House of Chains

The demon did not move. ‘Friend?’

‘More or less. We share certain flaws.’

The creature shrugged. ‘With reservations. Follow.’

Heboric set off into the petrified forest after the shambling demon, his smile broadening as it prattled on.

‘A priest with the hands of a tiger. Sometimes. Other times, human hands glowing depthless green. Impressed. Those tattoos, very fine indeed. Musing. I would have trouble tearing out your throat, I think. Even driven by hunger, as I always am. Thoughtful. A fell night, this one. Ghosts, assassins, warrens, silent battles. Does no-one in this world ever sleep?’

They stumbled into a small clearing.

L’oric’s armour was stained with drying blood, but he looked well enough, seated cross-legged, his eyes closed, his breathing steady. On the dusty ground before him lay a spread of the Deck of Dragons.

Grunting, Heboric settled down opposite the High Mage. ‘Didn’t know you played with those.’

‘I never do,’ L’oric replied in a murmur. ‘Play, that is. A Master has come to the Deck, and that Master has just sanctioned the House of Chains.’

Heboric’s eyes widened. Then narrowed, and he slowly nodded. ‘Let the gods rail, he or she had to do just that.’

‘I know. The Crippled God is now as bound as is every other god.’

‘In the game, aye, after so long outside it. I wonder if he’ll one day come to regret his gambit.’

‘He seeks this fragment of Kurald Emurlahn, and is poised to strike, though his chances are less now than they were at sunset.’

‘How so?’

‘Bidithal is dead.’

‘Good. Who?’

‘Toblakai.’

‘Oh. Not good.’

‘Yet Toblakai has become, I believe, the Knight in the House of Chains.’

‘That is damned unfortunate… for the Crippled God. Toblakai will kneel to no-one. He cannot afford to. He will defy all prediction-’

‘He has already displayed that penchant this night, Ghost Hands, to the possible ruination of us all. Still, at the same time, I have come to suspect he is our only hope.’ L’oric opened his eyes and stared across at Heboric. ‘Two Hounds of Darkness arrived a short while ago-I could sense their presence, though fitfully, but could get no closer. Otataral, and the very darkness that shrouds them.’

‘And why should Toblakai step into their path? Never mind, I can answer that myself. Because he’s Toblakai.’

‘Aye. And I believe he has already done so.’

‘And?’

‘And now, I believe, but one Deragoth remains alive.’

‘Gods forbid,’ Heboric breathed.

‘Toblakai even now pursues it.’

‘Tell me, what brought the hounds here? What or who has Toblakai just thwarted?’

‘The cards are ambivalent on that, Destriant. Perhaps the answer is yet to be decided.’

‘Relieved to hear some things remain so, truth be told.’

‘Ghost Hands. Get Felisin away from this place. Greyfrog here will accompany you.’

‘And you?’

‘I must go to Sha’ik. No, say nothing until I finish. I know that you and she were once close-perhaps not in a pleasing manner, but close none the less. But that mortal child is soon to be no more. The goddess is about to devour her soul even as we speak-and once that is done, there shall be no return. The young Malazan girl you once knew will have ceased to exist. Thus, when I go to Sha’ik, I go not to the child, but to the goddess.’

‘But why? Are you truly loyal to the notion of apocalypse? Of chaos and destruction?’

‘No. I have something else in mind. I must speak with the goddess-before she takes Sha’ik’s soul.’

Heboric stared at the High Mage for a long time, seeking to discern what L’oric sought from that vengeful, insane goddess.

‘There are two Felisins,’ L’oric then murmured, eyes half veiled. ‘Save the one you can, Heboric Light Touch.’

‘One day, L’oric,’ Heboric growled, ‘I will discover who you truly are.’

The High Mage smiled. ‘You will find this simple truth-I am a son who lives without hope of ever matching my father’s stride. That alone, in time, will explain all you need know of me. Go, Destriant. Guard her well.’

Ghosts pivoted, armour shedding red dust, and saluted as Karsa Orlong limped past. At least these ones, he reflected dully, weren’t shackled in chains.

The blood trail had led him into a maze of ruins, an unused section of the city notorious for its cellars and pitfalls and precariously leaning walls. He could smell the beast. It was close and, he suspected, cornered.

Or, more likely, it had decided to make a stand, in a place perfectly suited for an ambush.

If only the slow, steady patter of dripping blood had not given away its hiding place.

Karsa kept his gaze averted from that alleyway of inky shadows five paces ahead and to his right. He made his steps uncertain, uneven with pain and hesitation, not all of it feigned. The blood between his hands and the sword’s grip had grown sticky, but still threatened to betray his grasp on the weapon.

Shadows were shredding the darkness, as if the two elemental forces were at war, with the latter being driven back. Dawn, Karsa realized, was approaching.

He came opposite the alley.

And the hound charged.

Karsa leapt forward, twisting in mid-air to slash his sword two-handed, cleaving an arc into his wake.

The tip slashed hide, but the beast’s attack had already carried it past. It landed on one foreleg, which skidded out from under it. The hound fell onto one shoulder, then rolled right over.

Karsa scrambled back to his feet to face it.

The beast crouched, preparing to charge once again.

The horse that burst out of a side alley caught both hound and Toblakai by surprise. That the panicked animal had been galloping blind was made obvious as it collided with the hound.

There had been two riders on the horse. And both were thrown from the saddle, straight over the hound.

The impact had driven the hound down beneath the wildly stamping hoofs. Somehow, the horse stayed upright, staggering clear with heavy snorts as if seeking to draw breath into stunned lungs. Behind it, the hound’s claws gouged the cobbles as it struggled to right itself.

Snarling, Karsa lunged forward and plunged the sword’s point into the beast’s neck.

It shrieked, surged towards the Toblakai.

Karsa leapt away, dragging his sword after him.

Blood gushing from the puncture in its throat, the hound rose up on its three legs, weaving, head swaying as it coughed red spume onto the stones.

A figure darted out from the shadows. The spiked ball at the end of a flail hissed through the air, and thundered into the hound’s head. A second followed, hammering down from above to audibly crack the beast’s thick skull.

Karsa stepped forward. An overhead two-handed swing finally drove the hound from its wobbling legs.

Side by side, Leoman and Karsa closed in to finish it. A dozen blows later and the hound was dead.

Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas then stumbled into view, a broken sword in his hand.

Karsa wiped the gore from his blade then glared at Leoman. ‘I did not need your help,’ he growled.

Leoman grinned. ‘But I need yours.’

Pearl staggered from the trench, clambering over sprawled corpses. Since his rather elegant assassination of