The Bonehunters

by Steven Erikson

  Shock and disbelief warred on the Edur warrior's weathered, lined visage. 'You must tell me more of this. The one you call Anomander Rake, how is he described?'

  'I know little of that. Tall, black-skinned, silver hair. He carries a cursed two-handed sword. Are these details accurate? I know not... but I see by the look in your eyes, Ahlrada Ahn, that they must be.' Taralack paused, con­sidering how much he should reveal — his next statement would involve arcane knowledge — information not known by many. Still...let us see how this plays out. His shifted his language, to that of the Letherii, and said, 'Anomander Rake is Tiste Andii. Not Edur. Yet, by your reaction, warrior, I might think that, as with Tomad Sengar, you are wounded by some manner of unwelcome revelation.'

  A sudden skittish look in the warrior's eyes. He glanced at Twilight, then pivoted about and strode away.

  'There are matters,' the Atri-Preda said to Taralack Veed, 'that you are unaware of, and it is best that it remain so. Ignorance protects you. It was not wise,' she added, 'that you revealed your facility with the Letherii language.'

  'I believe,' the Gral replied, 'that Ahlrada Ahn will prove disinclined to report our conversation to anyone.' He met her eyes then, and smiled. 'As will you, Atri-Preda.'

  'You are careless, Taralack Veed.'

  He spat on his hands and swept them through his hair, wondering again at her sudden look of distaste. 'Tell Tomad Sengar this, Atri-Preda. It is he who risks much, with his demand that Icarium's prowess be tested.'

  'You seem so certain,' she said.

  'Of what?'

  'That your companion represents the most formidable threat Emperor Rhulad has ever faced. Alas, as has invariably proved the case, all others who believed the same are now dead. And, Taralack Veed, there have been so many. Tomad Sengar must know for certain. He must be made to believe, before he will guide your friend to stand before his son.'

  'His son?'

  'Yes. Emperor Rhulad is Tomad Sengar's youngest son, Indeed, now, the only son he has left. The other three are gone, or dead. Likely they are all dead.'

  'Then it strikes me,' the Gral said, 'that what Tomad seeks to measure is not Icarium's prowess, but his lack thereof. After all, what father would wish death upon his last surviving son?'

  In answer, Twilight simply stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned away.

  Leaving Taralack Veed alone, a frown growing ever more troubled on his face.

  ****

  Sergeant Hellian had found a supply of sailor's rum and now walked round the decks, a benign smile on her face. Not half a bell earlier, she'd been singing some Kartoolian death dirge as the very Abyss was being unleashed in the skies overhead.

  Masan Gilani, her armour off once more and a heavy woollen cloak wrapped about her against the chill wind, sat among a handful of other soldiers, more or less out of the way of the sailors. The enemy fleet was somewhere to the south now, lost in the deepening dusk, and good riddance to them.

  We've got us a High Mage now. A real one. That Quick Ben, he was a Bridgeburner, after all. A real High Mage, who just saved all our skins. That's good.

  A new badge adorned her cloak, in silver, crimson and gold thread — she was quite proud of her handiwork. The Bonehunters. Yes, I can live with that name. True, it wasn't as poignant as Bridgeburners. In fact, its meaning was a little bit obscure, but that was fine, since, thus far, the Fourteenth's history was equally obscure. Or at least muddied up enough to make things confused and uncertain.

  Like where we're going. What's next? Why has the Empress recalled us? It's not as if Seven Cities don't need rebuilding, or Malazans filling all those empty garrisons. Then again, the plague now held the land by the throat and was still choking the life from it.

  But we got us a High Mage.

  The young girl, Sinn, crawled near, shivering in the chill, and Masan Gilani opened one side of her cloak. Sinn slipped within that enveloping embrace, snuggled closer then settled her head on Masan's chest.

  Nearby, Sergeant Cord was still cursing at Crump, who had stupidly waved at one of the passing enemy ships, just after the battle that wasn't. Crump had been the one who'd messed things badly at the wall of Y'Ghatan, she recalled. The one who ran with his knees up to either side of his big ears. And who was now listening to his sergeant with a broad, mindless smile, his expression twitching to sheer delight every time Cord's tirade reached new heights of imagination.

