Reaper's Gate & Toll the Hounds - By Steven Erikson Page 0,368

Then she turned away. Into the side corridor, down its dusty, gloomy length.

Karsa Orlong was lying on the oversized cot that had been built for some previous champion – a full-blood Tarthenal, although still not as tall as the Teblor now sprawled down its length, bared feet jutting over the end with the toes pressed against the wall – a wall stamped with the grime of those toes and feet, since Karsa Orlong had taken to doing very little, ever since the announcement of the contests.

'He's dead,' she said.

'Who?'

'Gadalanak. Within two or three heartbeats – I think it was a mistake, all of you deciding not to attend – you need to see the one you will fight. You need to know his style. There might be weaknesses—'

Karsa snorted. 'Revealed in two heartbeats?'

'The others, I suspect, will now change their minds. They will go, see for themselves—'

'Fools.'

'Because they won't follow your lead in this?'

'I wasn't even aware they had, witch. What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?'

She stepped into the room. 'Doing what?'

'You are dragging your ghosts with you.'

'More like they're clinging to my heels, gibbering – something is building within you, Karsa Orlong—'

'Climb onto me and we can relieve that, Samar Dev.'

'Amazing,' she breathed.

'Yes.'

'No, you idiot. I was just commenting on how you can still manage to shock me on occasion.'

'You only pretend to innocence, woman. Take your clothes off.'

'If I did, it would only be because you have worn me down. But I won't, because I am tougher than you think. One look at the odious stains your feet have left on that wall is enough to quench any ardour I might – in sudden madness – experience.'

'I did not ask you to make love to my feet.'

'Shouldn't you be exercising – no, not that kind. I mean, staying limber, stretching and the like.'

'What do you want?'

'Reassurance, I think.'

He turned to look at her, then slowly sat up, the cot groaning beneath him. 'Samar Dev, what is it you fear the most?'

'Well, you dying, I think. Infuriating as you are, you are a friend. To me, at least. That, and the fact that, uh, after you, they will call upon Icarium. As you can see, the two fears are closely bound together.'

'Is this what the spirits crowding you fear as well?'

'An interesting question. I'm not sure, Karsa.' And, a moment later, she added, 'Yes, I see now how that might be important – worth knowing, I mean.'

'I have my own ghosts,' he said.

'I know. And what are they feeling? Can you tell?'

'Eager.'

She frowned. 'Truly, Karsa Orlong? Truly? '

He laughed. 'Not for what you think. No, they delight in the end that is coming to them, to the sacrifice they will make.'

'What kind of sacrifice?'

'When the time comes, witch, you must draw your iron knife. Give it your blood. Free the spirits you have bound.'

'What time, damn you?'

'You will know. Now, take off your clothes. I will see you naked.'

'No. Gadalanak is dead. Never again will we hear his laughter—'

'Yes, so it is for us to laugh, now, Samar Dev. We must remind ourselves what it is to live. For him. For Gadalanak.'

She stared at him, then hissed in anger. 'You almost had me, Karsa Orlong. It's when you get too convincing, you know, that you become the most dangerous.'

'Perhaps you'd rather I just took you, then. Tore your clothes away with my own hands. Flung you down on the bed.'

'I'm leaving now.'

* * *

Taralack Veed had once dreamt of the time now imminent, when Icarium Lifestealer would step onto the sand of the arena, amidst the eager roar of unwitting onlookers – and those derisive cries would change very quickly, oh yes, to ones of astonishment, then terror. As the rage was awakened, unleashed.

As the world began its gory end. An emperor, a palace, a city, the heart of an empire.

But this Rhulad would not die. Not with finality. No, each time he would rise again, and two forces would lock together in battle that might never end. Unless . . . could Icarium be killed? Could he die? He was not immortal, after all – although it could be argued that his rage was, the rage of the victim, generation after generation, a rage against injustice and inequity, and such a thing was without end.

No, if Taralack Veed pushed his thoughts far enough, he ever came to the same place. Rhulad would kill Icarium. A hundred clashes, a thousand – at some point, on a