OK, since I've been doing something fairly similar for the Dabel Bros, I'll post the oertinant passages
Silanah and elient vs Raest said:
Preparation. Raest's withered, cracked face twisted into a savage grin, his lower tusks splitting desiccated skin. The powerful must gather other power, subjugate it to their own will, then direct it unerringly. His moves had already begun.
He sloshed through the slush now covering the barrow's muddy floor.
Before him rose the slanted wall that marked the tomb's barrier. Beyond the lime-streaked earth waited a world to be enslaved. Raest gestured and the barrier exploded outward. Bright sunlight flared in the clouds of steam rolling around him, and he felt waves of cold, ancient air sweeping past him.
The Jaghut Tyrant walked into the light.
The Great Raven Crone rode the hot streams of wind high above the Gadrobi Hills. The burst of power that launched tons of earth and rocks a hundred feet into the sky elicited a cackle from her. She dipped a wing, eyes on the white pillar of steam, and banked towards it.
This, she laughed to herself, should prove interesting.
A wash of air pounded down on to her. Shrieking her outrage, Crone twisted and slid along the shunting wind. Massive shadows flowed over her. Her anger was swept away on a surge of excitement. Head craning, she beat the air with her wings and climbed again. In matters such as these, a proper point of view was essential. Crone climbed higher still, then cocked her head and looked down. By the light of the sun scales flashed iridescent from five ridged backs, but of the five one shone like fire. Sorcerous power bled in ripples from the web of their spread wings.
The dragons sailed silent over the landscape, closing on the billowing dust-cloud above the jaghut tomb. Crone's black eyes fixed on the dragon that blazed red.
'Silanah!' she screamed, laughing. 'Dragnipurake ka Draconiaes!
Eleint, eleint!' The day of the Tiste Andii had come.
Raest emerged into rich afternoon sunlight. Yellow-grassed hills rose in weathered humps in every direction but the one he faced. To the east behind a thinning curtain of drifting dust stretched an empty plain.
The jaghut Tyrant grunted. Not so different after all. He raised his arms, feeling wind slide along his cabled muscles. He drew a breath, tasting the life-rich air. He quested lightly with his power and exulted in the waves of fear that answered it - answers that came from the mindless life beneath his feet or hiding in the grasses around him. But higher life, higher concentrations of power, he sensed nothing. He drove his senses down into the ground, seeking what dwelt there. Eart and bedrock, the sluggish molten darkness beneath, down, down to fi the sleeping goddess - young as far as the jaghut Tyrant was concern 'Shall I wake you?' he whispered. 'Not yet. But I shall make you blee His right hand closed into a fist.
He speared the goddess with pain, driving a fissure through the bedrock, feeling the gush of her blood, enough to make her stir but not awaken.
The line of hills to the north lifted skyward. Magma I sprayed into the air amid a rising pillar of smoke, rock and ash. The earth shuddered even as the sound of the eruption swept over Raest in a fierce, hot wind. The jaghut Tyrant smiled.
He studied the shattered ridge and breathed the heavy, sulphurous air, then turned about and strode west towards the highest hill in that his the not s air, that direction. His Firmest lay beyond it, perhaps three days' walk. He considered opening his Warren, then decided to wait until he reached the hill's summit. From that vantage point, he could better judge the Firmest's location.
Half-way up the slope he heard distant laughter. Raest stiffened just as the day darkened suddenly around him. On the sward before him he saw five enormous shadows sweeping up the slope, then beyond the hill's summit. The sunlight returned. The Jaghut Tyrant looked into the sky above him.
Five dragons banked in perfect formation, their heads dipping to watch him as they glided back in his direction. 'Estide'ein eleint,' he whispered, in his Jaghut tongue. Four were black, barbed in silver along the wings and flying two to either side of the fifth dragon, this one red and twice at large as the others. 'Silanah red-wings,' Raest muttered, eyes narrowing. 'Elder-born and true-blooded Tiarn, you lead Soletaken, who's blood is alien to this world. I feel you all!' He raised fists to the sky. 'Colder than the ice born of Jaghut hands, as dark as blindness - I feel you!'
He lowered his arms. 'Harass me not, eleint. I cannot enslave you, but I will destroy you. Know that. I will drive you to the ground, each and all, and with my own hands I shall tear your hearts from your chests.'
His eyes narrowed on the four black dragons. 'Soletaken. You would challenge me at the command of another. You would battle with me for no reason of your own. Ah, but if I were to command you I would not throw your lives away so carelessly. I would cherish you, Soletaken, I would give you causes worth believing in, show you the true rewards of power.' Raest scowled, as their derision swept through his mind. 'So be it.' The dragons passed low overhead in silence, banking once again and disappearing behind the hills to the south. Raest spread his arms wide and unleashed his Warren. His flesh split as power flowed into him. His arms shed skin like ash. He both felt and heard hills crack all around him, the snapping of stone, the sundering of crags. To all sides the horizons blurred as dust curtained skyward. He faced south. 'This is my power! Come to me!' A long minute passed. He frowned at the hills before him, then cried out and whirled to his right just as Silanah and the four black dragons, all less than ten feet above the ground, plunged over the summit of the hill he'd been climbing.
Raest screamed at the whirlwind of power battering him, his shrunken eyes locked on SlIanah's blank, empty, deadly gaze - eyes as large as the Jaghut's head - as it bore down upon him with the speed of a springing viper. The red dragon's jaws opened wide and Raest found himself staring down the beast's throat.
He screamed a second time and released his power all at once.
The air detonated as the Warrens collided. jagged shards of rock ripped in all directions. Starvald Demelain and Kurald Galain warred with Omtose Phellack in a savage maelstrom of will. Grasses, earth and rock withered to fine ash on all sides, and within the vortex stood Raest, his power roaring from him. Lashes of sorcery from the dragons lanced into his body, boring through his withered flesh.
The Jaghut Tyrant flayed his power like a scythe. Blood spattered the ground, sprayed in gouts. The dragons shrieked.
