arrogant creatures. Although that experience is singular: in answer to their arrogance we proclaimed eternal war, until they ceased to exist. I have always believed the T’lan Imass should seek out a new enemy. There is, after all, no shortage to be noted among arrogant beings. Perhaps you Tiste Liosan are numerous enough in your own realm to amuse us for a time.’ The warrior stared, as if shocked speechless.
Behind him, one of his companions laughed. ‘There is little value in conversing with lesser creatures, Enias. They will seek to confound you with falsehoods, to lead you away from the righteous path.’
‘I see now,’ Enias replied, ‘the poison of which you have long warned me, Malachar.’
‘There will be more to come, young brother, on the trail we must follow.’ The warrior strode up to Onrack. ‘You call yourself a T’lan Imass, yes?’
‘I am Onrack, of the Logros T’lan Imass.’
‘Are there others of your kind in this ruined realm, Onrack?’
‘If I did not answer your brother’s questions, why imagine I would answer yours?’
Malachar’s face darkened. ‘Play such games with young Enias, but not with me-’
‘I am done with you, Liosan.’ Onrack sheathed his sword and swung away.
‘You are done with us! Seneschal Jorrude! If Orenas has completed his ministrations, I humbly request your attention. The Lifeless One seeks to flee.’
‘I hear you, Malachar,’ the seneschal rumbled, striding forward. ‘Hold, Lifeless One! We have not yet released you. You will tell us what we wish to know, or you will be destroyed here and now.’
Onrack faced the Liosan once more. ‘If that was a threat, the pathos of your ignorance proves an amusing distraction. But I weary of it, and of you.’
Four ivory scimitars lifted threateningly.
Onrack drew his sword once more.
And hesitated, his gaze drawn to something beyond them. Sensing a presence at their backs, the warriors turned.
Trull Sengar stood fifteen paces away, the box of munitions at his feet. There was something odd about his smile. ‘This seems an uneven fight. Friend Onrack, do you require assistance? Well, you need not answer, for it has arrived. And for that, I am sorry.’
Dust swirled upward around the Tiste Edur. A moment later, four T’lan Imass stood on the muddy cobbles. Three held weapons ready. The fourth figure stood a pace behind and to Trull’s right. This one was massively boned, its arms disproportionately long. The fur riding its shoulders was black, fading to silver as it rose up to surround the bonecaster’s head in a mangled hood.
Onrack allowed his sword’s point to rest on the muddy cobbles once more. With his link, born of the Ritual, now severed, he could only communicate with these T’lan Imass by speaking out loud. ‘I, Onrack, greet you, Bonecaster, and recognize you as from the Logros, as I once was. You are Monok Ochem. One of many chosen to hunt the renegades, who, as did those of my own hunt, followed their trail into this realm. Alas, I alone of my hunt survived the flood.’ His gaze shifted to the three warriors. The clan leader, its torso and limbs tightly wrapped in the outer skin of a dhenrabi and a denticulated grey flint sword in its hands, was Ibra Gholan. The remaining two, both armed with bone-hafted, double-bladed axes of chalcedony, were of Ibra’s clan, but otherwise unknown to Onrack. ‘I greet you as well, Ibra Gholan, and submit to your command.’
Bonecaster Monok Ochem strode forward with a heavy, shambling gait. ‘You have failed the Ritual, Onrack,’ it said with characteristic abruptness, ‘and so must be destroyed.’
‘That privilege will be contested,’ Onrack replied. ‘These horse warriors are Tiste Liosan and would view me as their prisoner, to do with as they please.’
Ibra Gholan gestured to his two warriors to join him and the three walked towards the Liosan.
The seneschal spoke. ‘We release our prisoner, T’lan Imass. He is yours. Our quarrel with you is at an end, and so we shall leave.’
The T’lan Imass halted, and Onrack could sense their disappointment.
The Liosan commander regarded Trull for a moment, then said, ‘Edur-would you travel with us? We have need of a servant. A simple bow will answer the honour of our invitation.’
Trull Sengar shook his head. ‘Well, that is a first for me. Alas, I will accompany the T’lan Imass. But I recognize the inconvenience this will cause you, and so I suggest that you alternate in the role as servant to the others. I am a proponent of lessons in humility, Tiste Liosan, and I sense that among you there is some need.’
The seneschal smiled coldly. ‘I will remember you, Edur.’ He whirled. ‘On your horses, brothers. We now leave this realm.’
Monok Ochem spoke. ‘You may find that more difficult than you imagine.’
‘We have never before been troubled by such endeavours,’ the seneschal replied. ‘Are there hidden barriers in this place?’
‘This warren is a shattered fragment of Kurald Emurlahn,’ the bonecaster said. ‘I believe your kind have remained isolated for far too long. You know nothing of the other realms, nothing of the Wounded Gates. Nothing of the Ascendants and their wars-’
‘We serve but one Ascendant,’ the seneschal snapped. ‘The Son of Father Light. Our lord is Osric.’
Monok Ochem cocked its head. ‘And when last has Osric walked among you?’
All four Liosan visibly flinched.
In his affectless tone, the bonecaster continued, ‘Your lord, Osric, the Son of Father Light, numbers among the contestants in the other realms. He has not returned to you, Liosan, because he is unable to do so. Indeed, he is unable to do much of anything at the moment.’
The seneschal took a step forward. ‘What afflicts our lord?’
Monok Ochem shrugged. ‘A common enough fate. He is lost.’
‘Lost?’
‘I suggest we work together to weave a ritual,’ the bonecaster said, ‘and so fashion a gate. For this, we shall need Tellann, your own warren, Liosan, and the blood of this Tiste Edur. Onrack, we shall undertake your destruction once we have returned to our own realm.’
‘That would seem expedient,’ Onrack replied.
Trull’s eyes had widened. He stared at the bonecaster. ‘Did you say, my blood?’
‘Not all of it, Edur… if all goes as planned.’
CHAPTER TEN
All that breaks must be discarded even as the thunder of faith returns ever fading echoes.
Prelude to Anomandaris
THE DAY THE FACES IN THE ROCK AWAKENED WAS CELEBRATED AMONG the Teblor by a song. The memories of his people were, Karsa Orlong now knew, twisted things. Surrendered to oblivion when unpleasant, burgeoning to a raging fire of glory when heroic. Defeat had been spun into victory in the weaving of every tale.
He wished Bairoth still lived, that his sagacious companion did more than haunt his dreams, or stand before him as a thing of rough-carved stone in which some chance scarring of his chisel had cast a mocking, almost derisive expression.
Bairoth could have told him much of what he needed to know at this moment. While Karsa’s familiarity with their homeland’s sacred glade was far greater than either Bairoth’s or Delum Thord’s, and so ensured the likenesses possessed some accuracy, the warrior sensed that something essential was missing from the seven faces he had carved into the stone trees. Perhaps his lack of talent had betrayed him, though that did not seem the case with the carvings of Bairoth and Delum. The energy of their lives seemed to emanate from their statues, as if merged with the petrified wood’s own memory. As with the entire forest, in which there was the sense that the
