Memories of Ice & House of Chains - By Steven Erikson Page 0,790

enjoy that, Cotillion?'

'Not particularly. It was difficult to remain mindful of my purpose. We were in worthy company for most of that time – Whiskeyjack, Mallet, Fiddler, Kalam ... a squad that, given the choice, would have welcomed you. But I prevented them from doing so. Necessary, but not fair to you or them.' He sighed, then continued, 'I could speak endlessly of regrets, lass, but I see dawn stealing the darkness, and I must have your decision.'

'My decision? Regarding what?'

'Cutter.'

She studied the desert, found herself blinking back tears. 'I would take him from you, Cotillion. I would prevent you doing to him what you did to me.'

'He is that important to you?'

'He is. Not to the assassin within me, but to the fisher-girl ... whom he does not love.'

'Doesn't he?'

'He loves the assassin, and so chooses to be like her.'

'I understand now the struggle within you.'

'Indeed? Then you must understand why I will not let you have him.'

'But you are wrong, Apsalar. Cutter does not love the assassin within you. It attracts him, no doubt, because power does that... to us all. And you possess power, and that implicitly includes the option of not using it. All very enticing, alluring. He is drawn to emulate what he sees as your hard-won freedom. But his love? Resurrect our shared memories, lass. Of Darujhistan, of our first brush with the thief, Crokus. He saw that we had committed murder, and knew that discovery made his life forfeit in our eyes. Did he love you then? No, that came later, in the hills east of the city – when I no longer possessed you.'

'Love changes with time—'

'Aye, it does, but not like a capemoth flitting from corpse to corpse on a battlefield.' He cleared his throat. 'Very well, a poor choice of analogy. Love changes, aye, in the manner of growing to encompass as much of its subject as possible. Virtues, flaws, limitations, everything – love will fondle them all, with child-like fascination.'

She had drawn her arms tight about herself with his words. 'There are two women within me—'

'Two? There are multitudes, lass, and Cutter loves them all.'

'I don't want him to die!'

'Is that your decision?'

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The sky was lightening, transforming into a vast, empty space above a dead, battered landscape. She saw birds climb the winds into its expanse.

Cotillion persisted, 'Do you know, then, what you must do?'

Once again, Apsalar nodded.

'I am ... pleased.'

Her head snapped round, and she stared into his face, seeing it fully, she realized, for the first time. The lines bracketing the calm, soft eyes, the even features, the strange hatch pattern of scars beneath his right eye. 'Pleased,' she whispered, studying him. 'Why?'

'Because,' he answered with a faint smile, 'I like the lad, too.'

'How brave do you think I am?'

'As brave as is necessary.'

'Again.'

'Aye. Again.'

'You don't seem much like a god at all, Cotillion.'

'I'm not a god in the traditional fashion, I am a patron. Patrons have responsibilities. Granted, I rarely have the opportunity to exercise them.'

'Meaning they are not yet burdensome.'

His smile broadened, and it was a lovely smile. 'You are worth far more for your lack of innocence, Apsalar. I will see you again soon.' He stepped back into the shadows of the chamber.

'Cotillion.'

He paused, arms half raised. 'Yes.'

'Thank you. And take care of Cutter. Please.'

'I will, as if he were my own son, Apsalar. I will.'

She nodded, and then he was gone.

And, a short while later, so was she.

There were snakes in this forest of stone. Fortunately for Kalam Mekhar, they seemed to lack the natural belligerence of their kind. He was lying in shadows amidst the dusty, shattered fragments of a toppled tree, motionless as serpents slithered around him and over him. The stone was losing its chill from the night just past, a hot wind drifting in from the desert beyond.

He had seen no sign of patrols, and little in the way of well-trod trails. None the less, he sensed a presence in this petrified forest, hinting of power that did not belong on this world. Though he could not be certain, he sensed something demonic about that power.

Sufficient cause for unease. Sha'ik might well have placed guardians, and he would have to get past those.

The assassin lifted a flare-neck to one side then drew his two long-knives. He examined the grips, ensuring that the leather bindings were tight. He checked the fittings of the hilts and pommels. The edge of the otataral long-knife's blade