where—’
‘I see one,’ Kilmandaros said, pointing to the north. ‘Taste of the blood, she was wise to take that shape! But oh, I can smell the stench of Eleint upon her!’
‘Restrain yourself,’ Errastas said. ‘She’s been dead too long for you to smell anything.’
‘I said—’
‘You imagine, nothing more. Tiam’s daughter did not outlive her mother—this thing has embraced the Ritual of Tellann—she is less than she once was.’
‘Less,’ said Knuckles, ‘and more, I think.’
Errastas snorted, unaware of Sechul Lath’s deliberate mockery.
Kilmandaros was visibly shaking with her fury. ‘It was her,’ she hissed. ‘Last night. That singing—she awakened the ancient power! Olar Ethil!’
Sechul Lath could see sudden worry on the Errant’s face. Already, things were spiralling out of his control.
A voice spoke behind them. ‘I too felt as much.’
They turned to see Mael standing beside the sinkhole. He had an old man’s body and an old man’s face and the watery eyes he fixed on the Errant were cold. ‘This is already unravelling, Errant. War is like that—all the players lose control. “Chaos takes the sword.’ ”
Errastas snorted a second time. ‘Quoting Anomander Rake? Really, Mael. Besides he spoke that in prophecy. The other resonances came later.’
‘Yes,’ muttered Mael, ‘about that prophecy . . .’
Sechul Lath waited for him to continue but Mael fell silent, squinting now at Olar Ethil. She had long ago chosen the body of an Imass woman, wide-hipped, heavy-breasted. When Knuckles had last seen her, he recalled, she was still mortal. He remembered the strange headgear she had worn, for all the world like a woven corded basket. With no holes for her eyes, or her mouth. Matron of all the bonecasters, mother to an entire race. But even mothers have secrets.
She no longer wore the mask. Nor much in the way of flesh. Desiccated, little more than sinews and bone. A T’lan Imass. Snakeskin webbing hung from her shoulders, to which various mysterious objects had been tied—holed pebbles, nuggets of uncut gems, bone tubes that might be whistles or curse-traps, soul-catchers of hollowed antler, a knotted bundle of tiny dead birds. A roughly made obsidian knife was tucked in her cord belt.
Her smile was an inadvertent thing, the teeth oversized and stained deep amber. Nothing glittered from the sockets of her eyes.
‘How did it go again?’ Sechul asked her. ‘Your mother’s lover and child both? Just how did you beget yourself, Olar Ethil?’
‘Eleint!’ growled Kilmandaros.
Olar Ethil spoke: ‘I have travelled in the realm of birth-fires. I have sailed the dead sky of Kallor’s Curse. I have seen all I needed to see.’ Her neck creaked and made grinding noises as she turned her head until she faced the Errant. ‘You were nowhere to be found. You hid behind your pathetic throne, ever proving the illusion of power—the world has long ago grasped your message, though by nature it will not ever heed it. You, Errastas, are wasting your time.’
Sechul Lath was startled that her words so closely matched his own thoughts. Save it, Olar Ethil. He does not listen.
She then turned to Mael. ‘Your daughters run wild.’
The old man shrugged. ‘Daughters will do that. Rather, they should do that. I would be disappointed otherwise. It’s a poor father who does not nudge and then cut loose—as I am sure the Errant will eagerly chime, once he gathers what wits he has left. When that witch stole your eye, what else spilled out?’
Olar Ethil cackled.
Errastas straightened. ‘I have summoned you. You could not deny me, not one of you!’
‘Saved me hunting you down,’ said Mael. ‘You have much to answer for, Errant. Your eagerness to ruin mortal lives—’
‘It is what I do! What I have always done—and you should talk, Mael! How many millions of souls have you drowned? Hundreds of millions, all to feed your power. No, old man, do not dare chide me.’
‘What do you want?’ Mael asked. ‘You don’t really think we can win this war, do you?’
‘You have not been paying attention,’ Errastas replied. ‘The gods are gathering. Against the Fallen One—they don’t want to share this world—’
‘Nor, it seems, do you.’
‘We never denied any ascendant a place in our pantheon, Mael.’
‘Really?’
The Errant bared his teeth. ‘Was there ever the risk of running out of mortal blood? Our children betrayed us, by turning away from that source of power, by accepting what K’rul offered them. And in turn, they denied us our rightful place.’
‘So where is he, then?’ Sechul asked. ‘Brother K’rul? And the Sister of Cold Nights? What of the Wolves, who ruled this realm before humans even arrived? Errastas, did you reach some private decision to not invite them?’
‘K’rul deserves the fate awaiting the gods—his was the cruellest betrayal of all.’ The Errant gestured dismissively, ‘One could never reason with the Wolves—I have long given up trying. Leave them the Beast Throne, it’s where they belong.’
