Gruntle winced, looked away, and was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. ‘All right. But I’m not a soldier. I hate war. I hate killing.’ And I never want to see another battlefield ever again.
To that, she simply shrugged and set off to rejoin her meagre squad.
Gruntle returned his attention to the gathering of dignitaries.
Artanthos – Tayschrenn – was making introductions. Ambassador Aragan – a tall, battle-scarred man who seemed to be suffering from a headache – here to speak on behalf of Empress Laseen, regarding the governance of Black Coral. A handful of hangers-on.
Brood replied that the formal negotiations would have to await the arrival of Anomander Rake, who was expected shortly.
Gruntle’s gaze returned to Dujek, who had just arrived with his officers. The High Fist’s eyes were fixed on Korlat at the far end, and on the three covered bodies lying in the grasses. The rain still falling, the stench of burning heavy in the air, a shroud descending.
Aye, this day ends in ashes and rain.
In ashes and rain.
* * *
Running, memory’s echo of glory and joy. He rode the sensation, the flight from pain, from prisons of bone, from massive arms damp and scaled, from a place without wind, without light, without warmth.
From chilled meat. Pale, boiled Black, charred. From numbed, misshapen fingers pushing the morsels into a mouth that, as he chewed, filled with his own blood. From hard, cold stone with its patina of human grease.
Flesh fouled, the stench of smeared excrement—
Running—
An explosion of pain, swallowed in a sudden rush. Blood in veins. Breath drawn ragged – yet deep, deep into healthy lungs.
He opened his lone eye.
Toc looked around. He sat on a broad-backed horse. Grey-clad soldiers surrounded him, studying him from beneath war-worn helms.
I – I am … whole.
Hale.
I—
An armoured woman stepped forward. ‘Would you leave your god, now, sir?’
My god? Dead flesh clothing, hard Jaghut soul – no, not a god. The Seer. Fear-clutched. Betrayal-scarred.
My god?
Running. Freed. The beast.
The wolf.
Togg.
My namesake …
‘He has delivered you, sir, yet would make no demands. We know that your soul has run with the wolf-gods. But you are once more in the mortal realm. The body you now find yourself in was blessed. It is now yours. Still, sir, you must choose. Would you leave your gods?’
Toc studied his own arms, the muscles of his thighs. Long-fingered hands. He reached up, probed his face. A fresh scar, taking the same eye. No matter. He’d grown used to that. A young body – younger than he had been.
He looked down at the woman, then at the ring of soldiers. ‘No,’ he said.
The soldiers lowered themselves to one knee, heads bowing. The woman smiled. ‘Your company welcomes you, Mortal Sword of Togg and Fanderay.’
Mortal Sword.
Then, I shall run once more …
* * *
In the Warren of Tellann, Lanas Tog led Silverfox to the edge of a broad valley. Filling it, the gathered clans of the T’lan Imass. Standing, motionless—
Yet different.
Unburdened?
Pain and regret filled her. I have failed you all … in so many ways …
Pran Chole strode forward. The undead Bonecaster tilted his head in greeting. ‘Summoner.’
Silverfox realized she was trembling. ‘Can you forgive me, Pran Chole?’
‘Forgive? There is nothing to forgive, Summoner.’
‘I’d never intended to deny your wish for very long – only until, until…’
‘We understand. You need not weep. Not for us, nor for yourself.’
‘I – I will free you now, as I have done the T’lan Ay – I will end your Vow, Pran Chole, to free you … through Hood’s Gate, as you wished.’
‘No, Summoner.’
She stared, shocked silent.
‘We have heard Lanas Tog, the warrior at your side. There are kin, Summoner, who are being destroyed on a continent far to the south. They cannot escape their war. We would travel there. We would save our brothers and sisters.
‘Summoner, once this task is completed, we will return to you. Seeking the oblivion that awaits us.’
‘Pran Chole…’ Her voice broke. ‘You would remain in your torment…’
‘We must save our kin, Summoner, if we are so able. Within the Vow, our power remains. It will be needed.’
She slowly drew herself up, stilled her grief, her trembling. ‘Then I will join you, Pran Chole. We. Nightchill, Tattersail, Bellurdan, and Silverfox.’
