House of Chains

Corabb finally stirred. ‘Wickans,’ he hissed.



‘And Seti,’ Leoman rumbled in reply.



‘Those grey-armoured ones look… different.’



The man beside him grunted, then swore. ‘Khundryl, from south of the Vathar River. I had hoped… Still, that arcane armour looks heavy. The Seven know what ancestral tombs they looted for those. The Khundryl came late to the horse, and it’s no wonder with that armour, is it?’



Corabb squinted at the vast dust cloud behind the outriders. ‘The vanguard rides close to the scouts.’



‘Aye. We’ll have to do something about that.’



Without another word the two warriors edged back from the crest, beyond the sight of the outriders, pausing briefly to reach back and brush sand over where their bodies had lain, then made their way back to the gully where they’d left their horses.



‘Tonight,’ Leoman said, collecting his mount’s reins and swinging up into the saddle.



Corabb did the same and then nodded. Sha’ik would know, of course, that she had been defied. For the Whirlwind Goddess had her eyes on all her children. But this was their land, wasn’t it? The invaders could not be left to walk it uncontested. No, the sands would drink their blood, giving voice on this night to the Shrouded Reaper’s dark promise.



L’oric stood near the trail that led to Toblakai’s glade. A casual look around, then the faintest of gestures from one hand marked a careful unveiling of sorcery-that vanished almost as soon as it arrived. Satisfied, he set off down the trail.



She might be distracted, but her goddess was not. Increasingly, he sensed questing attention directed towards him, sorcerous tendrils reaching out in an effort to find him, or track his movements. And it was becoming more difficult to elude such probes, particularly since they were coming from more than a single source.



Febryl was growing more nervous, as was Kamist Reloe. Whilst Bidithal’s paranoia needed no fuel- and nor should it . Sufficient, then, all these signs of increased restlessness, to convince L’oric that whatever plans existed were soon to seek resolution. One way or another.



He had not expected to discover Sha’ik so… unprepared. True, she had conveyed a none too subtle hint that she was preternaturally aware of all that went on in the camp, including an alarming ability to defeat his own disguising wards intended to mask his travels. Even so, there was knowledge that, had she possessed it-or even suspected-would have long since triggered a deadly response. Some places must remain closed to her. I had expected her to ask far more dangerous questions of me today. Where is Felisin? Then again, maybe she didn’t ask that because she already knew . A chilling thought, not just for evincing the breadth of her awareness, but for what it suggested about Sha’ik herself. That she knows what Bidithal did to Felisin… and she does not care .



Dusk ever seemed eager to arrive in the forest of stone trees. The tracks he left in the dusty path revealed, to his relief, that he was still alone in walking the trail these days.



Not that the goddess needed trails. But there was a strangeness to Toblakai’s glade, hinting at some kind of investment, as if the clearing had undergone a sanctification of some sort. And if that had indeed occurred, then it might exist as a blind spot in the eye of the Whirlwind Goddess.



But none of this explained why Sha’ik did not ask about Felisin. Ah, L’oric, you are the blind one. Sha’ik’s obsession is Tavore. With each day that leaves us, bringing the two armies ever closer, her obsession grows. As does her doubt and, perhaps, her fear. She is Malazan, after all-I was right in that. And within that waits another secret, this one buried deepest of all. She knows Tavore .



And that knowledge had guided her every action since the Rebirth. Her recalling the Army of the Apocalpyse when virtually within sight of the Holy City’s walls. Retreating into the heart of Raraku… gods, was all that a flight of terror ?



A notion that did not bear thinking about.



The glade appeared before him, the ring of trees with their cold, unhuman eyes gazing down upon the small, bedraggled tent-and the young woman huddled before the stone-lined hearth a few paces from it.



She did not look up as he came near. ‘L’oric, I was wondering, how can one tell Bidithal’s cult of murderers from Korbolo Dom’s? It’s a crowded camp these days-I am glad I am hiding here, and in turn I find myself pitying you. Did you finally speak with her today?’



Sighing, he settled down opposite her, removing his shoulder pack and drawing food from it. ‘I did.’



‘And?’



‘Her concerns for the impending clash are… overwhelming her-’