‘A quaint reversal, wouldn’t you say? The Deragoth’s only act of domestication. Most scholars, in their species-bound arrogance, believe that humans domesticated dogs, but it may well have been the other way round, at least to start. Who ran with whom?’
‘But those creatures aren’t humans. They’re not even Imass.’
‘No, but they will be, one day. I’ve seen others, scampering on the edges of wolf packs. Standing upright gives them better vision, a valuable asset to complement the wolves’ superior hearing and sense of smell. A formidable combination, but the wolves are the ones in charge. That will eventually change… but not for those serving the Deragoth, I suspect.’
‘Why?’
‘Because something is about to happen. Here, in this trapped memory. I only hope that I will be privileged to witness it before the world fades entirely.’
‘You called the Deragoth “Hounds of Darkness”. Are they children of Mother Dark, then?’
‘They are no-one’s children,’ Osric growled, then he shook his head. ‘They have that stench about them, but in truth I have no idea. It just seemed an appropriate name. “Deragoth” in the Tiste Andu tongue.’
‘Well,’ L’oric muttered, ‘actually, it would be Dera’tin’jeragoth.’
Osric studied his son. ‘So like your mother,’ he sighed. ‘And is it any wonder we could not stand each other’s company? The third day, always by the third day. We could make a lifetime of those three days. Exaltation, then comfort, then mutual contempt. One, two, three.’
L’oric looked away. ‘And for your only son?’
Osric grunted. ‘More like three bells.’
Climbing to his feet, L’oric brushed dust from his hands. ‘Very well. I may require your help in opening the path back to Raraku. But you might wish to know something of the Liosan and Kurald Thyrllan. Your people and their realm have lost their protector. They pray for your return, Father.’
‘What of your familiar?’
‘Slain. By T’lan Imass.’
‘So,’ Osric said, ‘find yourself another.’
L’oric flinched, then scowled. ‘It’s not as easy as that! In any case, do you hold no sense of responsibility for the Liosan? They worship you, dammit!’
‘The Liosan worship themselves, L’oric. I happen to be a convenient figurehead. Kurald Thyrllan may appear vulnerable, but it isn’t.’
‘And what if these Deragoth are servants of Darkness in truth? Do you still make the same claim, Father?’
He was silent, then strode towards the gaping entranceway. ‘It’s all her fault,’ he muttered as he passed.
L’oric followed his father outside. ‘This… observation tower. Is it Jaghut?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, where are they?’
‘West. South. East. But not here-I’ve seen none.’
‘You don’t know where they are, do you?’
‘They are not in this memory, L’oric. That is that. Now, stay back.’
The High Mage remained near the tower, watching his father veer into his draconic form. The air suddenly redolent with a sweet, spicy aroma, a blurring of shape before L’oric’s eyes. Like Anomander Rake, Osric was more dragon than anything else. They were kin in blood, if not in personality. I wish I could understand this man, this father of mine. Queen take me, I wish I could even like him. He strode forward.
The dragon lifted one forelimb, talons opening.
L’oric frowned. ‘I would rather ride your shoulders, Father-’
But the reptilian hand reached out and closed about him.
He resolved to suffer the indignity in silence.
Osric flew westward, following the coastline. Before too long forest appeared, and the land reached around northward. The air whipping between the dragon’s scaled fingers grew cold, then icy. The ground far below began climbing, the forests flanking mountain sides shifting into conifers. Then L’oric saw snow, reaching like frozen rivers in crevasses and chasms.
He could recall no mountains from the future to match this ancient scene. Perhaps this memory, like so many others, is flawed.
Osric began to descend-and L’oric suddenly saw a vast white emptiness, as if the mountain rearing before them had been cut neatly in half. They were approaching that edge.
A vaguely level, snow-crusted stretch was the dragon’s destination.
Its southern side was marked by a sheer cliff. To the north… opaque oblivion.
Wings pounding, raising clouds of powdery white, Osric hovered for a moment, then released L’oric.
The High Mage landed in waist-deep snow. Cursing, he kicked his way onto firmer footing, as the enormous dragon settled with a shuddering crunch off to one side.
Osric quickly sembled into Liosan form, the wind whipping at his hair, and strode over.
There were… things near the faded edge of the memory. Some of them moving about feebly. Osric stomped through the deep snow towards them, speaking as he went. ‘Creatures stumble out. You will find such all along the verge. Most of them quickly die, but some linger.’
‘What are they?’
‘Demons, mostly.’
Osric changed direction slightly, closing on one such creature, from which steam was rising. Its four limbs were moving, claws scraping through the slush surrounding it.
Father and son halted before it.
Dog-sized and reptilian, with four hands, similar to an ape’s. A wide, flat head with a broad mouth, two slits for nostrils, and four liquid, slightly protruding eyes in a diamond pattern, the pupils vertical and, in the harsh glare of the snow and sky, surprisingly open.
‘This one might suit Kurald Thyrllan,’ Osric said.
‘What kind of demon is it?’ L’oric asked, staring down at the creature.
‘I have no idea,’ Osric replied. ‘Reach out to it. See if it is amenable.’
‘Assuming it has any mind at all,’ L’oric muttered, crouching down.
Can you hear me? Can you comprehend?
The four eyes blinked up at him. And it replied. ‘Sorcerer. Declaration. Recognition. We were told you’d come, but so soon? Rhetorical.’
I am not from this place, L’oric explained. You are dying, I think.
‘Is that what this is? Bemused.’
I would offer you an alternative. Have you a name?
‘A name? You require that. Observation. Of course. Comprehension. A partnership, a binding of spirits. Power from you, power from me. In exchange for my life. Uneven bargain. Position devoid of clout.’
No, I will save you none the less. We will return to my world… to a warmer place.
‘Warmth? Thinking. Ah, air that does not steal my strength. Considering. Save me, Sorcerer, and then we will talk more of this alliance.’
L’oric nodded. ‘Very well.’
‘It’s done?’ Osric asked.
His son straightened. ‘No, but it comes with us.’
‘Without the binding, you will have no control over the demon, L’oric. It could well turn on you as soon as you return to Raraku. Best we resume our search, find a creature more tractable.’
‘No. I will risk this one.’
Osric shrugged. ‘As you like, then. We must proceed now to the lake, where you first appeared.’
L’oric watched his father walk away, then halt and veer once more into his dragon form.
‘Eleint!’ the demon cried in the High Mage’s mind. ‘Wonder. You have an Eleint for a companion!’
My father.
‘Your father! Excited delight! Eager. I am named Greyfrog, born of Mirepool’s Clutch in the Twentieth Season of Darkness. Proudly. I have fathered thirty-one clutches of my own-’
And how, Greyfrog, did you come here?