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‘My Warrens, yes. In return, you can feed upon your chosen aspect.’
‘Warrens,’ said Telorast. ‘Well named, Azathanai.’
‘But you are not to resist those mortals who would draw upon my sorcery,’ added K’rul.
‘Then against whom do we guard?’
‘Azathanai, for one. Your fellow Eleint, for another.’
Ardata suddenly cut in, ‘These two will defy you, K’rul. They seek the Throne of Shadow, upon the rise of the Grey Shore. It is their singular obsession.’
K’rul shrugged. ‘They need only convey my offer to their kin. What will come of the Grey Shore is not yet known.’ He returned his attention upon the Tiste women. ‘Well?’
Curdle scowled. ‘It seems too generous. All in the manner of gifts. Where is the loss for us? The sacrifice? K’rul is devious, the most devious of all the Azathanai. I am suspicious.’
‘I am indeed being overly generous,’ K’rul replied. ‘And this is my reason: another Azathanai seeks to usurp my Warrens, to corrupt them utterly. Should he succeed, even the Eleint of this realm will suffer a harsh fate. Control over the gates of my Warrens is essential, and so I turn to the only beings capable of becoming guardians – indeed, wards – of my sorcery.’
‘Now he flatters us,’ Telorast said.
‘He asks only that we voice the offer to our kin,’ Curdle pointed out. ‘You and me, love, we yield nothing.’
‘True.’
K’rul shrugged. ‘The only thing you two yield is your choice of Warrens. In fact, given your obsession, it seems that you will surrender them entirely in favour of a throne that may never appear. That of course is your choice.’
Telorast turned to her companion. ‘I see no reason to remain here, Curdle. Do you?’
‘None at all!’ Curdle replied. ‘K’rul, we accept your bargain! Where then are these unclaimed gates?’
‘Here and there. Follow the scent of magic and you will find them.’
Scabandari gasped as the two Tiste women seemed to blur, vanishing inside twin burgeoning clouds that moments later manifested as a pair of dragons. Wings hammering the air, scattering sparks from the bonfire, they lunged upward into the darkness.
In their sudden absence, no one spoke.
Then Scabandari gestured with his sword. ‘Who is this giant?’
As attention fixed upon the huge stranger, the man straightened, leaning against a column. ‘I am Kanyn Thrall. Fever has taken me and I shall soon be dead. Yet within, I feel the power of my soul. Sufficient, I should think, for one last service to you, Ardata—’
He got no further, as Skillen Droe leapt forward, wings wide, one clawed hand reaching out to grasp him. The bones of the wings seemed to crackle as the assassin carried Kanyn Thrall upward.
Ardata shrieked.
The winged assassin plunged into the maw of the gate of Starvald Demelain. Both vanished. An instant later, so too did the gate itself, like an iris closing until swallowed by the night.
Uncomprehending, Scabandari stared first at K’rul, and then at Ardata. ‘What just happened?’ he asked.
‘The gate is sealed,’ replied K’rul.
Ardata turned on him. ‘Deceit! You planned this!’
‘Don’t be a fool!’ snapped K’rul. ‘We knew nothing about that Thel Akai!’
‘And Skillen?’
‘Has a mind of his own. And really, should that surprise either of us, Ardata?’
‘Then – he has gone into the Draconean realm? Has he lost his mind! They will tear him to pieces!’
