The Adjunct crouched down. Time for Tayschrenn's gambit.
Hopefully the Jaghut Tyrant had managed to inflict damage upon the Moon's lord. She removed a small flask from her shirt and held the patinated glass up to the shine of gaslight. The contents swirled like trapped smoke as she gave it a shake.
She rose and threw it across the street. The flask struck a stone wall and shattered. Glowing red smoke curled upward, slowly taking shape.
The Adjunct spoke: «You know your task, Lord of the Galayn. Succeed, and freedom will be yours.»
She unsheathed her sword and closed her eyes briefly, locating the Coin Bearer in her mind. He was fast, but she was faster. The Adjunct smiled again. Now, the Coin would be hers.
When she moved, it was as a blur, quicker than any eye could follow, even that of a Galayn lord loose on the material plane.
In his study, Baruk cradled his head in his hands. Mammot's death had come like a knife to his own heart, and he still felt its stabbing pain. He was alone in the chamber, having dismissed Roald earlier.
Rake had suspected. He'd refused to speak of it, considering it too sensitive a matter. The alchemist had wearily to admit that the Tiste And? had been correct. Would he even have believed Rake?
Undoubtedly, the power possessing Mammot had shielded itself, defying detection. Rake had anticipated Baruk's anger at such a suggestion, and had, wisely and with compassion, chosen to say nothing.
And now Mammot was dead, even as was the Jaghut Tyrant. Had it been Rake who had killed his old friend? If so, he hadn't used his sword, yet another mercy granted both Mammot and Baruk-the alchemist had sensed, if anything, a kind of relief in Mammot's death cry.
A soft cough at the door alerted him. Baruk rose swiftly and turned.
His brows rose. «Witch Derudan!»
Her face was pale, her smile wan. «I thought of you, upon Mammot's end. I am here, so. Alas,» she said, as she strode to a chair by the fireplace and set her water-pipe down on the floor beside it, «my servant has taken the rest of the evening off.» She removed the ash-cup and tapped its contents into the unlit hearth. «Such mundane exertions,» she said, sighing.
At first, Baruk resented her intrusion. He preferred to mourn alone.
But as he watched her, the supple grace of her movements, his thoughts changed. Her Warren was Tennes, ancient and bound to the cycles of seasons; and among the handful of deities she could call upon was Tennerock, the Boar of Five Tusks. Derudan's greatest power-the one she shared, in any case-was the Tusk named Love. He chastised himself. Slow had the realization come that she was bringing him a gift.
Derudan replaced the ash-cup and packed it with leaves. She closed a hand around it, and the contents glowed with sudden heat. A moment later the witch sat heavily in the chair. She drew deeply on the mouthpiece.
Baruk strode to the other chair. «Rake believes it isn't yet over,» he said, sitting.
She nodded. «I was witness to Mammot's end, yes? He was opposed by myself: and a most remarkable wizard. The flesh that was Mammot was destroyed by a Moranth incendiary. The Jaghut spirit survived but was taken: by an Azath.» Her heavy-lidded eyes appraised him.
«Azath? Here, in Darujhistan?»
«Indeed, such mysterious conjurings, known for their hunger for mages, will impose upon our efforts: a certain caution, yes?»
«Where has it arisen?»
«In the garden of Sinital's estate. Did I not also mention a Moranth incendiary? Lady Sinital's F?te had some unusual guests, yes?»
«Malazans?»
«Twice my life saved-the wizard of whom I spoke, who commands within him seven Warrens-»
«Seven?» Baruk said, flinching. «Hood's Breath, is that even possible?»
«If they mean ill, it shall fall to the Son of Darkness to meet the challenge.»
Both stiffened as power surged into life somewhere nearby. The alchemist was on his feet, fists clenched. «A demon is unleashed,» he hissed.
«I feel it as well,» Derudan said, her face white. «Of great power.»
«A Demon Lord.» Baruk nodded. «This is what Rake awaited.»
Derudan's eyes widened and she pulled on her mouthpiece before asking, «Is he capable of defeating such a creature? Son of Darkness he is, but feel this creature's power, yes?»
«I don't know,» Baruk said quietly. «If not, then the city is doomed.»
At that point there came another blow, followed by another. The witch and the alchemist stared at each other in recognition. Two of their Cabal had just died violent deaths.
«Paral,» she whispered in fear.
«And Tholas,» Baruk said. «It's begun, and damn Rake for being so right.»
She looked at him blankly.
Baruk grimaced. «Vorcan.»
Standing on the stained, pitted bronze tiles of the belfry's roof, Anomander Rake's head snapped around. His eyes deepened to black.
The wind clawed at his long, silver hair and his grey cloak, its moan hollow and lost. He raised his gaze momentarily to Moon's Spawn as it moved west. He could feel its pain, as if the wounds it had received at Pale were somehow echoed in his own body. A flash of regret crossed his lean features.
Air buffeted him and he heard the heavy flap of wings. Rake smiled.
«Silanah,» he said softly, knowing she would hear him. The red dragon slipped between two towers and banked, returning to his position. «I know you sense the Demon Lord's presence, Silanah. You would help me in this. I know, I know.» He shook his head. «Return to Moon's Spawn, dear friend. This battle is mine. Yours is done. But know this: if I fail, you may seek to avenge my death.»
Silanah swept overhead and loosed a thin wail.
«Go home,» Rake whispered.
The red dragon cried again, then swung westward and rose through the night air.
He sensed a presence at his side and turned to find a tall, hooded man sharing his view of the city below. «Unwise,» Rake murmured,» to appear unannounced.»
The man sighed. «The stones beneath your feet, Lord, are newly sanctified. I am reborn.»
«There is no place in the world for an Eldering god,» Rake said. «Take my word for it.»
K'rul nodded. «I know. I anticipated returning to the Realms of Chaos, with a Jaghut Tyrant for company. Alas, he evaded me.»
«And found imprisonment elsewhere.»
«I am relieved.»
The two were silent for a long minute, then K'rul sighed. «I am lost. In this world. In this time.»
Rake grunted. «You are not alone with those sentiments, Eldering One.»
«Do I follow in your steps, Lord? Do I seek out new battles, new games to play in the company of Ascendants? Are you rewarded in spirit for your efforts?»
«Sometimes,» Rake said quietly. «But mostly, no, I am not.»
The hooded face turned to the Tiste And?. «Then why?»
«I know no other way of living.»
«I have no means of assisting you this night, Anomander Rake. I am manifest in this sanctified place, and manifest in a lone mortal's dreams, but nowhere else.»
«I will do my best, then,» Rake said, «to avoid damaging your temple.»
K'rul bowed, then vanished.
Alone once again, Rake turned his attention to the street below. An apparition arrived. it paused to sniff the air, then began changing-veering. A Lord of the Galayn, and a Soletaken.
«Well,» the Lord of Moon's Spawn growled, «so am I.» The Tiste And? spread his arms wide, then rose upward. Kurald Galain sorcery swirled around him, blending his clothing, his massive sword, drawing all inward to the shape he now climbed towards. The veering was smooth, eloquent, as jet-black wings unfolded from his shoulders. Flesh and bone surged in size, changed in shape.
As he flew higher, eyes fixed on the stars, Anomander Rake became a black dragon, silver-maned and dwarfing even Silanah. His eyes gleamed silver, the vertical slits of the pupils dilating. His breath gusted in heavy grunts, the snap of his wings loud amid the deep groan of muscle on bone. His chest swelled to draw in the cold, dry air, and power filled his being.