A wave of incandescent fire struck Raest from the right, solid as a battering fist. Howling, he was thrown through the air, landing in a bank of powdery ash. Silanah's fire raced over him, blackening what was left of his flesh. The Tyrant clambered upright, his body jerking uncontrollably as sorcery gouted from his right hand.
The ground shook as Raest's power hammered Silanah down, driving the dragon skidding and tumbling across the slope. The Tyrant's exultant roar was cut short as talons the length of a forearm crunched into him from behind. A second clawed foot joined the first, snapping through the bones of Raest's chest as if they were twigs. More talons flexed around him as a second dragon sought grip.
The Tyrant twisted helplessly as the claws lifted him into the air and started ripping his body apart. He dislocated his own shoulder in reaching round to dig his fingers into a sleek scaled shin. At the contact, Omtose Phellack surged into the dragon's leg, shattering bone, boiling blood. Raest laughed as the claws spasmed loose and he was flung away.
More bones snapped as he struck the ground, but it did not matter. His power was absolute, the vessel that carried it had little relevance. If need be, the Tyrant would find other bodies, bodies in the thousands.
He climbed once more to his feet. 'Now,' he whispered, 'I deliver death.'
Rake vs Galayn said:
The two were silent for a long minute, then K'rul sighed. 'I am lost. In this world. In this time.'
Rake grunted. 'You are not alone with those sentiments, Eldering One.'
'Do I follow in your steps, Lord? Do I seek out new battles, new games to play in the company of Ascendants? Are you rewarded in spirit for your efforts?'
'Sometimes,' Rake said quietly. 'But mostly, no, I am not.'
The hooded face turned to the Tiste Andii. 'Then why?'
'I know no other way of living.'
'I have no means of assisting you this night, Anomander Rake. I am manifest in this sanctified place, and manifest in a lone mortal's dreams, but nowhere else.'
'I will do my best, then,' Rake said,'to avoid damaging your temple.'
K'rul bowed, then vanished.
Alone once again, Rake turned his attention to the street below. An apparition arrived. it paused to sniff the air, then began changing -
veering. A Lord of the Galayn, and a Soletaken.
'Well,' the Lord of Moon's Spawn growled,'so am I.' The Tiste Andii spread his arms wide, then rose upward. Kurald Galain sorcery swirled around him, blending his clothing, his massive sword, drawing all inward to the shape he now climbed towards. The veering was smooth, eloquent, as jet-black wings unfolded from his shoulders. Flesh and bone surged in size, changed in shape.
As he flew higher, eyes fixed on the stars, Anomander Rake became a black dragon, silver-maned and dwarfing even Silanah. His eyes gleamed silver, the vertical slits of the pupils dilating. His breath gusted in heavy grunts, the snap of his wings loud amid the deep groan of muscle on bone. His chest swelled to draw in the cold, dry air, and power filled his being.
Rake climbed ever higher, slipping through a stray cloud that scudded in darkness over the city. When he finally tilted his wings forward and caressed the surface of a wayward wind, he looked down on a city that glimmered like a mottled copper coin at the bottom of a pellucid pond.
Sorcery flared occasionally, centred mostly in the Estate District, and Rake sensed death within those emanations. He considered the message delivered by Serrat, courtesy of a foul mage he'd thought a thousand leagues away. Was the sorcery the work of these unwelcome intruders?
He rumbled in frustration - he would deal with them later. Before him now was a battle. The Empress and her Empire had challenged him again and again, wilful in the desire to test his-strength. Each time he'd withdrawn, unwilling to commit himself. Very well, Empress, my patience is at an end.
The membrane of his wings tautened, the joints creaking, as he grunted a straining breath. He hung almost motionless for a second studying the great city beneath him. Then, tucking in his wings, Anomander Rake, the Son of Darkness and Lord of Moon's Spawn, plummeted.
...
He ducked beneath the hail of bricks and cobbles, then, as the scatter of rubble diminished, he jumped to his feet.
A dragon, its wings tattered and streaked with blood, slowly regained its feet in the street, wagging its massive wedge-shaped head from side to side. Along its brown flanks, scales had been torn away, revealing deep puncture wounds. Its neck and shoulders glistened with blood.
Crokus saw that the wall beyond it - Baruk's - had been obliterated, opening the garden to his view. Snapped tree trunks rose amid steaming earth. A raised patio marked the approach of the estate's back entrance.
Two toppled statues lay in pieces before the doors.
The dragon looked stunned. Crokus tensed. Now was the time to move. Almost disbelieving his own temerity, the thief darted into the street behind the creature, hoping to reach the cover of the garden. His gaze remained on the dragon as he ran, his thoughts on the coin of luck in his pocket.
Then, before his eyes, the creature's shape changed, drawing into itself in a shimmering haze. Crokus slowed, then stopped, unable to pull away his attention. His heart hammered against his ribs, as if seeking escape.
Each drawn breath was a painful gasp. His luck, he told himself in terror, had just ended.
The shimmering faded, and a giant man-shaped apparition now stood on the street cloaked and cowled.
Crokus tried to will himself to move, but his body refused to obey. He stared, eyes widening, as the demon turned to him. It snarled and removed an enormous axe from its belt. Hefting the weapon, it spoke in a deep, soft voice. 'What reason to continue this?' it asked reasonably.
'The Empress permits your escape, Lord. Once again she grants you mercy.'
'Good idea,' the thief whispered. Then he frowned, for the demon's attention, he now saw, was directed past him.
A man spoke behind him. 'We run no further, Galayn.'
A hand fell on the thief's shoulder, breaking the spell of immobility.
Crokus ducked and spun to one side, then looked up into shifting, indigo eyes set in a black, narrow face.
Flee, mortal,' the silver-haired man said, drawing a two-handed sword from the scabbard slung between his shoulder-blades. The black weapon seemed almost invisible, as if it swallowed all light that found it.
'You were at the fete!' Crokus blurted.
