‘Clack the teeth together, Koryk, or I’ll cut those braids off when you’re sleeping and trust me, you won’t like what I’ll use ‘em for. And you, Bottle, don’t let that give you any ideas, neither. I took the blame for something you did once, but never again.’
‘I wouldn’t cut off Koryk’s braids,’ Bottle said. ‘He needs them to sneeze into.’
‘Get moving, Cuttle,’ Fiddler said as he strode among them. ‘Look at Corabb-he’s the only one actually ready-’
‘No I’m not,’ the man replied. ‘I just fell asleep in my armour, Sergeant, and now I need somewhere to pee. Only-’
‘Never mind,’ Fiddler cut in. ‘Let’s see if we can’t stumble onto some Edur tonight.’
‘We could start a forest fire,’ Koryk said.
‘But we happen to be in it,’ Tarr pointed out.
‘It was just an idea.’
Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas admitted to himself that these Malazans were nothing like the soldiers of the Dogslayers, or the warriors of Leoman’s army. He was not even sure if they were human. More like… animals. Endlessly bickering ones at that, like a pack of starving dogs.
They pretty much ignored him, which was a good thing. Even Bottle, to whom the sergeant had instructed Corabb to stay close. Guarding someone else’s back was something Corabb was familiar with, so he had no issue with that command. Even though Bottle was a mage and he wasn’t too sure about mages. They made deals with gods-but one didn’t have to be a mage to do that, he knew. No, one could be a most trusted leader, a commander whose warriors would follow him into the pit of the Abyss itself. Even someone like that could make deals with gods, and so doom his every follower in a fiery cataclysm even as that one ran away.
Yes, ran away.
He was pleased that he had got over all that. Old history, and old history was old so it didn’t mean anything any more, because… well, because it was old. He had a new history, now. It had begun in the rubble beneath Y’Ghatan. Among these… animals. Still, there was Fiddler and Corabb knew he would follow his sergeant because the man was worth following. Not like some people.
An army of fourteen seemed a little small, but it would have to do for now. He hoped, however, that somewhere ahead-further inland-they’d come to a desert. Too many trees in this wet, bad-smelling forest. And he’d like to get on a horse again, too. All this walking was, he was certain, unhealthy.
As the squad left the glade, slipping into the deeper darkness beyond, he moved alongside Bottle, who glanced over and grimaced. ‘Here to protect me from bats, Corabb?’
The warrior shrugged. ‘If they try attacking you I will kill them.’
‘Don’t you dare. I happen to like bats. I talk to them, in fact.’
‘The same as that rat and her pups you kept, right?’
‘Exactly’
‘I was surprised, Bottle, that you left them to burn on the transports.’
‘I’d never do that. I shipped them onto the Froth Wolf. Some time ago, in fact-’
‘So you could spy on the Adjunct, yes.’
‘It was an act of mercy-the one ship I knew would be safe, you see-’
‘And so you could spy.’
‘All right, fine. So I could spy. Let’s move on to another subject. Did Leoman ever tell you about his bargain with the Queen of Dreams?’
Corabb scowled. ‘I don’t like that subject. It’s old history, which means nobody talks about it any more.’
‘Fine, so why didn’t you go with him? I’m sure he offered.’
‘I will kill the next bat I see.’
Someone hissed from up ahead: ‘Stop that jabbering, idiots!’
Corabb wished he was riding a fine horse, across a sun-blistered desert-no-one could truly understand the magic wonder of water, unless they had spent time in a desert. Here, there was so much of it a man’s feet could rot off and that wasn’t right. ‘This land is mad,’ he muttered.
Bottle grunted. ‘More like deathless. Layer on layer, ghosts tangled in every root, squirming restlessly under every stone. Owls can see them, you know. Poor things.’
Another hiss from ahead of them.
It started to rain.
Even the sky holds water in contempt. Madness.
Trantalo Kendar, youngest son among four brothers in a coastal clan of the Beneda Tiste Edur, rode with surprising grace, unmatched by any of his Edur companions, alas. He was the only one in his troop who actually liked horses. Trantalo had been a raw fifteen years of age at the conquest, unblooded, and the closest he had come to fighting had been as an apprentice to a distantly related aunt who had served as a healer in Hannan Mosag’s army.
Under her bitter command, he had seen the terrible damage war did to otherwise healthy warriors. The ghastly wounds, the suppurating burns and limbs withered from Letherii sorcery. And, walking the fields of battle in search of the wounded, he had seen the same horrid destruction among dead and dying Letherii soldiers.
Although young, something of the eagerness for battle had left him then, driving him apart from his friends. Too many spilled out intestines, too many crushed skulls, too many desperate pleas for help answered by naught but crows and gulls. He had bound countless wounds, had stared into the glazed eyes of warriors shocked by their own mortality, or, worse, despairing with the misery of lost limbs, scarred faces, lost futures.
He did not count himself clever, nor in any other way exceptional-barring, perhaps, his talent for riding horses-but he now rode with eleven veteran Edur warriors, four of them Beneda, including the troop commander, Estav Kendar, Trantalo’s eldest brother. And he was proud to be at the column’s head, first down this coastal track that led to Boaral Keep, where, as he understood it, some sort of Letherii impropriety demanded Edur attention.
This was as far south from Rennis as he had been since managing to flee his aunt’s clutches just inland of the city of Awl. Trantalo had not seen the walls of Letheras, nor the battlefields surrounding it, and for that he was glad, for he had heard that the sorcery in those final clashes had been the most horrifying of them all.
Life in Rennis had been one of strange privilege. To be Tiste Edur alone seemed sufficient reason for both fear and respect among the subservient Letherii. He had exulted in the respect. The fear had dismayed him, but he was not so naive as not to understand that without that fear, there would be none of the respect that so pleased him. ‘The threat of reprisal,’ Estav had told him the first week of his arrival. ‘This is what keeps the pathetic creatures cowering.
And there will be times, young brother, when we shall have to remind them-bloodily-of that threat.’
Seeking to tug down his elation was the apprehension that this journey, down to this in-the-middle-of- nowhere keep, was just that-the delivery of reprisal. Blood-splashed adjudication. It was no wonder the Letherii strove to keep the Edur out of such disputes. We are not interested in niceties. Details bore us. And so swords will be drawn, probably this very night.
Estav would make no special demands of him, he knew. It was enough that he rode point on the journey. Once at the keep, Trantalo suspected he would be stationed to guard the gate or some such thing. He was more than satisfied with that.
The sun’s light was fast fading on the narrow track leading to the keep. They had a short time earlier left the main coastal road, and here on this lesser path the banks were steep, almost chest-high were one standing rather than riding, and braided with dangling roots. The trees pressed in close from both sides, branches almost entwining overhead. Rounding a twist in the trail, Trantalo caught first sight of the stockade, the rough boles-still bearing most of their bark-irregularly tilted and sunken. A half-dozen decrepit outbuildings crouched against a stand of alders and birch to the left and a flatbed wagon with a broken axle squatted in high grasses just to the right of the gate.
Trantalo drew rein before the entrance. The gate was open. The single door, made of saplings and a Z- shaped frame of planks, had been pushed well to one side and left there, its base snarled with grasses. The warrior could see through to the compound beyond, oddly lifeless. Hearing his fellow Edur draw closer at the canter, he edged his horse forward until he made out the smoke-stained facade of the keep itself. No lights from any of the vertical slit windows. And the front door yawned wide.
