'Why?'
Cafal grinned once more. 'Rivals do not sit well with the Mask Council. They have still not relented in acknowledgement of Keruli, who seeks to join their company. You — you might well be in a position to claim yourself as their master in all things. Eyes are darting within those masks, Captain.'
'Hood's breath,' Paran sighed. 'Who is Keruli, by the way?'
'K'rul's High Priest.'
'K'rul? The Elder God?'
'Expect Keruli to seek your blessing. On his god's behalf.'
Paran rubbed his brow, suddenly weary beyond belief. 'I've changed my mind,' he muttered. 'Never mind the walk.'
'What will you do?'
'Find a hole and crawl into it, Cafal.'
The warrior's laugh was harsh, and not quite as sympathetic as Paran would have liked.
Emancipor Reese had managed to find a more suitable bottle from the cellars and had filled the two goblets before hastily retreating from the room, his sickly pallor if anything even starker on his lined face.
Quick Ben was none the less tentative as he took his first sip. After a moment, he swallowed, then sighed.
Sitting across from him, Bauchelain half smiled. 'Excellent. Now, having made the effort to penetrate this estate's defences, you are here with some purpose in mind. Thus, you have my utmost attention.'
'Demonic summoning. It's the rarest and most difficult discipline among the necromantic arts.'
Bauchelain responded with a modest shrug.
'And the power it draws upon,' Quick Ben continued, 'while from Hood's own warren, is deeply tainted with Chaos. Striding both sides of that border between those warrens. As an aside, why do you think the summoning of demons is death-aspected?'
'The assertion of absolute control over a life-force, Quick Ben. The threat of annihilation is inherently death-aspected. Regarding your observation of the influence of the Warren of Chaos, do go on.'
'The warrens have been poisoned.'
'Ah. There are many flavours to chaotic power. That which assails the warrens has little to do with the elements of the Warren of Chaos with which I am involved.'
'So, your access to your warrens has not been affected.'
'I did not say that,' Bauchelain replied, pausing to drink some wine. 'The … infection … is an irritant, an unfortunate development that threatens to get worse. Perhaps, at some point in the future, I shall find need to retaliate upon whomever is responsible. My companion, Korbal Broach, has communicated to me his own growing concern — he works more directly through Hood's warren, and thus has felt the greater brunt.'
Quick Ben glanced over at the crow on the mantelpiece. 'Indeed. Well,' he added, returning his gaze to Bauchelain, 'as to that, I can tell you precisely who is responsible.'
'And why would you tell us, mage? Unless it be to elicit our help — I am assuming you are opposing this … poisoner. And are in search of potential allies.'
'Allies? Elicit your help? No, sir, you misunderstand me. I offer my information freely. Not only do I expect nothing in return, should you offer I will respectfully decline.'
'Curious. Is yours a power to rival the gods, then?'
'I don't recall referring to gods in this conversation, Bauchelain.'
'True enough; however, the entity responsible for poisoning all the warrens is without doubt a formidable individual — if not a god then an aspirant.'
'In any case,' Quick Ben said with a smile, 'I don't rival gods.'
'A wise decision.'
'But, sometimes, I beat them at their own game.'
Bauchelain studied the wizard, then slowly leaned back. 'I find myself appreciating your company, Quick Ben. I am not easily entertained, but you have indeed proved-a worthy diversion this night, and for that I thank you.'
'You're quite welcome.'
'My companion, Korbal Broach, alas, would like to kill you.'
'Can't please everyone.'
'Very true. He dislikes being confused, you see, and you have confused him.'
'Best he remain perched on the mantelpiece,' Quick Ben quietly advised. 'I don't treat hecklers very well.'
Bauchelain raised a brow.
The shadow of wings spread suddenly vast to Quick Ben's left, as Korbal Broach dropped from his position and began sembling even as he descended.
The Malazan flung his left arm out, waves of layered sorcery sweeping across the intervening space, to strike the necromancer.
Half man, half bedraggled crow, Korbal Broach had not completed his sembling into human form. The waves of power had yet to blossom. The necromancer was lifted from his feet by the magical impact, caught in the crest of that sorcery. It struck the wall above the fireplace, carrying the oddly winged, semi-human figure with it, then detonated.
