Toll the Hounds (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 8)

Across from him, Nimandcr did the same.

The sun was beginning to rise, bleeding light into the gloom of this forest. With it came the faint smell of the sea.

‘Herald of Mother Dark,’ Skintick said quietly, as if measuring the worth of the words. ‘Mortal Sword. Bold titles, Nimander. Why, I’ve thought of one for each of us too-not much else to occupy my time on that endless walk. Skintick, the Blind Jester of House Dark. Do you like it?’

‘You’re not blind.’

‘I’m not?’

‘What is it you wished to talk about?’ Nimander asked. ‘Not silly titles, I should think.’

‘That depends. This Clip proudly asserts his own, after all.’

‘You do not believe him?’

A half-smile. ‘Cousin, there is very little I truly believe. Beyond the oxy-moronic fact that supposedly intelligent people seem to revel in being stupid. For this, I blame the chaotic tumult of emotions that devour reason as water devours snow.’

‘ “Emotions are the spawn of true motivations, whether those motivations be conscious or otherwise,”‘ said Nimander.

‘The man remembers what he reads. Making him decidedly dangerous, not to mention occasionally tedious.’

‘What are we to discuss?’ Nimander asked, in some exasperation. ‘He can claim any title he wishes-we can do nothing about it, can we?’

‘Well, we can choose to follow, or not follow.’

‘Even that is too late. We have followed. Into Kurald Galain, and now here. And in the time ahead, to the journey’s very end.’

‘To stand before Anomander Rake, yes.’ Skintick gestured at the surrounding forest. ‘Or we could just walk away. Leave Clip to his dramatic accounting with the Son of Darkness.’

‘Where would we go, then, Skintick? We don’t even know where we are. What realm is this? What world lies beyond this forest? Cousin, we have nowhere else to go.’

cross from him, Nimandcr did the same.

The sun was beginning to rise, bleeding light into the gloom of this forest. With it came the faint smell of the sea.

‘Herald of Mother Dark,’ Skintick said quietly, as if measuring the worth of the words. ‘Mortal Sword. Bold titles, Nimander. Why, I’ve thought of one for each of us too-not much else to occupy my time on that endless walk. Skintick, the Blind Jester of House Dark. Do you like it?’

‘You’re not blind.’

‘I’m not?’

‘What is it you wished to talk about?’ Nimander asked. ‘Not silly titles, I should think.’

‘That depends. This Clip proudly asserts his own, after all.’

‘You do not believe him?’

A half-smile. ‘Cousin, there is very little I truly believe. Beyond the oxy-moronic fact that supposedly intelligent people seem to revel in being stupid. For this, I blame the chaotic tumult of emotions that devour reason as water devours snow.’

‘ “Emotions are the spawn of true motivations, whether those motivations be conscious or otherwise,”‘ said Nimander.

‘The man remembers what he reads. Making him decidedly dangerous, not to mention occasionally tedious.’

‘What are we to discuss?’ Nimander asked, in some exasperation. ‘He can claim any title he wishes-we can do nothing about it, can we?’

‘Well, we can choose to follow, or not follow.’

‘Even that is too late. We have followed. Into Kurald Galain, and now here. And in the time ahead, to the journey’s very end.’

‘To stand before Anomander Rake, yes.’ Skintick gestured at the surrounding forest. ‘Or we could just walk away. Leave Clip to his dramatic accounting with the Son of Darkness.’

‘Where would we go, then, Skintick? We don’t even know where we are. What realm is this? What world lies beyond this forest? Cousin, we have nowhere else to go.’

‘Nowhere, and anywhere. In the circumstances, Nimander, the former leads to the latter, like reaching a door everyone believes barred, locked tight, and lo, it opens wide at the touch. Nowhere and anywhere are states of mind. See this for¬est around us? Is it a barrier, or ten thousand paths leading into mystery and won¬der? Whichever you decide, the forest itself remains unchanged. It does not transform to suit your decision.’

‘And where is the joke in that, cousin?’

‘Laugh or cry, simple states of mind.’

‘And?’

Skintick glanced away, back towards the camp. ‘I find Clip… amusing.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’

‘He has created a vast, portentous moment, the moment when he finally stands face to face with the Son of Darkness. He hears martial music, the thunder of drums, or howl of horns sweepingt round the high, swaying lower where this fated metting no doubt will occur. He sees few in Anomander Rake’s eyes, in answer to his own fury.’

‘Then he is a fool.’

‘Us young folk eommonly are. We should tell him.’

‘Tell him what? That he is a fool?’

Skintick’s smile broadened briefly, then he met Nimander’s eyes once more. ‘Something more subtle, I should think.’

‘Such as?’

‘The forest does not change.’

Now it was Nimander’s turn to glance away, to squint into the greyness of dawn, the misty wreaths shrouding the ankles of the trees. She died in my arms. Then Andarist died, bleeding out on to the cobbles. And Phaed was pulled from my hands. Thrown through a window, down to her death. I met the eyes of her killer, and saw that he had killed her… for me.

The forest does not change.

‘There are,’ Skintick said in a low voice, ‘things worth considering, Nimander. We are seven Tiste Andii, and Clip. So, eight. Wherever we now are, it is not our world. Yet, I am certain, it is the same world we have come to know, to even think of, as our own. The world of Drift Avalii, our first island prison. The world of the Malazan Empire, Adjunct Tavore, and the Isle that was our second prison. The same world. Perhaps this here is the very land where waits Anomander Rake-why would Clip take us through Kurald Galain to some place far from the Son of Darkness? We might find him another league onward through this forest.’

‘Why not to his front door?’

Skintick grinned his pleased grin. ‘Indeed, why not? In any case, Anomander Rake will not be alone. There will be other Tiste Andii with him. A community. Nimander, we have earned such a gift, haven’t we?’