'You all right?' Murillio asked.
'Get me a lasso. And some sweetroot.'
'I'd suggest a mallet instead,' Murillio replied, 'but since you know your mind, I won't.'
Distant horns sounded.
'Hood's breath,' Coll groaned. 'The march to Capustan's begun.' He slowly sat up. 'We were supposed to be up front for this.'
'We could always ride in the wagon, friend. Return the horses to the Mott Irregulars and get our money back.'
'That wagon's overloaded as it is.' Coll painfully regained his feet. 'Besides, he said no refunds.'
Murillio squinted at his companion. 'Did he now? And not even a stir of suspicion from you at that?'
'Quiet.'
'But-'
'Murillio, you want the truth? The man was so homely I felt sorry for him, all right? Now stop babbling and let's get on with this.'
'Coll! He was asking a prince's ransom for-'
'Enough,' he growled. 'That ransom's going to pay for the privilege of killing the damned beasts, or you — which do you prefer?'
'You can't kill them-'
'Then another word from you and it's this hillside under a pile of boulders for dear old Murillio of Darujhistan. Am I understood? Good. Now hand me that lasso and the sweetroot — we'll start with the one still here.'
'Wouldn't you rather run after-'
'Murillio,' Coll warned.
'Sorry. Make the boulders small, please.'
The miasmic clouds churned low over the heaving waves, waves that warred with each other amidst jagged mountains of ice, waves that spun and twisted even as they struck the battered shoreline, flinging spume skyward. The thunderous roar was shot through with grinding, cracking, and the ceaseless hiss of driving rain.
'Oh my,' Lady Envy murmured.
The three Seguleh crouched on the leeside of a large basaltic boulder, applying thick grease to their weapons. They were a sadly bedraggled trio, sodden with rain, smeared with mud, their armour in tatters. Minor wounds crisscrossed their arms, thighs and shoulders, the deeper ones roughly stitched with gut, the rows of knots black and gummed with old blood that streamed crimson in the rain.
Nearby, surmounting a jutting spar of basalt, stood Baaljagg. Matted, scabbed, her fur in tangled tufts around bare patches, a hand's length of broken spear shaft jutting from her right shoulder — three days it had been, yet the beast would not allow Envy close, nor the Seguleh — the giant wolf stared steadily northward with feverish, gleaming eyes.
Garath lay three paces behind her, shivering uncontrollably, wounds suppurating as if his body wept since he could not, massive and half mad, allowing no-one — not even the wolf — to come near.
Only Lady Envy remained, to all outward appearances, untouched by the horrendous war they had undertaken; untouched, even, by the driving rain. Her white telaba showed not a single stain. Her unbound black hair hung full and straight down to the small of her back. Her lips were painted a deep, vaguely menacing red. The kohl above her eyes contained the hues of dusk.
'Oh my,' she whispered yet again. 'How shall we follow Tool across … this? And why was he not a T'lan Elephant, or a T'lan Whale, so that he could carry us on his back, in sumptuous howdahs? With running hot water and ingenious plumbing.'
Mok appeared at her side, rain streaming from his enamel mask. 'I will face him yet,' he said.
'Oh really. And when did duelling Tool become more important than your mission to the Seer? How will the First or the Second react to such self-importance?'
'The First is the First and the Second is the Second,' Mok replied laconically.
Lady Envy rolled her eyes. 'How astute an observation.'
'The demands of the self have primacy, mistress. Always, else there would be no champions. There would be no hierarchy at all. The Seguleh would be ruled by mewling martyrs blindly trampling the helpless in their lust for the common good. Or we would be ruled by despots who would hide behind an army to every challenge, creating of brute force a righteous claim to honour. We know of other lands, mistress. We know much more than you think.'
She turned to study him. 'Goodness. And here I have been proceeding on the assumption that entertaining conversation was denied to me.'
'We are immune to your contempt, mistress.'
'Hardly, you've been smarting ever since I reawakened you. Smarting? Indeed, seething.'
'There are matters to be discussed,' Mok said.
'Are you sure? Would you by chance be referring to this tumultuous tempest barring our advance? Or perhaps to the fleeing remnants of the army that pursued us here? They'll not return, I assure you-'
'You have sent a plague among them.'
'What an outrageous accusation! It's been a miracle that disease has not struck them long ago, what with eating each other without even the civil application of cooking. Dear me, that you would so accuse-'
'Garath succumbs to that plague, mistress.'
'What? Nonsense! He is ailed by his wounds-'
'Wounds that the power of his spirit should have long since healed. The fever within the beast, that so fills the lungs, is the same as that which afflicts the Pannions.' He slowly turned to face her. 'Do something.'
'An outrage-'
'Mistress.'
'Oh, all right! But don't you see the delicious irony? Poleil, Queen of Disease, has allied herself with the Crippled God. A decision that deeply affronts me, I will have you know. How cunning of me to loot her warren and so beset her allies!'
'I doubt the victims appreciate the irony, mistress. Nor, I imagine, does Garath.'
'I'd much rather you'd stayed taciturn!'
'Heal him.'
'He'll not let me close!'
'Garath is no longer capable of standing, mistress. Where he now lies, he will not rise from, unless you heal him.'
'Oh, what a miserable man you are! If you're wrong and he tries to bite me, I will be very upset with you, Mok. I will lay waste to your loins. I will make your eyes crossed so that everyone who looks at you and your silly mask will not be able to help but laugh. And I will think of other things, too, I assure you.'
'Heal him.'
'Of course I will! Garath is my beloved companion, after all. Even if he once tried to pee on my robe — though I will acknowledge that since he was asleep at the time it was probably one of K'rul's pranks. All right, all right, stop interrupting me.'
She approached the huge hound.
His eyes were glazed, each breath a hacking contortion. Garath did not raise his head as she edged closer.
'Oh, dear, forgive my inattention, dearest pup. I'd thought only the wounds, and so had already begun to grieve. You are felled by an unseemly vapour? Unacceptable. Easily negated, in fact.' She reached out, fingers lightly resting on the hot, steaming hide. 'There-'
Garath swung his head, lips slowly peeling back.
Lady Envy scampered away. 'And that is how you thank me? I have healed you, dearest one!'
'You made him ill in the first place, mistress,' Mok said behind her.
'Be quiet, I'm not talking to you any more. Garath! Look at how your strength returns, even as we watch! See, you are standing! Oh, how wonderful! And — no, stay away, please. Unless you want a pat? Do you want a pat? If so, you must stop growling at once!'
Mok stepped between them, eyes on the bristling hound. 'Garath, we have need of her, even as we have
