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‘And she spoke to you? What did she say?’
Frowning, Ivis glanced away. ‘That we shall fail in all that we do. The world changes and there will be no peace in what comes. What will be born anew will be as a babe atop a heap of corpses. A living crown,’ he concluded in a hoarse rasp, ‘upon dead glory.’
With a muffled oath, Anomander rose to his feet. ‘Enough of this nonsense. You did not imagine this, Ivis? She is out there? I will speak with this goddess – I will defy these prophecies of failure and death.’ He drew his cloak about him. ‘Failing that,’ he added with a half-snarl, ‘I will end her torment.’
‘I sought the same, milord,’ Ivis said. ‘She mocked me for it. Remove the spikes and she will indeed die. To live, she must suffer, a goddess of the earth.’ He looked again to Caladan Brood. ‘As the earth suffers in turn.’ Facing Anomander once more, he said, ‘Milord, the Tiste are as talons carving through the flesh of the world. Every ragged furrow is a victory won. Every savaged span of flesh maps our progress – but it’s all for naught. When we kill what we stand on, it all ends, and whatever destiny we believed in for our kind is revealed as worthless.’
By the time he was done, Ivis was trembling. He took hold of the wine jug and drank from its curled lip, spilling on to his shirt.
Lord Anomander stood as if frozen in place. Then he swung to face the Azathanai. ‘What advice, High Mason, or has your tongue died in your mouth?’
The Azathanai’s attention seemed to be fixed on the tabletop before him. ‘One in pain longs to share the suffering,’ he said. ‘Even a goddess. She has made artistry of despair and delights in an audience. Anomander, she will have nothing worthwhile to say to you. Indeed, she will deceive where she can. In any case, she is not real.’
Ivis scowled. ‘I saw her—’
‘You walked into a dream, Master Ivis, but not one of your own making. There are places, in the wilderness, when the visions of the Sleeping Goddess become manifest. Most often, they are caught from the corner of the eye, a flash, something blurred or hinted at. If violence attends her dreaming, however, they can sustain themselves, even unto an exchange of words.’ He rolled his shoulders in an odd shrug. ‘But most often, they appear as beasts. Hounds, or demonic cats with red eyes—’
‘An impaled goddess?’
‘Hers is an uneasy sleep, Master Ivis. In any case, none here can deny the wounding done to the earth in these Tiste lands. The assault has been savage and sustained, and the wilderness dies. Here, in this place, the Sleeping God does indeed bleed from wounds. Every wooden spike marks a triumph of progress.’ He lifted his gaze to Anomander. ‘Would you now undo all that has been achieved in the name of civilization?’
Anomander’s eyes flattened as he studied the Azathanai. ‘Should I walk out from this keep on this night, I have that power? Should I find this goddess? Speak the truth now, Brood, if you would earn my respect.’
The High Mason’s broad face seemed to stretch as the Azathanai bared his teeth, revealing long canines. ‘Arrogance does not intimidate me, Rake, as you well know by now. Presumption, even less so. Upon my answer hangs all respect? But what if the answer displeases you? What manner of friendship do you seek?’
‘Then quest through the stones of this keep, and tell us what dwells here,’ Anomander said. ‘Between us,’ he added in a bitter tone, ‘only one of us has been free with admissions of weakness and flaw. Or shall I assume you perfect?’
Caladan Brood slowly closed his eyes. ‘Then I shall say it plain. Unleash me upon this keep, and few shall survive the night. If I awaken my power, I will be a lodestone to the daughters of Draconus, and to the host of forgotten gods protecting young Wreneck, and to whatever other entity hides here. Sorcery will feed upon sorcery. Come the dawn, this estate and most of the lands of Lord Draconus could well be a scorched ruin.’
‘Now who mocks with bravado?’
At that, Caladan Brood rose. ‘You’ll sting me awake, Anomander? So be it then.’
* * *
‘He’s mine!’
Sleepily, Wreneck opened his eyes. The back of his head ached and something made the hair sticky in that place, where it rested upon cold flagstones. Blinking, he stared up at a low ceiling of black stone slick with mould. Both shoulders were pressed against gritty walls, as if he’d been thrown into a sarcophagus. He struggled to sit up, only to be roughly pushed back by a naked heel slamming into his chest.
‘Stay there, fool!’
Envy moved into a crouch above him, her knees on his chest. ‘Say nothing,’ she continued in a harsh whisper. ‘We’re between the walls. People might hear us. If they do, we’ll have to kill you.’
‘They’re nowhere close,’ hissed another voice, from somewhere behind Wreneck. ‘That was the muster bell we heard. Everybody’s rushed down to the main hall. Listen – not a sound now. But I heard the main doors slam.’
‘That was the demon pounding on the door,’ Envy replied.
‘No it wasn’t.’
‘You’re bleeding from your ears, Spite, on account of me bashing your skull. It’s no wonder you’re hearing things.’
‘It was the main doors. I don’t think anyone’s left in the house.’
‘They wouldn’t do that. Why would they do that? We’ve got a hostage!’
‘He’s nothing. Worthless.’
‘If he was yours, Spite, you wouldn’t be saying that. But he’s mine. My slave. My first one, and you can’t have him. I’m ahead of you now and that’s what you hate the most, isn’t it?’
