Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7) Page 115

‘You fool, there is Silchas Ruin.’

‘I have an answer for him as well, sister. But I need your help. We must work together, and in so doing we will achieve the demise of both Menandore and Silchas Ruin. Do you trust me?’

Sheltatha Lore’s laugh was harsh. ‘Cast that word away, sister. It is meaningless. I demand vengeance. You have something to prove-to us all. Very well, we shall work together, and see what comes of it. Tell me your grand plan, then. Tell me how we shall crush Silchas Ruin who is without equal in this realm-’

‘You must conquer your fear of him,’ Sukul said, glancing away, studying the glade, noting how the shafts of sunlight had lengthened, and the ruined wall surrounding them now hunched like crumbling darkness. ‘He is not indomitable. Scabandari proved that well enough-’

‘Are you truly so stupid as to believe that?’ Sheltatha demanded, clambering free of the lean-to, straightening like some anthropomorphic tree. Her skin gleamed, polished and the colour of stained wood. ‘I shared the bastard’s barrow for a thousand eternities. I tasted his dreams, I sipped at the stream of his secretmost thoughts-he grew careless…’

Sukul scowled at her kin. ‘What are you saying?’

The terrible eyes fixed mockingly on her. ‘He stood on the field of battle. He stood, his back to Scabandari-whom he called Bloodeye and was that not hint enough? Stood, I tell you, and but waited for the knives.’

‘I do not believe you-that must be a lie, it must be!’

‘Why? Wounded, weaponless. Sensing the fast approach of this realm’s powers-powers that would not hesitate in destroying him and Bloodeye both. Destroying in the absolute sense-Silchas was in no condition to defend against them. Nor, he well knew, was Scabandari, for all that idiot’s pompous preening over the countless dead. So, join in Scabandari’s fate, or… escape7.’

‘Millennia within a barrow of an Azath-you call that an escape, Sheltatha?’

‘More than any of us-more even than Anomandaris,’ she said, her eyes suddenly veiled, ‘Silchas Ruin thinks… draconean. As cold, as calculating, as timeless. Abyss below, Sukul Ankhadu, you have no idea…’ A shudder took Sheltatha then and she turned away. ‘Be sure of your schemes, sister,’ she added in a guttural tone, ‘and, no matter how sure you make yourself, leave us a means of escape. For when we fail.’

Another faint groan, from the earth spirits on all sides, and Sukul Ankhadu shivered, assailed by uncertainty-and fear. ‘You must tell me more of him,’ she said. All you learned-’

‘Oh, I shall. Freedom has left you… arrogant, sister. We must strip that from you, we must free your gaze of that veil of confidence. And refashion your plans accordingly.’ A long pause, then Sheltatha Lore faced Sukul once again, an odd glint in her eyes. ‘Tell me, did you choose in deliberation?’

‘What?’

A gesture. ‘This place… for my recovery.’

Sukul shrugged. ‘Shunned by the local people. Private-I thought-’

‘Shunned, aye. With reason.’

And that would be?’

Sheltatha studied her for a long moment, then she simply turned away. ‘Matters not. I am ready to leave here now.’

As ami, I think. Agreed. North-’

Another sharp glance, then a nod.

Oh, 1 see your contempt, sister. 1 know you felt as Menandore did-I know you think little of me. And you thought 1 would step forward once she struck? Why? I spoke of trust, yes, but you did not understand. I do indeed trust you, Sheltatha. 1 trust you to lust for vengeance. And that is all I need. For ten thousand lifetimes of slight and disregard… it will be all I need.

His tattooed arms bared in the humid heat, Taxilian walked to the low table where sat Samar Dev, ignoring the curious regard from other patrons in the courtyard restaurant. Without a word he sat, reached for the jug of watered, chilled wine and poured himself a goblet, then leaned closer. ‘By the Seven Holies, witch, this damned city is a wonder-and a nightmare.’

Samar Dev shrugged. ‘The word is out-a score of champions now await the Emperor’s pleasure. You are bound to attract attention.’

He shook his head. ‘You misunderstand. I was once an architect, yes? It is one thing’-he waved carelessly-‘to stand agape at the extraordinary causeways and spans, the bridges and that dubious conceit that is the Eternal Domicile-even the canals with their locks, inflows and outflows, the aqueduct courses and the huge blockhouses with their massive pumps and the like.’ He paused for another mouthful of wine. ‘No, I speak of something else entirely. Did you know, an ancient temple of sorts collapsed the day we arrived-a temple devoted, it seems, to rats-’