The Malazan Empire, page 912
‘We’re about to be abandoned.’
Kisswhere joined Masan Gilani in regarding Sinter with alarm. What was all this? ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘what does that mean? Abandoned? By who? Do you mean just us? Or the Bonehunters?’
‘Yes,’ answered Sinter. ‘Bonehunters. All of us, the Adjunct included.’
Masan Gilani was frowning. ‘You’re talking about the Burned Tears? The Perish? Or the Letherii escort?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe all of them.’
‘So wherever we end up,’ Masan said slowly, ‘we’ll be fighting on our own. No one guarding our backs, no one on our flanks. Like that?’
‘I think so.’
Masan rubbed at her neck. When Kisswhere offered her the skin she shook her head. ‘Hard to know, Sinter, how much shit should be freezing with that, since nobody has a clue about who we’ll be fighting. What if it’s some noseplug savages cowering behind a bamboo palisade throwing rocks at us? We’d hardly need help knocking on that door, would we?’
‘But you know we’re not heading for anything so easy,’ Sinter said.
Masan’s lovely eyes narrowed. ‘This is what you want back from me? You think I’ve got my ear against the Adjunct’s tent?’
‘I know you know more than we do.’
‘And if I do? What difference would it make to you?’
Kisswhere’s breath caught as she saw her sister’s hands clench into fists at her sides. ‘I need a reason, Masan Gilani. I need to know it’s all worth it.’
‘And you think what little I know can give you that? You must be desperate—’
‘Yes! I am!’
‘Why?’
Sinter’s mouth shut, her jaw setting.
Masan Gilani looked over at Kisswhere, as if to ask: What’s her problem here? What’s so hard to say?
But Kisswhere had no answers. Well, not satisfying ones. ‘My sister,’ she said, ‘is a very loyal person. But she holds that loyalty in highest regard. She’ll give it, I mean—’
‘But,’ cut in Masan Gilani, ‘whatever or whoever she’s giving it to had better be worthy of it. Right. I think I’m beginning to understand this. Only, Kisswhere, you should look to your own feelings about that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you sounded pretty bitter right there. As if loyalty is a curse and not one you want any part of. I’d wager your sister dragged you here as much to convince you of something as to convince me. Sinter, would that be a good guess?’
‘That’s between me and her,’ Sinter replied.
Kisswhere glared at her sister.
‘All right,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘I’ll give you what little I know. What Ebron and Bottle and Deadsmell and Widdershins have put together. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t. That’s for you to decide. Here’s what we think.’ She paused, reached for the skin.
Kisswhere handed it to her.
Masan drank, then squatted before them—taking the pose of the teller of tales, one they knew well—and both sisters followed suit.
‘He didn’t ask for it. But he’s been making trouble ever since. Quick Ben met him face to face. So, we worked out, did that Meckros weaponsmith, Withal. He’s poison and he knows it and he can’t help it, because he doesn’t belong here. There are pieces of him scattered over half the world, but the biggest one is sitting in this place called Kolanse—and it’s being . . . used.’
‘We’re going to kill the Crippled God.’
Kisswhere shot her sister a wild look. ‘But who’d want to stop us doing that?’
Sinter shook her head. Her face was wretched with confusion.
Masan was eyeing them and when she spoke her voice was flat, ‘You jumped the wrong way, Sinter, like a one-eyed mongoose.’ She drank again, sloshed the skin and then scowled. ‘Should’ve brought two. We don’t think we’re off to kill the Chained One. In fact, it’s those chains we’re after. Well, the Adjunct, I mean. What she’s after.’ She lifted her head and fixed on Sinter’s eyes, and then Kisswhere’s. ‘We’re going to set the bastard free.’
Kisswhere barked a savage laugh. ‘No wonder they’ll all abandon us! And I’m the first in line to join them!’
‘Be quiet,’ Sinter said through the hands she’d lifted to her face. She was trembling, no, shuddering, and Kisswhere saw the glitter of tears trickle to the heels of her sister’s palms.
Masan Gilani’s face was grave, patient.
Kisswhere rounded on Sinter. ‘You cannot! No! This is impossible! What if they’re wrong? They must be—even the Adjunct’s not that stupid! Every god and ascendant in the world will be coming against us, never mind those idiots in Kolanse! She’s lost her mind! Our commander’s insane and there’s no damned law anywhere says we have to follow her!’
Sinter drew a deep breath and then lowered her hands. Something solid filled her face, as if implacable stone was replacing the soft tissues beneath her onyx skin. The bleakness drained from her eyes as they settled on Kisswhere. ‘It will do,’ she said. ‘I think,’ she added, ‘nothing else would have.’
‘What—’
‘It is just, sister. Just.’
‘They’ll all turn on us,’ Kisswhere retorted. ‘You said so yourself—’
‘If we do nothing, yes. They will turn on us. And what little chance we had to succeed will go with them. We need to change their minds.’
‘How?’ asked Masan Gilani.
‘I will tell you how,’ said Sinter. ‘And it begins with you, Kisswhere.’