The man's eyes flickered, as if seeing him for the first time. 'Coin Bearer,' he said, with a wry smile, 'fear not. Brood has convinced me to spare you, at least for the moment. Begone, child.' His gaze returned to the Galayn lord. 'This will be a close thing.'
'I know that weapon,' the demon snarled. 'Dragnipurake. And I smell the reek of Tiama in you, Lord. There is more of her in you than Tiste Andü blood.'
Crokus backed against what remained of Baruk's wall.
The Galayn lord grinned, revealing long, curved canines. 'The Empress would reward your services, Lord. You've only to say yes, and this battle Anomander Rake stepped forward. 'Attend, Galayn.'
With a roar the demon attacked axe whistling through the air and Rake whirled his sword in a circle, catching the axe and adding to its momentum. As the double-blades swept past, the Tiste Andü stepped in close, sword drawn back, pommel against his left hip. In a blur of rqption he extended the blade. The demon ducked and, releasing one hand from the axe haft, reached for Rake's throat. The Tiste Andü twisted his right Thrown backwards, Rake landed heavily on the cobbles.
The demon pounced, flaming weapon above its head.
Rake regained his feet in time to catch the axe with his swords ~e clash of weapons sent a jolt through the air and ground. The demon; xe flared bright white, cascading light like liquid. Rake's sword was swallowed in darkness, devouring the lashing waves of light that struck The flagstones beneath Crokus's feet tilted sickeningly, as if the stones themselves had turned to soft clay. Overhead the stars swam wildly.
Rake began to launch attacks, savage swings of his black weapon. At first the demon held its ground, delivering fierce ripostes, then staggered back a step, then another. Relentless, Rake pressed his attack. 'To the Mother's regret,' he grated between blows, 'was Light granted birth. To her dismay… she saw too late… its corruption. Galayn… you are the unintended victim'… to punishment… long overdue.'
The demon reeled beneath the blows, desperately parrying every attack, no longer counter-attacking. The light bleeding from the axe flickered, dimmed, flared fitfully as darkness closed in around the blade.
Shrieking, the demon launched itself at Rake. As it descended over the Tiste Andü, Crokus saw a streak of black burst from the demon's back, slicing through the cloak. The axe flew from the creature's hands, its fire dying as it clattered on the ground.
Squealing in horror, the demon clawed at the sword impaling it. Black smoke spread in swift tendrils from the weapon, engulfing the demon.
The smoke twisted, became chains, drawing taut. The Galayn screamed in earnest.
Rake regained his feet and pushed the sword through the demon's chest until the hilt jammed against bone. The demon sank to its knees, its black eyes locking with Rake's own.
Rooftops said:
The two fell slowly as they fought, duelling in absolute silence with forces invisible to the city's inhabitants below, while around them other figures descended towards the warehouse, cloaks spread like sails, crossbows crooked in their arms, hooded faces angled downward and hidden beneath black masks. There were eleven in all that passed the demon and its attacker. None of the others paid any attention, and with this realization the demon experienced an emotion it had never known before. Fear.
Its thoughts turning from battle to survival, the demon tore itself from its attacker's grasp. Loosing a high-pitched cry, it flapped upward.
The figure did not pursue, instead joining the others in their silent descent to the city.
As the twelve shrouded assassins dropped towards the circle of men and women below, one splitting off and angling above the circle's two targets, they took careful aim with their crossbows, and began a massacre.
Kalam stared down at the assassin lying supine on the roof below, wondering what to do next. Were they waiting for him to initiate contact? A low growl escaped him. Something was wrong. He could feel it like fever in his bones.
'Dammit, Quick. Let's get out of here!'
'Wait!' came Quick Ben's disembodied voice. 'Oh, damn,' he said soffly then.
In front of Kalam two brightly glowing shapes dropped down on to the roof below, landing behind their mark.
'What the hell?'
Then he felt a slight tremor on the flat tiles beneath his hands. Kalam rolled on to his back, hearing a quarrel whiz past. Framed by his knees, a cloaked figure stood about thirty feet away. After missing with the quarrel the figure raced forward. Another landed behind the first one, near the roof's far edge.
Kalam scampered. He dropped down over the roof's edge.
Quick Ben floated above him. The spell of deflection he'd raised about himself was a High Order magery, and he was certain he remained unseen by these new assailants. He watched as the approaching figure slowed, then padded cautiously to the roof edge where Kalam had dropped from sight. Daggers gleaming in both gloved hands, this new assassin reached the edge and crouched. Quick Ben held his breath as the figure leaned forward.
Kalam hadn't gone far. He gripped the roof's gables. When the attacker's upper body came into view, blotting out the stars behind it, he surged upward on the strength of one arm, his other shooting up to close on the assassin's neck with a vice-like grip. Kalam jerked the assassin downward, at the same time bringing up his knee. The attacker's clothwrapped face met his knee with a crunch. Kalam, still gripping the gable with one hand, gave the now limp figure a shake, then sent the body spiralling down to the street below.
Gasping, he pulled himself back on to the roof. At the far end he saw the second assassin whirl around. Growling, Kalam surged to his feet and sprinted at the figure.
The unknown assassin stepped back as if startled, then brought a hand down and promptly vanished.
Kalam slid to a stop and stood crouched, both hands hanging at his sides.
'I see her,' Quick Ben whispered.
With a hiss Kalam spun in a full circle, then danced to one side, putting his back to the roof's edge. J don't.'
'She's putting energy into it,' Quick Ben said. 'I keep losing her. Wait, KaP The wizard fell silent.
Kalam's head snapped with every muted sound. His breath gusted in and out from his nostrils, his hands twitched. Wait. A low rumble came from his chest. Wait for what? A knife in his throat?
All. at once the night exploded with sound and fire. The attacker burst into view immediately in front of Kalam, dagger flashing at his chest.
Smoke and sparks rained from her but she moved as if unaffected. Kalam twisted to one side, trying to avoid the blade. The dagger tore through his shirt below his ribs, sinking deep into his flesh then ripping sideways.
