Toll the Hounds

This notion disturbed Nimander. The goddess was, after all, turned away. Her leaving had left a void. Could something as alien as the Dying God assume the Unseen Crown? Who would even kneel before such an entity?

It was hard to imagine Anomander Rake doing so, or any of the other Tiste Andii that Nimander and his kin had known. Obedience had never been deemed a pure virtue among the Tiste Andii. To follow must be an act born of deliberation, of clear-eyed, cogent recognition that the one to be followed has earned the privilege. So often, after all, formal structures of hierarchy stood in place of such personal traits and jud|gements. A title or rank did not automatically confer upon the one wearing it any true virtue, or even worthiness to the claim.

Nimander had seen for himself the flaws inherent in that hierarchy. Among the Malazans, the renegade army known as the Bonehunters, there had been officers whom Nimander would not follow under any circumstances. Men and women of incompetence-oh, he’d seen how such fools were usually weeded out, through the informal justice system practised by the common soldier, a process often punctu-ated by a knife in the back, which struck Nimander as a most dangerous habit. But these were human ways, not those of the Tiste Andii.

If Clip and the Dying God that possessed him truly believed they could usurp Mother Dark, and indeed her chosen son, Anomander Rake, as ruler of the Tiste Andii, then that conceit was doomed. And yet, he could not but recall the poisonous lure of Saemenkelyk. There could be other paths to willing obedience.

And that is why I can say nothing. Why Aranatha is light. We must lull Clip into disregarding us, so that he continues believing we are fools. Because there is the chance, when the moment arrives, that I alone will be standing close enough. To strike. To catch him-them-unawares.

It may be that Anomander Rake and the others in Black Coral will have nothing to fear from Clip, from the Dying God. It may be that they will swat them down with ease.

But we cannot be sure of that.

In truth, I am afraid …

‘I can see water.’

Startled, Nimander glanced back at Skintick, but his cousin would not meet his eyes.

‘Where the valley dips down, eastward-I think that is the Cut that Clip de-scribed. And along the north shore of it, we will find Black Coral.’

Clip had halted on an outcropping and was staring down into the misty valley. They had left most of the cloud in their wake, descending beneath its ceiling. Most of the range was now on their left, westward, the nearest cliff-face grey and black and broken only by a dozen or so mountain sheep wending their way along a seam.

Skintick called out to the warrior, ‘That looks to be a long swim across, Clip.’

The man turned, rings spinning on their chain. ‘We will find a way,’ he said. ‘Now, we should continue on, before it gets too dark.’

‘What is your hurry?’ Skintick asked. ‘The entire trail down is bound to be treacherous, especially in this half- light. What would be the point in taking a tumble and…’ Skintick went no further.

And breaking a neck.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, only the clack of the rings carried on, like a man chewing stones.

After a moment, Clip stepped back from the ledge and set out down the path once more.

Nimander made to follow but Skintick grasped his arm, forcing him round.

‘Enough,’ Skintick growled, and Nenanda moved up beside him, Desra joining them. ‘We want to know what’s going on, Nimander.’

Nenanda spoke. ‘She didn’t just fall-do you think we’re fools, Nimander?’

‘Not fools,’ he replied, and then hesitated, ‘but you must play at being fools… for a little longer.’

‘He killed her, didn’t he?’

At Skintick’s question Nimander forced himself to lock gazes with his cousin, but he said nothing.

Nenanda gave a sudden hiss and whirled to glare at Aranatha, who stood nearby. ‘You must have sensed something!’

Her brows arched. ‘Why do you say that?’

He seemed moments from closing on her with a hand upraised, but she too did not flinch, and after a moment a look a sheer helplessness crumpled Nenanda’s face and he turned from them all.

‘He’s not what he was,’ said Desra. ‘I’ve felt it-he’s… uninterested.’

Of course she was speaking of Clip. Indeed they were not fools, none of them. Still Nimander said nothing. Still he waited.

Skintick could no longer hold Nimander’s gaze. He glanced briefly at Desra and then stepped back. ‘Fools, you said. We must play at being fools.’

Nenanda faced them once more. ‘What does he want with us? What did he ever want? Dragging us along as if we were but his pets.’ His eyes fixed on Desra. ‘Flinging you on your back every now and then to keep the boredom away-and now you’re saying what? Only that he’s become bored by the distraction. Well.’

She gave no sign that his words wounded her. ‘Ever since he awakened,’ she said. ‘I don’t think boredom is a problem for him, not any more. And that doesn’t make sense.’

‘Because,’ added Skintick, ‘he’s still contemptuous of us. Yes, I see your point, Desra.’

‘Then what does he want with us?’ Nenanda demanded again. ‘Why does he still need us at all?’

‘Maybe he doesn’t,’ said Skintick.

Silence.

Nimander finally spoke. ‘She made a mistake.’

‘Confronted him.’

‘Yes.’ He stepped away from Skintick, setting his gaze upon the descent awaiting them. ‘My authority holds no weight,’ he said. ‘I told her to stay away-to leave it alone.’

‘Leave it to Anomander Rake, you mean.’

He faced Skintick again. ‘No. That is too much of an unknown. We-we don’t know the situation in Black Coral. If they’re… vulnerable. We don’t know any-thing of that. It’d be dangerous to assume someone else can fix all this.’

They were all watching him now.

‘Nothing has changed,’ he said. ‘If he gets even so much as a hint-it rnust be us to act first. We choose the ground, the right moment. Nothing has changed-do you all understand me?’

Nods. And odd, disquieting expressions on every face but Aranatha’s-he could not read them. ‘Am I not clear enough?’

Skintick blinked, as if surprised. ‘You are perfectly clear, Nimander. We should get moving, don’t you think?’

What-what has jusi happened here? But he had no answers. Uneasy, he moved out on to the trail.

The rest fell in behind him.

Nenanda drew Skintick back, slowing their progress, and hissed, ‘How, Skin? How did he do that? We were there, about to-I don’t know-and then, all of a sudden, he just, he just-’

‘Took us into his hands once more, yes.’

‘How?’

Skintick simply shook his head. He did not think he could find the right words-not for Nenanda, not for the others. He leads. In the ways of leading, the ways the rest of us cannot-and can never- understand.

I looked into his eyes, and I saw such resolve that I could not speak.

Absence of doubt? No, nothing so egotistic as that. Nimander has plenty of doubts, so many that he’s lost his fear of them. He accepts them as easily as any-lliing else. Is that the secret? Is that the very definition of greatness?

He leads. We follow-he took us into his hands, again, and each one of us stood, silent, finding in ourselves what he had just given us-that resolve, the will to go on-and it left us humbled.

Oh, do I make too much of this! Are we all no more than children, and these the silly, meaningless games of children!

‘He killed Kedeviss,’ muttered Nenanda.

‘Yes.’