G'danisban's central square was the site of past slaughter. Fiddler caught up with his companions when they had just begun walking their horses through the horrific scene. They both turned upon hearing his approach, and Fiddler could only nod at the relief in their faces when they recognized him.
Even the Gral gelding hesitated at the square's edge. The bodies covering the cobbles numbered several hundred. Old men and old women, and children, for the most part. They had all been savagely cut to pieces or, in some cases, burned alive. The stench of sun-warmed blood, bile and seared flesh hung thick in the square.
Fiddler swallowed back his revulsion, cleared his throat. 'Beyond this square,' he said, 'all pretences of control cease.'
Crokus gestured shakily. 'These are Malazan?'
'Aye, lad.'
'During the conquest, did the Malazan armies do the same to the locals here?'
'You mean, is this just reprisal?'
Apsalar spoke with an almost personal vehemence. 'The Emperor warred against armies, not civilians—'
'Except at Aren,' Fiddler sardonically interjected, recalling his words with the Tanno Spiritwalker. 'When the T'lan Imass rose in the city—'
'Not by Kellanved's command!' she retorted. 'Who ordered the T'lan Imass into Aren? I shall tell you. Surly, the commander of the Claw, the woman who took upon herself a new name—'
'Laseen.' Fiddler eyed the young woman quizzically. 'I have never before heard that assertion, Apsalar. There were no written orders – none found, in any case—'
'I should have killed her there and then,' Apsalar muttered.
Astonished, Fiddler glanced at Crokus. The Daru shook his head.
'Apsalar,' the sapper said slowly, 'you were but a child when Aren rebelled then fell to the T'lan Imass.'
'I know that,' she replied. 'Yet these memories... they are so clear. I was... sent to Aren ... to see the slaughter. To find out what happened. I... I argued with Surly. No-one else was in the room. Just Surly and ... and me.'
They reached the other end of the square. Fiddler reined in and regarded Apsalar for a long moment.
Crokus said, 'It was the Rope, the patron god of assassins, who possessed you. Yet your memories are—'
'Dancer's.' As soon as he said it, Fiddler knew it was true. 'The Rope has another name. Cotillion. Hood's breath, so obvious! No-one doubted that the assassinations occurred. Both Dancer and the Emperor ... murdered by Laseen and her chosen Clawmasters. What did Laseen do with the bodies? No-one knows.'
'So Dancer lived,' Crokus said with a frown. 'And ascended. Became a patron god in the Warren of Shadow.'
Apsalar said nothing, watching and listening with a carefully controlled absence of expression on her face.
Fiddler was cursing himself for a blind idiot. 'What House appeared in the Deck of Dragons shortly afterward? Shadow. Two new Ascendants. Cotillion ... and Shadowthrone ...'
Crokus's eyes widened. 'Shadowthrone is Kellanved,' he said. 'They weren't assassinated – either of them. They escaped by ascending.'
'Into the Shadow Realm.' Fiddler smiled wryly. 'To nurse their thoughts of vengeance, leading eventually to Cotillion possessing a young fishergirl in Itko Kan, to begin what would be a long, devious path to Laseen. Which failed. Apsalar?'
'Your words are true,' she said without inflection.
'Then why,' the sapper demanded, 'didn't Cotillion reveal himself to us? To Whiskeyjack, to Kalam? To Dujek? Dammit, Dancer knew us all – and if that bastard understood the notion of friendship at all, then those I've just mentioned were his friends—'
Apsalar's sudden laugh rattled both men. 'I could lie and say he sought to protect you all. Do you really wish the truth, Bridgeburner?'
Fiddler felt himself flushing. 'I do,' he growled.
'Dancer trusted but two men. One was Kellanved. The other was Dassem Ultor, the First Sword. Dassem is dead. I am sorry if this offends you, Fiddler. Thinking on it, I would suggest that Cotillion trusts no-one. Not even Shadowthrone. Emperor Kellanved ... well enough. Ascendant Kellanved – Shadowthrone – ah, that is something wholly different.'
'He was a fool,' Fiddler pronounced, gathering up his reins.
Apsalar's smile was strangely wistful.
'Enough words,' Crokus said. 'Let's get out of this damned city.'
'Aye.'
The short journey from the square to the south gate was surprisingly uneventful, for all the commander's warnings. Dusk shrouded the streets and smoke from a burning tenement block spread an acrid haze that made breathing tortured. They rode through the silent aftermath of slaughter, when the rage has passed and awareness returns with shock and shame.