He felt a hot gush of blood as he drove a fist into the woman's solar plexus. She gasped, reeling back, threads of blood whipping from the dagger in her right hand. Kalam charged forward with a snarl. He closed and, ignoring the assassin's dagger, punched into her chest again. Ribs cracked. His other hand flat-palmed her forehead. The assassin sprawled backwards, landing with a thump on the roof. Her body stilled.
Kalarn sank to one knee, drawing in gulps of air. 'Wait, you said, daminit! What the hell's wrong with you, Quick?' He pushed a knot of cloth into the wound below his ribcage. 'Quick?'
There was no reply. He tensed, then turned and scanned the lower rooftops. Bodies lay scattered here and there. The warehouse roof, where he'd seen two figures land behind their mark, was empty. Groaning softly, he sank down on to his knees.
With the woman's attack he'd heard something amid the flashing fires.
A boom, no, two booms, very close together. An exchange of magic. His breath caught. Was there a third assassin? A wizard? Quick Ben had damaged this one, but someone else had damaged Quick Ben. 'Oh, Hood,' he whispered, glaring about.
...
Kalam crouched motionless in the middle of the rooftop, a knife in each hand. Around him was silence, the night air tense and heavy. Long minutes passed. At times he convinced himself he was alone, that Quick Ben and the other wizard had left the roof; that they hunted each other in the sky overhead, or in the alleys and streets below, or on another roof. But then he'd hear something, a drawn breath, a scuff of cloth against leather, or a wisp of wind would brush his cheek on this windless night.
Then, before his eyes, the darkness was shattered. Two shapes appeared hovering over the rooftop. The assassin had found Quick Ben, attacking with a bolt of fire that seemed to stun the wizard, then swiftly closing the distance between himself and the dazed man.
Kalam surged forward to intercept. Quick Ben vanished then re-, appeared immediately behind the assassin. The blue flash of power bursting from the wizard's hands struck the magic-wielding assassin full in the back. Clothes aflame, the man tumbled through the air.
Quick Ben whirled to Kalam. 'Come on! Get moving!'
Kalam ran, his friend flying beside him. As they reached the roof's edge he turned for a last look. The assassin mage had somehow snuffed the fire from his clothes and was regaining his balance. At the far edge two of his comrades appeared.
'Jump,' Quick Ben said. 'I'll stall them.'
'With what?' Kalam demanded, tottering on the edge.
In answer Quick Ben produced a small vial. He spun in the air and hurled it.
Kalam cursed, then jumped.
The vial struck the rooftop and shattered with a thin tinkle. Beyond, the three assassins paused. Quick Ben remained, his eyes on the white smoke rising from the glass shards. A figure took form within the smoke, i growing in size. Its shape was almost insubstantial, the smoke stretching like threads in places, curling like wool in others. All that was visible within it was its eyes, two black slits, which it swung to Quick Ben.
'You,' it said, its voice that of a child, 'are not Master Tayschrenn.'
'That's right,' Quick Ben said, 'but I'm in his legion. Your service remains with the Empire.' He pointed across the roof 'There are three who are the Empire's enemies, Demon. Tiste Andü, here to oppose the Malazan Empire.'
'My name is Pearl,' the Korvalah demon said softly, then turned to the three assassins, who had spread out along the far edge. 'They are not fleeing,' Pearl said, with a note of surprise.
Quick Ben wiped sweat from his forehead. He glanced down. Kalam was a vague shape waiting in the alley below. 'I know,' he said to Pearl.
That observation had unnerved him as well. One of Tayschrenn's Korvalahrai could level a city if it so chose.
'They accept my challenge,' Pearl said, facing Quick Ben again.
'Should I pity them?'
'No,' he answered. 'Just kill them and be done with it.'
'Then I return to Master Tayschrenn.'
'Yes.'
'What is your name, Wizard?'
He hesitated, then said, 'Ben Adaephon Delat.'
'You are supposed to be dead,' Pearl said. 'Your name is so marked on the scrolls of those High Mages who fell to the Empire in Seven Cities.'
Quick Ben glanced up. 'Others are coming, Pearl. You are in for a fight.'
The demon lifted its gaze. Above them glowing figures descended, five in the first wave, one in the second. This last one radiated such power that Quick Ben shrank back, his blood chilled. The figure had something long and narrow strapped to its back.
'Ben Adaephon Delat,' Pearl said plaintively, 'see the last who comes.
You send me to my death.'
'I know,' Quick Ben whispered.
'Flee, then. I will hold them enough to ensure your escape, no more.'
Quick Ben sank down past the roof.
Before he passed from sight Pearl spoke again. 'Ben Adaephon Delat, do you pity me?'
'Yes,' he replied softly, then pivoted and dropped down into darkness.
Rake vs Shadow hounds said:
QB and Shadowthone meet said:
The Hound that approached Quick Ben was wide and heavy, its fur a pastel white. As it trotted up to the wizard, he saw that its eyes were also white. The creature possessed no pupils. It stopped a short distance away and sat Quick Ben bowed. 'You are the Hound called Blind,' he said, 'mate to Baran and mother of Gear. I come seeking no harm. I would speak wit your master.'
He heard a growl beside him and froze. Slowly, he turned his head an looked down. Less than a foot from his right leg lay another Hound mottled brown and tan, lean and scarred. Its eyes were fixed on Blind 'Baran.' He nodded. Another growl answered Baran's, this one behin the wizard. He turned further to see, ten feet away, a third Hound, this one long, black and sleek. Its eyes, fixed on him, glowed red. 'And Shan he said quietly. He faced Blind again. 'Have you found your quarry, o are you my escort?'
Baran rose silently beside him,' its shoulders level with his chest. Blind stood, then trotted off to the left. She stopped and looked back. Twi growls spurred Quick Ben after them.
