‘But you think you’ve already figured that out.’

Lostara wasn’t fooled by the High Mage’s coy smile. The idiot hasn’t a clue. He’s just like the rest of us.

Adjunct Tavore made her entrance then, dragging Sinn by one skinny arm-and the expression on the girl’s face was a dark storm of indignation and fury. The older woman pulled out the chair opposite Keneb and sat Sinn down in it, then walked to position herself at one end, where she remained standing. When she spoke, her tone was uncharacteristically harsh, as if rage seethed just beneath the surface. ‘The gods can have their war. We will not be used, not by them, not by anyone. I do not care how history judges us-I hope that’s well understood.’

Lostara found herself captivated; she could not take her eyes off the Adjunct, seeing at last a side of her that had remained hidden for so long-that indeed might never before have revealed itself. It was clear that the others were equally shocked, as not one spoke to fill the silence when Tavore paused-showing them all the cold iron of her eyes.

‘Fiddler’s reading made it plain,’ she resumed. ‘That reading was an insult. To all of us.’ She began drawing off her leather gloves with a kind of ferocious precision. ‘No one owns our minds. Not Empress Laseen, not the gods themselves. In a short time we will speak with King Tehol of Lether. We will formalize our intention to depart this kingdom, marching east.’ She slapped the first glove down. ‘We will request the necessary permissions to ensure our peaceful passage through the petty kingdoms beyond the Letherii border. If this cannot be achieved, then we will cut our way through.’ Down thumped the second glove.

If there was any doubt in this chamber that this woman commanded the Bonehunters, it had been obliterated. Succinctly.

‘Presumably,’ she went on, her voice a rasp, ‘you wish to learn of our destination. We are marching to war. We are marching to an enemy that does not know we even exist.’ Her icy gaze fixed on Quick Ben and it was a measure of the man’s courage that he did not flinch. ‘High Mage, your dissembling is at an end. Know that I value your penchant for consorting with the gods. You will now report to me what you believe is coming.’

Quick Ben licked his lips. ‘Shall I be specific or will a summary suffice, Adjunct?’

She said nothing.

The High Mage shrugged. ‘It will be war, yes, but a messy one. The Crippled God’s been busy, but his efforts have been, without exception, defensive, for the Fallen One also happens to know what is coming. The bastard’s desperate, probably terrified, and thus far, he has failed more often than succeeded.’

‘Why?’

He blinked. ‘Well, people have been getting in the way-’

‘People, yes. Mortals.’

Quick Ben nodded, eyes narrowing. ‘We have been the weapons of the gods.’

‘Tell me, High Mage, how does it feel?’

Her questions struck from unanticipated directions, Lostara could see, and it was clear that Quick Ben was mentally reeling. This was a sharp talent, a surprising one, and it told Lostara that Adjunct Tavore possessed traits that made her a formidable tactician-but why had none of them seen this before?

‘Adjunct,’ the wizard ventured, ‘the gods have inevitably regretted using me.’

The answer evidently satisfied her. ‘Go on, High Mage.’

‘They will chain him again. This time it will be absolute, and once chained, they will suck everything out of him-like bloodflies-’

‘Are the gods united on this?’

‘Of course not-excuse me, Adjunct. Rather, the gods are never united, even when in agreement. Betrayals are virtually guaranteed-which is why I cannot fathom Shadowthrone’s thinking. He’s not that stupid-he can’t be that stupid-’

‘He has outwitted you,’ Tavore said. ‘You “cannot fathom” his innermost intentions. High Mage, the first god you have mentioned here is one that most of us wouldn’t expect to be at the forefront of all of this. Hood, yes. Togg, Fanderay-even Fener. Or Oponn. And what of the Elder Gods? Mael, K’rul, Kilmandaros. No. Instead, you speak of Shadowthrone, the upstart-’

‘The once Emperor of the Malazan Empire,’ cut in Keneb.

Quick Ben scowled. ‘Aye, even back then-and it’s not easy to admit this-he was a wily bastard. The times I thought I’d worked round him, beat him clean, it turned out he had been playing me all along. He was the ruler of shadows long before he even ascended to that title. Dancer gave him the civilized face, that mask of honest morality-just as Cotillion does now. But don’t be fooled, those two are ruthless-none of us mortals are worth a damned thing, except as a means to an end-’

‘And what, High Mage, would that end be?’

Quick Ben threw up his hands and leaned back. ‘I have little more than rude guesses, Adjunct.’

But Lostara saw something shining in the wizard’s eyes, as if he had been stirred into wakefulness from a long, long sleep. She wondered if this was how he had been with Whiskeyjack, with Dujek Onearm. No wonder they saw him as their shaved knuckle in the hole.

‘I would hear those guesses,’ the Adjunct said.

‘The pantheon comes crashing down-and what emerges from the dust and ashes is almost unrecognizable. The same for sorcery-the warrens-the realm of K’rul. All fundamentally changed.’

‘Yet, one assumes, at the pinnacle… Shadowthrone and Cotillion.’

‘A safe assumption,’ Quick Ben admitted, ‘which is why I don’t trust it.’

Tavore looked startled. ‘Altruism from those two?’

‘I don’t even believe in altruism, Adjunct.’

‘Thus,’ she observed, ‘your confusion.’

The wizard’s ascetic face was pinched, as if he was tasting something unbearably foul. ‘Who’s to say that the changes create something better, something more equitable? Who’s to say that what emerges isn’t even worse than what we have right now? Yes, it might seem a good move-driving that mob of miserable gods off some cliff, or some other place that puts them out of reach, that puts us out of their reach.’ He was musing now, as if unaware of his audience. ‘But consider that eventuality. Without the gods, we’re on our own. And with us on our own-Abyss fend!-what mischief we might do! What grotesque invention to plague the world!’

‘But… not entirely on our own.’

‘The fun would pall,’ Quick Ben said, as if irritated with the objection. ‘Shadowthrone has to realize that. Who would he have left to play with? And with K’rul a corpse, sorcery will rot, grow septic-it will kill whoever dares use it.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Tavore with a certain remorselessness, ‘it is not Shadowthrone’s intent to reshape anything. Rather, to end it once and for all. To wipe the world clean.’

‘I doubt that. Kallor tried it and the lesson wasn’t lost on anyone-how could it be? Gods know, Kellanved then went and claimed that destroyed warren for the empire, so he couldn’t be blind…’ His words fell away, but Lostara saw how his thoughts suddenly raced down a new, treacherous track, destination unknown.

Yes, they claimed Kallor’s legacy. But… what does that signify?

No one spoke for a time. Blistig stood rooted-he had not moved from the moment the Adjunct began speaking, and what should have been a confused expression was nowhere to be seen on his rough features. Instead, he was closed up with a kind of obstinate belligerence, as if everything he had heard thus far wasn’t relevant, could not rattle the cage-for even as the cage imprisoned him within it, so it kept everything else at a safe distance.

Sinn sat perched on the oversized chair, glowering at the tabletop, pretending not to listen to anything being said here, but she was paler than usual.

Keneb leaned forward on his elbows, his hands against the sides of his face: the pose of a man wishing to be elsewhere.

‘It comes down to gates,’ Quick Ben muttered. ‘I don’t know how, or even why, but my gut tells me it comes down to gates. Kurald Emurlahn, Kurald Galain, Starvald Demelain-the old ones-and the Azath. No one has plumbed the secrets of the Houses as they have, not even Gothos. Windows on to the past, into the future, paths leading to places no mortal has ever visited. They have crawled up and down the skeleton of existence, eager as bone-grubs-’