‘Shut that mouth of yours! That rank ain’t for nobody no more, you under shy;stand? Never mind the asshole thinkin’ he’s the only one left, so’s he can use it like it was his damned name or something. Never mind, cos he’ll pay for that soon enough.’
‘Humble apologies, sir. My point was, she’s gone now.’
‘What of it?’
‘She was the Redeemer’s eyes — his ears, his everything in the mortal world — and now that Tiste Andii’s gone and taken her away. Meaning we can do, er, as we please.’
At that, Gradithan slowly smiled. Then said in a low, easy voice, ‘What’ve we been doin’ up to now, Monkrat?’
‘While she was here, the chance remained of awakening the Benighted to his holy role. Now we need not worry about either of them.’
‘I was never worried in the first place,’ the once-Seerdomin said in a half-snarl. ‘Go crawl back into your hole, and take whatever boy with you as you fancy — like you say, nothing stopping us now.’
After the horrid creature scurried off, Gradithan gestured to one of his lieu shy;tenants. ‘Follow that Andii pig back into Night,’ he said. ‘But keep your distance. Then get word to our friends in the city. It’s all taken care of at the Barrow — that’s the message you tell ’em, right? Go on and get back here before dawn and you can take your pick of the women — one you want to keep for a while if you care to, or strangle beneath you for all I give a shit. Go!’
He stood in the rain, feeling satisfied. Everything was looking up, and up. And by squinting, why, he could almost make out that cursed tower with its disgust shy;ing dragon edifice — aye, soon it would all come down. Nice and bloody, like.
And though he was not aware of it — not enough to find cause for the sudden shiver that took him — he turned away from that unseeing regard, and so un shy;knowingly broke contact with sleepy, cold, reptilian eyes that could see far in shy;deed, through rain, through smoke, through — if so desired — stone walls.
Carved edifice Silanah was not. Sleepless, all-seeing protector and sentinel, beloved of the Son of Darkness, and possessed of absolute, obsidian-sharp judge shy;ment, most assuredly she was all that. And terrible in wrath? Few mortals could even conceive the truth and the capacity of the implacably just.
Which was probably just as well.
‘
When skill with a sword was but passing, something else was needed. Rage. The curse was that rage broke its vessel, sent fissures through the brittle clay, sought out every weakness in the temper, the mica grit that only revealed itself in the edges of the broken shards. No repairs were possible, no glue creeping out when the fragments were pressed back together, to be wiped smooth with a fingertip.
Nimander was thinking about pottery. Web-slung amphorae clanking from the sides of the wagon, the horrid nectar within — a species of rage, perhaps, little dif shy;ferent from what had coursed through his veins when he fought. Rage in battle was said to be a gift of the gods — he had heard that belief uttered by that Malazan marine, Deadsmell, down in the hold of the Adjunct’s flagship, during one of those many nights when the man had made his way down into the dark belly, jug of rum swinging by an ear in one hand.
At first Nimander had resented the company — as much as did his kin — but the Malazan had persisted, like a sapper undermining walls. The rum had trickled down throats, loosened the hinges of tongues, and after a time all those fortifica shy;tions and bastions had stretched open their doorways and portals.
The rum had lit a fire in Nimander’s brain, casting flickering red light on a host of memories gathered ghostly round the unwelcoming heart. There had been a keep, somewhere, a place of childhood secure and protected by the one they all called
What had there been before that? Where were all the mothers? That memory was lost, entirely lost.
There had been a priest, an ancient companion of the Son of Darkness, whose task it had been to keep the brood fed, clothed, and healthy. He had looked upon them all with eyes filled with dismay, no doubt understanding — long before any of them did — the future that waited them. Understanding well enough to with shy;hold his warmth — oh, he had been like an ogre to them all, certainly, but one who, for all his bluster, would never, ever do them harm.
