'Thought you were in trouble.'
'We're fine,' Nil snapped, yet there was a sheepish expression on his adolescent face. 'You can lead us back, mage.'
'Did the Adjunct send you?' Nether demanded. 'Are we to have no peace?'
'Nobody sent me. Well, Sergeant Strings – we were just out walking-'
'Strings? You mean Fiddler.'
'We're supposed to-'
'Don't be an idiot,' Nether said. 'Everybody knows.'
'We're not idiots. It clearly hasn't occurred to either of you that maybe Fiddler wants it that way. Wants to be called Strings, now, because his old life is gone, and with the old name comes bad memories, and he's had enough of those.'
Neither Wickan replied.
After a few more strides, Bottle asked, 'So, was that a Wickan lich?
One of the dead you were looking for?'
'You know too much.'
'Was it?'
Nil cursed under his breath, then said, 'Our mother.'
'Your…' Bottle fell silent.
'She was telling us to stop moping and grow up,' Nil added.
'She was telling you that,' Nether retorted. 'She told me to-'
'To take a husband and get pregnant.'
'That was just a suggestion.'
'Made while she was shaking you?' Bottle asked.
Nether spat at his feet. 'A suggestion. Something I should maybe think about. Besides, I don't have to listen to you, soldier. You're Malazan. A squad mage.'
'He's also the one,' pointed out Nil, 'who rides life-sparks.'
'Small ones. The way we did as children.'
Bottle smiled at her remark.
She caught it. 'What's so amusing?'
'Nothing. Sorry.'
'I thought you were going to lead us back.'
'I thought so, too,' Bottle said, halting and looking round. 'Oh, I think we've been noticed.'
'It's your fault, mage!' Nil accused.
'Probably.'
Nether hissed and pointed.
Another figure had appeared, and to either side padded dogs. Wickan cattle dogs. Nine, ten, twelve. Their eyes gleamed silver. The man in their midst was clearly Wickan, greying and squat and bow-legged. His face was savagely scarred.
'It is Bult,' Nether whispered. She stepped forward.
The dogs growled.
'Nil, Nether, I have been searching for you,' the ghost named Bult said, halting ten paces away, the dogs lining up on either side. 'Hear me. We do not belong here. Do you understand? We do not belong.' He paused and pulled at his nose in a habitual gesture. 'Think hard on my words.' He turned away, then paused and glanced back over a shoulder, 'And Nether, get married and have babies.'
The ghosts vanished.
Nether stamped her foot. Dust rose up around her. 'Why does everyone keep telling me that!?'
'Your tribe's been decimated,' Bottle said reasonably. 'It stands to reason-'
She advanced on him.
Bottle stepped backAnd reappeared within the stone circle.
A moment later gasps came from Nil and Nether, their crosslegged bodies twitching.
'I was getting worried,' Strings said behind him, standing just outside the ring.
The two Wickans were slow in getting to their feet.
Bottle hurried to his sergeant's side. 'We should get going,' he said.
'Before she comes fully round, I mean.'
'Why?'
Bottle started walking. 'She's mad at me.'
The sergeant snorted, then followed. 'And why is she mad at you, soldier? As if I need ask.'
'Just something I said.'
'Oh, I am surprised.'
'I don't want to go into it, Sergeant. Sorry.'
'I'm tempted to throw you down and pin you for her.'
They reached the crest. Behind them, Nether began shouting curses.
Bottle quickened his pace. Then he halted and crouched down, reaching under his shirt, and gingerly drew out a placid lizard. 'Wake up,' he murmured, then set it down. It scampered off.
Strings watched. 'It's going to follow them, isn't it?'
'She might decide on a real curse,' Bottle explained. 'And if she does, I need to counter it.'
'Hood's breath, what did you say to her?'
'I made a terrible mistake. I agreed with her mother.'
'We should be getting out of here. Or…'
Kalam glanced over. 'All right, Quick.' He raised a hand to halt the soldiers flanking them and the one trailing behind, then uttered a low whistle to alert the huge, red-bearded corporal on point.
The squad members drew in to surround the assassin and the High Mage.
'We're being followed,' Sergeant Gesler said, wiping sweat from his burnished brow.
'It's worse than that,' Quick Ben said.
The soldier named Sands muttered, 'Isn't it just.'
Kalam turned and studied the track behind them. He could see nothing in the colourless swirl. 'This is still the Imperial Warren, isn't it?'
Quick Ben rubbed at his neck. 'I'm not so sure.'
'But how can that happen?' This from the corporal, Stormy, his forehead buckling and small eyes glittering as though he was about to fly into a berserk rage at any moment. He was holding his grey flint sword as if expecting some demon to come bursting into existence right in front of them.
The assassin checked his long-knives, and said to Quick Ben, 'Well?'
The wizard hesitated, then nodded. 'All right.'
'What did you two just decide?' Gesler asked. 'And would it be so hard explaining it to us?'
'Sarcastic bastard,' Quick Ben commented, then gave the sergeant a broad, white smile.
'I've punched a lot of faces in my day,' Gesler said, returning the smile, 'but never one belonging to a High Mage before.'
'You might not be here if you had, Sergeant.'
'Back to business,' Kalam said in a warning rumble. 'We're going to wait and see what's after us, Gesler. Quick doesn't know where we are, and that in itself is troubling enough.'
'And then we leave,' the wizard added. 'No heroic stands.'
'The Fourteenth's motto,' Stormy said, with a loud sigh.
'Which?' Gesler asked. 'And then we leave or No heroic stands?'
'Take your pick.'
Kalam studied the squad, first Gesler, then Stormy, then the lad, Truth, and Pella and the minor mage, Sands. What a miserable bunch.
