'We shall manage, then,' Caladan Brood said after a moment.
Dujek Onearm sighed and reached for his cup of wine. 'So resolved. Easier than you'd imagined, Brood, wouldn't you say?'
The warlord bared his teeth in a satisfied, if hard, grin. 'Aye. We're all riding the same track. Good.'
'Time to proceed, then,' Rath'Burn said, eyes on Caladan Brood, 'to other issues. You are the one who was gifted the hammer, the focus of Burn's power. To you was entrusted the task of awakening her at the time of her greatest need-'
The warlord's grin grew feral. 'And so destroy every civilization on this world, aye. No doubt you judge her need as sufficiently pressing, High Priestess.'
'And you dare not?' she snapped, leaning forward with both hands on the table. 'You have deceived her!'
'No. I have constrained her.'
His reply left her momentarily speechless.
'There's a rug-seller's shop,' Gruntle said, 'in Darujhistan. To cross its floor is to scale layer upon layer of woven artistry. Thus are the lessons of mortals laid down before the gods. Pity that they keep stumbling so — you'd think they'd have learned by now.'
Rath'Burn wheeled on him. 'Silence! You know nothing of this! If Brood does not act, Burn will die! And when she dies, so too does all life on this world! That is the choice, you fool! Topple a handful of corrupt civilizations or absolute annihilation — what would you choose?'
'Well, since you're asking-'
'I withdraw the question, for you are clearly as insane as the warlord here. Caladan Brood, you must yield the hammer. To me. Here and now. In the name of Burn, the Sleeping Goddess, I demand it.'
The warlord rose, unslung the weapon. 'Here, then.' He held it out in his right hand.
Rath'Burn's eyes blinked, then she shot upright, strode round the table.
She grasped the hammer's copper-wrapped handle in both hands.
Brood released it.
The weapon plunged earthward. The snaps of the woman's wrist bones cut through the air. Then she screamed, even as the hill trembled to the impact of the hammer's massive head. Cups bounced on the table, splashed red wine across its surface. Rath'Burn had fallen to her knees, no longer holding the weapon, her broken arms cradled on her lap.
'Artanthos,' Dujek said, his eyes on Brood — who looked down on the woman with a dispassionate regard — 'find us a healer. A good one.'
The soldier standing behind the High Fist headed off.
The warlord addressed the High Priestess. 'The difference between you and your goddess, woman, is faith. A simple thing, after all. You see only two options open to me. Indeed, so did the Sleeping Goddess, at first. She gave to me the weapon, and gave to me the freedom to choose. It has taken a long while for me to understand what else she gave to me. I have withheld acting, withheld making that choice, and thought myself a coward. Perhaps I still am, yet a small measure of wisdom has finally lodged itself in my head-'
'Burn's faith,' K'rul said. 'That you would find a third choice.'
'Aye. Her faith.'
Artanthos reappeared with another Malazan, but Brood held out a hand to halt them. 'No, I will heal her myself. She was not to know, after all'
'Too generous,' K'rul murmured. 'She abandoned her goddess long ago, Warlord.'
'No journey is too long,' Brood replied, lowering himself to kneel before Rath'Burn.
Itkovian had last seen High Denul unveiled by Destriant Karnadas, and that fraught with the infection poisoning the warrens. What he saw now was … clean, unaffected, and appallingly powerful.
K'rul rose suddenly, looked around.
Rath'Burn gasped.
The Elder God's odd actions drew Itkovian's attention, and he followed K'rul's gaze. To see that another group had arrived on the hilltop, standing at a distance to the right of the tarp. Captain Paran was the only one among the four newcomers that Itkovian recognized, and he was not the man at whom the Elder God was looking.
A dark-skinned, tall and lean man, faintly smiling, was watching the proceedings from the back of the group, focused, it seemed, on Brood. After a moment, some instinct made him glance at K'rul. The man answered the Elder God's rapt attention with a slight, strangely uneven shrug — as if some invisible weight burdened his left shoulder.
Itkovian heard K'rul sigh.
Rath'Burn and Caladan Brood rose together, then. Her bones had been knitted. No swelling or bruising marred her bared forearms. She stood as if in shock, leaning against the warlord.
