‘A rather uncharitable view, Ublala.’
‘I don’t give nothing for free, that’s for sure. Whole people disappear when a baby arrives. Poof! Where’d they go? Oh, I know, they’re crawling around making baby noises. It makes me sick.’ He ducked the rock Ralata threw at him and continued, ‘So I’m going with you and if you were a real friend you’d take me because if I make a baby my life is over. Over!’
‘Can you fly, Ublala?’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘Nevertheless, and no, I will not carry you. Now, listen to me. We have gone as far west as needed – now you must strike northward.’
‘Why?’
Draconus glanced away, eyes narrowing, and then he sighed and said, ‘Your innocence is a gift, Ublala Pung. A rare gift. It must endure. It must be protected, but that I can no longer do. Walk northward, that is all I ask.’
‘Where am I going?’
‘I cannot say for certain,’ Draconus admitted. ‘Nothing is certain, especially now.’
‘Will you come back?’
Draconus hesitated, and then he shook his head. ‘I do not think we will meet again, no. And for that I truly grieve.’
‘Are you going somewhere to die?’
‘Do not weep, friend. I do not know what awaits me.’ He stepped close to Ublala. ‘I have left you sufficient food and water for a week’s travel. Beyond that, well.’ He shrugged, and then held out a hand. ‘Now, let us clasp arms.’
Instead, Ublala wrapped the god in a fierce hug.
After a moment, Draconus pulled himself free. ‘You give reason, friend, for what I must attempt. If sorcery must die, the magic in the mortal soul will persevere – or so I choose to believe.’
Ralata hissed, ‘Kill him, Ublala! Kill him now – you can do it! Snap his neck! Take that sword!’
Ublala winced and then shrugged. ‘She’s always going on like this. She don’t mean anything by it, Draconus. Honest.’ He wiped at his eyes. ‘Goodbye. I’ll never see you again.’ And this time he burst into tears, wailing with his hands over his eyes.
When Ralata rushed to him, scrabbling to draw his knife, Ublala batted her away between sobs. She was thrown back, sailing through the air and then landing hard, limbs flailing, before falling still.
Frowning, Draconus walked over. Crouched down. ‘Unconscious. Well, that is something, I suppose.’
Sniffling, Ublala said, ‘Women always get jealous about man friends. Sometimes they say bad things about them. Sometimes they try to knife them. Sometimes they sex them. Sometimes they run away with them. Sometimes they get so mad they just up and die. But it’s all just stupid.’
Draconus straightened, walked a short distance away, and then turned to face Ublala one more time. ‘Be well, Ublala Pung.’
‘Don’t die, Draconus.’
The god smiled. ‘I shall try not to.’
Ublala watched his friend disappear inside a bloom of black, ethereal darkness, watched as the darkness found shape – spreading wings, a long serpent neck, a massive head with rows of scimitar-length fangs, eyes of lurid yellow.
The dragon lifted into the sky, the vast wings hissing with the sound of cold water on hot stones as the creature wheeled and set off.
With an uneven sigh, the Teblor collected the pack containing the food, and then the heavy waterskins. Along with his weapons and armour, the burden was enough to make him grunt when he straightened.
Grasping Ralata by one ankle, he began walking.
The way she was right now, why, a wife was as bad as a baby.
Brother Diligence arrived well ahead of the retinue, his boots echoing as he strode the length of the throne room. All the blood stains remained – splashed and smeared across the marble tiles, along the pillars to either side and the walls behind them, and upon the throne itself, where sat Sister Reverence.
Restitution had begun here, in this very chamber, and it was proper to remind all who would enter. Halting before Reverence – the only other person present – he said, ‘We must assume that they are lost to us, Sister.’
‘I smell smoke, Brother.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Excellent.’ She paused and then said, ‘“Lost.” Now that is a curious word. Are they dead, or are they now treasonous to our great cause?’
‘If the former, Sister, we must then reconsider the enemies arrayed against us.’
‘And if the latter, then we must re-evaluate the loyalty among us.’
‘The issue lies with Sister Calm,’ said Brother Diligence. ‘Equity but follows.’
‘Not precisely true, Brother. Equity is the heart of the ideals which they would hold, but it is Calm who adheres to the practical. Her long imprisonment, horrific as it must have been, has greatly damaged her spirit, I am afraid. We must, indeed, hope that she is dead, more so than poor, misguided Equity.’
‘I have received a missive from the siege, Sister. The assault failed.’
Reverence sat straighter. ‘But how can this be?’
‘Sister Belie informs me that Akhrast Korvalain is ineffectual against the commander of the besieged.’
‘Impossible – unless, is he a god? An ascendant?’
‘Neither, I am told. This man – a mortal – titles himself the Master of the Deck of Dragons. He commands the warrens, in ways Sister Belie cannot quite understand. But what she describes at last explains the sudden appearance of that army. They arrived via a portal, travelling by warren. Incidentally, this is why they could not get closer to us here at the Spire, where our sorcerous influence is strongest.’
‘I see. Then this master’s power cannot challenge us.’
‘He and his army represent a military threat nonetheless. I now advise we dispatch another three legions, commanded by another Pure.’
‘Ready the legions, Brother, but do not send them to Estobanse. Not yet. The challenge posed by the Master of the Deck of Dragons … intrigues me. I will think some more on how to deal with him.’
‘As you wish, Sister.’
The doors swung open then and Diligence turned to observe the approach of the retinue. Flanked by two Pures, the heavily armoured warriors marched towards the throne, a full dozen of the highest-ranking officers.
Brother Diligence murmured, ‘Most formidable, are they not, Sister Reverence?’
‘Indeed, Brother.’
Ten paces from the dais the contingent halted.
Brother Diligence studied them briefly, and then said to one of the escorting Pures, ‘Brother Serenity. They have anchored their ships in the harbour?’
‘They have, Brother. They are now servants of the Restitution.’
Sister Reverence then spoke. ‘Welcome, Grey Helms of the Perish. Your gesture has left no doubt in our minds as to the veracity of your claims.’
One of the commanders tipped his head and said, ‘We have discussed your arguments at length, Sister Reverence, and we are agreed. Our Mortal Sword committed blasphemy in swearing fealty to the Malazans. Furthermore, we are certain that our Shield Anvil has concluded much the same, and that he is now at odds with the Mortal Sword.’
‘And who will win this wrestling for control of your land-based army?’
‘There is no ambiguity, Sister Reverence. The Mortal Sword shall be made to accept her crime, and do penance. If she refuses, she will be divested of her title and the privileges it affords. The time has come. The vengeance of the Wolves of Winter must now begin.’
‘All very delightful,’ Sister Reverence purred, and then she leaned forward. ‘Unfortunately, the Forkrul Assail demand something more than an alliance of forces that just happen to share – for the moment at least – a common cause.’ She raised her voice. ‘Now, you shall kneel. You shall avow your service to the will of the Forkrul Assail.’