The Crippled God (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #10)
Page 321‘How should I know? Was your whole family like her? Nobody saying a damned thing to each other? Dead silence at the dinner table? Is that how you managed to get along, assuming you got along in the first place?’
Paran grimaced. ‘Can’t say we did, much. Got along, I mean.’
‘What might she be holding inside?’
‘I wish I knew.’
Quick Ben’s growing agitation was evident in his waving hands, his sudden pacing, the sharp, wide-eyed looks he threw at Paran. ‘I thought you two had this planned !’
‘Had what planned?’
‘You’re the Master of the Deck of Dragons!’
‘So I am. Why, you want to play?’
But Paran was shaking his head. ‘You don’t want that, High Mage. Trust me, you don’t. There are too many rogue players in this game. Icarium. Draconus. The First Sword of the T’lan Imass. Olar Ethil, Silchas Ruin, Tulas Shorn, Kilava – even Gruntle, the Mortal Sword of Treach. And now the Eleint, and how many dragons have come or are coming through the gate? A hundred? A thousand? Oh, and the Elder Gods: Errastas, the past Master of the Tiles, and Kilmandaros and her son …’
Quick Ben was staring as if Paran had lost his mind.
Paran scowled. ‘What now?’
‘They – they’re all here ?’
‘I have the Deck of Dragons in my damned skull, remember. I caught the first winds of convergence some time ago. Trust me when I say this will be the biggest the world has ever seen, bigger even than the chaining of the Crippled God. Nobody said it’d be easy, High Mage. The question is, what do you have to offer me?’
Quick Ben snarled. ‘Why, more good news, what did you think?’
‘What do you mean?’
Paran grunted. ‘All right, it’s rather more complicated than I had imagined, then.’
Quick Ben seemed to choke on his reply. After a bout of coughing, and then spitting, he shook his head and, eyes watering, he rubbed at his face again. Then he took a deep, settling breath, and said, ‘We need a secret weapon, Paran.’
‘I have a gut feeling about that—’
‘The one burning a hole in your stomach?’
I hope not . ‘I think we might have two secret weapons, High Mage.’
‘Please, I am begging you, go on.’
‘Quick Ben, tell me, who was the toughest Bridgeburner you ever knew? Think back, and think carefully. Get your ego out of the way. Ignore your favourites and the ones who spent all their time looking mean. Not the callous shits, not the back-stabbers, none of the posers. The toughest , Quick Ben. Day in, day out, good times, bad. Tell me. Who?’
‘Who?’
‘Fiddler. There’s no tougher man alive.’
Paran looked away. ‘My family … aye, we were something of a mess. But I will tell you this, this one thing I know without any doubt, and it starts with a memory – my sister had an area of ground cleared for her at the country estate, and it was where, beginning when she was barely five years old, she used toys to fight battles from every history book and scroll she could find. And the times when my father entertained High Fists in his horse-selling ventures, he’d make it a kind of challenge to those veteran commanders – take to the field against little sallow-faced Tavore, with all those toy soldiers. Count your attrition honestly, and see what happens. My sister, Quick Ben, from about seven onward, never lost to a single commander. And when their corpses were dragged away, she went deeper into the histories, she started taking the loser’s sides, and then won those, too.’
‘Tavore, then.’