Deadhouse Gates (Malazan Book of the Fallen, #2)

by Steven Erikson

It exuded a strange smell of powdered stone.

Two-toed, a fur-snarled hoof, too large for her to fully grasp, rising up, pulled skyward into a midnight gloom. The tattoo had leapt from stone to the air itself, a woad-stained web growing in crazed, jerking blots, snapping outward in all directions. She

‘The god you no longer worship took your hands. So now you pulled him down. Don’t mess with mortals.’

him. A god stalks the mortal realm, yet is afraid. He has power unimaginable, yet he hides.

Yet he’d stayed, nailed to a single tree but only because he’d grown used to the scenery around it.

‘Stolen back by a cleverer raider.’ Mappo’s smile broadened. ‘Imagine her glory!’ ‘Was that all she stole?’ ‘Ah, leave me some secrets, friend.’

A stranger’s voice rose above the wailing wind. ‘Gryllen!’ Yes, that’s the D’ivers’s name. Gryllen, otherwise known as the Tide of Madness. Flushed out of Y’ghatan in the fire. Oh, it comes around, don’t it just! ‘Gryllen!’ the voice bellowed again. ‘Leave here, D’ivers!’

A Trell. A Jhag and a Trell. That rings a towerful of bells, if only I could get through the pain to spare it another thought.

It is said that on the night of Kellanved and Dancer’s Return, Malaz City was a maelstrom of sorcery and dire visitations. It is not a far reach to find one sustained in the belief that the assassinations were a messy, confused affair, and that success and failure are judgements dependent on one’s perspective . . .

Kamist Reloe still retained superior numbers, but the quality of the troops was beginning to tell – Coltaine’s Wickans were disciplined in their mayhem, and the Seventh was a veteran force that the new Fist had taken pains in preparing for this kind of war.

Somewhere beyond the reef waited an unknown mage – a man unconnected to the rebellion, a stranger trapped within his own nightmare.

than you—’ Baudin drawled, ‘What, you bedded them already?’ ‘You used me—’ ‘What of it, girl? You’ve made being used a way of life.’ ‘Hood take you, bastard!’

‘What’s the talon signify, Baudin?’ His face became an expressionless mask. ‘You know, the one you’ve got hidden away, along with all your thieving tools.’

She watched what had to be comprehension sweep across Heboric’s face, watched as he glanced down at her, then back to Baudin. After a moment, he smiled. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘So far.’ ‘You really think so?’ Baudin asked, then turned away.

Accessing the warren always had the feel of interrupting a power busy with other things.

‘Don’t need one to know this ship,’ Baudin said. ‘That cargo lying about down there, that’s from Drift Avalii. Silanda was the only craft sanctioned to trade with the Tiste Andii. She was on her way to the island when the Emperor’s forces overran Quon. She never returned.’

‘Baudin the thug. Did your prison gangs work in libraries as well?’

stopping at one of the sealskin bundles. He

‘Someone took the ship, beheaded everyone aboard . . . then put them to work.’ ‘In that order.’ ‘In that order.’ ‘How long ago?’ ‘Years. Decades. We’re in a warren, Corporal. No telling how time works here.’ Gesler

Even with all they had seen thus far, the interior was a scene of horror. Four bodies were immediately visible, three of them twisted grotesquely in postures of sudden death.

‘I can only think of one thing. Tiste Edur.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Gothos’s Folly. There’s mention of three Tiste peoples arriving from another realm. Of course the only one that’s known to us is the Tiste Andii, and Gothos only names one of the other groups – Tiste Edur. Grey-skinned, not black. Children of the unwelcome union of Mother Dark with the Light.’ ‘Unwelcome?’ Heboric grimaced. ‘The Tiste Andii considered it a degradation of pure Dark, and the source of all their subsequent ills. Anyway, Gothos’s Folly is the only tome where you’ll find mention of them. It also happens to be the oldest.’

These were hard men, harder than he could fathom. They’d taken the grim black humour of the soldier further than he’d thought possible, cold as the sunless core of a glacier. Bloody-minded confidence . . . or fatalism? Never knew Fener’s bristles could be so black.

And your companion . . . the Jhag?’ ‘He entertains your companions,’ the Trell said. ‘Feebly, I admit. For all his years, Icarium has never mastered the social grace necessary to put others at ease.’

‘In a temple carved into a cliff. Out of the Whirlwind. Guests of a High Priest of Shadow – whom you’ve met. Iskaral Pust.’ ‘Pust?’ ‘Even so.’

‘Icarium scared off the D’ivers.’ ‘His reputation carries weight.’

Too long out of social engagements and the like. Must examine my manners, and more, my personality.’

‘It’s begun, though not yet known. Anabar Thy’lend. Chain of Dogs in the Malazan tongue. Soldiers have no imaginations, meaning they’re capable of vast surprises. There are some things

‘He knows what even your companions don’t,’ Mappo said, carrying the tray to the sapper. ‘You seek the fabled Azath House, out in the desert. Somewhere.’ Aye, and the gate Quick Ben swears it holds . . . ‘And you?’ Fiddler asked. ‘What has brought you to Raraku?’ ‘I follow Icarium,’ the Trell replied. ‘A search without end.’

