‘A disruption in the Warrens?’ Shimmer asked.
‘Far more than a disruption,’ Ardata answered, distracted. ‘An impact. But over now. The ripples diminish even as we speak.’
Next to Ardata, K’azz lightly tilted his head in greeting to his one-time lieutenant. ‘Skinner.’
‘K’azz,’ Skinner answered. He bowed to Ardata. ‘My apologies, m’lady.’
‘Skinner,’ she answered. With a visible effort, she turned her troubled gaze from the west. ‘You may not believe me when I say this — but it is good to see you again.’
He bowed once more. Then he returned his attention to K’azz. He studied his old commander as if disappointed. ‘It was foolish of you to come. That is, unless …’ He raised one brow in an unspoken question.
Ardata’s already thin lipless mouth tightened even further. ‘You take much upon yourself, Skinner. Have a care.’
‘A care? Very well … just what did you talk about?’
‘We spoke of responsibilities,’ K’azz supplied.
‘Responsibilities? Really? Is that so. Well … I have responsibilities as well.’ He gestured about to the Disavowed. ‘To my people. To lead them to the most advantageous position I can gain for them. And so, in consideration of that, I ask that you stand aside as Commander of the Crimson Guard and allow me to ascend to that position. Really, K’azz. It would be for the best. I hear you do not seem very interested in any of this of late.’
Shimmer listened, horrified. Horrified because, in a ruthless light, the man’s words possessed an awful logic. They were a mercenary company that took no contracts despite an empty treasury. That desperately needed to recruit to strengthen their numbers, yet hardly admitted any new members. That had sworn opposition to the Malazans, yet had withdrawn from all such direct opposition. And the prince was a commander who seemed completely uninterested in command. What, then, were they?
K’azz shook his head. It seemed to Shimmer that remorse pulled the skin tight about his eyes. ‘No. I cannot stand aside. Nor can you remove me. We are stuck with each other. And so I ask you — and all those who chose to follow you — to return to the Guard.’
Skinner raised a hand for a moment’s pause. ‘Oh, I am thinking of returning to the Guard.’ He beckoned to Shijel, who handed over one of his longswords. Skinner hefted it, getting a feel for the long slim blade. He returned his attention to K’azz and his mouth quirked up in that way it did when he was indulging his savage side. ‘But I have a condition first.’
The light changed again and Shimmer could not help but glance to the west. Darkness now gathered there, rather prematurely. It was as if sunset had somehow crept in upon them, though she knew it was hours before twilight. Yet there it was, a swelling adumbral gloom, spreading to encompass the west, swallowing the sun.
K’azz did not move though he must know what the man intended. ‘Do not do this, Skinner.’ His tone was beseeching but Shimmer felt that it was not for his life that he feared. She thought that Skinner, however, would take it that way. And she knew she was right when she saw how his mouth twisted his disgust — He thinks K’azz is pleading for his life. But if not that — then what is he doing?
He raised the longsword in both hands like a headsman’s axe. ‘I will make it quick, K’azz.’
Do something, K’azz! Shimmer pleaded. Why won’t you do something?
Ardata lifted a pale hand. ‘Before you act, Skinner, I have one final request of you.’
He let the blade slowly fall but did not shift his gaze from K’azz. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. And you will consider carefully before answering, won’t you?’
Something in her tone warned him and he stepped back from K’azz to turn and give her his full attention. K’azz, for his part, merely lowered his gaze, his mouth clenched tight.
‘Yes?’ Skinner said.
‘I ask you, Skinner, one final time, that you reconsider my offer and stand here at my side.’
He took a long slow breath, pushed back his bunched hair. ‘We have been through this …’
‘Consider carefully,’ she warned him again.
‘Ardata — m’lady. This … place … is not for me. I have no wish to remain.’
‘No wish …’ she echoed faintly, her brows crimping.
A distant clatter of dry branches and a flurry of leaves announced the arrival of a strong wind out of the west. It blustered through the grounds stirring up clouds of dust that everyone waved from their faces. Leaves and broken branches gyred about. Shimmer brushed the dark dust, mixed with a scattering of ash, from her shoulders and sleeves.
Ardata’s dark eyes had been drawn again to the west, where they rested, full of puzzlement. A hand went to her white throat. ‘No wish …’ she repeated, as if to herself.
Skinner glanced about, uncertain. No one dared move as the goddess appeared to be approaching some decision that she seemed to dread. She turned back to Skinner. ‘If you must go, then I must take back my gift.’
Now Skinner frowned, even more wary. ‘You told me yourself,’ he answered, speaking very carefully, ‘that no one in the world would be able to do that. Not even you, should you wish it.’
‘That is true. No one can take my gift from you,’ she agreed. ‘However … I can ask that it return to me.’
She held out her slim hand and beckoned. A metallic shifting and grating sounded, coming from Skinner who spun, peering down at himself, his brows now clenched. ‘What is this …?’ he murmured.
Shimmer peered more closely as some sort of rippling gleamed from the long coat of mail. It was as if each link was moving of its own accord.
The scales were shifting, she was certain. Each seemed to wiggle individually. She thought she saw multiple legs unlocking as, in descending waves, each scale detached itself from its fellows.
Skinner spun faster. He slapped at himself. ‘What is this …?’ he shouted, panic in his voice.
‘I am sorry, Skinner,’ Ardata said, her voice sad, yet firm. ‘I gave you every chance. But you have chosen to reject my gifts.’
Skinner then threw his head back and howled. The scales, Shimmer saw, were scales no longer. Each was a thin black spider the size of a coin. They were digging themselves into his flesh, perhaps gnawing their way in, disappearing into him. He fell, thrashing and shrieking in agony. Shimmer turned her face, yet could not look entirely away. An arm reached out, beckoning to Ardata, who merely watched, her face immobile.
Inhuman, Shimmer reminded herself, remembering K’azz’s warning. Not human.
Skinner was now no more than a writhing pile of wiggling black spiders. Here and there patches of wet white bone gleamed through the heap. More and more of the skeleton revealed itself. The heaving and twisting of the heap slowed, then halted. The swarm of spiders hissed and squirmed amid the pale bones. Then Ardata lowered her hand and the spiders — if they were indeed mere spiders — scuttled off the carcass in a flowing slurry of midnight that made its way across the dusty ground to slip beneath the lip of her robes and disappear.
Shimmer fought a shudder and a heave of revulsion that would have doubled her over. She saw Mara staring, her face sickly grey and frozen in shock and disbelief. Cole, Amatt and Turgal all stared, their faces hardening, though not in triumph or victory but in anger, and Shimmer thought she understood. He might have betrayed them, abandoned the Guard, but in the end they were not pleased to see him fall for he was one of them.
Oh, Skinner. I am so sorry. We all tried to warn you. Yet you would not be turned from your path. You betrayed everyone, didn’t you? And, in the end, so too were you.
In the long silence that followed, K’azz cleared his throat and murmured: ‘Perilous indeed are the gifts of Ardata.’
‘As are all the gifts of the Azathanai,’ said a new voice.
Ardata spun. ‘Who are you?’