  If all of that went on much longer, Masan Gilani suspected, the sergeant might well launch himself at Crump, hands closing on that long, scrawny neck with its bobbing fist-sized apple. Just to strangle that smile from the fool's horsey face.

  Sinn's small hand began playing with one of Masan's breasts, the index finger circling the nipple.

  What kind of company has this imp been keeping? She gently pushed the hand away, but it came back. Fine. What of it, but damn, that's one cold hand she's got there.

  'All dead,' Sinn murmured.

  'What? Who's all dead, girl?'

  'They're all dead — you like this? I think you like this.'

  'Your finger is cold. Who is all dead?'

  'Big.'

  The finger went away, was replaced by a warm, wet mouth. A dancing tongue.

  Hood's breath! Well, I can think of worse ways to end this terrifying day.

  'Is that my sister hiding in there?'

  Masan Gilani looked up at Corporal Shard. 'Yes.'

  A slightly pained expression on his face. 'She won't tell me... what happened at the estate. What happened... to her.' He hesitated, then added, 'Yours isn't the first cloak of the night she's crawled under, Masan Gilani. Though you're the first woman.'

  'Ah, I see.'

  'I want to know what happened. You understand that? I need to know.'

  Masan Gilani nodded.

  'I can see how it is,' Shard went on, looking away and rubbing at his face. 'We all cope in our own ways...'

  'But you're her brother,' she said, still nodding. 'And you've been following her around. To make sure nobody does anything with her they shouldn't do.'

  His sigh was heavy. 'Thanks, Masan Gilani. I wasn't really worried about you—'

  'I doubt you'd need worry about any of us,' she replied. 'Not the squads here.'

  'You know,' he said, and she saw tears trickle down his cheeks, 'that's what's surprised me. Here, with these people — all of us, who came out from under the city — they've all said the same thing as you just did.'

  'Shard,' she said gently, 'you still Ashok Regiment? You and the rest?'

  He shook his head. 'No. We're Bonehunters now.'

  That's good. 'I got some extra thread,' she noted. 'Might be I could borrow your cloaks... on a warm day...'

  'You've got a good hand, Masan Gilani. I'll tell the others, if that's okay.'

  'It is. Not much else for us to do now anyway, on these bloated hippos.'

  'Still, I appreciate it. I mean, everything, that is.'

  'Go get some sleep, Corporal. From your sister's breathing, that's what she's doing right now.'

  Nodding, he moved away.

  And if some soldier who doesn't get it tries to take advantage of this broken thing, all forty-odd of us will skin him or her alive. Add one more. Faradan Sort.

  Four children scrambled across the deck, one squealing with laughter. Tucked in Masan Gilani's arms, Sinn stirred slightly, then settled in once more, her mouth planted firm on the woman's nipple. The Dal Honese woman stared after the children, pleased to see that they'd recovered from the march, that they'd begun their own healing. We all cope in our own ways, aye.

  So who was Sinn seeing, when she said that they were all dead?

  Gods below, I don't think I want to know. Not tonight, any­way. Let her sleep. Let those others play, then curl up beneath blankets somewhere below. Let us all sleep to this beast's swaying. Quick Ben's gift to us, all of this.

  ****

  Brother and sister stood at the prow, wrapped against the chill, and wa
tched as stars filled the darkness of the north sky. Creaking cordage, the strain of sails canted over as the ship made yet another tack. Westward, a ridge of moun­tains blacker than the heavens marked the Olphara Peninsula.

  The sister broke the long silence between them. 'It should have been impossible.'

  Her brother snorted, then said, 'It was. That's the whole point.'

  'Tavore won't get what she wants.'

  'I know.'

  'She's used to that.'

  'She's had to deal with us, yes.'

  'You know, Nil, he saved us all.'

  A nod, unseen beneath the heavy hood of Wickan wool.

  'Especially Quick Ben.'

  'Agreed. So,' Nil continued, 'we are also agreed that it is a good thing he is with us.'

  'I suppose,' Nether replied.

  'You're only sounding like that because you like him, sister. Like him the way a woman likes a man.'

  'Don't be an idiot. It's those dreams... and what she does...'