The Bonecaster was silent for a long moment, then he said, ‘We are honoured, Summoner.’
Silverfox hesitated, then said, ‘You are … changed. What has Itkovian done?’
A sea of bone-helmed heads bowed at mention of that name, and seeing that stole the breath from her lungs. By the Abyss, what has that man done?
Pran Chole was long in replying. ‘Cast your eyes about you, Summoner. At the life now in this realm. Reach out and sense the power, here in the earth.’
She frowned. ‘I do not understand. This realm is now home to the Beast Thrones. There are Rhivi spirits here … two wolf-gods…’
Pran Chole nodded. ‘And more. You have, perhaps unwitting, created a realm where the Vow of Tellann unravels. T’lan Ay … now mortal once more – that gesture was easier than you had expected, was it not? Summoner, Itkovian freed our souls and found, in this realm you created, a place. For us.’
‘You have been … redeemed!’
‘Redeemed? No, Summoner. Only you are capable of that. The T’lan Imass have been awakened. Our memories – they live once more, in the earth beneath our feet. And they are what we will return to, the day you release us. Bonecaster – we expected nothing but oblivion, upon that release. We could not have imagined that an alternative was possible.’
‘And now?’ she whispered.
Pran Chole cocked his head. ‘It surpasses us … what one mortal man so willingly embraced.’ He swung about to make his way back down to the ranks, then paused and looked back at her. ‘Summoner.’
‘Yes.’
‘One task awaits us … before we begin the long journey…’
* * *
Picker sat on a smoke-stained foundation stone, eyes dulled with exhaustion, and watched the Rhivi move through the rubble, seeking still more bodies. There were Pannion soldiers about, unarmed – seemingly the only citizens left in the city were either dead or gnawed down to little more than bones.
The Bridgeburners who had died within the keep had already left on a wagon – Picker and her meagre squad had retrieved most of them on the way out, even as the structure began to come down around them. A handful of other bodies had been found and recovered through sorcery, by the Tiste Andii, some of whom still lingered in the area, as if awaiting something, or someone. The only two no-one had yet found were Quick Ben and Paran, and Picker suspected it was because they weren’t there.
Torches lit the area, feeble in their battling the unnatural darkness that shrouded the city. The air stank of smoke and mortar dust. Distant cries of pain rose every now and then, like haunting memories.
We were brittle. Destroyed months ago, outside Pale, it’s just taken this long for the few of us left to realize it. Hedge, Trotts, Detoran. Corpses who kept saluting—
Blend spoke beside her. ‘I told the Rhivi on our wagon to wait inside the north gate.’
Our wagon. The wagon carrying the dead Bridgeburners.
First in.
Last out.
For the last time.
A flash of light from the keep’s rubble, a warren opening, through which figures emerged. A scarred hound – a cattle-dog, it looked like – followed by Lady Envy, and two Seguleh dragging a third masked warrior between them.
‘Well,’ Blend mu
rmured, ‘that about does it, doesn’t it?’
Picker was unsure what Blend meant, did not pursue it.
Lady Envy had seen them. ‘Lieutenant dear! What a relief to see you well. Could you believe the audacity of that white-haired, sword-stuffed—’
‘Would you be referring to me?’ a deep voice asked.
Through the gloom stepped Anomander Rake. ‘Had I known you were within the keep, Lady Envy, I would have brought Moon’s Spawn all the way down.’
‘Oh, what a thing to say!’
‘What are you doing here?’ the Son of Darkness growled.
‘Oh, this and that, my love. And aren’t you looking very martial this afternoon – it’s still afternoon, isn’t it? Hard to tell here.’
‘Oh,’ Blend whispered, ‘there’s history between those two.’
‘Really,’ Picker quietly drawled, ‘and how could you tell?’ Damned lady – not a scuff on that telaba. Now there’s a different world from mine. Yet there we stood, side by side, in that hallway.
Anomander Rake was eyeing the woman standing before him. ‘What do you want, Envy?’
‘Why, I have travelled half a continent, you ungrateful man, to deliver to you words of most vital import.’
‘Let’s hear them, then.’
Lady Envy blinked, looked around. ‘Here, my love? Wouldn’t you rather somewhere more … private?’
‘No. I have things to do. Out with it.’
