Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

There had been a child, in that cavern, a strange thing, more imp than human. And it had managed what no-one else could-taking down Icarium, stealing away his rage and all the power that came with it. Varat Taun did not think there would be another such intervention. The defenders of the First Throne had possessed allies. The Emperor in Gold could not but refuse the same. There would be no-one there to stop Icarium. No-one but Rhulad himself, which was of course possible.

It is our lack of faith in our Emperor that has set us on this road.

But what if neither one will fall? What if Icarium finds himself killing Rhulad again and again? Ten times, fifty, a hundred-ten thousand? An endless succession of battles, obliterating all else. Could we not see the end of the world?

Icarium cannot yield. Rhulad will not. They will share that inevitability. And they will share the madness that comes of it.

Bluerose would not be far enough away. No place will.

He had left behind the one man who understood what was coming better than anyone else. The barbarian. Who wore a heavy hood to hide his features when among strangers. Who spat on his hands to smooth back his hair. Who greeted each and every dawn with a litany of curses against all who had wronged him. Yet, now, 1 see him in my mind as if looking upon a brother.

He and 1 alone survived. Together, we brought Icarium out.

His thoughts had brought him to this moment, this conflation of revelations, and he felt his heart grow cold in his chest. Varat Taun pushed his horse to a greater pace, until he came up alongside his commander. Atri-Preda.’

She looked across at him.

‘1 must go back,’ he said.

‘To warn them?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What of your family, Varat Taun?’

He glanced away. ‘I have realized something. Nowhere is far enough.’

‘I see. Then, would you not wish to be at her side?’

‘Knowing I cannot save them…’ Varat shook his head. ‘The Gral and I-together-I don’t know, perhaps we can do something-if we’re there.’

‘Can I talk you out of this?’

He shook his head.

‘Very well. Errant’s blessing on you, Varat Taun.’

‘He is right,’ said the Mocker behind them. ‘I too must return.’

A heavy sigh gusted from Yan Tovis. ‘So be it-I should have known better than to try to save anyone but myself-no, I’m not as bitter as that sounded. My apologies. You both have my blessing. Be sure to walk those horses on occasion, however.’

‘Yes sir. Atri-Preda? Thank you.’

‘What word do I send to your wife?’

‘None, sir. Please.’

Yan Tovis nodded.

Varat Taun guided his mount off the road, reining in. The monk followed suited, somewhat more awkwardly. The lieutenant watched in some amusement. ‘You have no horses in your lands?’

‘Few. Cabal is an archipelago for the most part. The mainland holdings are on the sides of rather sheer cliffs, a stretch of coast that is severely mountainous. And what horses we do have are bred for labour and food.’

To that, Varat Taun said nothing.

They waited on the side of the track, watching the column of mounted soldiers ride past.

Errant take me, what have 1 done? * * *

The lake stretched on with no end in sight. The three figures had rowed their well-provisioned boat for what passed for a day and most of a night in the Shadow Realm, before the craft ran aground in shallows. Unable to find a way past, they had shouldered the packs and disembarked, wading in silty, knee-deep water. Now, midway through the next day, they dragged exhausted, numbed legs through a calm lake that had been no deeper than their hips since dawn-until they reached a sudden drop-off.

Trull Sengar had been in the lead, using his spear to probe the waters ahead, and now he moved to one side, step by step, the butt of the weapon stirring the grey, milky silts along the edge. He continued on for a time, watched by his companions. ‘Doesn’t feel natural,’ he finally said, making his way back to the others. ‘The drop-away is smooth, even.’ Moving past Onrack and Quick Ben, he resumed probing the ledge in the opposite direction. ‘No change here.’

The wizard voiced a long, elaborate string of curses in his Malazan tongue, then said, ‘I could take to the air, drawing on Sere-although how long I could manage that is anyone’s guess.’ He glared across at Onrack. ‘You can just melt into silts, you damned T’lan Imass.’

‘Leaving me,’ said Trull, who then shrugged. ‘I will swim, then-there may well be a resumption of the shallows ahead-you know, we’ve been walking on an unnaturally level bottom for some time. Imagine for the moment that we are on a submerged concourse of some sort-enormous, granted, but still. This drop-off could simply mark a canal. In which case I should soon find the opposite side.’