Orchid held her hands out before her, studying them. She stood, wiped the wet condensation from her face. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ she said dreamily. ‘To be told stories all your life, to read them, study them, then suddenly discover it’s all
Antsy was looking at a line of empty pedestals. Someone had set a rusted helmet on one. It looked just like a decapitated head. ‘Yeah. Life’s full o’ twists and turns,’ he breathed, uneasy.
She sat, folded her graceful dark hands primly on her lap. Like a priestess, Antsy thought. She looks like some kinda damned ancient priestess with her thick mane of tousled black hair, tattered skirts, and torn lace. Who was she?
He cleared his throat. ‘So … what happened there?’
Her gaze was tired, half-lidded, directed at the entrance. ‘I’m not sure myself. It surprised me, answering like that. Probably was just as amazed as I was to hear the old tongue.’
‘Yeah. The old tongue. Imagine that. And?’
An exhausted lift and fall of the shoulders. ‘I invoked the Rite of Passage as recorded by Hul’ Alanen-Teth, a Jaghut who claimed to have travelled the Paths of Eternal Night. The guardian honoured the formula.’
Beside her Corien stirred groggily. Antsy nodded to her, accepting her words. ‘Well, thanks for saving our lives.’
A wry smile twisted her lips. Head lowered, she peered up at him. ‘I did not save
He frowned at her. ‘What …?’
Corien sat up. He held his head, touched his side. His brows rose. ‘The pain is gone.’
Orchid nodded. ‘Good. That was an Andii invocation of healing. You will be weak for a time, but you should mend.’ She stood. ‘Now, if you will excuse me. I … I want to be alone for a time.’
As she passed, Antsy touched the cloth of her sleeve. He tried to catch her gaze but she would not meet his eyes. ‘And what did it call you …?’
She flinched away. ‘Not now.’
Antsy eased himself down next to Corien. They exchanged wondering glances. Antsy blew out a breath. ‘Well … what d’you know.’
The lad gave a long thoughtful nod.
When Malakai returned he found them still sitting side by side. He cocked a brow. ‘What’s this? Why aren’t we moving?’
‘Orchid’s resting,’ Antsy said, smiling up at him.
‘And what are you so pleased about?’
Antsy tucked his hands up under his arms. ‘Oh, I’m always in a better mood when the squad has its cadre mage.’
The man wrinkled his dark brows, uncertain what to make of that. But Antsy just smiled. It seemed to him that everything had changed. As in battle. Things had reversed themselves as they can in any close engagement. There’d been no announcement, no horns blowing to signal it. Everyone involved just knew it, sensed it. The energy had shifted. Earlier, the party had been Malakai’s. Now, it was Orchid’s. And he and Corien? Well, they were
BOOK II
CHAPTER VIII
Madrun and Lazan Door -
From distant lands they hail.
One day Door did announce:
’Tis time my hair to cut.
Yet no shear would tear
No blade would part
No scissor snick nor sever
And so it grew -
this bounteous mane.
Wenches plotted
Knives were sharpened
Yet no helm nor hat could tame
These wilful, prideful curls.
When last Door heard
His hair had fled
Fighting pirates off far Elingarth!
In the morning Brood pushed aside the heavy cloth flap of his tent to find the Rhivi warriors in the process of breaking camp. He frowned then, feeling a chill premonition, and crossed to where one of the Elders stood wrapped in a blanket warming himself at a fire. It was one of the more amiable of them, Tserig, called the Toothless. The Warlord inclined his head in greeting. ‘Word from the north?’
Looking unhappy, the old man gave a shallow bow. ‘Yes, Great One. A rider came in the night. The Malazans are in disarray. They have been driven from Pale and are retreating to the southwest.’ He shrugged, apologetic. ‘The circle of war leaders decided to act.’
The old man seemed to consider one answer but clamped his lips tight against it. He adjusted the folds of the horse blanket, indicated the embers dying before him. ‘War is like a grass fire, Great One, is it not? Once sparked it cannot be controlled. It will burn and burn until it has consumed everything it can reach.’
‘Its fuel is blood, Tserig.’
A gloomy nod of agreement. ‘I know, Ancient One. I was against it. But I am old — and toothless.’
Brood smiled his appreciation. ‘And so your reward is to be the one who has to break the news that my, ah,
The old man offered another half-bow. ‘I am sorry, Warlord … perhaps they merely did not wish to disturb you in your mourning.’
‘That’s putting about as pretty a face on it as anyone can manage.’ He eyed the embers for a time, rubbed a forefinger along his jaw. Tserig, he noted, was cringing away and Brood realized the old man must think he was scowling his displeasure at him, so he turned to face the west.
‘What will you do now, Great One?’ the old man ventured after a time.
Around them the last of the burdened asses, carts, travois and herded bhederin made their way north, following the track through the Gadrobi hills. Riders bowed to Brood as they passed, or saluted, raising spears and loosing their war calls. ‘If the Mhybe was still with us, or Silverfox, none of this would be happening …’ he murmured, but distractedly, his thoughts elsewhere.
‘I agree, Warlord. But they are gone from us. The Mhybe was given her great reward. And Silverfox has departed. Gone to another land, some say.’ Like Brood, the old man did not mention the other who was gone from them as well.
The Warlord cleared his throat, profoundly uncomfortable.