  Nil snorted again. 'Quickens your breath, does it? That animal hand, gripping him hard—'

  'Enough! That's not what I meant. It's just... yes, it's a good thing he's with this army. But her, with him, well, I'm not so sure.'

  'You're jealous, you mean.'

  'Brother, I grow weary of this childish teasing. There's something, well, compulsive about it, the way she uses him.'

  'All right, on that I would agree. But for you and me, sister, there is one vital question remaining. The Eres'al has taken an interest. She follows us like a jackal.'

  'Not us. Him.'

  'Exactly. And that is at the heart of the question here. Do we tell her? Do we tell the Adjunct?'

  'Tell her what? That some wet-crotched soldier in Fiddler's squad is more important to her and her army than Quick Ben, Kalam and Apsalar all put together? Listen, we wait until we discover what the High Mage tells the Adjunct — about what just happened.'

  'Meaning, if he says little, or even claims complete ignorance—'

  'Or takes credit and struts around like a First Hero — that's when we decide on our answer, Nil.'

  'All right.'

  They were silent then for a dozen heartbeats, until Nil said, 'You shouldn't worry overmuch, Nether. A half-woman half-animal all covered in smelly fur isn't much competition for his heart, I'd imagine.'

  'But it wasn't my hand—' Abruptly, she shut up, then offered up a most ferocious string of Wickan curses.

  In the dark, Nil was smiling. Thankful, nonetheless, that his sister could not see it.

  ****

  Marines crowded the hold, sprawled or curled up beneath blankets, so many bodies Apsalar was made uneasy, as if she'd found herself in a soldier barrow. Drawing her own coverings to one side, she rose. Two lanterns swung from timbers, their wicks low. The air was growing foul. She clasped on her cloak and made her way towards the hatch.

  Climbing free, she stepped onto the mid deck. The night air was bitter cold but blissfully fresh in her lungs. She saw two figures at the prow. Nil and Nether. So turned instead and ascended to the stern castle, only to find yet another figure, leaning on the stern rail. A soldier, short, squat, his head left bare despite the icy wind. Bald, with a fringe of long, grey, ratty strands that whipped about in the frigid blasts. She did not recognize the man.

  Apsalar hesitated, then, shrugging, walked over. His head turned when she reached the rail at his side. 'You invite illness, soldier,' she said. 'At the least, draw up your hood.'

  The old man grunted, said nothing.

  'I am named Apsalar.'

  'So you want my name back, do you? But if I do that, then it ends. Just silence. It's always that way.'

  She looked down on the churning wake twisting away from the ship's stern. Phosphorescence lit the foam. 'I am a stranger to the Fourteenth Army,' she said.

  'Doubt it'll make a difference,' he said. 'What I did ain't no secret to nobody.'

  'I have but recently returned to Seven Cities.' She paused, then said, 'In any case, you are not alone with the burden of things you once did.'

  He glanced over again. 'You're too young to be haunted by your past.'

  'And you, soldier, are too old to care so much about your own.'

  He barked a laugh, returned his attention to the sea.

  To the east clouds skidded from the face of the moon, yet the light cast down was muted, dull.

  'Look at that,' he said. 'I got good eyes, but that moon's nothing but a blur. Not the haze of cloud, neither. It's a distant world, ain't it? Another realm, with other armies crawling around in the fog, killing each other, draggin' children into the streets, red swords flashing down over'n over. And I bet they look up every now and then, wonderin' at all the dust they kicked up, makin' it hard to see that other world overhead.'

  'When I was a child,' Apsalar said, 'I believed that there were cities there, but no wars. Just beautiful gardens, and the flowers were ever in bloom, every season, day and night, filling the air with wondrous scents... you know, I told all of that to someone, once. He later said to me that he fell in love with me that night. With that story. He was young, you see.'

  'And now he's just that emptiness in your eyes, Apsalar.'

  She flinched. 'If you are going to make observations like that, I will know your name.'

  'But that would ruin it. Everything. Right now, I'm just me, just a soldier like all the others. You find out who I am and it all falls apart.' He grimaced, then spat down into the sea. 'Very well. Nothing ever lasts, not even ignorance. My name's Squint.'

