Garath, eyes closed, twitched.
Welcome, Lady Envy.
'Your summons was uncharacteristically distraught, K'rul. Is this the work of the Matron and her undead hunters? If so, then calling me here was unnecessary. I am well aware of their efficacy.'
Crippled and chained he may be, Lady Envy, but this particular god is never so obvious. His game displays a master's sleight of hand. Nothing is as he would have us believe, and his use of unwitting servants is as brutal as his treatment of enemies. Consider, after all, the Pannion Seer. No, for Callows, death came from the sea. A warren-twisted fleet. Cold-eyed, unhuman killers. Seeking, ever seeking, they now ply the world's oceans.
'Seeking what, dare I ask?'
A worthy challenge, no less.
'And do these dreadful seaborne murderers have a name?'
One enemy at a time, Lady Envy. You must cultivate patience.
She crossed her arms. 'You sought me out, K'rul, and you can be certain that I had not anticipated that you and I would ever meet again. The Elder Gods are gone, and good riddance, as far as I'm concerned — and that includes my father, Draconus. Were we companions two hundred thousand years ago, you and I? I think not, though the memories are admittedly vague. Not enemies, true enough. But friends? Allies? Most certainly not. Yet here you have come. I have gathered your own unwitting servants, as you asked. Have you any idea the demands on my energies to hold those three Seguleh in check?'
Ah, yes, and where is the Third now?
'Stretched senseless half a league from the city. It was vital to get him away from that T'lan Imass — the gods know, I didn't drag him along for the company. You're missing my point, K'rul. The Seguleh will not be controlled. Indeed, I wonder who humours whom when it comes to those three frightful warriors. Mok will challenge Tool. Mark my words, and while a part of me thrills at the thought — to witness such a clash! None the less, the destruction of one or the other will ill suit your plans, I imagine. The First Sword was almost defeated by Thurule, you know. Mok will chop him into kindling-'
K'rul's soft laughter filled her head. Hopefully, not before Mok and his brothers have carved their way into the Pannion Seer's throne room. Besides, Onos T'oolan is far more subtle of thought than you might imagine, Lady Envy. Let them battle, if Mok so chooses. I suspect, however, that the Third may well surprise you with his. constraint.
'Constraint? Tell me, K'rul, did you think the Seguleh First would send someone as highly ranked as the Third to lead his punitive army?'
Admittedly, no. For this task, of splitting the Seer's forces into two fronts, I had expected perhaps three or four hundred Eleventh Level initiates. Sufficient to inconvenience the Seer enough to draw an army or two away from the approaching Malazans. Yet, with the Second missing, and with Mok's growing prowess, no doubt the First had his reasons.
'One final question, then. Why am I doing you these favours, anyway?'
As petulant as ever, I see. Very well. You chose to turn your back on the need, when last it arose. Disappointing, that, yet enough did indeed attend to manage the Chaining — although at a cost that your presence would have diminished. But, even chained, the Crippled God will not rest. He exists in endless, tormenting pain, shattered, broken within and without, yet he has turned that into a strength. The fuel for his rage, his hunger for vengeance -
'The fools who pulled him down are long dead, K'rul. Vengeance is just an excuse. The Crippled God is driven by ambition. Lust for power is the core of his rotten, shrivelled heart.'
Perhaps, perhaps not. Time will tell, as the mortals say. In any case, you defied the summons at the Chaining, Lady Envy. I will not brook your indifference a second time.
'You?' She sneered. 'Are you my master, K'rul? Since when-'
Visions flooded her mind, staggering her. Darkness. Then chaos, wild, unfocused power, a universe devoid of sense, of control, of meaning. Entities flung through the maelstrom. Lost, terrified by the birth of light. A sudden sharpening — pain as of wrists opened, the heat spilling forth — a savage imposition of order, the heart from which blood flowed in even, steady streams. Twin chambers to that heart — Kurald Galain, the Warren of Mother Dark — and Starvald Demelain, the Warren of. Dragons. And the blood — the power — now sweeping in currents through veins, through arteries, branching out through all existence, and the thought that came to her then stole all warmth from her flesh. Those veins, those arteries, they are the warrens. 'Who created this? Who?'
Dear Lady, K'rul replied, you have your answer, and I will be damned if I am going to countenance your impertinence. You are a sorceress. By Light's Wild Mane, your power feeds on the very blood of my eternal soul, and I will have your obedience in this!