‘Everything’s fine, my friends,’ he purred. ‘Be calm. Cotillion is done with possessing the lass. The bane of Anomander Rake’s threat remains. Who wants that crude conveyor of uncivilized mayhem crashing through the temple door? Not Shadowthrone. Not the Patron of Assassins. She is protected still. Besides which, Cotillion finds no further value in using her, and indeed the residue of his talents still within her gives cause for secret concern—’ His face twisted on itself. ‘No, better keep that thought unspoken!’ He smiled again. ‘Cultured conversation has been rediscovered and used with guile and grace. Look upon them, Iskaral Pust, they are won over one and all.’

‘Excuse me,’ Icarium said, stepping into the room with an air of sudden attentiveness. ‘I have not heard the name Quick Ben. Who is this man purporting to possess such arcane knowledge of the Azath?’

The Malazan engineers are a unique breed. Cantankerous, foul-mouthed, derisive of authority, secretive and thick-headed. They are the heartstone of the Malazan Army . . .

As are all the cities but Aren, and Aren has the Jhistal within. The Wickan flees overland, chained with refugees by the thousand – they beg his protection even as they lap his blood.’

‘Your words have captured the beauty of our crusade,’ Kalam said. Words can so easily glide over mayhem and terror and horror, it’s a wonder trust exists at all.

‘I count seven of you, four before me, three hovering behind.’ He paused, smiling as he met the bandit leader’s fire-lit eyes. ‘It will be a close thing, but I will be certain to kill you first, friend.’

‘But there is nothing holy in rape,’ Kalam growled. ‘No, not holy.’ The man grinned. ‘But just.’

you will change your mind, Mekral.’ Kalam’s only response was a grunt. He knew men such as these. Their courage held so long as they outnumbered their victims, the hollow glory they thirsted for came with overpowering and terrorizing the helpless. Such creatures were common in the world, and a land locked in war left them to run free, the brutal truths behind every just cause. They were given a name in the Ehrlii tongue: e’ptarh le’gebran, the vultures of violence.

‘Corporal Kalam, Ninth Squad . . . Bridgeburners. Now you know why I’m out of uniform, sir.’

‘Better my name should change . . . I mean, officially. I wouldn’t welcome the gallows if I’m marked in Aren. Granted, Kalam is common enough, but there’s always the chance I’d be recognized—’

‘You’re that Kalam? You said the Ninth, didn’t you? Hood’s breath!’ If the captain had planned to say more it was lost as the man’s knees buckled.

The assassin sighed. ‘But leave the guard to me.’ ‘We will. It seems you’ve a reputation, by Keneb’s reaction.’ ‘Fame, or notoriety?’ ‘I expect he’ll say more when he comes around.’

‘Kalam, who rode with Whiskeyjack across Raraku . . .’ Captain Keneb shook his head and poked again at the fire.

‘Kalam was recruited into the Claw,’ Keneb said. ‘That’s rare. They usually take children, train

‘I expect your father has a better life in mind for you, lad. Fighting is for people who fail at everything else.’

‘Was, till he married a local woman who just happened to be the daughter of Halaf’s last Holy Protector. He’s turned renegade, had to execute half his own legion who refused to step across with him. The other half divested the Imperial uniform, proclaimed themselves a mercenary company, and took on Korbolo’s contract.

past to descend to the main deck. ‘We’re not Servants of the Chained One,’ he said. ‘Hood’s breath, what is the Chained One? Never mind, I don’t even want to know. We’re on this ship by accident, not design—’

‘Bonecaster,’ Kulp said. ‘What warren is this?’ Hentos Ilm paused, attention still on Heboric. ‘Elder. Kurald Emurlahn.’ ‘I’ve heard of Kurald Galain – the Tiste Andii warren.’ ‘This is Tiste Edur. You surprise me, Mage. You are Meanas Rashan, which is the branch of Kurald Emurlahn accessible to mortal humans. The warren you use is the child of this place.’ Kulp was scowling at the Bonecaster’s back. ‘This makes no sense. Meanas Rashan is the warren of Shadow. Of Ammanas and Cotillion, and the Hounds.’ ‘Before Shadowthrone and Cotillion,’ Hentos Ilm said, ‘there were Tiste Edur.’ The Bonecaster

‘He said there was great pain,’ the man muttered. ‘I asked How long? He said For ever. The wound heals around him, you see. She couldn’t command, you see. Not for something like that. He volunteered—’

anybody else see?’ he asked. ‘The Bonecaster didn’t – I’m sure of it, she didn’t . . .’ ‘What’re you going on about, lad?’ Gesler demanded. ‘That T’lan Imass. He tied it to his belt. By the hair. His bear cloak hid it.’ ‘What?’ ‘He took one of the heads. Didn’t anybody else see?’ Heboric

‘You ever think that maybe what you are is what’s trapping you inside whatever it is you’re trapped inside?’

‘Not quite. There’s the man in charge of the Seventh’s sappers.’ ‘The one who never shows at these briefings.’ ‘Aye.’