'I am not. She was insane. A prisoner of herself, possessed by her own demons. Not alone in that curse, we must presume.'
'Not any more,' Whiskeyjack answered.
'It is as a plague, is it not? Ever spreading. Devouring lives. That is why you will, ultimately, fail. All of you. You become what you destroy.'
The tone of Anomander Rake's response was shockingly vulgar. 'No more appropriate words could come from a cannibal. What, Anaster, do you think we should do with you? Be honest, now.'
The young man swung his singular gaze to the Lord of Moon's Spawn. Whatever self-possession he contained seemed to falter suddenly with that contact, for he reached up a tentative hand to hover before the bloodied eye-socket, and his pale face grew paler. 'Kill me,' he whispered.
Rake frowned. 'Korlat?'
'Aye, he lost control, then. His fear has a face. One that I have not seen before-'
Anaster turned on her. 'Shut up! You saw nothing!'
'There is darkness within you,' she replied in calm tones. 'Virulent cousin to Kurald Galain. A darkness of the soul. When you falter, child, we see what hides within it.'
'Liar!' he hissed.
'A soldier's face,' Anomander Rake said. He slowly faced westward. 'From the city. From Capustan.' He turned back to Anaster. 'He is still there, isn't he? It seems, mortal, that you have acquired a nemesis — one who promises something other than death, something far more terrible. Interesting.'
'You do not understand! He is Itkovian! Shield Anvil! He wishes my soul! Please, kill me!'
Dujek and Caladan Brood had arrived from the allied lines, as well as Kallor and Artanthos. They sat on their horses, watchful, silent.
'Perhaps we will,' the Lord of Moon's Spawn replied after a moment. 'In time. For now, we will take you with us to Capustan-'
' No! Please! Kill me now! '
'I see no absolution in your particular madness, child,' Anomander Rake said. 'No cause for mercy. Not yet. Perhaps, upon meeting the one — Itkovian? — who so terrifies you, we will judge otherwise, and so grant you a swift end. As you are our prisoner, that is our right. You might be spared your nemesis after all.' He faced Brood and the others. 'Acceptable?'
'Aye,' Dujek growled, eyes on Whiskeyjack.
'Agreed,' Brood said.