Orb Sceptre Throne by Ian C. Esslemont Read Free Book Online Page B

Redeemer. And the Lesser, his Guardian. And this one of my friend. There is a tension. A stirring. I feel it.’ He voice softened almost into silence. ‘I was fooling myself. Nothing is ever finished.’
    ‘The sword is shattered, is it not?’
    ‘Yes, it is shattered.’
    ‘And the Lord of Moon’s Spawn is gone.’
    ‘Yes, he is gone.’
    Jiwan was uncertain. ‘You fear, then, the Malazans shall be emboldened?’
    The Warlord glanced at him, surprise showing on his blunt, brutal features. ‘The Malazans? No, not them. With Rake gone … It is his absence that troubles me.’
    Jiwan bowed, taking his leave. He knew it was right and proper that the Warlord should mourn his friend, but he, Jiwan, must think first of his people. An enemy was encamped on their borders to the north and the south, an enemy that was solid and real, not the haunted dreams of some troubled old man. The damnable Malazans. Who else would be emboldened by the fall of Anomander? They might seize this opportunity. But he was reluctant to speak of it yet. Loyalty and gratitude to the Warlord still swayed too many hearts among the elders. This too he understood. For he was not of stone; he felt it as well. Yet times move on – one must not remain a captive of the past.
    He came to a decision. Changing direction, he headed instead to the corral. He would send word to the north for more warriors to gather. They must be ready should the Warlord call upon them … or not.
     

    The nights in Darujhistan were far more hushed now than he could ever remember. Muted. One could perhaps even call the unaccustomed mood sombre. Ill-fitting airs for the city of blue-flame, of passions, or, as that toad friend of his named it, the city of dreams.
    For his part Rallick hoped the mood was not one of tensed expectation.
    It was past the sixth hour of night by the Wardens’ bells. He stood at an unremarkable intersection in the Gadrobi district. Unremarkable but for one very remarkable thing: here, Hood, self-appointed godhead of death, met his end. Followed shortly thereafter by his destroyer, Anomander Rake, Lord of Moon’s Spawn.
    Events dire enough to shake the confidence of anyone.
    No second-or third-storey lights shone in any window facing this crossroads. All forsook it. Patrons refused to enter the shops facing the site, and so the surrounding blocks progressively became abandoned. For who would live overlooking such an ill-omened locale? Weeds now poked up through cobbles. Doors gaped open, the empty shop-houses looted. In the heart of the most crowded and largest metropolis of the continent lay this blot of abandonment and death.
    The thought caused Rallick to shift uneasily.
Dead heart
.
    Yet not completely lifeless; another figure came walking up, boots kicking through the litter, his hands tucked beneath his dark cloak. Rallick inclined his chin in greeting. ‘Krute.’
    ‘Rallick.’
    ‘Survived the guild bloodletting, I see. I’m pleased.’
    A soft grunt. ‘Too few of us old-timers did. Gadrobi’s my parish now. Shows you one way to get promoted.’
    ‘Congratulations.’
    ‘Thanks.’ The man peered about. The wrinkles framing his small eyes tightened. ‘But … I gotta wonder … who’s really in charge?’
    Familiar cold fingers brushed Rallick’s neck. ‘Vorcan’s not interested, Krute,’ he said, his voice flat. ‘As the guild now knows, she has a seat on the Council.’
    ‘That talking shop? Sounds like a front to me.’
    ‘She’s moved on. As have I.’
    The man gave an exaggerated nod. ‘Oh, so you say. So you say.’ He laughed, more like a grunt. ‘There’re some in the guild who say you
have
moved on – body and soul. Those who hold to the Rallick Nom cult.’ He laughed again, as if at the stupidity of people. ‘And yet … got something to show you.’ He edged his head aside. ‘This way.’
    After a measured glance all round, Rallick followed. To his ears his boots crackling on the gravel and debris of neglect