“We still die on this continent. Better that it be by the sword.” He let his hands slip from his lap. “Imagine your spirit dying while your body lives on. Not for ten years, not for fifty. But a body that lives on for fifteen, twenty thousand years.”
Rake rose swiftly. He looked down upon a silent Baruk, and smiled a smile that launched a dagger of pain into the alchemist's heart. “Thus duty holds me, yet a duty that is in itself hollow. Is it enough to preserve the Tiste And?? Simply preserve them? Do I raise Moon's Spawn into the heavens, where we live on, beyond any risk, any threat? What, then, will I be preserving? A history, a particular point of view.” He shrugged. “The history is done, Baruk, and the Tiste And? point of view is one of disinterest, stoicism and quiet, empty despair. Are these gifts to the world worthy of preservation? I think not.”
Baruk had no immediate response. What Anomander Rake had described was almost beyond comprehension, yet its anguished cry reached through to the alchemist. “And yet,” he said, “here you are. Allied with the Empire's victims. Do you stand alone in this, Anomander Rake? Do your people approve?”
“They care not,” Rake said. “They accept my commands. They follow me. They serve Caladan Brood when I ask them to. And they die in the mud and forests of a land that is not their own, in a war not their own, for a people who are terrified of them.”
Baruk sat forward. “Then why? Why do you do all this?”
A harsh laugh was Rake's response. After a moment, however, his bitter amusement fell away and he said, “Is an honourable cause worth anything these days? Does it matter that we've borrowed it? We fight as well as any man. We die alongside them. Mercenaries of the spirit. And even that is a coin we scarcely value. Why? It doesn't matter why. But we never betray our allies.
“I know you are worried that I did nothing to prevent the T'lan Imass from entering the barrow. I believe the Jaghut Tyrant will be freed, Baruk. But better now, with me here beside you, than at some other time when the Jaghut has no one capable of opposing him. We'll take this legend and carve the life from it, Alchemist, and never again will the threat haunt you.”
Baruk stared at the Tiste And?. “Are you that certain you'll be able to destroy the Jaghut?”
“No. But when it is finished with us, it will have been much reduced. Then it falls to others-to your Cabal, in fact. There's no certainty in this, Baruk. That seems a fact particularly galling to you humans. You'd better learn to accept it. We may well be able to destroy the Jaghut Tyrant, but even this will serve Laseen's plans.”
The alchemist was bemused. “I don't understand.”
Rake grinned. “When we are finished with it, we will have been much reduced. And then will come the powers of the Malazan Empire. So, you see, either way she wins. If anything has her worried, it's your T'orrud Cabal, Baruk. Of your abilities she knows nothing. Which is why her agents seek this Vorcan. The Guild Master accepting the contract will solve the problem you represent.”
“Yet,” Baruk mused,” there are other factors involved.”
“Oponn,” Rake stated. “That is a danger to everyone involved. Do you think Oponn cares for a mortal city? For its people? It is the nexus of power that matters to Oponn, the whirlwind where games get nasty. Will immortal blood be spilled? That's the question the gods are eager to have answered.”
Baruk stared down at his goblet of goat's milk. “Well, at least we've avoided that so far.” He took a sip.
“Wrong,” Rake said. “Forcing Shadowthrone out of the game marked the first spilling of immortal blood.”
Baruk almost choked on the milk. He set down the goblet and stared up at the Tiste And?. “Whose?”
“Two Hounds died by my sword. Knocked Shadowthrone somewhat off-balance, I believe.”
Baruk leaned back and closed his eyes. “Then the stakes have risen,” he said.
“As far as Moon's Spawn, Alchemist.” Rake returned to his chair and sat, once again stretching his legs out to the fire's warmth. “Now, what more can you tell me about this Jaghut Tyrant? I recall you said you wished to consult an authority.”
Baruk opened his eyes and tossed the flatbread into the fire. “There's a problem there, Rake. I'm hoping you can help explain what's happened. Please,” he said, rising, “follow me.”
Grunting, Rake climbed back to his feet. This night he'd not worn his sword. To Baruk the Lord's broad back looked incomplete, but he was thankful for the weapon's absence.
