'The gate, damn you! If you have objections, L'oric, raise them with her!'
'They are all to die,' Corabb said, backing away from his commander, ' so that you can live.'
'So that we can live, Corabb! There is no other way – do you think that the Malazans would ever leave us be? No matter where or how far we fled? I thank Hood's dusty feet the Claw hasn't struck already, but I do not intend to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder!
I was a body-guard, damn you – it was her cause, not mine!'
'Your warriors – they expected you to fight at their sides-'
'They expected nothing of the sort. The fools wanted to die. In Dryjhna's name.' He bared his teeth in contempt. 'Well, let them! Let them die! And best of all, they are going to take half the Adjunct's army with them. There's your glory, Corabb!' He advanced on him, pointing towards the temple doors. 'You want to join the fools? You want to feel your lungs searing with the heat, your eyes bursting, skin cracking? You want your blood to boil in your veins?'
'An honourable death, Leoman of the Flails, compared to this.'
He voiced something like a snarl, spun back to L'oric. 'Open the way – and fear not, I made no promises to her regarding you, beyond bringing you here.'
'The fire grows into life outside this temple, Leoman,' L'oric said. '
I may not succeed.'
'Your chances diminish with each moment that passes,' Leoman said in a growl.
There was panic in the man's eyes. Corabb studied it, the way it seemed so… out of place. There, in the features he thought he knew so well. Knew every expression possible. Anger, cold amusement, disdain, the stupor and lidded eyes within the fumes of durhang. Every expression… except this one. Panic.
Everything was crumbling inside, and Corabb could feel himself drowning. Sinking ever deeper, reaching up towards a light that grew ever more distant, dimmer.
With a hissed curse, L'oric faced the altar. Its stones seemed to glow in the gloom, so new, the marble unfamiliar – from some other continent, Corabb suspected – traced through with purple veins and capillaries that seemed to pulse. There was a circular pool beyond the altar, the water steaming – it had been covered the last time they had visited; he could see the copper panels that had sealed it lying against a side-wall.
The air swirled above the altar.
She was waiting on the other side. A flicker, as if reflected from the pool of water, then the portal opened, engulfing the altar, edges spreading, curling black, then wavering fitfully. L'oric gasped, straining beneath some invisible burden. 'I cannot hold this long! I see you, Queen!'
From the portal came a languid, cool voice, 'L'oric, son of Osserc. I seek no geas from you.'
'Then what do you want?'