House of Chains

‘I shall now speak with Ghost Hands alone,’ Sha’ik pronounced. But Heboric shook his head. ‘I am done speaking, for now, even with you, Chosen One. I will say this and nothing more: have faith in the Master of the Deck. He shall answer the House of Chains. He shall answer it.’



Feeling ancient beyond his years, Heboric climbed to his feet. There was a stir of motion beside him, then young Felisin’s hand settled on his forearm. He let her guide him from the chamber.



Outside, dusk had arrived, marked by the cries of the goats as they were led into the enclosures. To the south, just beyond the city’s outskirts, rumbled the thunder of horse hoofs. Kamist Reloe and Korbolo Dom had absented themselves from the meeting to oversee the exercises of the troops. Training conducted in the Malazan style, which Heboric had to admit was the renegade Fist’s only expression of brilliance thus far. For the first time, a Malazan army would meet its match in all things, barring Moranth munitions. Tactics and disposition of forces would be identical, ensuring that numbers alone would decide the day. The threat of the munitions would be answered with sorcery, for the Army of the Whirlwind possessed a full cadre of High Mages, whilst Tavore had-as far as they knew-none. Spies in Aren had noted the presence of the two Wickan children, Nil and Nether, but both, it was claimed, had been thoroughly broken by Coltaine’s death.



Yet why would she need mages? She carries an otataral sword, after all. Even so, its negating influence cannot be extended over her entire army. Dear Sha’ik, you may well defeat your sister after all.



‘Where would you go, Ghost Hands?’ Felisin asked.



‘To my home, lass.’



‘That is not what I meant.’



He cocked his head. ‘I do not know-’



‘If indeed you do not, then I have seen your path before you have, and this I find hard to believe. You must leave here, Ghost Hands. You must retrace your path, else what haunts you will kill you-’



‘And that matters? Lass-’



‘Look beyond yourself for a moment, old man! Something is contained within you. Trapped within your mortal flesh. What will happen when your flesh fails?’



He was silent for a long moment, then he asked, ‘How can you be so sure of this? My death might simply negate the risk of escape-it might shut the portal, as tightly sealed as it had been before-’



‘Because there is no going back. It’s here-the power behind those ghostly hands of yours-not the otataral, which is fading, ever fading-’



‘ Fading? ’



‘Yes, fading! Have not your dreams and visions worsened? Have you not realized why? Yes, my mother has told me-on the Otataral Isle, in the desert-that statue. Heboric, an entire island of otataral was created to contain that statue, to hold it prisoner. But you have given it a means to escape-there, through your hands. You must return!’



‘Enough!’ he snarled, flinging her hand away. ‘Tell me, did she also tell you of herself on that journey?’



‘That which she was before no longer matters-’



‘Oh, but it does, lass! It does matter!’



‘What do you mean?’



The temptation came close to overwhelming him. Because she is Malazan! Because she is Tavore’s sister! Because this war is no longer the Whirlwind’s-it has been stolen away, twisted by something far more powerful, by the ties of blood that bind us all in the harshest, tightest chains! What chance a raging goddess against that ?



Instead, he said nothing.



‘You must undertake the journey,’ Felisin said in a low voice. ‘But I know, it cannot be done alone. No. I will go with you-’



He staggered away at her words, shaking his head. It was a horrible idea, a terrifying idea. Yet brutally perfect, a nightmare of synchronicity.



‘Listen! It need not be just you and I–I will find someone else. A warrior, a loyal protector-’



‘Enough! No more of this!’ Yet it will take her away-away from Bidithal and his ghastly desires. It will take her away … from the storm that is coming . ‘With whom else have you spoken of this?’ he demanded.



‘No-one, but I thought… Leoman. He could choose for us someone from Mathok’s people-’



‘Not a word, lass. Not now. Not yet.’



Her hand gripped his forearm once more. ‘We cannot wait too long, Ghost Hands.’



‘Not yet, Felisin. Now, take me home, please.’



‘Will you come with me, Toblakai?’



Karsa dragged his gaze from Urugal’s stone face. The sun had set with its characteristic suddenness, and the stars overhead were bright. The snakes had begun dispersing, driven into the eerily silent forest in search of food. ‘Would you I run beside you and your puny horses, Leoman? There are no Teblor mounts in this land. Nothing to match my size-’