‘And,’ Mael added dryly, ‘ambition does not beset them. Lucky for y
ou.’
‘For us.’
At the Errant’s correction, Mael simply shrugged.
Olar Ethil cackled again, and then said, ‘None of you understand anything. Too long hiding from the world. Things are coming back. Rising. The stupid humans have not even noticed.’ She paused, now that she had everyone’s attention, and something like breath rattled from her. ‘Kallor understood—he saw Silverfox for what she was. Is. Do any of you really think the time of the T’lan Imass is over? And though she made a youthful error in releasing the First Sword, I have forgiven her. Indeed, I have seen to his return.
‘And what of the Jaghut? Popping up like poison mushrooms! So comforting to believe they are incapable of working together—but then, lies can prove very comforting. What if I told you that in the Wastelands but a handful of days ago, fourteen undead Jaghut annihilated a hundred Nah’ruk? What if I told you that five thousand humans carrying the blood of the Tiste Andii have walked the Road of Gallan? That one with Royal Andiian blood has ridden through the gates of dead Kharkanas? And the Road of Gallan? Why, upon that path of blood hunt the Tiste Liosan. And,’ her head creaked as she regarded Kilmandaros, ‘something far worse. No, you are all blind. The Crippled God? He is nothing. Among the gods, his allies break and scatter. Among the mortals, corruption devours his cult, and his followers are the wasted and the lost—Kaminsod has no army to summon to his defence. His body lies in pieces scattered across seven continents. He is as good as dead.’ She jabbed a bony finger at the Errant. ‘Even the Deck of Dragons has a new Master, and I tell you this, Errastas. You cannot stand against him. You’re not enough.’
The wind moaned in the wake of her words.
None spoke. Even Errastas stood as one stunned.
Bones clattering, Olar Ethil walked to the shattered boulder. ‘Kilmandaros,’ she said, ‘you are a cow. A miserable, brainless cow. The Imass made this sanctuary in an act of love, as a place where not one of us could reach in to poison their souls.’
Kilmandaros clenched her fists, staring blankly at the old woman. ‘I don’t care,’ she said.
‘I can destroy the young gods,’ Errastas suddenly said. ‘Every one of them.’
‘And have you told Kilmandaros about your secret killer?’ Olar Ethil inquired. ‘Oh yes, I knew you were there. I understand what you’ve done. What you intend.’
Sechul Lath frowned. He’d lost this trail. Too soon after Olar Ethil’s speech, from which he still reeled. Secret killer?
‘Tell her,’ Olar Ethil went on, ‘of the Eleint.’
‘When the slayer has been unleashed, when it has done what it must,’ Errastas smiled, ‘then Kilmandaros shall receive a gift.’
‘She slays the slayer.’
‘So that, when all is done, we alone are left standing. Olar Ethil, all those things you spoke of, they are irrelevant. The Jaghut are too few, living or undead, to pose any sort of threat. The dust of the T’lan Imass has crossed the ocean and even now closes upon the shores of Assail, and we all know what awaits them there. And Kharkanas is dead, as you say. What matter that one of Royal Andiian blood has returned to it? Mother Dark is turned away from her children. As for the Tiste Liosan, they are leaderless and do any of us here actually think Osserc will go back to them?’
Sechul Lath hugged himself tighter. He would not look at Kilmandaros. Neither Olar Ethil nor Errastas had spoken of the Forkrul Assail. Were they ignorant? Was the knowledge that Sechul held within him—that Kilmandaros possessed, as well—truly a secret? Olar Ethil, we cannot trust you. Errastas should never have invited you here. You are worse than K’rul. More of a threat to us than Draconus, or Edgewalker. You are Eleint and you are T’lan Imass, and both were ever beyond our control.
‘The Master of the Deck,’ said Mael, ‘has an ally. One that even you, Olar Ethil, seem unaware of, and she is more of a wild knuckle than anything Sechul Lath was ever in the habit of casting.’ His cold eyes settled upon the Errant. ‘You would devour our children, but even that desire proves that you have lost touch, that you—we, all of us here—are nothing more than the spent forces of history. Errant, our children have grown up. Do you understand the significance of that?’
‘What stupidity are you—’
‘Old enough,’ cut in Sechul Lath, all at once comprehending, ‘to have children of their own.’ Abyss below!
Errastas blinked, and then gathered himself, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘Easily crushed once we have dealt with their parents, don’t you think?’
‘Crushed. As we were?’
Errastas glared at Mael.
Sechul Lath barked a wry laugh. ‘I see your point, Mael. Our killing the gods could simply clear the way for their children.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Errastas. ‘I have sensed nothing of . . . grandchildren. Nothing at all.’
