‘The tea is ready,’ the Jaghut said, pouring dark liquid into four clay cups that Nimander had not noticed before. ‘You might wonder what I was doing when the wolf god found me. I was fleeing. In disguise. We had gathered to imprison a tyrant, until our allies turned upon us and resumed the slaughter. I believe I may be cursed to ever be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘T’lan Imass allies,’ Kallor said. ‘Too bad they never found you.’
‘Kron, the clan of Bek’athana Ilk who dwelt in the Cliffs Above the Angry Sea. Forty-three hunters and a Bonecaster. They found me.’
Skintick squatted to pick up two of the cups, straightening to hand one to Nimander. The steam rising from the tea was heady, hinting of mint and cloves and something else. The taste numbed his tongue.
‘Where is mine?’ Kallor demanded. ‘If I must listen to this creature I will drink his tea.’
Smiling, Skintick pointed down to where the cups waited on the ground.
Another soft laugh from the Jaghut. ‘Raest was the name of the Tyrant we defeated. One of my more obnoxiously arrogant offspring. I did not mourn his fall. In any case, unlike Raest, I was never the strutting kind. It is a sign of weakness to shine blinding bright with one’s own power. Pathetic diffidence. A need that undermines. I was more. . secure.’
He had Kallor’s attention now. ‘You killed forty-three T’lan Imass and a bonecaster?’
‘I killed them all.’ The Jaghut sipped from his own cup. ‘I have killed a few T’lan Imass,’ he said, the intonation a perfect mimicry of Kallor’s own claim a few moments past. ‘Tell me, then, do you like my abode? My garden?’
‘Solitude has driven you mad,’ Kallor said.
‘You would know all about that now, wouldn’t you, O Lord of Failures? Par shy;take of the tea, lest I take offence.’
Teeth bared, Kallor bent down to retrieve his cup.
The Jaghut’s left hand shot out, closing about Kallor’s wrist. ‘You wounded that wolf god,’ he said.
Nimander stared as he saw the old man struggle to twist free of that grip. Veins standing out on his temple, jaw muscles bunching beneath the beard. But there was no pulling loose. There was no movement at all from that withered, green hand.
‘When you laid waste to your realm,’ the Jaghut continued. ‘You wounded it terribly.’
‘Release me,’ Kallor said in a rasp. And with his other hand he reached back for the grip of his sword.
All at once the Jaghut’s hand fell away.
Kallor staggered back and Nimander saw a white impression of fingers encircling the old warrior’s wrist. ‘This is not how a host behaves. You force me to kill you.’
‘Oh, be quiet, Kallor. This tower was an Azath once. Shall I awaken it for you?’
Wondering, Nimander watched as Kallor backed towards the entrance, eyes wide in that weathered, pallid face, the look of raw recognition dawning. ‘Gothos, what are you doing here?’
‘Where else should I be? Now remain outside — these two Tiste Andii must go away for a while.’
Heat was spreading fast, out from Nimanderi’s stomach. He cast a wild look at Skintick, saw his friend sinking slowly to his knees. The empty cup in his hand fell away, rolled briefly on the damp ground, Nimander stared at the Jaghut. ‘What have you done?’
‘Only what was necessary.’
With a snarl Kallor spun round and stalked from the chamber. Over his shoul shy;der he said, ‘I will not wait long.’
Nimander’s eyes were drawn once more to the walls of ice. Black depths, shapes moving within. He staggered, reached out his hands-
‘Oh, don’t step in there-’
And then he was falling forward, his hands passing into the wall before him, no resistance at all.
‘Nimander, do not-’
Blackness.
Desra wandered round the wagon, drawing up to halt beside the ox. She set a hand on its back, felt the beast’s heat, the rippling with every twitch shedding the biting flies. She looked down into the animal’s eye, saw with a start how delicate its lashes. ‘
It wasn’t hard. People either had strength or they didn’t. The weak ones left her disgusted, welling with dark contempt. If they chose at all it was ever the wrong choice. They let the world break them time and again, then wondered — dull-eyed as this ox — why it was so cruel. But it wasn’t the world that was the problem, was it? It was stepping into the stampede’s path over and over again. It was learning nothing from anything.
