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Sha’ik blinked. He was wearing armour. White, enamelled, scarred and stained with use. A long, narrow-bladed sword hung at his hip. After a moment, she sighed. ‘And so we all make preparations…’
‘As you have observed before, Mathok has over three hundred warriors guarding this palace, Chosen One. Guarding… you.’
‘He exaggerates the risk. The Malazans are far too busy-’
‘The danger he anticipates, Chosen One, lies not with the Malazans.’
She studied him. ‘You look exhausted, L’oric. I suggest you return to your tent and get some rest. I shall have need for you on the morrow.’
‘You will not heed my warning?’
‘The goddess protects me. I have nothing to fear. Besides,’ she smiled, ‘Mathok has three hundred of his chosen warriors guarding this palace.’
‘Sha’ik, there will be a convergence this night. You have readers of the Deck among your advisers. Command they field their cards, and all that I say will be confirmed. Ascendant powers are gathering. The stench of treachery is in the air.’
She waved a hand. ‘None of it matters, L’oric. I cannot be touched. Nor will the goddess be denied.’
He stepped closer, his eyes wide. ‘Chosen One! Raraku is awakening !’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Can you not hear it?’
‘The rage of the goddess consumes all, L’oric. If you can hear the voice of the Holy Desert, then it is Raraku’s death-cry. The Whirlwind shall devour this night. And any ascendant power foolish enough to approach will be annihilated. The goddess, L’oric, will not be denied. ’
He stared at her a moment longer, then seemed to sag beneath his armour. He drew a hand across his eyes, as if seeking to claw some nightmarish vision from his sight. Then, with a nod, he swung about and strode towards the doorway.
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Sha’ik blinked. He was wearing armour. White, enamelled, scarred and stained with use. A long, narrow-bladed sword hung at his hip. After a moment, she sighed. ‘And so we all make preparations…’
‘As you have observed before, Mathok has over three hundred warriors guarding this palace, Chosen One. Guarding… you.’
‘He exaggerates the risk. The Malazans are far too busy-’
‘The danger he anticipates, Chosen One, lies not with the Malazans.’
She studied him. ‘You look exhausted, L’oric. I suggest you return to your tent and get some rest. I shall have need for you on the morrow.’
‘You will not heed my warning?’
‘The goddess protects me. I have nothing to fear. Besides,’ she smiled, ‘Mathok has three hundred of his chosen warriors guarding this palace.’
‘Sha’ik, there will be a convergence this night. You have readers of the Deck among your advisers. Command they field their cards, and all that I say will be confirmed. Ascendant powers are gathering. The stench of treachery is in the air.’
She waved a hand. ‘None of it matters, L’oric. I cannot be touched. Nor will the goddess be denied.’
He stepped closer, his eyes wide. ‘Chosen One! Raraku is awakening !’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Can you not hear it?’
‘The rage of the goddess consumes all, L’oric. If you can hear the voice of the Holy Desert, then it is Raraku’s death-cry. The Whirlwind shall devour this night. And any ascendant power foolish enough to approach will be annihilated. The goddess, L’oric, will not be denied. ’
He stared at her a moment longer, then seemed to sag beneath his armour. He drew a hand across his eyes, as if seeking to claw some nightmarish vision from his sight. Then, with a nod, he swung about and strode towards the doorway.
‘Wait!’ Sha’ik moved past him then halted.
Voices sounded from beyond the canvas walls.
‘Let him pass!’ she cried.
Two guards stumbled in, dragging a man between them. Smeared in dust and sweat, he was unable to even stand, so exhausted and battered was he. One of the guards barked, ‘It is Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas. One of Leoman’s officers.’
‘Chosen One!’ the man gasped. ‘I am the third rider Leoman has sent to you! I found the bodies of the others-assassins pursued me almost to your very palace!’
Sha’ik’s face darkened with fury. ‘Get Mathok,’ she snapped to one of the guards. ‘L’oric, gift this man some healing, to aid in his recovery.’
The High Mage stepped forward, settled a hand on Corabb’s shoulder.
The desert warrior’s breathing slowed, and he slowly straightened. ‘Leoman sends his greetings, Chosen One. He wishes to know of Mathok’s deployment-’
‘Corabb,’ Sha’ik cut in. ‘You will return to Leoman-with an escort. My orders to him are as follows-are you listening?’
He nodded.
‘Leoman is to ride immediately back to me. He is to take over command of my armies.’
Corabb blinked. ‘Chosen One?’
‘Leoman of the Flails is to assume command of my armies. Before the dawn. L’oric, go to Korbolo Dom and convey to him my summons. He is to attend me immediately.’
L’oric hesitated, then nodded. ‘As you command, Chosen One. I will take my leave of you now.’
He exited the chamber, made his way through the intervening rooms and passageways, passing guard after guard, seeing weapons drawn and feeling hard eyes on him. Korbolo Dom would be a fool to attempt to reach her with his assassins. Even so, the night had begun, and in the oasis beyond starlight now played on drawn blades.
Emerging onto the concourse before the palace, L’oric paused. His warren was unveiled, and he made that fact visible through a spark-filled penumbra surrounding his person. He wanted no-one to make any fatal mistakes. Feeling strangely exposed none the less, he set out towards Korbolo Dom’s command tent.
The Dogslayers were ready in their reserve trenches, a ceaseless rustling of weapons and armour and muted conversations that fell still further as he strode past, only to rise again in his wake. These soldiers, L’oric well knew, had by choice and by circumstance made of themselves a separate force. Marked by the butchery of their deeds. By the focus of Malazan outrage. They know that no quarter will be given them . Their bluster was betrayed by diffidence, their reputed savagery streaked now with glimmers of fear. And their lives were in Korbolo Dom’s stained hands. Entirely. They will not sleep this night .
