Reaper's Gale

‘I know them-those prows, the rigging. Our search-a distant continent. An empire. We killed hundreds-thousands-of its subjects. We clashed with its fleets.’ She was silent for a dozen breaths, then she turned to one of her soldiers. ‘Ride back to the Keep. Make sure the Dresh is dead. The company is to leave immediately-we will meet you north of Rennis on the coast road. Oh, and bring those damned witches with you.’

Yedan said, ‘What-’

She cut off her half-brother with cruel glee. ‘You are the Watch. Your Queen needs you.’ She glared at him. ‘You will ride with us, Yedan. With your troop.’

The bearded jaw bunched, then, ‘Where?’

‘The Isle.’

‘What of the Letherii and their masters? We should send warning.’

Eyes on the burning hulks in the sea, she almost snarled her reply. ‘We killed their subjects. And clearly they will not let that pass. Errant take the Letherii and the Edur.’ She spun round, making for her horse. The others scrambled after her. ‘Strangers, Yedan? Not to me. They followed us.’ She swung herself onto her horse and tugged it towards the north trail. ‘We left a debt in blood,’ she said, baring her teeth. ‘Malazan blood. And it seems they will not let that stand.’

They are here. On this shore.

The Malazans are on our shore.

Book Three. Knuckles Of The Soul

We are eager

to impugn the beast crouched

in our souls

but this creature is pure

with shy eyes

and it watches our frantic crimes

cowering

in the cage of our cruelty

I will take

for myself and your fate

in these hands

the grace of animal to amend

broken dreams-

freedom unchained and unbound

long running-

the beast will kill when I murder

In absolution

a list of unremarked distinctions

availed these hands

freedom without excuse

see how clean

this blood compared to yours

the death grin

of your bestial snarl mars the scape

Of your face

this is what sets us apart

in our souls

my beast and I chained together

as we must

who leads and who is the led is

never quite asked

of the charmed and the innocent

– Dog in an Alky, Confessions , Tibal Feredict

Chapter Thirteen

Keel and half a hull remained of the wreck where us wreckers gathered, and the storm of the night past remained like spit in the air when we clambered down into that bent-rib bed.

I heard many a prayer muttered, hands flashing to ward this and that as befits each soul’s need, its conversation with fear begun in childhood no doubt and, could I recall mine, I too would have been of mind to mime flight from terror.

As it was 1 could only look down at that crabshell harvest of tiny skeletons, the tailed imps with the humanlike faces, their hawk talons and all sorts of strange embellishments to give perfect detail to the bright sunny nightmare.

No wonder is it I forswore the sea that day. Storm and broken ship had lifted a host most unholy and oh there were plenty more no doubt, ringing this damned island.

As it was, it was me who then spoke a most unsavoury tumble of words. ‘I guess not all imps can fly.’

For all that, it was hardly cause to gouge out my eyes now, was it?

– Blind Tobor of the Reach

‘Now there, friends, is one beautiful woman.’

‘If that’s how you like them.’

‘Now why wouldn’t I, y’damned barrow-digger? Thing is, and it’s always the way isn’t it, look at that hopeless thug she’s with. I can’t figure things like that. She could have anyone in here. She could have me, even. But no, there she is, sittin’ aside that limpin’ one-armed, one-eared, one-eyed and no-nosed cattle-dog. I mean, talk about ugly.’

The third man, who had yet to speak, gave him a surreptitious, sidelong look, noting the birdnest hair, the jutting steering-oar ears, the bulging eyes, and the piebald patches that were the scars of fire on features that reminded him of a squashed gourd-sidelong and brief, that glance, and Throatslitter quickly looked away. The last thing he wanted to do was break into another one of his trilling, uncanny laughs that seemed to freeze everyone within earshot.

Never used to have a laugh sounding like that. Damn thing scares even me. Well, he’d taken a throatful of oily flames and it’d done bad things to his voice-reed. The damage only revealed itself when he laughed, and, he recalled, in the months following… all that stuff… there had been few reasons for mirth.