The land around them changed slowly, details slipping into sourceles shadows and re-emerging subtly altered. On what the wizard thought o as the north horizon, a grey forest climbed a slope to what might hav been a wall. This wall was in place of sky - maybe it was sky - but t Quick Ben it looked strangely close, even though the forest was league away. Glancing overhead did not help him confirm or refute his feelin that this realm was bordered by a magical wall, for it, too, seemed clos almost within reach. Yet black clouds rode winds above him, skewing h perceptions and making him dizzy.
Another Hound had joined their company. This one, a male, was'dar grey, one of its eyes blue, the other yellow. Though it didn't come clos Quick Ben judged that it was the largest of those around him, and i movement hinted at deadly speed. He knew it as Doan, first born to the pack's leader, Rood, and its first mate, Pallick.
Doan trotted alongside Blind for a time, then, when they came to the crest of a low rise, he bolted forward. Reaching the crest, Quick Ben saw their destination. He sighed. just as the image carved upon the altar within the temples dedicated to Shadowthrone, Shadowkeep rose from the plain like an enormous lump of black glass, fractured with curving planes, rippled in places, with some corners glistening white as if crushed. The largest surface facing them - a wall, he supposed - was mottled and dull, as if it was a cortex, the weathered surface of obsidian.
There were no windows as such, but many of the slick surfaces looked semi-translucent and seemed to glow with an inner light. As far as Quick Ben could see, there was no door, no gate, no drawbridge.
They arrived, and the wizard exclaimed in surprise as Blind strode into the stone and disappeared. He hesitated, and Boran came as close to nudging him as Quick Ben allowed. He walked up to the mottled stone and held out his hands as he stepped into it. He felt nothing, passing through effortlessly to find himself in a hallway that could have been found in any mundane estate.
Barren of trappings, the corridor led straight forward for, perhaps, thirty feet and ended at double doors. Blind and Doan sat to either side of these doors, which now opened of their own accord.
Quick Ben entered the room beyond. The chamber was domed.
Opposite him stood a simple obsidian throne on a slightly raised dais.
The dull, cobbled floor bore no rugs, and the walls were bare except for torches spaced every ten feet. Quick Ben counted forty, but the light was fitful, seeming to struggle against encroaching shadows.
At first he thought the throne unoccupied, but as he approached he saw the figure seated there. It seemed composed of almost translucent shadows, vaguely human in form, but hooded, preventing even the glint of eyes. Still, Quick Ben could feel the god's attention fixed solely on him, and he barely repressed a shiver.
Shadowthrone spoke, his voice calm and clear. 'Shan tells me you know the names of my Hounds.'
Quick Ben stopped before the dais. He bowed. 'I was once an acolyte within your temple, Lord.'
The god was silent for a time, then he said, 'Is it wise to admit such a thing, Wizard? Do I look kindly upon those who once served me but then abandoned my ways? Tell me. I would hear from you what my priests teach.'
'To begin upon the Path of Shadow and then to leave it is rewarded by the Rope.'
'Meaning?'
'I am marked for assassination by all who follow your ways, lLrd.'
'Yet here you stand, Wizard.'
Quick Ben bowed again. 'I would strike a deal, Lord.'
The god giggled, then raised a hand. 'No, dear Shan. Strike naught.'
Quick Ben stiffened. The black Hound stepped around him, and ascended the dais. She lay down before her god and eyed the wizard blankly.
'Do you know why I just saved your life, Wizard?'
'I do, Lord.'
Shadowthrone leaned forward. 'Shan wants you to tell me.'
Quick Ben met the Hound's red stare. 'Shadowthrone loves deals.'
The god sighed and sank back. 'Acolyte, indeed. Well, then, Wizard, speak on, while you can.'
'I must begin with a question, Lord.’
'Ask it.'
'Does Gear still live?'
Shan's eyes flared and she half rose before the god's hand touched her head.
'Now that,' Shadowthrone said, 'is quite a question. You've managed something few, alas, have been able to do. Wizard, my curiosity is piqued. So, I answer you: yes, Gear survives. By all means, continue.'
'Lord, I would deliver into your hands the one who offended your Hound.'
'How? He belongs to Oponn.'
'Not him, Lord. But the one who led Gear to that chamber. The one who sought to take Gear's soul, and would have succeeded if not for Oponn's mortal tool.'
'In exchange for what?'
Quick Ben cursed inwardly. He could read nothing from the god's tone, and that made things even trickier than he'd expected. 'My life, Lord. I wish the Rope's reward lifted from me.'
'Anything else?'
'Yes.' He hesitated, then continued, 'I wish to choose the time and place, Lord. Otherwise, this one of who I speak will escape your Hounds through its Warren of Chaos. Only I can prevent that.
Thus, it must be part of the deal. All that you need do is have your Hounds ready. I will call upon you at the proper moment, providing you with the creature's precise location. The rest -is up to your Hounds.'
'You've planned this well, Wizard,' Shadowthrone said. 'As of yet, I can think of no way to kill both the creature and you. I commend you.
How then, do you intend to call upon me? Surely, you'll not once again enter my realm.'
'Lord, you will be contacted. I guarantee this, but I can say no more about it.'
'And if I were to lay my powers upon you now, Wizard? If I were to wring whatever lies hidden in that frail brain of yours, how would you prevent me?'
'To answer that, Lord, you must answer my proposal first.'
Shan growled and this time the god made no motion to still her.
Quick Ben went on hastily, 'Given that you will seek to betray me at every opportunity, given that you'll hunt for the weaknesses in my plan, given all this, I would have your word that you will complete your part of the deal if all else fails you, Lord. Give me that, and I will answer your last question.'
Shadowthrone was silent for a long minute. 'Ah well,' he muttered.
'Your cunning is admirable, Wizard. I am astonished and, I must admit, delighted by this duel. My only regret is that you departed the Paths of Shadow - you would have risen far. Very well. You have my word. The Hounds will be ready. Now, why shouldn't I shred your brain here and now, Wizard?'
'Your answer, Lord, is in your very words.' Quick Ben raised his arms.