  'I hate to puncture your ego — as tortured as it is — but no vast revelation follows your name.'

  'Do you lie? No, I see you don't. Well, never expected that, Apsalar.'

  'Nothing changes, then, does it? You know nothing of me and I know nothing of you.'

  'I'd forgotten what that was like. That young man, what happened to him?'

  'I don't know. I left him.'

  'You didn't love him?'

  She sighed. 'Squint, it's complicated. I've hinted at my own past. The truth is, I loved him too much to see him fall so far into my life, into what I was — and still am. He deserves better.'

  'You damned fool, woman. Look at me. I'm alone. Once, I wasn't in no hurry to change that. And then, one day I woke up, and it was too late. Now, alone gives me my only peace, but it ain't a pleasant peace. You two loved each other — any idea how rare and precious that is? You broke yourself and broke him too, I'd think. Listen to me — go find him, Apsalar. Find him and hold onto him — now whose ego tortures itself, eh? There you are, thinking that change can only go one way.'

  Her heart was thudding hard. She was unable to speak, every counter argument, every refutation seeming to melt away. Sweat cooled on her skin.

  Squint turned away. 'Gods below, a real conversation. All edges and life... I'd forgotten. I'm going below — my head's gone numb.' He paused. 'Don't suppose you'd ever care to talk again? Just Squint and Apsalar, who ain't got nothing in common except what they don't know about each other.'

  She managed a nod, and said, 'I would... welcome that, Squint.'

  'Good.'

  She listened to his footsteps dwindle behind her. Poor man. He did the right thing taking Coltaine's life, but he's the only one who can't live with that.

  ****

  Climbing down into the hold, Squint stopped for a moment, hands on the rope rails to either side of the steep steps. He could have said more, he knew, but he had no idea he'd slice so easily through her defences. That vulnerability was... unexpected.

  You'd think, wouldn't you, that someone who'd been possessed by a god would be tougher than that.

  ****

  'Apsalar.'

  She knew the voice and so did not turn. 'Hello, Cotillion.'

  The god moved up to lean against the rail at her side. 'It was not easy to find you.'

  'I am surprised. I am doing as you ask, after all.'

  'Into the heart of the Malazan Empire. Tha
t detail was not something we had anticipated.'

  'Victims do not stand still, awaiting the knife. Even unsuspecting, they are capable of changing everything.'

  He said nothing for a time, and Apsalar could feel a renewal of tension within her. In the muted moonlight his face looked tired, and in his eyes as he looked at her, some­thing febrile.

  'Apsalar, I was... complacent—'

  'Cotillion, you are many things, but complacency is not one of them.'

  'Careless, then. Something has happened — it is difficult to piece together. As if the necessary details have been flung into a muddy pool, and I have been able to do little more than grope, half-blind and not even certain what it is I am looking for.'

  'Cutter.'

  He nodded. 'There was an attack. An ambush, I think — even the memories held in the ground, where the blood spilled, were all fragmented — I could read so little.'

  What has happened? She wanted to ask that question. Now, cutting through his slow, cautious approach — not caution — he is hedging—

  'A small settlement is near the scene — they were the ones who cleaned things up.'

  'He is dead.'

  'I don't know — there were no bodies, except for horses. One grave, but it had been opened and the occupant exhumed — no, I don't know why anyone would do that. In any case, I have lost contact with Cutter, and that more than anything else is what disturbs me.'

  'Lost contact,' she repeated dully. 'Then he is dead, Cotillion.'

  'I honestly do not know. There are two things, however, of which I am certain. Do you wish to hear them?'

  'Are they relevant?'

  'That is for you to decide.'

  'Very well.'

  'One of the women, Scillara—'

  'Yes.'

  'She gave birth — she survived to do that at least, and the child is now in the care of the villagers.'

  'That is good. What else?'

  'Heboric Light Touch is dead.'

  She turned at that — but away from him — staring out over the seas, to that distant, murky moon. 'Ghost Hands.'

  'Yes. The power — the aura — of that old man — it burned like green fire, it had the wild rage of Treach. It was un­mistakable, undeniable—'

  'And now it is gone.'