But she is blind. Blind to what I see.
The Adjunct Tavore. And a burning world.
The doors slammed open, pulling in an undercurrent of smoke and heat that swept across Corabb's ankles, then up and round, the smoke massing in the dome, pulled and tugged by wayward currents. The warrior stepped in front of the huddled children and drew out his scimitar.
He heard voices – Malazan – then saw figures appearing from the hallway's gloom. Soldiers, a woman in the lead. Seeing Corabb, they halted.
A man stepped past the woman. His blistered face bore the mangled traces of tattooing. 'I am Iutharal Galt,' he said in a ragged voice.
'Pardu-'
'Traitor,' Corabb snapped. 'I am Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, Second to Leoman of the Flails. You, Pardu, are a traitor.'
'Does that matter any more? We're all dead now, anyway.'
'Enough of this,' a midnight-skinned soldier said in badly accented Ehrlii. 'Throatslitter, go and kill the fool-'
'Wait!' the Pardu said, then ducked his head and added: 'Sergeant.
Please. There ain't no point to this-'
'It was these bastards that led us into this trap, Galt,' the sergeant said.
'No,' Corabb said, drawing their attention once more. 'Leoman of the Flails has brought us to this. He and he alone. We – we were all betrayed-'
'And where's he hiding?' the one named Throatslitter asked, hefting his long-knives, a murderous look in his pale eyes.
'Fled.'
'Temul will have him, then,' Iutharal Galt said, turning to the sergeant. 'They've surrounded the city-'
'No use,' Corabb cut in. 'He did not leave that way.' He gestured behind him, towards the altar. 'A sorcerous gate. The Queen of Dreams – she took him from here. Him and High Mage L'oric and a Malazan woman named Dunsparrow-'
The doors opened once again and the Malazans whirled, then, as voices approached – cries of pain, coughing, cursing – they relaxed. More brethren, Corabb realized. More of the damned enemy. But the Pardu had been right. The only enemy now was fire. He swung back to look upon the children, flinched at their terror-filled eyes, and turned round once more, for he had nothing to say to them. Nothing worth hearing.
As he stumbled into the hallway, Bottle gasped. Cold, dusty air, rushing past him – where? how? – and then Cuttle pushed the doors shut once more, swearing as he burned his hands.
Ahead, at the threshold leading into the altar chamber, stood more Malazans. Balm and his squad. The Kartoolian drunk, Hellian. Corporal Reem and a few others from Sobelone's heavies. And, beyond them in the nave itself, a lone rebel warrior, and behind him, children.
But the air – the air…
Koryk and Tarr dragged Strings past him. Mayfly and Flashwit had drawn their meat-knives again, even as the rebel flung his scimitar to one side, the weapon clanging hollowly on the tiled floor. Gods below, one of them has actually surrendered.
Heat was radiating from the stone walls – the firestorm outside would not spare this temple for much longer. The last twenty paces round the temple corner to the front facade had nearly killed them – no wind, the air filled with the crack of exploding bricks, buckling cobblestones, the flames seeming to feed upon the very air itself, roaring down the streets, spiralling upward, flaring like huge hooded snakes above the city. And the sound – he could hear it still, beyond the walls, closing in – the sound… is terrible. Terrible.
Gesler and Cord strode over to Balm and Hellian, and Bottle moved closer to listen in on their conversation.
'Anybody here worship the Queen of Dreams?' Gesler asked.
Hellian shrugged. 'I figure it's a little late to start. Anyway, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas – our prisoner over there – he said Leoman's already done that deal with her. Of course, maybe she ain't into playing favouritesA sudden loud crack startled everyone – the altar had just shattered – and Bottle saw that Crump, the insane saboteur, had just finished pissing on it.
Hellian laughed. 'Well, scratch that idea.'
'Hood's balls,' Gesler hissed. 'Someone go kill that bastard, please.'
Crump had noticed the sudden attention. He looked round innocently. '
What?'
'Want a word or two with you,' Cuttle said, rising. ''Bout the wall-'
'It weren't my fault! I ain't never used cussers afore!'
'Crump-'
'And that ain't my name neither, Sergeant Cord. It's Jamber Bole, and I was High Marshall in the Mott Irregulars-'