Steven Erikson - Deadhouse Gates

'How do you feel, Icarium?'

He moved slightly, winced. 'I–I am injured.'

'Aye. I'm afraid I gave away my last two elixirs, and so could not properly heal you.'

Icarium managed a smile. 'I am certain, as always, that the need was great.'

'You may not think so, I'm afraid. I saved the lives of two dogs.'

Icarium's smile broadened. 'They must have been worthy beasts. I look forward to that tale. Help me up, please.'

'Are you certain?'

'Yes.'

Mappo supported Icarium as he struggled to his feet. The Jhag tottered, then found his balance. He raised his head and looked around. 'Where — where are we?'

'What do you remember?'

'I–I remember nothing. No, wait. We'd sighted a demon — an aptorian, it was, and decided to follow it. Yes, that I recall. That.'

'Ah, well, we are far to the south, now, Icarium. Cast out from a warren. Your head struck a rock and you lost consciousness. Following that aptorian was a mistake.'

'Evidently. How — how long?'

'A day, Icarium. Just a day.'

The Jhag had steadied, visibly regaining strength until Mappo felt it safe to step away, though one hand remained on Icarium's shoulder.

'West of here lies the Jhag Odhan,' the Trell said.

'Yes, a good direction. I admit, Mappo, I feel close this time. Very close.'

The Trell nodded.

'It's dawn? Have you packed up our camp?'

'Aye, though I suggest we walk but a short distance today — until you're fully recovered.'

'Yes, a wise decision.'

It was another hour before they were ready to leave, for Icarium needed to oil his bow and set a whetstone to his sword. Mappo waited patiently, seated on a boulder, until the Jhag finally straightened and turned to him, then nodded.

They set off, westward.

After a time, as they walked on the plain, Icarium glanced at Mappo. 'What would I do without you, my friend?'

The nest of lines framing the Trell's eyes flinched, then he smiled ruefully as he considered his reply. 'Perish the thought.'

As it reached into the wasteland known as the Jhag Odhan, the plain stretched before them, unbroken.

Hood's sprites are revealed

the disordered host

Whispering of deaths

in wing-flap chorus

Dour music has its own

beauty, for the song of ruin

is most fertile.

Wickan Dirge

Fisher

The young widow, a small clay flask clutched in her hands, left the horsewife's yurt and walked out into the grassland beyond the camp. The sky overhead was empty and, for the woman, lifeless. Her bare feet stepped heavily, toes snagging in the yellowed grass.

When she'd gone thirty paces she stopped and lowered herself to her knees. She faced the vast Wickan plain, her hands resting on her swollen belly, the horsewife's flask smooth, polished and warm beneath the calluses.

The searching was complete, the conclusions inescapable. The child within her was … empty. A thing without a soul. The vision of the horsewife's pale, sweat-beaded face rose to hover before the young woman, her words whispering like the wind. Even a warlock must ride a soul — the children they claimed were no different from children they did not claim. Do you understand? What grows within you possesses. . nothing. It has been cursed — for reasons only the spirits know.

The child within you must be returned to the earth.

She unstoppered the flask. There would be pain, at least to begin with, then a cooling numbness. No-one from the camp would watch, all eyes averted from this time of shame.

A storm cloud hung on the north horizon. She had not noticed it before. It swelled, rolled closer, towering and dark.

The widow raised the flask to her lips.

A hand swept over her shoulder and clamped onto her wrist. The young woman cried out and twisted around to see the horsewife, her breath coming in gasps, her eyes wide as she stared at the storm cloud. The flask fell to the ground. Figures from the camp were now running towards the two women.

The widow searched the old woman's weathered face, seeing fear and … hope ? 'What? What is it?'

The horsewife seemed unable to speak. She continued staring northward.

The storm cloud darkened the rolling hills. The widow turned and gasped. The cloud was not a cloud. It was a swarm, a seething mass of black, striding like a giant towards them, tendrils spinning off, then coming around again to rejoin the main body.

Terror gripped the widow. Pain shot up her arm from where the horsewife still clutched her wrist, a hold that threatened to snap bones.

Flies.' Oh, spirits below — flies. .

The swarm grew closer, a flapping, tumbling nightmare.

The horsewife screamed in wordless anguish, as if giving voice to a thousand grieving souls. Releasing the widow's wrist, she fell to her knees.

The young woman's heart hammered with sudden realization.

No, not flies. Crows. Crows, so many crows -

Deep within her, the child stirred.

TRIBES OF THE SEVEN SUBCONTINENTS

Arak:Pan'potsun Odhan

Bhilard:east of Nenoth Odhan

Can'eld:northeast of Ubaryd

Debrahl:north regions

Dhis'bahl:Omari and Nahal Hills

Gral:Ehrlitan foothills down to Pan'potsun

Kherahn Dhobri:Geleen Plain

Khundryl:west of Nenoth Odhan

Pardu:north of Geleen Grasslands

Semk:Karas Hills and Steppes

Tithan:south of Sialk

Tregyn:west of Sanimon

SEVEN CITIES (Bisbrna and Debrand Language

(Selected Words)

bhok'arala:a squall of cliff-dwelling winged monkeys (common)

(bhok'aral:singular)

bloodfly:a biting insect

chigger fleas:windborne fleas of the desert

dhenrabi:a large marine carnivore

Dryjhna:the Apocalypse

durhang:an opiate

emrag:an edible cactus favoured by Trell

emulor:a poison derived from flowers

enkar'al:a winged reptile equivalent in size to a horse (very rare)

esanthan'el: a dog-sized winged reptile

guldindha:a broad-leafed tree

jegura:a medicinal cactus

kethra knife:a fighting weapon

Marrok:dry-season siesta

Mezla:vaguely pejorative name for Malazans

odhan:plains, wastelands

rhizan:a squirrel-sized winged lizard (common)

sawr'ak:a thin light beer served cold

sepah:unleavened bread

She'gai:a hot wind of the dry season

simharal:a seller of children

tapu:a food-hawker

tapuharal:a seller of goat meat (cooked)

tapusepah:a seller of bread

taputasr:a seller of pastries

tasr:sepah with honey

telaba:a sea cloak of the Dosii (Dosin Pali)

tralb:a poison derived from mushrooms

White Paralt:a poison derived from spiders

PLACE NAMES

Aren:Holy City and site of Imperial Headquarters

Balahn(Battle of)

Bat'rol:a small village near Hissar