She crossed her arms. ‘Then I will, though the gods know why I bother bravely retaining this generous mood of mine—’
‘Envy.’
‘Very well. Hear me, then, Wielder of Dragnipur. My dear father, Draconus, plots to escape the chains within the sword. How do I know? Blood whispers, Anomander.’
The Lord of Moon’s Spawn grunted. ‘I am surprised he’s taken this long. Well, what of it?’
Envy’s eyes went wide. ‘Is this bravado madness? In case you’ve forgotten, we worked damned hard to slay him the first time!’
Picker glanced over at Blend, saw the woman standing slack-jawed as she stared at Rake and Envy.
‘I don’t recall you doing much,’ Anomander Rake was saying, ‘at the time. You stood by and watched the battle—’
‘Precisely! And what do you think my father thought of that?’
The Lord of Moon’s Spawn shrugged. ‘He knew enough not to ask for your help, Envy. In any case, I heed your warning, but there is scant little I can do about it, at least until Draconus actually manages to free himself.’
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me, my dear, what – if anything – do you know of the Master of the Deck?’
Rake’s brows rose. ‘Ganoes Paran? The mortal who walked within Dragnipur? The one who sent the two Hounds of Shadow into Kurlad Galain’s gate?’
Envy stamped her foot. ‘You are insufferable!’
The Tiste Andii Lord turned away. ‘We’ve spoken enough, Envy.’
‘They will seek a way to break the sword!’
‘Aye, they might.’
‘Your very life totters on the whim of a mortal man!’
Anomander Rake paused, glanced back at her. ‘I’d best step careful, then, hadn’t I?’ A moment later, he continued on, into the loose crowd of Tiste Andii.
Hissing in exasperation, Envy set off in pursuit.
Blend slowly faced Picker. ‘Ganoes Paran? The captain?’
‘Mull on it some other time,’ Picker replied. ‘Either way, in the end, it’s nothing to do with us.’ She slowly straightened. ‘Gather ’em up, Blend. We’re for the north gate.’
‘Aye, sir. Shouldn’t take long.’
‘I’ll be at the arch.’
‘Lieutenant? Picker?’
‘What?’
‘You did what you could.’
‘Wasn’t good enough, was it?’ Without waiting for a reply, Picker set off. Tiste Andii parted to either side to let her pass. She neared the blackened arch.
‘A moment.’
Picker turned to see Anomander Rake approach.
Picker’s eyes involuntarily shied from the Tiste Andii’s hard, unhuman gaze.
‘I would walk with you,’ he said.
Unsettled by the attention, she glanced back at Lady Envy, who was now busy examining the unconscious Seguleh warrior. You’re a brave woman, Lady – you didn’t even flinch.
The Son of Darkness must have followed her gaze, for he sighed. ‘I’ve no interest in resuming that particular conversation, Lieutenant. And should she decide to awaken that Seguleh – and given her present mood she just might – well, I’m not inclined to resume that old argument, either. I assume you and your squad are marching to the command position north of the city.’
Were we? I hadn’t thought that far. She nodded.
‘May I join you, then?’
Gods below! Picker drew a deep breath, then said, ‘We’re not pleasant company at the moment, Lord.’
‘No indeed. Yet you are worthy company.’
She met his eyes at that, wondering.
He grimaced, then said, ‘I regret my late arrival. Nor was I aware that there were Malazan soldiers within the keep.’
‘It wouldn’t have mattered, Lord,’ Picker said, managing a shrug. ‘From what I’ve heard, Dujek’s companies weren’t spared any for not being in the keep.’
Anomander Rake glanced away for a moment, eyes tightening. ‘A sad conclusion to the alliance.’
The remaining Bridgeburners had drawn close, listening in silence. Picker was suddenly aware of them, of the words they had heard in this exchange, and the things left unsaid. ‘That alliance,’ she said, ‘was solid as far as we were concerned.’ We. Us. The ones now standing before you.
Perhaps he understood. ‘Then I would walk with my allies, Lieutenant, one more time.’
‘We would be honoured, sir.’
‘To the command position north of the city.’
‘Aye, sir.’
The Lord of the Tiste Andii sighed. ‘There is a fallen soldier to whom I would … pay my respects…’
Aye, the saddest news we’ve heard yet this day. ‘As will we all, Lord.’
