The Crippled God (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #10)

The Crippled God (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #10) Page 261

Quick Ben’s smile vanished and he sighed and shook his head. ‘Temper, you should’ve bolted to the Bridgeburners when you had the chance .’

‘ I hear they’re all dead .’

The wizard swung atop his ethereal horse and grinned down. ‘Exactly .’

Examining the natty gelding Minala had found for him, Kalam glanced over. ‘Do you like being retired, Temper? No, it’s an honest question. Do you like it? ’

‘ Night like this … seeing you all eager to ride out … into serious trouble, no doubt … aye, Assassin, I like it. And if you want to do the same, I’ll stand you a tankard of Coop’s in yonder inn, before throwing you into the harbour .’

‘ I’ll get back to you on that,’ Kalam replied, mounting up. He looked across to Minala, and then Quick Ben. ‘All right, unless these horses can run on water, someone needs to crack open a warren .’

‘ Well,’ said Quick Ben, ‘mine can .’

‘ Smug as ever, I see .’

‘ In any case, warrens are my business —’

‘ And how’s business?’ Kalam asked .

‘ Awful. But that’s all about to change .’

‘ Really? How? ’

‘ Gods below, Kalam. Because I’m back, that’s why. Now stop talking and leave me to it, will you? ’

When the three riders were gone, and the tattered wisps of foul-smelling smoke had drifted away, Temper swung round, stepped back into the gloom of the alley, and studied the wraith-like figure standing amidst the rubbish. ‘Old loyalties,’ he said. ‘The only reason I let them go. The Deadhouse isn’t a damned toll booth, Emperor .’

A cane cracked its silver heel hard on the grimy stones. ‘Emperor? I left that behind long ago. And as for the days when I gave kindly advice, well, they never existed. But for this once, and for you alone, Temper, a word of caution. Watch how you talk to gods, mortal, lest they …’ he suddenly giggled, ‘take umbrage .’

Temper grunted, said nothing for a dozen heartbeats, and then: ‘Umbrage … huh.’ He turned to leave, and Shadowthrone struck the cobbles again. The huge warrior paused, looked over .

Shadowthrone hissed. ‘Well? Is that it? ’

‘ Is what it? ’

‘ That’s all you have to say? This is a momentous scene, you fat fool! This is where everything really, truly, finally begins! So squeeze the ale from your brain, mortal, and say something worthy of your kind. You stand before a god! Speak your eloquence for all posterity. Be profound! ’

‘ Profound … huh.’ Temper was silent for a long moment, studying the cobbles of the alley mouth. And then he lifted his helmed head, faced Shadowthrone, and said, ‘Fuck off .’

Sister Belie watched the man pick his way carefully through the mass of rubble that had once been the citadel gate. He wasn’t especially tall. He had nothing of the brawn common to a veteran soldier, though a white scar was visible climbing one side of his jaw, up to a clipped ear – that didn’t look like a sword cut, she decided. Something bit him. Would Sister Reverence appreciate that? A Jaghut’s tusk, perchance? Not likely . No, there wasn’t much to this man, nothing to explain the source of his defiance, his infuriating resistance to the will and voice of the Watered.

This was about to change, of course. The enemy commander had just made a fatal error in agreeing to this parley. For Sister Belie’s blood was not watered, and this man was about to discover the power in the voice of a pure-born Forkrul Assail.

The smoke-stained, cracked walls of the citadel were proof of the effort the Watered commanders had made in seeking to conclude this siege; and the thousand or so rotting corpses lying on the killing ground beneath those walls marked the savage determination of the Shriven. But every assault thus far had ended in defeat.

Yes, the enemy has done well. But our patience is at an end. It is time to finish this .

The fool was unguarded. He came out alone – not that it would have mattered, for she would have used his own bodyguards to cut him down. Instead, she would make him take his own life, here, before the horrified eyes of his soldiers lining those battlements.

The enemy commander picked his way past the corpses and then drew to within ten paces of where she stood. Halting, he eyed her curiously for a moment, and then spoke in passable Kolansii. ‘A Pure, then. Is that the correct term? Not mixed blood – the ones you call Watered , as in “watered down”, presumably. No, you are a true Forkrul Assail. Have you come to … adjudicate?’ And he smiled.