Reaper's Gate & Toll the Hounds - By Steven Erikson Page 0,364

even if I desired such a thing, Banaschar.'

His brows rose. 'You do not dream of living again?'

'Should I?'

'I am probably the last living High Priest of D'rek, the Worm of Autumn. The face of the aged, the dying and the diseased. And of the all-devouring earth that takes flesh and bone, and the fires that transform into ashes—'

'Yes, fine, I grasp the allusions.'

'I, more perhaps than most, do understand the tension between the living and the dead, the bitterness of the season that finds each and every one of us—'

'Do you always go on like this?'

He looked away. 'No. I am trying to resurrect my faith—'

'By the Tiles, Banaschar, don't make me laugh. Please.'

'Laugh? Ah, yes, the play on words. Accidental—'

'Rubbish.'

That elicited a mocking smile – which was better than the grave misery that had been there a moment earlier. 'Very well, Shurq Elalle, why do you not wish to live once again?'

'I don't get old, do I? I stay as I am, suitably attractive—'

'Outwardly, yes.'

'And have you taken the time to look inward, Banaschar?'

'I would not do such a thing without your permission.'

'I give it. Delve deep, High Priest.'

His gaze fixed on her, but slowly surrendered its focus. A moment passed, then he paled, blinked and stepped back. 'Gods below, what is that?'

'I don't know what you mean, good sir.'

'There are . . . roots . . . filling your entire being. Every vein and artery, the thinnest capillaries . . . alive . . .'

'My ootooloo – they said it would take over, eventually. Its appetites are' – she smiled – 'boundless. But I have learned to control them, more or less. It possesses its own rigour, yes?'

'You are dead and yet not dead, not any more – but what lives within you, what has claimed your entire body, Shurq Elalle, it is alien. A parasite!'

'Beats fleas.'

He gaped.

She grew impatient with his burgeoning alarm. 'Errant take your rituals. I am content enough as I am, or will be once I get scoured out and some new spices stuffed—' 'Stop, please.'

'As you like. Is there something else you wanted to discuss? Truth is, I have little time for high priests. As if piety comes from gaudy robes and self-righteous arrogance. Show me a priest who knows how to dance and I might bask in his measure, for a time. Otherwise . . .'

He bowed. 'Forgive me, then.'

'Forget trying to resurrect your faith, Banaschar, and try finding for yourself a more worthy ritual of living.'

He backed away, and very nearly collided with the Adjunct and Tavore's ever-present bodyguard, Lostara Yil. Another hasty bow, then flight down the steps.

The Adjunct frowned at Shurq Elalle. 'It seems you are upsetting my other passengers, Captain.'

'Not my concern, Adjunct. I would be of better service if I was on my own ship.'

'You lack confidence in your first mate?'

'My incomplete specimen of a human? Why would you imagine that?'

Lostara Yil snorted, then pointedly ignored the Adjunct's quick warning glance.

'I will have many questions to ask you, Captain,' Tavore said. 'Especially the closer we get to Letheras. And I will of course value your answers.'

'You are being too bold,' Shurq Elalle said, 'heading straight for the capital.'

'Answers, not advice.'

Shurq Elalle shrugged. 'I had an uncle who chose to leave Letheras and live with the Meckros. He wasn't much for listening to advice either. So off he went, and then, not so long ago, there was a ship, a Meckros ship from one of their floating cities south of Pilott – and they told tales of a sister city being destroyed by ice, then vanishing – almost no wreckage left behind at all – and no survivors. Probably straight down to the deep. That hapless city was the one my uncle lived on.'

'Then you should have learned a most wise lesson,' Lostara Yil said in a rather dry tone that hinted of self-mockery.

'Oh?'

'Yes. People who make up their minds about something never listen to advice – especially when it's to the contrary.'

'Well said.' Shurq Elalle smiled at the tattooed woman. 'Frustrating, isn't it?'

'If you two are done with your not very subtle complaints,' the Adjunct said, 'I wish to ask the captain here about the Letherii secret police, the Patriotists.'

'Ah well,' Shurq Elalle said, 'that is not a fun subject.

Not fun at all.'

'I am not interested in fun,' Tavore said.

And one look at her, Shurq Elalle reflected, was proof enough of that.

With twelve of his most loyal guards from the Eternal Domicile, Sirryn marched up Kravos Hill,