'I did indeed rise far, Shadowthrone, in service to you.' He opened his Warren. 'You'll not have me, Lord, because you can't.' Quick Ben whispered his word of recall, a word born of Chaos. Power burst around him, and he felt as if a giant hand had closed around him. As it pulled him back into his Warren, he heard Shadowthrone's scream of recognition.
'It is you! Delat you shape-shifting bastard!'
Quick Ben smiled. He'd done it. He was out of reach. He'd done it - again.
Decimated Legions said:
'Leave the pretty one alone, hag,' this one growled, and as he rode by he leaned in his saddle and swung an open, gauntleted hand. The ironscaled glove cracked against Rigga's head, spinning her around. She toppled.
The fishergirl screamed as Rigga landed heavily across her thighs. A read of crimson spit spattered her face. Whimpering the girl nushed herself back across the gravel, then used her feet to shove away Rigga's bodv. She climbed to her knees.
Something within Rigga's prophecy seemed lodged in the girl's head, heavy as a stone and hidden from light. She found she could not retrieve a single word the Seer had said. She reached out and grasped Rigga's woollen sha 1. Carefully she rolled the old woman over. Blood covered one side of Rigga's head, running down behind the ear. More blood smeared her lined chin and stained her mouth. The eyes stared sightlessly.
The fishergirl pulled back, unable to catch her breath. Desperate, she looked about. The column of soldiers had passed, leaving nothing but dust and the distant tremble of hoofs. Rigga's bag of turnips had spilled on to the road. Among the trampled vegetables lay five tallow candles.
The girl managed a ragged lungful of dusty air. Wiping her nose, she looked to her own basket.
'Never mind the candles,' she mumbled, in a thick, odd voice. 'They'r
gone, aren't they, now? just a scattering of bones. Never mind.' She crawled towards the bundles of twine that had fallen from the breachec basket, and when she spoke again her voice was young, normal. 'W(
need the twine. We'll work all night and get one ready. Dadda's waiting He's right at the door, he's looking up the track, he's waiting to see me.
She stopped, a shiver running through her. The sun's light was almos gone. An unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed liki water across the road.
'Here it comes, then,' the girl grated softly, in a voice that wasn't he own.
A soft-gloved hand fell on her shoulder. She ducked down, cowering 'Easy, girl,' said a man's voice. 'It's over. Nothing to be done for he now.'
The fishergirl looked up. A man swathed in black leaned over her, hi face obscured beneath a hood's shadow. 'But he hit her,' the girl said, in child's voice. 'And we have nets to tie, me and Dadda—
'Let's get you on your feet,' the man said, moving his long-fingere hands down under her arms. He straightened, lifting her effortlessly. Hc sandalled feet dangled in the air before he set her down.
Now she saw a second man, shorter, also clothed in black. This or stood on the road and was turned away, his gaze in the direction tf.
soldiers had gone. He spoke, his voice reed-thin. 'Wasn't much of a life he said, not turning to face her. 'A minor talent, long since dried up <
the Gift. Oh, she might have managed one more, but we'll never knol will we?'
The fishergirl stumbled over to Rigga's bag and picked up a candle. She straightened, her eyes suddenly hard, then deliberately spat on to tf road.
The shorter man's head snapped towards her. Within the hood seemed the shadows played alone.
The girl shrank back a step. 'It was a good life,' she whispered. 'S had these candles, you see. Five of them. Five for-'
'Necromancy,' the short man cut in.
The taller man, still at her side, said softly, 'I see them, child. I understand what they mean.' , The other man snorted. 'The witch harboured five frail, weak souls.
Nothing grand.' He cocked his head. 'I can hear them now. Calling for her.'
Tears filled the girl's eyes. A wordless anguish seemed to well up from that black stone in her mind. She wiped her cheeks. 'Where did you come from?' she asked abruptly. 'We didn't see you on the road.'
The man beside her half turned to the gravel track. 'On the other side,' he said, a smile in his tone. 'Waiting, just like you.'
The other giggled. 'On the other side indeed.' He faced down the road again and raised his arms.
The girl drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended. A loud, tearing sound filled the air for a second, then the darkness dissipated and the girl's eyes widened.
Seven massive Hounds now sat around the man in the road. The eyes of these beasts glowed yellow, and all were turned in the same direction as the man himself.
She heard him hiss, 'Eager, are we? Then goV Silently, the Hounds bolted down the road.
Their master turned and said to the man beside her, 'Something to gnaw on Laseen's mind.' He giggled again.
'Must you complicate things?' the other answered wearily.
The short man stiffened. 'They are within sight of the column.'
He cocked his head. From up the road came the scream of horses.
He sighed. 'You've reached a decision, Cotillion?'
The other grunted aniusedly. 'Using my name, Ammanas, means you've just decided for me. We can hardly leave her here now, can we?'
'Of course we can, old friend. just not breathing.'
Cotillion looked down on the girl. 'No,' he said quietly,'she'll do.'
The fishergirl bit her lip. Still clutching Rigga's candle, she took another step back, her wide eyes darting from one man to the other.
'Pity,' Ammanas said.
Cotillion seemed to nod, then he cleared his throat and said, 'It'll take time.
An amused note entered Ammanas's reply. 'And have we time? True vengeance needs the slow, careful stalking of the victim. Have you forgotten the pain she once delivered us? Laseen's back is against the wall already. She might fall without our help. Where would be the satisfaction in that?'
Cotillion's response was cool and dry. 'You've always underestimated the Empress. Hence our present circumstances… No.' He gestured at the fishergirl. 'We'll need this one. Laseen's raised the ire of Moon's Spawn, and that's a hornet's nest if ever there was one. The timing is perfect.'
Faintly, above the screaming horses, came the shrieks of men and women, a sound that pierced the girl's heart. Her eyes darted to Rigga's motionless form on the roadside, then back to Ammanas, who now approached her. She thought to run but her legs had weakened to a helpless trembling. He came close and seemed to study her, even though the shadows within his hood remained impenetrable.
'A fishergirl?' he asked, in a kindly tone.
She nodded.