Rake stayed at her side as she walked, the five surviving soldiers of the Bridgeburners falling in behind them.
* * *
She came to his side, her eyes, like his, on the figures gathering on the hilltop around them. ‘Do you know what I wish?’
Gruntle shook his head. ‘No, Stonny, what do you wish?’
‘That Harllo was here.’
‘Aye.’
‘I’d settle for just his body, though. He belongs here, with these other fallen. Not under a small pile of stones in the middle of nowhere.’
Harllo, were you the first death in this war? Did our ragged troop represent the first allies to join the cause?
‘Do you remember the bridge?’ Stonny asked. ‘All busted down, Harllo fishing from the foundation stones. We saw Moon’s Spawn, didn’t we? South horizon, drifting east. And now, here we are, in that damn thing’s shadow.’
Caladan Brood and Dujek were approaching Korlat, who had remained standing over the three covered bodies. Two steps behind them, Tayschrenn, the sorcerous patina of youth gone from him.
There was an unnatural hush in the dark air, through which their voices easily carried.
Dujek had stepped past Korlat to kneel before the three fallen Malazans. ‘Who was here?’ he grated, hand reaching up to rub at his own face. ‘Who saw what happened?’
‘Myself,’ Korlat replied without inflection. ‘And Tayschrenn. The moment Silverfox appeared, Kallor struck the two of us down first, ensuring that we would be incapable of reacting. I do not think he anticipated that Whiskeyjack and the two marines would step into his path. They delayed him long enough for Tayschrenn to recover. Kallor was forced to flee to his new master – the Crippled God.’
‘Whiskeyjack crossed swords with Kallor?’ Dujek drew the rain-cape away from Whiskeyjack’s body, silently studied his friend.
‘This shattered leg – was it responsible…’
Gruntle saw Korlat – who still stood behind Dujek – hesitate, then she said, ‘No, High Fist. It broke after the mortal blow.’
After a long moment, Dujek shook his head. ‘We kept telling him to have it properly healed. “Later,” he’d say. Always “later”. Are you certain, Korlat? That it broke after?’
‘Yes, High Fist.’
Dujek frowned, eyes fixed on the dead soldier before him. ‘Whiskeyjack was a superb swordsman … used to spar with Dassem Ultor and it’d take a while for Dassem to get past his guard.’ He glanced back over his shoulder, at Korlat, then at Tayschrenn. ‘And with the two marines on his flanks … how long, High Mage, until you recovered?’
Tayschrenn grimaced, shot Korlat a glance, then said, ‘Only moments, Dujek. Moments … too late.’
‘High Fist,’ Korlat said, ‘Kallor’s prowess with the blade … he is a formidable warrior.’
Gruntle could see the frown on Dujek’s face deepening.
Stonny muttered under her breath, ‘This doesn’t sound right. That broken leg must’ve come first.’
He reached out and gripped her arm, then shook his head. No, Korlat must have a reason for this. This … deceit.
Stonny’s eyes narrowed, but she fell silent.
With a rough sigh, Dujek straightened. ‘I have lost a friend,’ he said.
For some reason, the raw simplicity of that statement struck through to Gruntle’s heart. He felt an answering stab of pain, of grief, within him.
Harllo … my friend.
Itkovian …
Gruntle turned away, blinking rapidly.
Anomander Rake had arrived, the Great Raven Crone flapping desultorily from his path. Beside the Son of Darkness, Picker. Gruntle saw other Bridgeburners behind them: Blend, Mallet, Antsy, Spindle, Bluepearl. Armour in tatters, old blood crusting them, and all the life gone from their eyes.
On the slopes, now, were gathered the survivors of Onearm’s Host. Gruntle judged less than a thousand. Beyond them, Barghast and Rhivi, Tiste Andii and the rest of Brood’s army. Silent, standing to honour the fallen.
The healer, Mallet, strode straight to where Whiskeyjack’s body lay.
Gruntle saw the healer’s eyes study the wounds, saw the truth strike home. The large man staggered back a step, arms wrapping around himself, and seemed to inwardly collapse. Dujek closed on him in time to take his weight, ease him into a sitting position on the ground.
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