Deadhouse Gates (Book 2 of The Malazan Book of the Fallen) [Mass Market Paperback]

'Erikson is an extraordinary writer....treat yourself' Stephen R. Donaldson. 'A fantasy world as rich and detailed as you're likely to encounter....so engrossing you'll be hard-pressed to put it aside...an astounding debut' SF Site. 'Complex, challenging...Erikson's strengths are his grown-up characters and his ability to create a world every bit as intricate and messy as our own' J. V. Jones author of The Book Of Words trilogy.

The second book in Steven Erikson's thrilling epic fantasy series chronicling the ill-fated Malazan Empire.

Weakened by events in Darujhistan, the Malazan Empire teeters on the brink of anarchy. In the vast dominion of Seven Cities, in the Holy Desert Raraku, the seer Sha'ik gathers an army around her in preparation for the long-prophesied uprising named the Whirlwind. Unprecedented in its size and savagery, it will embroil in one of the bloodiest conflicts it has ever known: a maelstrom of fanaticism and bloodlust that will shape destinies and give birth to legends...

In the Otataral mines, Felisin, youngest daughter of the disgraced House of Paran, dreams of revenge against the sister who sentenced her to a life of slavery. Escape leads her to raraku, where her soul will be reborn and her future made clear. The now-outlawed Bridgeburners, Fiddler and the assassin Kalam, have vowed to return the once god-possessed Apsalar to her homeland, and to confront and kill the Empress Laseen, but events will overtake them too. Meanwhile, Coltaine, the charismatic commander of the Malaz 7th Army, will lead his battered, war-weary troops in a last, valient running battle to save the lives of thirty thousand refugees and, in so doing, secure an illustrious place in the Empire's chequered history. And into this blighted land come two ancient wanderers, Mappo and his half-Jaghut companion Icarium, bearers of a devastating secret that threatens to break free of its chains...

Set in a brilliantly-realized world ravaged by anarchy and dark, uncontrollable magic, Deadhouse Gates is the thrilling, brutal second chapter in the Malazan Book of the Fallen. A powerful novel of war, intrigue and betrayal, it confirms Steven Erikson as a storyteller of breathtaking skill, imagination and originality - a new master of epic fantasy.

A TALE OF THE MALAZAN BOOK OF THE FALLEN

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 named the Whirlwind. Unprecedented in its 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...

Embittered and enslaved, Felisin, youngest daughter of the disgraced House of Paran, dreams of escape from the horrors of the Otataral mines. However, freedom and revenge have their price: her soul. The outlawed Bridgeburners Fiddler and Kalam had vowed to rid the world of the Empress Laseen but it appears the gods have other plans. And Coltaine, the charismatic but untried commander of the Malaz 7th Army, will lead his war-weary troops in a last, valiant running battle to save the lives of thirty thousand refugees and, in so doing, secure an illustrious place in the Empire's chequered history. Then into this blighted land come two ancient wanderers, Mappo the Trell and his half-Jaghut companion Icarium, bearers of a devastating secret about to let slip its chains.

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 - a new master of epic fantasy.

Archaeologist and anthropologist Steven Erikson is a graduate of the celebrated Iowa Writers' Workshop. His first fantasy novel, the critically acclaimed Gardens of the Moon, marked the opening chapter in the epic sequence, The Malazan Book of the Fallen, and was nominated for a World Fantasy Award. It is published by Bantam, as are the equally acclaimed subsequent volumes, Deadhouse Gates, Memories of Ice and House of Chains. The fifth book in the sequence, Midnight Tides, is available in Bantam Press. Steven Erikson lives in Canada.

1164th Year of Burn's Sleep
Tenth Year of the Rule of Empress Laseen
The Sixth in the Seven Years of Dryjhna, the Apocalyptic

A corkscrew plume of dust raced across the basin, heading deeper into the trackless desert of the Pan'potsun Odhan. Though less than two thousand paces away, it seemed a plume born of nothing.
From his perch on the mesa's wind-scarred edge, Mappo Runt followed it with relentless eyes the colour of sand, eyes set deep in a robustly boned, pallid face. He held a wedge of emrag cactus in his bristle-backed hand, unmindful of the envenomed spikes as he bit into it. Juices dribbled down his chin, staining it blue. He chewed slowly, thoughtfully.
Beside him Icarium flicked a pebble over the cliff edge. It clicked and clattered on its way down to the boulder-strewn base. Under the ragged Spiritwalker robe - its orange faded to dusty rust beneath the endless sun - his grey skin had darkened into olive green, as if his father's blood had answered this wasteland's ancient call. His long, braided black hair dripped black sweat onto the bleached rock.
Mappo pulled a mangled thorn from between his front teeth. 'Your dye's running,' he observed, eyeing the cactus blade a moment before taking another bite.
Icarium shrugged. 'Doesn't matter any more. Not out here.'
'My blind grandmother wouldn't have swallowed your disguise. There were narrow eyes on us in Ehrlitan. I felt them crawling on my back day and night. Tannos are mostly short and bow-legged, after all.' Mappo pulled his gaze away from the dust cloud and studied his friend. 'Next time,' he grunted, 'try belonging to a tribe where everyone's seven foot tall.'
Icarium's lined, weather-worn face twitched into something like a smile, just a hint, before resuming its placid expression. 'Those who would know of us in Seven Cities, surely know of us now. Those who would not might wonder at us, but that is all they will do.' Squinting against the glare, he nodded at the plume. 'What do you see, Mappo?'
'Flat head, long neck, black and hairy all over. If just that, I might be describing one of my uncles.'
'But there's more.'
'One leg up front and two in back.'
Icarium tapped the bridge of his nose, thinking. 'So, not one of your uncles. An aptorian?'
Mappo slowly nodded. 'The convergence is months away. I'd guess Shadowthrone caught a whiff of what's coming, sent out a few scouts . . .'
'And this one?'
Mappo grinned, exposing massive canines. 'A tad too far afield. Sha'ik's pet now.' He finished off the cactus, wiped his spatulate hands, then rose from his crouch. Arching his back, he winced. There had been, unaccountably, a mass of roots beneath the sand under his bedroll the night just past, and now the muscles to either side of his spine matched every knot and twist of those treeless bones. He rubbed at his eyes. A quick scan down the length of his body displayed for him the tattered, dirt-crusted state of his clothes. He sighed. 'It's said there's a waterhole out there, somewhere-'
'With Sha'ik's army camped around it.'
Mappo grunted.
Icarium also straightened, noting once again the sheer mass of his companion - big even for a Trell - the shoulders broad and maned in black hair, the sinewy muscles of his long arms, and the thousand years that capered like a gleeful goat behind Mappo's eyes. 'Can you track it?'
'If you like.'
Icarium grimaced. 'How long have we known each other, friend?'
Mappo's glance was sharp, then he shrugged. 'Long. Why do you ask?'
'I know reluctance when I hear it. The prospect disturbs you?'
'Any potential brush with demons disturbs me, Icarium. Shy as a hare is Mappo Trell.'
'I am driven by curiosity.'
'I know.'
The unlikely pair turned back to their small campsite, tucked between two towering spires of wind-sculpted rock.