'Have you a name?l 'Enough!' Cotillion growled. 'She's not some mouse under your paw, Ammanas. Besides, I've chosen her and I will choose her name as well.'
Ammanas stepped back. 'Pity,' he said again.
The girl raised imploring hands. 'Please,' she begged Cotillion, 'I've done nothing! My father's a poor man, but he'll pay you all he can. He needs me, and the twine - he's waiting right now!' She felt herself go wet between her legs and quickly sat down on the ground. 'I've done nothing!' Shame rose through her and she put her hands in her lap.
'Please.'
'I've no choice any more, child,' Cotillion said. 'After all, you know our names.'
'I've never heard them beforeV the girl cried.
The man sighed. "With what's happening up the road right now, well, you'd be questioned. Unpleasantly. There are those who know our names.'
'You see, lass,' Ammanas added, suppressing a giggle, 'we're not supposed to be here. There are names, and then there are names.' He swung to Cotillion and said, in a chilling voice, 'Her father must be dealt with. My Hounds?'
'No,' Cotillion said. 'He lives.'
'Then how?'
'I suspect,' Cotillion said, 'greed will suffice, once the slate is wiped clean.' Sarcasm filled his next words. 'I'm sure you can manage the sorcery in that, can't you?'
Ammanas giggled. 'Beware of shadows bearing gifts.'
Cotillion faced the girl again. He lifted his arms out to the sides. The shadows that held his features in darkness now flowed out around his body.
Ammanas spoke, and to the girl his words seemed to come from a great distance. 'She's ideal. The Empress could never track her down, could never even so much as guess.' He raised his voice. 'It's not so bad a thing, lass, to be the pawn of a god.'
'Prod and pull,' the fishergirl said quickly.
Cotillion hesitated at her strange comment, then he shrugged. The shadows whirled out to engulf the girl. With their cold touch her mind fell away, down into darkness. Her last fleeting sensation was of the soft wax of the candle in her right hand, and how it seemed to well up between the fingers of her clenched fist.
...
Also from later, a better description of the scene
Her head turned at this, her cool gaze tightening beneath the rim of her helm.
The captain studied her expression. 'The carnage stretches half a league from the sea, Adjunct, and a quarter-league inland.'
The woman said nothing.
They approached the summit. A score of soldiers had gathered there, and others waited along the slope's rise. All had turned to watch them 'Prepare yourself, Adjunct.'
The woman studied the faces lining the roadside. She knew these to be hardened men and women, veterans of the siege of Li Heng and the Wickan Wars out on the north plains. But something had been clawed into their eyes that had left them raw and exposed. They looked upon her with a yearning that she found disturbing, as if they hungered for answers. She fought the urge to speak to them as she passed, to offer whatever comforting words she could. Such gifts were not hers to give, however, nor had they ever been. In this she was much the same as the Empress.
From beyond the summit she heard the cries of gulls and crows, a sound that rose into a high-pitched roar as they reached the rise. Ignoring the soldiers on either side, the Adjunct moved her horse forward. The captain followed. They came to the crest and looked down. The road dipped here for perhaps a fifth of a league, climbing again at the far end to a promontory.
Thousands of gulls and crows covered the ground, spilling over into the ditches and among the low, rough heather and gorse. Beneath this churning sea of black and white the ground was a uniform red. Here and there rose the ribbed humps of horses, and from among the squalling birds came the glint of iron.
The captain reached up and unstrapped his helm. He lifted it slowly from his head, then set it down over his saddle horn. 'Adjunct…
'I am named Lorn,' the woman said softly.
I 'One hundred and seventy-five men and women. Two hundred and ten horses. The Nineteenth Regiment of the Itko Kanese Eighth Cavalry.'
The captain's throat tightened briefly. He looked at Lorn. 'Dead.' His horse shied under him as it caught an updraught. He closed savagely on the reins and the animal stilled, nostrils wide and ears back, muscles trembling under him. The Adjunct's stallion made no move. 'All had their weapons bared. All fought whatever enemy attacked them. But the dead are all ours.'
'You've checked the beach below?' Lorn asked, still staring down on the road.
'No signs of a landing,' the captain replied. 'No tracks anywhere, neither seaward nor inland. There are more dead than these, Adjunct.
Farmers, peasants, fisherfolk, travellers on the road. All of them torn apart, limbs scattered - children, livestock, dogs.' He stopped abruptly and turned away. 'Over four hundred dead,' he grated. 'We're not certain of the exact count.'
BBs and Hairlock said:
'They're coming,' said a voice, a dozen feet to her left. Slowly she turned. The wizard Hairlock lay sprawled on the burnt armour, the pate of his shaved skull reflecting the dull sky. A wave of sorcery had destroyed him from the hips down. Pink, mud-spattered entrails billowed out from under his ribcage, webbed by drying fluids. A faint penumbra of sorcery revealed his efforts at staying alive.
'Thought you were dead,' Tattersail muttered.
'Felt lucky today.'
'You don't look it.'
Hairlock's grunt released a gout of dark thick blood from below his heart. 'They're coming,' he said. 'See them yet?'
She swung her attention to the slope, her pale eyes narrowing. Four soldiers approached. 'Who are they?'
The wizard didn't answer.
Tattersail faced him again and found his hard gaze fixed on her, intent in the way a dying person achieves in those last moments. 'Thought you'd take a wave through the gut, huh? Well, I suppose that's one way to get shipped out of here.'
His reply surprised her. 'The tough fagade ill fits you, 'Sail. Always has.' He frowned and blinked rapidly, fighting off darkness, she supposed. 'There's always the risk of knowing too much. Be glad I spared you.' He smiled, unveiling red-stained teeth. 'Think nice thoughts. The flesh fades.'
She eyed him steadily, wondering at his sudden… humanity. Maybe dying did away with the usual games, the pretences of the living dance.
