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

‘In my pit? No, they cannot climb the sides.’

‘Build your house here.’

‘But-’

‘Use the rim as your foundation.’

‘But houses have corners!’

‘Make it a tower.’

‘A house… within the blood of dragons? But there are no sunsets.’

A house within the blood of dragons. What would happen? What would change! Why do the spirits deny him this? ‘If you are tired of being lost,’ Nimander said, ‘build a house. But before you are done, before you set that last stone, walk into it.’ He paused and looked round, then grunted a laugh. ‘You won’t have any choice; you will be building the thing from the inside out.’

‘But then who will finish it?’

Nimander looked away. He was trapped here, possibly for ever. If he did as Gothos did, if he remained inside the house to await its completion, he might find a way out. He might walk those hidden pathways. And in so doing, he would doom this creature to eternity here. This child, this mason.

And that I cannot do. I am not like Gothos. I am not that cruel.

He heard laughter in his head. Phaed, shrieking with laughter. Then she said, ‘Don’t be an idiot. Take the way out. Leave this fool to his building blocks! He’s pathetic!’

‘I will set the last stone,’ Nimander said. ‘Just make sure it’s small enough for mo to lift and push into place.’ And he looked up, and he saw that the giant was smiling, and no, it no longer looked like a child, and in its eyes something shone and its light flowed down, bathed Nimander.

‘I am different,’ the Elder said in a deep, warm voice, ‘when I build,’

‘Get him out,’Desra said. ‘I cannot.’

‘Why?’

The Jaghut blinked like a lizard. ‘I don’t know how. The gate is Omtose Phel-lack, but the realm beyond is something else, something I want nothing to do with.’

‘But you made this gate-and gates open from both sides.’

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‘In my pit? No, they cannot climb the sides.’

‘Build your house here.’

‘But-’

‘Use the rim as your foundation.’

‘But houses have corners!’

‘Make it a tower.’

‘A house… within the blood of dragons? But there are no sunsets.’

A house within the blood of dragons. What would happen? What would change! Why do the spirits deny him this? ‘If you are tired of being lost,’ Nimander said, ‘build a house. But before you are done, before you set that last stone, walk into it.’ He paused and looked round, then grunted a laugh. ‘You won’t have any choice; you will be building the thing from the inside out.’

‘But then who will finish it?’

Nimander looked away. He was trapped here, possibly for ever. If he did as Gothos did, if he remained inside the house to await its completion, he might find a way out. He might walk those hidden pathways. And in so doing, he would doom this creature to eternity here. This child, this mason.

And that I cannot do. I am not like Gothos. I am not that cruel.

He heard laughter in his head. Phaed, shrieking with laughter. Then she said, ‘Don’t be an idiot. Take the way out. Leave this fool to his building blocks! He’s pathetic!’

‘I will set the last stone,’ Nimander said. ‘Just make sure it’s small enough for mo to lift and push into place.’ And he looked up, and he saw that the giant was smiling, and no, it no longer looked like a child, and in its eyes something shone and its light flowed down, bathed Nimander.

‘I am different,’ the Elder said in a deep, warm voice, ‘when I build,’

‘Get him out,’Desra said. ‘I cannot.’

‘Why?’

The Jaghut blinked like a lizard. ‘I don’t know how. The gate is Omtose Phel-lack, but the realm beyond is something else, something I want nothing to do with.’

‘But you made this gate-and gates open from both sides.’

‘I doubt he could ever find it,’ the Jaghut said. ‘Even assuming anyone lets him get close.’

‘Anyone? Who’s in there with him?’

‘A few million miserable wretches.’

Desra glared at Skintick. ‘How could you let this happen?’ He was weeping and could only shake his head.

‘Do not blame this one,’ the Jaghut said. ‘Do not blame anyone. Accidents hap-pen.’

‘You drugged us,’ Skintick suddenly accused him, his voice harsh with grief.

‘Alas, I did. And I had my reasons for doing so… which seem to have failed. Therefore I must be more… direct, and oh how I dislike being direct. When next you see Anomander, tell him this from me: he chose wisely. Each time, he chose wisely. Tell him, then, that of all whom I ever met, there is but one who has earned my respect, and he is that one.’

A sudden sob from Skintick.

Desra felt strangely shaken by the Jaghut’s words.

‘And,’ the Jaghut then added, ‘for you. Do not trust Kallor.’

Feeling helpless, useless, she stepped closer to the wall of ice, squinted into its dark depths.

‘Careful, woman. That blood pulls hard on you Tiste.’

And yes, she could feel that, but it was nothing to trust, nothing to even pay attention to-it was the lie she had always known, the lie of something better just ahead, of all the questions answered, just ahead. Another step, one more. One more. Time’s dialogue with the living, and time was a deceitful creature, a liar. Time promised everything and delivered nothing.

She stared into the darkness, and thought she saw movement, deep, deep within.

‘No Jaghut is to be trusted,’ Kallor said,’ glaring at the lowering sun. ‘Especially not Gothos.’

Aranatha studied the ancient warrior with an unwavering gaze, and though he would not meet her sister’s eyes, it was clear to Kedeviss that Kallor felt himselfunder siege. A woman’s attention, devastating barrage of inexorable calculation-even a warrior flinched back.

But these were momentary distractions, she knew. Something had happened. Dersa had rushed into the ruin and not returned. Nenanda stood fidgeting, eyes on the crumbled edifice.

‘Some gods are born to suffer,’ Kallor said. ‘You’d be better off heading straight to Coral. Unleash Anomander Rake against that Dying God, if getting this Clip back, is so important to you. At the very least you’ll have your vengeance.’

‘And is vengeance so important?’ Kedeviss asked.

‘Often it’s all there is,’ Kallor replied, still squinting westward.