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Still facing the table, Baruk closed his eyes and nodded. “The title isn't necessary,” he whispered. “Please call me Baruk.”

“I'm at home in darkness,” the Lord said. “Will this prove an inconvenience, Baruk?”Advertisement

The alchemist muttered a spell. Before him the details of the map on the table took on distinction, emanating a cool blue glow. He faced the Lord and was startled to discover that the tall, cloaked figure reflected as little heat as the room's inanimate objects. Nevertheless, he was able to distinguish quite clearly the man's features. “You're Tiste And?” he said.

The Lord bowed slightly. His angled, multihued eyes scanned the room. “Have you any wine, Baruk?”

“Of course, Lord.” The alchemist walked over to his desk.

“My name, as best as it can be pronounced by humans, is Anomander Rake.” The Lord followed Baruk to the desk, his boots clicking on the polished marble floor.

Baruk poured wine, then turned to study Rake with some curiosity. He had heard that Tiste And? warriors were fighting the Empire up north, commanded by a savage beast of a man named Caladan Brood. They had allied with the Crimson Guard and, together, the two forces were decimating the Malazans. So, there were Tiste And? in Moon's Spawn, and the man standing before him was their lord.

This moment marked the first time Baruk had ever seen a Tiste And? face to face. He was more than a little disturbed. Such remarkable eyes, he thought. One moment a deep hue of amber, cat-like and unnerving, the next grey and banded like a snake's-a fell rainbow of colours to match any mood. He wondered if they were capable of lying.

In the alchemist's library lay copies of the surviving tomes of Gothos” Folly, Jaghut writings from millennia past. In them Tiste And? were mentioned here and there in an aura of fear, Baruk recalled. Gothos himself, a Jaghut wizard who had descended the deepest warrens of Elder Magic, had praised the gods of the time that the Tiste And? were so few in number. And if anything, the mysterious black-skinned race had dwindled since then.

Anomander Rake's skin was jet-black, befitting Gothos” descriptions, but his mane flowed silver. He stood close to seven feet tall. His features were sharp, as if cut from onyx, a slight upward tilt to the large vertical-pupilled eyes.

A two-handed sword was strapped to Rake's broad back, its silver dragonskull pommel and archaic crosshilt jutting from a wooden scabbard fully six and a half feet long. From the weapon bled power, staining the air like black ink in a pool of water. As his gaze rested on it Baruk almost reeled, seeing, for a brief moment, a vast darkness yawning before him, cold as the heart of a glacier, from which came the stench of antiquity and a faint groaning sound. Baruk wrenched his eyes from the weapon, looked up to find Rake studying him from over one shoulder.

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The Tiste And? quirked a knowing smile, then handed Baruk one of the wine-filled goblets. “Was Crone her usual melodramatic self?”

Baruk blinked, then could not help but grin.

Rake sipped his wine. “She's never been modest in displaying her talents. Shall we sit?”

“Of course,” Baruk replied, relaxing in spite of his trepidation. From his years of study the alchemist knew that great power shaped different souls differently. Had Rake's been twisted Baruk would have known immediately. But the Lord's control seemed absolute. That alone engendered awe. The man shaped his power, not the other way around.

Such control was, well, inhuman. He suspected that this would not be the first insight he'd have regarding this warrior-mage that would leave him astonished and frightened.

“She threw everything she had at me,” Rake said suddenly. The Tiste And?” s eyes shone green as glacial ice.

Startled by the vehemence of that outburst, Baruk frowned. She? Oh, the Empress, of course.

“And even then,” Rake continued,” she couldn't bring me down.”

The alchemist stiffened in his chair. “Yet,” he said cautiously, “you were driven back, battered and beaten. I can feel your power, Anomander Rake,” he added, grimacing. “It pulses from you like waves. So I must ask: how is it you were defeated? I know something of the Empire's High Mage Tayschrenn. He has power but it's no match to yours. So again I ask, how?”

His gaze on the map table, Rake replied, “I've committed my sorcerers and warriors to Brood's north campaign.” He turned a humourless grin on Baruk. “Within my city are children, priests and three elderly, exceedingly bookish warlocks.”

City? There was a city within Moon's Spawn?

A dun tone had entered Rake's eyes. “I cannot defend an entire Moon. I cannot be everywhere at once. And as for Tayschrenn, he didn't give a damn about the people around him. I thought to dissuade him, make the price too high:” He shook his head as if perplexed, then he looked to Baruk. “To save the home of my people, I retreated.” pqdm.com