Deadhouse Gates (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #2)

Deadhouse Gates (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #2) Page 266

'Ah, someone's done their reading, then.'

'Aye, we possess a library, Heboric. A vast one, at Sha'ik Elder's insistence. “Know your enemy better than they know themselves.” So said Emperor Kellanved.'

'No doubt, though I dare say he wasn't the first.'

The mudbrick residences of the tribes appeared on all sides as the group emerged from an avenue between horse pens. Children ran in the sandy streets, trader carts pulled by mules and oxen were slowly winding their way out from the centre, the market done for the day. Packs of dogs came forward to assuage their curiosity, then fled at the rank challenge of the stiff roll of white bear fur resting across the Toblakai's broad shoulders.

A crowd began to gather, following them as they made their way towards the settlement's heart. Felisin felt a thousand eyes on her, heard the uncertain murmuring. Sha'ik, yet not Sha'ik. Yet Sha'ik, for look at her two favoured bodyguards, the Toblakai and Leoman of the Wastes, the great warriors thinned by their journey into the desert. The prophecy spoke of rebirth, a renewal. Sha'ik has returned. At long last, and she is reborn. Sha'ik Reborn—

'Sha'ik Reborn!' The two words found a hissing cadence, a rhythm like waves, growing louder. The crowds burgeoned, word spreading with swift breath.

'I hope there's a clearing or amphitheatre at the centre,' Heboric muttered. He gave Felisin an ironic grin. 'When did we last travel a crowded street, lass?'

'Better from shame to triumph than the other way around, Heboric'

'Aye, I'll not argue that.'

'There is a parade ground before the palace tent,' Leoman said.

'Palace tent? Ah, a message of impermanence, a symbol saluting tradition – the power of the old ways of life and all that.'

Leoman turned to Felisin. 'Your companion's lack of respect could prove problematic, Sha'ik Reborn. When we meet the High Mages—'

'He'll wisely keep his mouth shut.'

'He had better.'

'Cut out his tongue,' the Toblakai growled. 'Then we need not worry.'

'No?' Heboric laughed. 'You underestimate me still, oaf. I am blind, yet I see. Cut out my tongue and oh, how I shall speak! Relax, Felisin, I'm no fool.'

'You are if you continue using her old name,' Leoman warned.

Felisin left them to bicker, sensing that, at last, despite the sharp edges to the words they threw at one another, a bond was developing between the three men. Not something as simple as friendship – the Toblakai and Heboric had chains of hatred linking them, after all – but one of experiences shared. My rebirth is what they share, even as they stand as points of a triangle, with Leoman the apex. Leoman, the man with no beliefs. They were nearing the settlement's centre. She saw a platform to one side, a disc-shaped dais surrounding a fountain. 'There, to start.'

Leoman turned in surprise. 'What?'

'I would speak to these followers.'

'Now? Before we meet with the High Mages?'

'Yes.'

'You would make the three most powerful men in this camp wait?'

'Would that concern Sha'ik, Leoman? Does my rebirth require their blessing? Unfortunately they weren't there, were they?'

'But—'

'Time for you to shut your mouth, Leoman,' Heboric said, not unkindly.

'Clear a path for me, Toblakai,' Felisin said.

The giant swung abruptly, cutting directly for the platform. He said nothing, for nothing was needed. His presence alone split the mob, peeled it back on both sides in hushed silence.

They reached the dais. 'I shall need your lungs to start, Toblakai. Name me once I've ascended.'

'I shall, Chosen One.'

Heboric snorted softly. 'Now that's an apt title.'

A cascade of thoughts swept through Felisin as she climbed onto the stone platform. Sha'ik Reborn, that dark cloak of Dryjhna descending. Felisin, noble-born brat of Unta, whore of the mining pit. Open the Holy Book and thus complete the rite. That young woman has seen the face of the Abyss – that terrible journey behind her – and now comes the demand that she face the one before her. The young woman must relinquish her life. Opening the Holy Book – yet who would have thought the goddess so amenable to a deal? She knows my heart, and that grants her the confidence, it seems, of deferring her claim on it. The deal has been struck. Power granted – so many visions – yet Felisin remains, her rock-hard, scarred soul floats free in the vast Abyss.

And Leoman knows . . .