'No ... glorious end ... for the Adjunct. If you'd come ... a few minutes sooner ...'

The captain said nothing. He watched the life leave Lorn, feeling nothing. Ill luck, knowing me, Adjunct. I'm sorry for that. Then he collected the Otataral sword and slipped it into his scabbard.

Above him two voices spoke in unison. 'You gave him our sword.'

He straightened to find himself facing Oponn. 'The Rope took it from me, to be more precise.'

The Twins could not conceal their fear. They looked upon Paran with something akin to pleading. 'Cotillion spared you,' the sister said, 'the Hounds spared you. Why?'

Paran shrugged. 'Do you blame the knife, or the hand wielding it?'

'Shadowthrone never plays fair,' the brother whined, hugging himself.

'You and Cotillion both used mortals,' the captain said, baring his teeth, 'and paid for it. What do you want from me? Sympathy? Help?'

'That Otataral blade—' the sister said.

'Will not be used to do your dirty work,' Paran finished. 'You'd best flee, Oponn. I imagine even now Cotillion has given Shadowthrone the sword Chance, and the two are putting their heads together to plan how best to use it.'

The Twin Jesters flinched.

Paran laid a hand over the sword's sticky grip. 'Now. Else I return Cotillion's favour.'

The gods vanished.

The captain drew a deep breath. He turned once again to Lorn.

Her armour removed, she proved light in his arms.

The air roared around Anomander Rake as he plummeted, but he made no other sound, his Warren drawn in tight around him. Below, now sweeping lazy circles over Darujhistan, was the dun dragon – Rake's equal in size, with the power to match.

But it was a fool, hunting for him in the streets below.

Rake carefully spread his wings, angling towards the Galayn lord. His hind limbs reached down, talons spreading. He drew in the air around him, preparing for a burst of power. He was Kurald Galain, Tiste Andii, and darkness was his home.

The Galayn lord was immediately beneath him now, growing larger with incredible speed. Rake opened his mouth, head snapping back as he bit into a wall of air. This sound brought the dun dragon's gaze upward, but it was already too late.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I am the House

imprisoning in my birth

demonic hearts,

so locked in each chamber

some trembling enraged

antiquity.

And these roots of stone

spread the deepest cracks

in parched ground

holding for ever the dream

of fruit, ah, pilgrims

come to my door

and starve ...

Azath (ii.iii)

Adaephon (b.?)

The compound beyond the gate was empty. Crokus ran across it, wondering if he was too late. He bounded up the steps and reached for the door latch. A burst of energy flung him backwards.