Trull spat again – the insides of his mouth were lacerated – then grunted and squinted up at Cotillion. 'I will not fight here again,' he said. 'Nor Onrack, nor these children – Cotillion, please-'
The god turned away. 'Of course not, Trull Sengar.' Trull watched Cotillion walk through the archway, and the Tiste Edur's gaze fell once more on the body of Ahlrada Ahn. As Shadowthrone approached Quick Ben, Trull climbed to his feet and made his way to where his friend was lying. Ahlrada Ahn. I do not understand you – I have never understood you – but I thank you nonetheless. I thank you…
He stepped to the entranceway, looked out, and saw Cotillion, the Patron of Assassins, the god, sitting on a shelf of stone that had slipped down from one wall, sitting, alone, with his head in his hands.
Epilogue
In a journey through the wastes, I found a god kneeling as it pushed its hands into the sand again and again, each time lifting them up to watch the lifeless grains stream down.
Dismounting from my weary horse, I walked to stand before this apparition and its dusty hands and watched for a time the cycles of their motion when at last up it looked, eyes beseeching.
'Where,' asked this god, 'are my children?'
The Lost Believers
Fisher The bite, then the blessed numbness of smoke in her lungs, slowly released as Scillara moved up to lean on the rail at Cutter's side. '
You look far away,' she said, scanning the endless seas.
He sighed, then nodded.
'Thinking of her, were you? What was her name again?'
'Apsalar.'
She smiled, mostly to herself, drew in more smoke, watched it whirl away from her nostrils and her pursed lips, three streams becoming one. 'Tell me about her.'
Cutter glanced back over a shoulder, and Scillara, to be companionable, did the same. Barathol was at the stern, Chaur seated almost at the huge blacksmith's boots. Iskaral Pust and Mogora were nowhere in sight, likely in the cabin below, arguing over supper's mysterious ingredients. The black mule had vanished days ago, probably over the side although Iskaral simply smiled at their enquiries.
Mappo was at the bow, crouched down, knees drawn up. Rocking, weeping.
He had been that way since morning and no-one seemed able to get through to find out what assailed him.
Cutter turned and stared back over the seas. Scillara happily did the same, pulling hard on her pipe.
And the Daru spoke. 'I was remembering back. After the big fete in Darujhistan, there was another one, a smaller one, celebrating the withdrawal of Malazan interests… for the time being. Anyway, it was in Coll's estate, just before we left the city – gods below, it seems so long ago now…'
'You'd just met, then.'
'Yes. Well, there was music. And Apsalar… she danced.' He looked across at her. 'She danced so beautifully, all conversation stopped, everyone watched.' Cutter shook his head. 'I couldn't even draw breath, Scillara…'
And yours is a love that will not die.
So be it.
'A good memory, Cutter. Hold on to it. Me, I could never dance well, unless drunk or otherwise softened up.'
'Do you miss those days, Scillara?'
'No. It's more fun this way.'
'What way?'
'Well now, you see, I don't miss a thing any more. Not a thing. That's very… satisfying.'
'You know, Scillara, I do envy your happiness.' She smiled across at him once more, a simple act that took all her will, all her strength.
So be it.
Cutter said, 'I think… I think I need to lie in your arms right now, Scillara.'
For all the wrong reasons. But there's this – in this Hood-damned world, it's worth taking what you can get. Whatever you can get.
Three streams.
Into one.
****
Karsa Orlong turned about as Samar Dev moved up beside him and settled down – a fierce gale was busy ripping off the surface of the waves in the sea beyond, and the hammering against the hull was incessant, as if eager spirits sought to tear the craft to pieces. 'Well, woman, what has got you looking so excited?'
'Something's happened,' she said. 'Here, give me some of that fur cloak, I'm chilled to the bone.'
He yielded the bear fur. 'Take it.'
'I bless your martyrdom, Karsa Orlong.'
'A wasted effort, then,' he rumbled in reply. 'I will be martyr to noone, not even the gods.'
'Just a saying, you thick-skulled oaf. But listen, something happened.
There was an assault. Hundreds of Edur warriors and Letherii auxiliaries. And, another champion.'