‘Kalam still lives, Quick Ben. The Deadhouse has him, beyond the reach of time itself. Yet he will heal. The poison will degrade, become inert. Shadowthrone saved the assassin’s life-’
‘Why?’
‘Now that is a harder question to answer,’ Cotillion admitted. ‘Perhaps simply to defy Laseen, and you should not be surprised if that is his only reason. Believe me, for Shadowthrone, it suffices.’ Be glad, Ben Adaephon Debt, that 1 do not tell you his real reason.
Trull Sengar and Onrack drew close, then halted. The Tiste Edur’s new stone-tipped spear was strapped to his back; he was wearing a long cape against the chill, the wool dyed deep burgundy-one of the more useful treasures found in the longhouse. It was held in place by an exquisite silver brooch depicting some sort of stylized hammer. At his side, Onrack the Broken’s skeletal frame was so battered, dented and fractured it was a wonder that the warrior was still in one piece.
The T’lan Imass spoke. ‘This lake, god. The shore opposite…’
‘What of it?’
‘It does not exist.’
Cotillion nodded.
Trull Sengar asked, ‘How can that be? Onrack says it’s not a gate, on the other side. It’s not anything at all.’
Cotillion ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his chin-realizing he needed to shave-and squinted out on the water. ‘The other side is… unresolved.’
‘What does that mean?’ Quick Ben demanded.
‘To fully understand, you will have to go there, wizard. The three of you-that is the path of your journey. And you must leave soon.’
‘Forgive us for being unimpressed,’ the Tiste Edur said drily. ‘The last nightmare you sent us into has made us rather reluctant adventurers. We need a better reason, Cotillion.’
‘I imagine you do.’
‘We’re waiting,’ Quick Ben said, crossing his arms.
‘Alas, I cannot help you. Any explanation I attempt will affect your perception of what you will find, at your journey’s end. And that must not be allowed to happen, because the manner in which you perceive will shape and indeed define the reality that awaits you.’ He sighed again. ‘I know, that’s not very helpful.’
‘Then summon Shadowthrone,’ Trull Sengar said. ‘Maybe he can do better.’
Cotillion shrugged, then nodded.
A dozen heartbeats later a mostly formless shadow rose in ‘ their midst, from which emerged a knobby cane at the end of a skinny, gnarled arm. The god glanced about, then down, to find itself ankle-deep in water. Hissing, Shadowthrone picked up the tattered ends of his cloak then pranced onto dry land.
‘Oh, wasn’t that amusing?’ he sang. ‘Wretches, all of. you. What do you want? I’m busy. Do you understand? Busy.’
Onrack pointed one skeletal arm out towards the lake. ‘Cotillion would send us across this water, on a mission he will not explain, to achieve goals he refuses to define, in a place he cannot describe. We therefore call upon you, formless one, to deliver what he will not.’
Shadowthrone giggled.
Cotillion glanced away, suspecting what was coming.
‘Delighted to, bony one. I respond in this manner. It is as Cotillion believes. The rooster died of grief.’
A curse from Quick Ben as Shadowthrone then swirled into nothingness.
Cotillion turned away. ‘Supplies await you outside the longhouse. When you return down here, a boat will have been readied. Make your goodbyes to Minala and the children as brief as possible. The way ahead is long and arduous, and we are running out of time.’
The Undying Gratitude heeled hard to starboard, the gale bitter with the cold reek of ice. Pulling and half climbing his way across the aft deck as the crew struggled against the sudden onslaught, First Mate Skorgen Kaban reached the pilot station where Shurq Elalle, held in place by a leather harness, stood with legs planted wide.
She seemed impervious to the plunging temperature, with not even a hint of colour slapped to her cheeks by the buffeting wind. An uncanny woman indeed. Uncanny, insatiable, unearthly, she was like a sea goddess of old, a glamoured succubus luring them all to their doom-but no, that was not a good thought, not now, not ever. Or at least for as long as he sailed with her.
‘Captain! It’s going to be close-them mountains of ice are closin’ on the cut, maybe faster than we are! Where in the Errant’s name did they come from?’
‘We’ll make it,’ Shurq Elalle asserted. ‘Come round into the lee of the island-it’s the northwest shore that’s going to get hammered. I’d be amazed if the citadel’s walls on that side survive what’s coming. Look at the Reach, Pretty, it’s nothing but fangs of ice-wherever all this has come from, it’s devouring the entire coast.’