Read Online A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4 by Steven Erikson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steven Erikson
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the
insect's back – or, alternatively, rub it the wrong way.
'Already? Well, how far under the river are you right now?'
'More than halfway.'
'And that is how many?'
'Vaults? Sixteen. Each one three man-heights by two.'
'All filled?'
'All.'
'Oh. So presumably it's starting to hurt.'
'Bugg's Construction will be the first major enterprise to
collapse.'
'And how many will it drag down with it?'
'No telling. Three, maybe four.'
'I thought you said there was no telling.'
'So don't tell anyone.'
'Good idea. Bugg, I need you to build me a box, to very
specific specifications which I'll come up with later.'
'A box, Master. Wood good enough?'
'What kind of sentence is that? Would good enough.'
'No, wood, you know, the burning kind.'
'Yes, would that wood will do.'
'Size?'
'Absolutely. But no lid.'
'Finally, you're getting specific.'
'I told you I would.'
'What's this box for, Master?'
'I can't tell you, alas. Not specifically. But I need it soon.'
'About the vaults . . .'
'Make ten more, Bugg. Double the size. As for Bugg's
Construction, hold on for a while longer, amass debt, evade
the creditors, keep purchasing materials and stockpiling
them in storage buildings charging exorbitant rent. Oh, and
embezzle all you can.'
'I'll lose my head.'
'Don't worry. Ezgara here has one to spare.'
'Why, thank you.'
'Doesn't even squeak, either.'
'That's a relief. What are you doing now, Master?'
'What's it look like?'
'You're going back to bed.'
'And you need to build a box, Bugg, a most clever box.
Remember, though, no lid.'
'Can I at least ask what it's for?'
Tehol settled back on his bed, studied the blue sky overhead
for a moment, then smiled over at his manservant –
who just happened to be an Elder God. 'Why, comeuppance,
Bugg, what else?'
CHAPTER TWO
The waking moment awaits us all
upon a threshold or where the road turns
if life is pulled, sparks like moths inward
to this single sliver of time gleaming
like sunlight on water, we will accrete
into a mass made small, veined with fears
and shot through with all that's suddenly
precious, and the now is swallowed,
the weight of self a crushing immediacy,
on this day, where the road turns,
comes the waking moment.
Winter Reflections
Corara of Drene
The ascent to the summit began where the Letheriibuilt
road ended. With the river voicing its ceaseless
roar fifteen paces to their left, the roughly shaped
pavestones vanished beneath a black-stoned slide at the
base of a moraine. Uprooted trees reached bent and twisted
arms up through the rubble, jutting limbs from which hung
root tendrils, dripping water. Swaths of forest climbed the
mountainside to the north, on the other side of the river,
and the ragged cliffs edging the tumbling water on that side
were verdant with moss. The opposite mountain, flanking
the trail, was a stark contrast, latticed with fissures, broken,
gouged and mostly treeless. In the midst of this shattered
façade shadows marked out odd regularities, of line and
angle; and upon the trail itself, here and there, broad worn
steps had been carved, eroded by flowing water and
centuries of footfalls.
Seren Pedac believed that a city had once occupied the
entire mountainside, a vertical fortress carved into living
stone. She could make out what she thought were large
gaping windows, and possibly the fragmented ledges of
balconies high up, hazy in the mists. Yet something – something
huge, terrible in its monstrosity – had impacted the
entire side of the mountain, obliterating most of the city in
a single blow. She could almost discern the outline of that
collision, yet among the screes of rubble tracking down
the sundered slopes the only visible stone belonged to the
mountain itself.
They stood at the base of the trail. Seren watched the
lifeless eyes of the Tiste Andii slowly scan upward.
'Well?' she asked.
Silchas Ruin shook his head. 'Not from my people.
K'Chain Che'Malle.'
'A victim of your war?'
He glanced across at her, as if
insect's back – or, alternatively, rub it the wrong way.
'Already? Well, how far under the river are you right now?'
'More than halfway.'
'And that is how many?'
'Vaults? Sixteen. Each one three man-heights by two.'
'All filled?'
'All.'
'Oh. So presumably it's starting to hurt.'
'Bugg's Construction will be the first major enterprise to
collapse.'
'And how many will it drag down with it?'
'No telling. Three, maybe four.'
'I thought you said there was no telling.'
'So don't tell anyone.'
'Good idea. Bugg, I need you to build me a box, to very
specific specifications which I'll come up with later.'
'A box, Master. Wood good enough?'
'What kind of sentence is that? Would good enough.'
'No, wood, you know, the burning kind.'
'Yes, would that wood will do.'
'Size?'
'Absolutely. But no lid.'
'Finally, you're getting specific.'
'I told you I would.'
'What's this box for, Master?'
'I can't tell you, alas. Not specifically. But I need it soon.'
'About the vaults . . .'
'Make ten more, Bugg. Double the size. As for Bugg's
Construction, hold on for a while longer, amass debt, evade
the creditors, keep purchasing materials and stockpiling
them in storage buildings charging exorbitant rent. Oh, and
embezzle all you can.'
'I'll lose my head.'
'Don't worry. Ezgara here has one to spare.'
'Why, thank you.'
'Doesn't even squeak, either.'
'That's a relief. What are you doing now, Master?'
'What's it look like?'
'You're going back to bed.'
'And you need to build a box, Bugg, a most clever box.
Remember, though, no lid.'
'Can I at least ask what it's for?'
Tehol settled back on his bed, studied the blue sky overhead
for a moment, then smiled over at his manservant –
who just happened to be an Elder God. 'Why, comeuppance,
Bugg, what else?'
CHAPTER TWO
The waking moment awaits us all
upon a threshold or where the road turns
if life is pulled, sparks like moths inward
to this single sliver of time gleaming
like sunlight on water, we will accrete
into a mass made small, veined with fears
and shot through with all that's suddenly
precious, and the now is swallowed,
the weight of self a crushing immediacy,
on this day, where the road turns,
comes the waking moment.
Winter Reflections
Corara of Drene
The ascent to the summit began where the Letheriibuilt
road ended. With the river voicing its ceaseless
roar fifteen paces to their left, the roughly shaped
pavestones vanished beneath a black-stoned slide at the
base of a moraine. Uprooted trees reached bent and twisted
arms up through the rubble, jutting limbs from which hung
root tendrils, dripping water. Swaths of forest climbed the
mountainside to the north, on the other side of the river,
and the ragged cliffs edging the tumbling water on that side
were verdant with moss. The opposite mountain, flanking
the trail, was a stark contrast, latticed with fissures, broken,
gouged and mostly treeless. In the midst of this shattered
façade shadows marked out odd regularities, of line and
angle; and upon the trail itself, here and there, broad worn
steps had been carved, eroded by flowing water and
centuries of footfalls.
Seren Pedac believed that a city had once occupied the
entire mountainside, a vertical fortress carved into living
stone. She could make out what she thought were large
gaping windows, and possibly the fragmented ledges of
balconies high up, hazy in the mists. Yet something – something
huge, terrible in its monstrosity – had impacted the
entire side of the mountain, obliterating most of the city in
a single blow. She could almost discern the outline of that
collision, yet among the screes of rubble tracking down
the sundered slopes the only visible stone belonged to the
mountain itself.
They stood at the base of the trail. Seren watched the
lifeless eyes of the Tiste Andii slowly scan upward.
'Well?' she asked.
Silchas Ruin shook his head. 'Not from my people.
K'Chain Che'Malle.'
'A victim of your war?'
He glanced across at her, as if
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