The Crippled God

… wandering. And then come the Holds, like plants taking root.’ Aranict gestured. ‘Much wandering in these Wastelands of late, yes? Powerful forces, so much violence, so much will.’

‘And from Holds to warrens,’ muttered Precious, nodding to herself.

‘Ah, the Malazans speak of this, too. These warrens. If they are destined to appear here, they have yet to do so, Precious Thimble. And is there not concern that they are ill?’

‘Malazans,’ Precious hissed. ‘You’d think they invented warrens, the way they go on. Things got sickly for a time, sure, but then that went away.’

‘The Holds have always been the source of magical power on this continent,’ Aranict said, shrugging. ‘In many ways, we Letherii are very conservative, but I am beginning to think there are other reasons for why there has been no change here. The K’Chain Che’Malle remain. And the Forkrul Assail dominate the lands to the east. Even the creatures known as the T’lan Imass are among us now, and without question the Hold of Ice is in the ascendant, meaning the Jaghut have returned.’ She shook her head. ‘The Malazans speak of war among the gods. I fear that what is coming will prove more terrible than any of us can imagine.’

Precious licked her lips, glanced away. The tent seemed to have closed round her, like a death-shroud being drawn tight. She shivered. ‘We just want to go home.’

‘I do not know how I can help you,’ Aranict said. ‘The Holds are not realms one willingly travels through. Even drawing upon their power invites chaos and madness. They are places of treachery, of deadly traps and pits leading down into unknown realms. Worse, the more powerful rituals demand blood.’

Precious gathered herself, met the Atri-Ceda’s gaze. ‘In the east,’ she said. ‘Something’s there — I can feel it. A thing of vast power.’

‘Yes,’ Aranict said, nodding.

‘It is where you are going, isn’t it? This army and the war to come. You are going to fight for that power, to take it for yourself.’

‘Not quite, Precious Thimble. That power — we mean to set it free.’

‘And if you do? What happens then?’

‘We don’t know.’

‘You keep speaking of the Malazans. Are they here? Are they one of the armies marching to this war?’

Aranict seemed about to say one thing, then changed her mind and said, ‘Yes.’

Precious sat back on her haunches. ‘I am from One-Eye Cat, a city of Genabackis. We were conquered by the Malazans. Winning is all that matters to them, Atri-Ceda. They will lie. They will backstab. Whatever you see on the surface, don’t believe it. Don’t. With them, nothing is as it seems, not ever.’

‘They are a complicated people-’

Precious snorted. ‘Their first emperor was where it all started. The sleight of hand, the deadly misdirection — everything the Malazan Empire became infamous for started with him. And though he’s now dead and gone, nothing has changed. Tell your commander, Aranict. Tell him. The Malazans — they’ll betray you. They’ll betray you.’

Brys glanced up as she entered the tent. ‘You were able to speak to her?’

‘I was, after some curious work — it’s as I said, the power of the Holds ever grows. I was never before able to manipulate the Empty Hold the way I did this night. In fact — ’ she settled down on the bed mat, started pulling off her boots — ‘I don’t feel very good about what I had to do. By the time I was done not even her innermost thoughts were hidden from me. I feel … sullied.’

He moved closer, slipped an arm round her. ‘Was there no other way?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. But this was the quickest. She had some interesting opinions on the Malazans.’

‘Oh?’

‘Doesn’t trust them. Her people didn’t fare well during the Malazan conquest of Genabackis. Yet for all that resentment, a part of her recognizes that some good came of it in the end. The enforcement of laws and justice, and so on. Hasn’t dulled her hatred, though.’

‘Trust,’ Brys mused. ‘Always a difficult issue.’

‘Well,’ Aranict said, ‘Tavore is hiding something.’

‘I believe what she is hiding is her awareness of just how wretched her chances are, Aranict.’

‘But that’s just it,’ Aranict said. ‘From what I gleaned from Precious Thimble, the Malazans never do something at which they’re likely to fail. So if Tavore’s chances look as bad as we all seem to think, what are we missing?’

‘Now that is an interesting question,’ Brys admitted.

‘Anyway,’ Aranict said, ‘they’ll be coming with us to Kolanse.’

‘Very well. Can we trust them?’

Aranict settled back on the mat with a heavy sigh. ‘No.’

‘Ah. Will that prove a problem?’

‘I doubt it. If Precious Thimble attempts to draw upon a Hold, she’ll get her head ripped off by all that raw power. Too young, and doesn’t know what she’s doing.’

‘Hmm. Could such a personal disaster put anyone else at risk?’

‘It could, Brys. Good thing you brought me along, isn’t it?’

He lay down beside her. ‘Whatever happened to the shy, nervous woman I made my Atri-Ceda?’

‘You seduced her, you fool.’

‘Errant’s push!’ She sank down on to her knees, head hanging, her breath coming in gasps.

Spax drew up his leggings, stepped away from where she knelt close to the tent’s back wall. ‘Best dessert there is,’ he said. ‘Better run off now. I have to see your mother, and if she catches a glimpse of you anywhere near here, she’ll know.’

‘What if she does?’ Spultatha snapped. ‘It’s not as if she’s opened her legs to you, is it?’

He snorted. ‘Like a royal vault, she is.’

‘You’re not good-looking enough. And you smell.’

‘I smell like a Gilk White Face Barghast, woman, and you’ve hardly complained.’

She rose, straightening her tunic. ‘I am now.’

‘Your mother is growing ever more protective of her daughters,’ he said, scratching with both hands at his beard. ‘Spirits below, this dust gets everywhere.’

Spultatha slipped past him without another word. He watched her head off into the night, and then made his way round the royal train’s equipment tent. Opposite waited the queen’s tent, two guards stationed out front.

‘Is she ready for me?’ Spax asked as he approached.

‘Too late for that,’ one replied, and the other grunted a laugh. They stepped clear to allow him passage. He went inside, and then through to the inner chamber.

‘Can she walk?’

‘Highness?’

Abrastal drank down the last of her wine, lifted up the goblet. ‘My third in a row. I’m not looking forward to this, and having to listen to one of my own daughters squeal like a myrid with a herder’s hand up its arse has hardly improved my mood.’

‘She’s untutored in the ways of real men,’ Spax responded. ‘Where do you want me for this?’

Abrastal gestured to one side of the tent. ‘There. Weapons drawn.’

The Warchief raised his brows, but said nothing as he walked over to where she had indicated.

‘This will be a kind of gate,’ Abrastal said, folding her legs as she settled back in her chair. ‘Things could come through, and to make matters worse it’ll be hard to make out what we’re seeing — there will be a veil between us. If the situation sours, it can be torn, either by whatever is on the other side, or by you going through.’

‘Going through? Highness-’

‘Be quiet. You are in my employ and you will do what you’re told.’

Swamp shit, we really did put her in a foul mood. Oh well. He drew his long knives and crouched down. ‘If I’d known I would have brought my axes.’

‘What do your shamans tell you, Spax, about your Barghast gods?’

He blinked. ‘Why, nothing, Firehair. Why should they? I’m the Warchief. I deal in matters of war. All that