He hissed in frustration as he scrambled along opposite the dark hole, wondering what to do next. Even if he managed to break a chain, he had no idea which ones belonged to the Hounds. As for the others:

Anomander Rake seemed a creature of clear-if cold-justice. To break a chain could unleash ancient horrors upon the realms of the living. Even the stranger he'd spoken with could once have been a Tyrant, a horrible dominator.

Paran unsheathed Chance. As the blade leaped free of the scabbard it bucked wildly in his hands. The captain grinned even as tremors of terror reached through his hands from the sword. «Oponn! Dear Twins, I call on you! Now!»

The air groaned. Paran stumbled over someone, who loosed a stream of curses. Sheathing his sword, he reached down, hand closing on brocaded cloth. He pulled the god to his feet. «Why you?» Paran demanded. «I wanted your sister.»

«Madness, mortal!» the male Twin snapped. «To call me here! So close to the Queen of Darkness-here, within a god-slaying sword!»

Paran shook him. Filled with a mindless, bestial rage, the captain shook the god. He heard the Hounds howl, and fought back a sudden desire to join his voice to their cries.

The Twin, terror in his bright eyes, clawed at Paran. «What-what are you doing?»

Paran stopped, his attention drawn to two chains that had gone slack.

«They're coming.»

The wagon seemed to leap upward, rocked as it had never been before. The thunder of the impact filled the air, wood and ice cascading down.

«They have your scent, Twin.»

The god shrieked, battered his fists into Paran's face, scratching, kicking, but the captain held on. «Not the luck that pulls.» He spat blood.

«The luck: that pushes-»

The wagon was hammered again, its wheels bucking into the air to come down with a splintering, echoing concussion. Paran had no time to wonder at the savage strength that coursed through him, a strength sufficient to hold down a god gripped in panic. He simply held on.

«Please!» the Twin begged. «Anything! just ask it! Anything within my powers.»

«The Hounds» chains,» Paran said. «Break them.»

«I–I cannot!»

The wagon shuddered sickeningly, distant wood splintering. Paran dragged the Twin a pace as it rolled forward again. «Think of a way,» he said. «Or the Hounds will have you.»

«I–I cannot be sure, Paran.»

«What? You can't be sure of what?»

The Twin gestured towards the blackness. «In there. The chains are held in place within it-within the Warren of Darkness, within Kurald Galain. Should they enter: I do not know-I cannot be certain, but the chains may disappear.»

«How can they enter?»

«They could be leaving one nightmare only to enter another.»

«It cannot be worse, Twin. I asked you, how?»

«Bait.»

«What?»

The Twin smiled shakily. «As you said, they're coming. But, Paran, you must release me. By all means, hold me before the portal, but please, at the last moment:»

«I release my hold on you.»

The god nodded.

«Very well.»

The Hounds struck the wagon again, and this time they broke through. Clutching the Twin, Paran spun round to see the beasts charging out of the gloom. His captive shrieked.

The Hounds leaped.

Paran released the god, dropping flat to the ground as the Hounds passed through the air above. The Twin vanished. The Hounds flashed past, disappeared into the portal in silence, and were gone.

Paran rolled to his feet, even as darkness reached out for him, not with the cold of oblivion but with a breath like warm, sighing wind.

He opened his eyes to find himself on his hands and knees on the plain's yellowed grass, beside a flattened, blood-smeared patch where the body of a Hound had once lain. Insects buzzed close by. His head aching, Paran climbed to his feet. The other Hound's body was gone as well. What had he done? And why? Of all the things that the Twin could have offered him: Tattersail: Toc the Younger: Then again, to pluck a soul back through Hood's Gate was not likely within Oponn's power to achieve. Had he freed the Hounds? He realized he would probably never know.

He staggered over to the horses. At least, for a short time there, he had been unchained. He had been free, and what he had done he had done, by his own choice. My own choice.

He looked to the south. Darujhistan and the Adjunct await me. Finish what you started, Paran. Finish it once and for all.

«Damn inconvenient,» Coll growled as Crokus completed tying the bandage. «She was good,» he added. «She knew exactly what to do. I'd say she'd been trained. Sort of fits, since she was dressed like a mercenary.»

«I still don't understand,» Crokus said, sitting back on his haunches. He glanced at Murillio and Kruppe. Both remained unconscious. «Why did she attack us? And why didn't she kill me?»

Coll did not reply. He sat glaring at his horse, which stood a dozen feet away, quietly cropping grass. He'd already voiced a dozen foul curses at the beast, and Crokus suspected that their relationship had been, as Kruppe would put it, irretrievably compromised.

«What's this?» Coll grunted.

Crokus realized that the man was looking past the horse, a frown deepening the lines of his forehead.

The boy turned, then let out a wild shout, springing backwards and snatching at his daggers. His boot caught a stone and he sprawled. He jumped to his feet, one blade freed and in his hand. «It's her!» he yelled.

«The woman from the bar! She's a killer, Coll.»

«Easy, lad,» Coll said. «She looks anything but dangerous, despite that sword on her hip. Hell,» he added, pushing himself straighter, «if anything, she looks completely lost.»

Crokus stared at the woman, who stood at the summit's edge. «Hood's Breath,» he muttered. Coll was right. He'd never seen anyone look so bewildered, so utterly at a loss. She was looking at them, tensed as if ready to flee. All the poise, the deadly confidence she'd possessed in the Phoenix Inn was gone, as if it had never been. Crokus sheathed his dagger.

«So,» he asked, «what do we do now, Coll?»

The wounded man shrugged. «Ease the girl's mind, I guess. From the looks of it, she needs some help.»

«But she killed Chert,» Crokus stated. «I saw the blood on her knife.»

Coll squinted at the girl. «I don't doubt you, boy, but this girl doesn't look capable of killing anyone.»

«You think I can't see that?» Crokus said. «I'm just telling you what I saw. I know it doesn't make any sense!»

Coll sighed. «Anyway, she still needs our help. So go and get her, Crokus.»

The boy threw up his hands. «How do I do that?»

«Damned if I know,» Coll replied, grinning. «Try flirting.»

Crokus threw the man a disgusted look, then he walked cautiously towards the girl. She tensed and backed a step. «Careful!» Crokus cried, pointing at the summit's crest behind her.

The girl saw that she stood at the very edge of a steep slope. Oddly enough, this seemed to relax her. She moved a few steps closer to Crokus, her wide eyes searching his.

«That's right,» Crokus murmured. «Everything's fine. Do you understand?» He pointed at his mouth and made talking motions.

Coll groaned.

The girl surprised them both by replying in Daru, «I understand you,» she said haltingly. «More now. You're not Malazan, you're not speaking Malazan. But I understand you.» She frowned. «How?»

«Malazan, huh?» Coll said. «Where are you from, girl?»

She thought for a moment. «Itko Kan,» she said.

«What the hell?» Coll laughed. «What storm blew you here?»

Realization flooded her eyes. «Where's my father? What happened to the nets? I bought the twine, and there was that Seer-Riggalai the Seer, the wax-witch. I remember her-she died!» The girl fell to her knees. «She died. And then-»

Coll's expression was severe, thoughtful. «And then?»