Ignoring her question, he stepped past at a safe distance. ‘Make no move, lass, and you’ll survive my visit.’
A thin voice chuckled from the gloom at the far end of the pit. ‘Her mind is gone, Claw. No time, alas, to fully harden my subjects to the horrors of modern life, try though I might. In any case, you should know that I am not your enemy. Indeed, the one who seeks to kill me this night is none other than the Malazan renegade, Korbolo Dom. And, of course, Kamist Reloe. Shall I give you directions to their abode?’
‘I’ll find it in due course,’ Kalam murmured.
‘Do you think your otataral blade sufficient, Claw? Here, in my temple? Do you understand the nature of this place? I imagine you believe you do, but I am afraid you are in error. Slavemaster, offer our guest some wine from that jug.’
A misshapen figure squirmed wetly across the rubble from Kalam’s left. No hands or feet. A mass of suppurating sores and the mangled rot of leprosy. With horrible absurdity, a silver tray had been strapped to the creature’s back, on which sat a squat, fired clay jug.
‘He is rather slow, I’m afraid. But I assure you, the wine is so exquisite that you will agree it is worth the wait. Assassin, you are in the presence of Bidithal, archpriest of all that is sundered, broken, wounded and suffering. My own… awakening proved both long and torturous, I admit. I had fashioned, in my own mind, every detail of the cult I would lead. All the while unaware that the shaping was being… guided.
‘Blindness, wilful and, indeed, spiteful. Even when the fated new House was laid out before me, I did not realize the truth. This shattered fragment of Kurald Emurlahn, Claw, shall not be the plaything of a desert goddess. Nor of the Empress. None of you shall have it, for it shall become the heart of the new House of Chains. Tell your empress to stand aside, assassin. We are indifferent to who would rule the land beyond the Holy Desert. She can have it.’
‘And Sha’ik?’
‘You can have her as well. Marched back to Unta in chains-and that is far more poetic than you will ever know.’
The shadow-wraiths-torn souls from Kurald Emurlahn-were drawing closer round Kalam, and he realized, with a chill, that his otataral long-knife might well prove insufficient. ‘An interesting offer,’ he rumbled. ‘But something tells me there are more lies than truths within it, Bidithal.’
‘I suppose you are right,’ the archpriest sighed. ‘I need Sha’ik, for this night and the morrow at least. Febryl and Korbolo Dom must be thwarted, but I assure you, you and I can work together towards such an end, since it benefits us both. Korbolo Dom calls himself Master of the Talon. Yes, he would return to Laseen’s embrace, more or less, and use Sha’ik to bargain for his own position. As for Febryl, well, I assure you, what he awaits no-one but he is mad enough to desire.’
‘Why do you bother with all this, Bidithal? You’ve no intention of letting me leave here alive. And here’s another thing. A pair of beasts are coming-hounds, not of Shadow, but something else. Did you summon them, Bidithal? Do you, or your Crippled God, truly believe you can control them? If so, then it is you two who are mad.’
Bidithal leaned forward. ‘They seek a master!’ he hissed.
Ah, so Cotillion was right about the Chained One. ‘One who is worthy,’ Kalam replied. ‘In other words, one who is meaner and tougher than they are. And in this oasis, they will find no such individual. And so, I fear, they will kill everyone.’
‘You know nothing of this, assassin,’ Bidithal murmured, leaning back. ‘Nor of the power I now possess. As for not permitting you to leave here alive… true enough, I suppose. You’ve revealed too much knowledge, and you are proving far less enthusiastic to my proposals than I would have hoped. An unfortunate revelation, but it no longer matters. My servants were scattered about earlier, you see, defending every approach, requiring time to draw them in, to arrange them between us. Ah, Slavemaster has arrived. By all means, have some wine. I am prepared to linger here for that. Once you are done, however, I must take my leave. I made a promise to Sha’ik, after all, and I mean to keep it. Should you, by some strange miracle, escape here alive, know that I will not oppose your efforts against Korbolo Dom and his cadre. You will have earned that much, at least.’
‘Best leave now, then, Bidithal. I have no interest in wine this night.’
‘As you wish.’
Darkness swept in to engulf the archpriest, and Kalam shivered at the uncanny familiarity of the sorcerous departure.
The wraiths attacked.
Both knives slashed out, and inhuman screams filled the chamber. As it turned out, his otataral weapon proved sufficient after all. That, and the timely arrival of a god.
Korbolo Dom seemed to have unleashed an army upon his own allies this night. Again and again, Karsa Orlong found his path blocked by eager killers. Their corpses were strewn in his wake. He had taken a few minor wounds from knives invested with sorcery, but most of the blood dripping from the giant warrior belonged to his victims.
He strode with his sword in both hands now, tip lowered and to one side. There had been four assassins hiding outside Heboric Ghost Hands’ dwelling. After killing them, Karsa slashed a new doorway in the tent wall and entered, only to find the abode empty. Frustrated, he set out for the temple round. Leoman’s pit was unoccupied as well, and appeared to have been so for some time.
Approaching Bidithal’s temple, Karsa slowed his steps as he heard fierce fighting within. Shrill screams echoed. Raising his weapon, the Toblakai edged forward.
A figure was crawling out from the doorway on its belly, gibbering to itself. A moment later Karsa recognized the man. He waited until Slavemaster’s desperate efforts brought him up against the Toblakai’s feet. A disease-ravaged face twisted into view.
‘He fights like a demon!’ Silgar rasped. ‘Both blades cut through the wraiths and leave them writhing in pieces! A god stands at his shoulder. Kill them, Teblor! Kill them both!’
Karsa sneered. ‘I take no commands from you, Slavemaster, or have you forgotten that?’
‘Fool!’ Silgar spat. ‘We are brothers in the House now, you and I. You are the Knight of Chains, and I am the Leper. The Crippled God has chosen us! And Bidithal, he has become the Magi-’
‘Yes, Bidithal. He hides within?’
‘No-he wisely fled, as I am doing. The Claw and his patron god are even now slaying the last of his shadow servants. You are the Knight-you possess your own patron, Karsa Orlong of the Teblor. Kill the enemy-it is what you must do-’
Karsa smiled. ‘And so I shall.’ He reversed his grip on his sword and drove the point down between Silgar’s shoulder blades, severing the spine then punching out through the sternum to bury itself a hand’s width deep between two flagstones.
Vile fluids poured from the Slavemaster. His head cracked down on the stone, and his life was done. Leoman was right, long ago-a quick death would have been the better choice.
Karsa pulled the sword free. ‘I follow no patron god,’ he growled. He turned from the temple entrance. Bidithal would have used sorcery to escape, drawing shadows about himself in an effort to remain unseen. Yet his passage would leave footprints in the dust.
The Toblakai stepped past the body of Silgar, the man who had once sought to enslave him, and began searching.
Twenty of Mathok’s clan warriors accompanied Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas on his return to Leoman’s encampment. Their journey was unopposed, although Corabb was certain hidden eyes followed their progress.
They rode up the slope to the hill’s summit and were challenged by sentinels. A more welcoming sound Corabb could not imagine. Familiar voices, warriors he had fought alongside against the Malazans.