‘Hood summons the dead,’ Olar Ethil said, as if Mael’s words had launched her down a track only she could see. ‘The fourteen undead Jaghut—they did not belong to him. He has no control over them. They were summoned by an ascendant who had been mortal only a few years ago.’ She faced Mael. ‘I have seen the dead. They march, not as some mindless mob, but as would an army. It is as if the world on the lifeless side of Hood’s Gates has changed.’
Mael nodded. ‘Prompting the question, what is Hood up to? He was once a Jaghut. Since when do Jaghut delegate? Olar Ethil, who was this recent ascendant?’
‘Twice brought into the world of worship. Once, by a tribal people, and named Iskar Jarak. A bringer of wisdom, a saviour. And the other time, as the commander of a company of soldiers—promised to ascension by a song woven by a Tanno Spiritwalker. Yes, the entire company ascended upon death.’
‘Soldiers?’ Errastas was frowning. ‘Ascended?’ Confused. Frightened by the notion.
‘And what name did he possess among these ascended soldiers?’ Mael asked.
‘Whiskeyjack. He was a Malazan.’
‘A Malazan.’ Mael nodded. ‘So too is the Master of the Deck. And so too is the Master’s unpredictable, unknowable ally—the Adjunct Tavore, who leads a Malazan army east, across the Wastelands. Leads them,’ he turned to Sechul Lath, ‘into Kolanse.’
The bastard knows! He understands the game we’re playing! It was a struggle not to betray everything with a glance to Kilmandaros. Seeing the quiet knowledge in Mael’s eyes chilled him.
Olar Ethil bestowed on them a third cackle, a gift no one welcomed.
Errastas was no fool. Suspicion glittered from his eye as he studied Sechul Lath. ‘Well now,’ he said in a low tone, ‘all those nights tossing the bones for Kilmandaros here . . . I suppose you found plenty of things to talk about, killing time as it were. Some plans, perhaps, Setch? Foolish of me, I see now, to imagine you were content with simply wasting away, leaving it all behind. It seems,’ and the smile he gave was dangerous, ‘you played me. Using all of your most impressive talents.’
‘This meeting,’ drawled Mael, ‘was premature. Errant, consider yourself banished from Letheras. If I sense your return, I will hunt you down and drown you as easily as you did Feather Witch.’
He walked to the spring, descended into the sinkhole and vanished from sight.
Olar Ethil pointed a finger at Kilmandaros, waggled it warningly, and then set off, northward. A miserable collection of skin and bones. The three remaining Elder Gods watched her walk away. When the T’lan Imass was perhaps fifty paces distant, she veered into her draconic form, dust billowing, and then lifted skyward.
A low growl came from Kilmandaros.
Sechul Lath rubbed at his face. He sighed. ‘The power you seek to bleed dry, Errastas,’ he said, facing the Errant, ‘well, it turns out we were all working to similar ends.’
‘You anticipated me.’
Sechul shrugged. ‘We had no expectation that you would just show up at the door.’
‘I do not appreciate being played, Setch. Do you see no value to my alliance?’
‘You have irrevocably altered the str
ategy. As Mael pointed out, though perhaps for different reasons, this meeting was premature. Now our enemies are awakened to us.’ He sighed again. ‘Had you stayed away, stayed quiet, why, Mother and I—we’d have stolen that power from beneath their very noses.’
‘To share solely between the two of you.’
‘To the victors the spoils.’ But none of this mad usurpation, this desire to return to what once was. ‘But, I dare say, had you come begging, we might well have proved magnanimous . . . for old times’ sake.’
‘I see.’
Kilmandaros faced him. ‘Do you, Master of the Holds? You summoned us here, only to find that you are the weakest, the most ignorant among us. You forced us all—Sechul, Mael, Olar Ethil, to put you in your place. To make you realize that you alone have been wallowing in self-pity and wasting away doing nothing. Perhaps Mael thinks our time is done, but then, why has he ensured that his worship is on the ascent? That a Jhistal Priest of Mael now rises to take the throne of the most powerful empire this world has seen since the time of Kallor and Dessimbelackis? Who among us has proved the witless one this day?’
With a snarl, Errastas swung away from them.
Sechul turned to his mother. ‘Mael was warning us, I think. This Adjunct Tavore he spoke of. These infernal Malazans.’
‘And the children of the gods. Yes, many warnings, Sechul. From Olar Ethil as well. Jaghut, T’lan Imass, Tiste Andii—bah!’
‘All subtlety is lost,’ agreed Sechul Lath. ‘Errastas, return to us, we have much to discuss. Come now, I will tell you of the path we have already prepared. I will tell you just how close we are to achieving all that we desire. And you, in turn, can tell us how you intend to release the Otataral Eleint. Such exchanges are the heart of an alliance, yes?’
His poor friend had been humiliated. Well, there was value in lessons. So long as it’s someone else receiving them.
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