Maybe she just wasn't prepared to see the mortal man in Hairlock finally showing itself. Tattersail prised her arms from the dreadful, aching hug she had wrapped around herself, and sighed shakily. 'You're right. It's not the time for faqades, is it? I never liked you, Hairlock, but I'd never question your courage - I never will.' She studied him critically, a part of her astonished that the horror of his wound didn't so much as make her flinch. 'I don't think even Tayschrenn's arts are enough to save you, Hairlock.'
Something cunning flashed in his eyes and he barked a pained laugh.
'Dear girl,' he gasped, 'your nalvet6 never fails to charm me.'
'Of course,' she snapped, stung at falling for his sudden ingenuousness. 'One last joke on me, just for old times' sake.'
'You misunderstand-'
'Are you so certain? You're saying it isn't over yet. Your hatred of our High Mage is fierce enough to let you slip Hood's cold grasp, is that it?
Vengeance from beyond the grave?'
'You must know me by now. I always arrange a back door.'
'You can't even crawl. How do you plan on getting to it?'
The wizard licked his cracked lips. 'Part of the deal,' he said softly.
'The door comes to me. Comes even as we speak.'
Unease coiled around her insides. Behind her, Tattersail heard the crunch of armour and the rattle of iron, the sound arriving like a cold wind. She turned to see the four soldiers appear on the summit. Three men, one woman, mud-smeared and crimson-streaked, their faces almost bone-white. The sorceress found her eyes drawn to the woman, who hung back like an unwelcome afterthought as the three men approached.
The girl was young, pretty as an icicle and looking as warm to the touch.
Something wrong there. Careful.
The man in the lead - a sergeant by the torque on his arm - came up to Tattersail. Set deep in a lined, exhausted face, his dark grey eyes searched hers dispassionately. 'This one?' he asked, turning to the tall, thin black-skinned man who came up beside him.
This man shook his head. 'No, the one we want is over there,' he said.
Though he spoke Malazan, his harsh accent was Seven Cities.
The third and last man, also black, slipped past on the sergeant's left and for all his girth seemed to glide forward, his eyes on Hairlock. His ignoring Tattersail made her feel somehow slighted. She considered a well-chosen word or two as he stepped around her, but the effort seemed suddenly too much.
Vell,' she said to the sergeant, 'if you're the burial detail, you're early.
He's not dead yet. Of course,' she continued, 'you're not the burial detail *
I know that. Hairlock's made some kind of deal - he's thinking he can survive with half a body.'
The sergeant's lips grew taut beneath his grizzled, wiry beard. 'What's your point, Sorceress?'
The black man beside the sergeant glanced back at the young girl still standing a dozen paces behind them. He seemed to shiver, but his lean face was expressionless as he turned back and offered Tattersail an enigmatic shrug before moving past her.
She shuddered involuntarily as power buffeted her senses. She drew a sharp breath. He's a mage. Tattersail tracked the man as he joined his comrade at Hairlock's side, striving to see through the muck and blood covering his uniform. 'Who are you people?'
'Ninth squad, the Second.'
'Ninth?' The breath hissed from her teeth. 'You're Bridgeburners.' Her eyes narrowed on the battered sergeant. 'The Ninth. That makes you Whiskeyjack.'
Paran and Sorry said:
He strode into the alley leading to the barracks' side entrance. The way lay in shadow beneath high-walled buildings and the faded canopies that hung over sagging balconies. Pale was a dying city. He knew enougl of its history to recognize the bleached tints of long-lost glory. True, i had commanded enough power to forge an alliance with Moon's Spawn but the captain suspected that that had had more to do with the Moon"
lord's sense of expedience than to any kind of mutual recognition of power. The local gentry made much of finery and pornp, but their props looked tired and worn. He wondered how alike he and his kind were with these droopy citizensA sound behind him, the faintest scuff, made him turn. A shadowwrapped figure closed on him. Paran cried out, snatching at his sword.
An icy wind washed over him as the figure moved in. The captain backpedalled, seeing the glint of blades in each hand. He twisted to one side, his sword half-way out of the scabbard. His attacker's left hand darted up. Paran jerked his head back, throwing his shoulder forward to block a blade that never arrived. Instead, the long dagger slid like fire into his chest. A second blade sank into his side even as blood gushed up inside to fill his mouth. Coughing and groaning, Paran reeled, careened off a wall, then slid down with one hand grasping futilely at the damp stones, his fingernails gouging tracks through the mould.
A blackness closed around his thoughts which seemed to involve only a deep, heartfelt regret. Faintly, a ringing sound came to his ears, as i something small and metallic was skittering across a hard surface. The sound remained, of something spinning, and the darkness encroached no further.
'Sloppy,' a man said in a thin voice. 'I am surprised.' The accent was familiar, pulling him to a childhood memory, his father dealing with Da Honese traders.
The answer came from directly above Paran. 'Keeping an eye on me?
Another accent he recognized, Kanese, and the voice seemed to com from a girl, or a child, yet he knew it was the voice of his killer.
'Coincidence,' the other replied, then giggled. 'Someone - something I should say - has entered our Warren. Uninvited. My Hounds hunt.'
'I don't believe in coincidences.'
Again came the giggle. 'Nor do 1. Two years ago we began a game o our own. A simple settling of old scores. It seems we have stumbled int a wholly different game here in Pale.'
'Whose?'
'I shall have that answer soon enough.'
'Don't get distracted, Ammanas. Laseen remains our target, and th collapse of the Empire she rules but never earned.'
I 'I have, as always, supreme confidence in you, Cotillion 'I must be getting back,' the girl said, moving away.
'Of course. So this is the man Lorn sent to find you?'
'I believe so. This should draw her into the fray, in any case.'
'And this is desirable?' The conversation faded as the two speakers walked away leaving, as the only sound in Paran's head, that whiffing hum, as if a coin was spinning, endlessly spinning.
Whichparts of the fete do you want? Also, I'm afraid I don't have the Tool scene typed up, hopefully someone else can help with that. Also If you want page referrences for all them, you'll have to wait, or again get someone else to do it, because I didn't remember to write down which pages they were on
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