Deadhouse Gates: A Tale of The Malazan Book of the Fallen
Steven Erikson
Language: English
Pages: 843
ISBN: 0765348799
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In the vast dominion of Seven Cities, in the Holy Desert Raraku, the seer Sha'ik and her followers prepare for the long-prophesied uprising known as the Whirlwind. Unprecedented in size and savagery, this maelstrom of fanaticism and bloodlust will embroil the Malazan Empire in one of the bloodiest conflicts it has ever known, shaping destinies and giving birth to legends . . .
Set in a brilliantly realized world ravaged by dark, uncontrollable magic, this thrilling novel of war, intrigue and betrayal confirms Steven Erikson as a storyteller of breathtaking skill, imagination and originality--the author who has written the first great fantasy epic of the new millennium.
she said, paling. “He’s got a busted head and keeps thinking this is a picnic. Watch the times he comes round—his eyes fill with fear. And here you go wanting to add yet another burden on the man. Even the slightest nudge might make him retreat into his head for good, and then what use is he? To anyone?” “Fine,” she snapped, whirling away. He watched her stalk off. Selv and Keneb stood by their horses, too far away to have heard anything but close enough to know that dark waters had been
snorted. “I’ll make twice that in a week. Sixteen jakatas.” Fiddler drew the Gral long-knife he’d purchased an hour earlier and pressed the edge against the pimp’s throat. “Two jakatas and my mercy, simharal.” “Done, Gral,” the pimp grated, eyes wide. “Done, by the Hooded One!” Fiddler drew two coins from his belt and tossed them into the leaves. Then he stepped back. “I take them now.” The simharal fell to his knees, scrabbling through the dried fronds. “Take them, Gral, take them.” Fiddler
battled the same storm, and her presence—announced by the lookout only minutes before the green and strangely luminescent cloud rolled over them—gnawed at Kalam, refusing to go away. The same fast trader we’d seen before. Was the answer a simple one? While we squatted in that shithole of a home port, she’d been calmly shouldering the Imperial pier at Falar, no special rush in resupplying when you have a shore leave worth the name. But that did not explain the host of other details that plagued
Sawark’s not in the mood if you’ve come here to complain.” The man’s flat eyes flicked to Felisin. “If you’re here with a gift, that would be another matter.” The guard opened the heavy door. “He’s in the office.” Beneth grunted. Tugging at Felisin’s arm, he dragged her through the portal. The ground floor was an armory, weapons lining the walls in locked racks. A table and three chairs were off to one side, the leavings of the guards’ breakfast crowding the small tabletop. Up from the room’s
collect Heboric. You don’t seem as parched as us, either—” “I drink my own piss.” “You what?” He grunted. “You heard me.” “Not a good enough answer,” she decided after thinking a moment. “And don’t tell me you’re eating your own shit, too. It still wouldn’t explain things. Have you made a pact with some god, Baudin?” “You think doing something like that’s a simple task? Hey, Queen of Dreams, save me and I’ll serve you. Tell me, how many of your prayers have been answered? Besides, I ain’t