‘I didn’t say I was going to help—’
‘You’re going to desert.’
‘Wha—what?’
‘That’s how this starts. It’s the only way. Now, it’s what you want and don’t tell me any different. You’re deserting the Bonehunters, and you’re doing it tonight—on the fastest horse Masan Gilani can find you.’
But Masan Gilani held up a staying hand. ‘Hold on. I need to talk this over with—’
‘Of course,’ cut in Sinter, ‘but it changes nothing. Now, you need to hear the rest, because I need you to do the same—’
‘Desert? Me?’
Sinter nodded. ‘But you’ll ride in a different direction, Masan Gilani. Different from Kisswhere. With luck, you’ll both return.’
‘And get hanged? No thanks, sister—’
‘You won’t. The Adjunct is cold iron—the coldest there ever was. She’ll work it out, fast as lightning, she’ll work it out.’
‘Then why don’t we just go tell her?’ asked Masan Gilani. ‘We figured it all out but there’s a problem, only you got an idea on how to fix it.’
Sinter smiled, and it was a smile that would have fitted well on the Adjunct’s own face. ‘I will do just that . . . once you two are gone.’
‘She might just chase us down anyway.’
‘She won’t. I said she’s quick.’
‘So why wait until we leave?’
Sinter rubbed at her face, wiping away the last of the tears. ‘You don’t get it. She’s locked in a room, a prison of her own making. In there, she hears nothing, sees nothing. In there, she is absolutely alone. And holding on with white knuckles. It’s her burden and she won’t dump it on anyone else, not even her Fists, not even on her High Mage—though he’s probably worked it out by now. She’s put herself between us and the truth—but it’s killing her.’
‘So,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘you got to show her she ain’t alone, and that we’re not all fools, that maybe we’re ready for that truth. We not only worked it out, we’re with her. There to help, whether she asks for it or not.’
‘That’s it,’ said Sinter.
Masan Gilani sighed, and then flashed Kisswhere a grin. ‘You won’t surprise anyone. Me, that’s a different story.’
‘The Adjunct will hint something to put your reputation square,’ said Sinter. ‘Otherwise, you going might tip the balance for a whole mass of wavering soldiers in the ranks. Kisswhere, well, sister, nobody will be much surprised by you, will they?’
‘Thank you. So long as people understand I’m no coward—’
Masan Gilani grunted, ‘But they’ll see it that way. Nothing you can do about it, either, Kisswhere. We’re marching to a war, and you went and ran off. Me too. So Sinter and the Adjunct work it out so it sounds like I was sent on some kind of mission—’
‘Which is true,’ cut in Sinter.
‘Which helps, aye. Thing is, people already thinking of maybe deserting might just take it as the perfect push. That’s the risk that the Adjunct might find unacceptable, no matter what you say to her, Sinter.’
‘I’m no coward,’ Kisswhere repeated. ‘I’m just not one for this whole family thing. Armies ain’t families, no matter how many times you try to tell me different. It’s rubbish. It’s the lie commanders and kings need so they always got us ready to do shit for them.’
‘Right,’ snapped Masan Gilani, ‘and I guess in that snarly jungle where you grew up you never heard any stories about what happens when armies mutiny. Kill their commanders. Depose their country’s ruler. Take over—’
‘What’s that got to do with the whole “we’re family” business?’
‘I’m saying some people run things and the rest should just stay out of it. That’s all. Just like in a family. Somebody’s in charge, not everybody. Usurpers never been anything better, or even different, from whoever they killed. Usually, they make it worse. That whole “family” thing, it’s about fighting to survive. You stand fast for kin, not strangers. Don’t you get that?’
‘And the ones in charge exploit it. Use us up. They ain’t interested in being kin to the rest of us, and you know it.’
‘You two,’ Sinter said, ‘could go at this all night. But we don’t have the time. Kisswhere, since when did you care what the people you leave behind think of you? Unless, of course, you’ve found some pride as a Bonehunter—’
‘Do you want me to help you or not?’
‘All right. Peace, then. The point is, it’s only looking like you’re deserting. The way Faradan Sort did outside Y’Ghatan.’
‘I ride south.’
Sinter nodded.
‘I go find the Perish and the Khundryl.’
‘Yes.’
‘And say what?’
‘You convince them not to abandon us.’
‘How in Hood’s name do I do that?’
Sinter’s look was wry. ‘Try using your charms, sister.’
Masan Gilani spoke. ‘Sergeant, if she’s going after both of them, where am I going?’
‘That’s not so easy to say,’ Sinter admitted haltingly.
Masan snorted. ‘Work on that answer, Sinter. Meanwhile, let’s go steal some horses.’
‘Ah, Lieutenant, found you at last.’
‘Master Sergeant now, sir.’
‘Of course, and where are your charges, Master Sergeant?’
‘Dispensed with, sir.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Rather, dispersed, sir. Inserted seamlessly into the ranks, not a stitch out of place.’
‘Why, that is simply superb, Master Sergeant. You would deserve a commendation if you deserved anything. Alas, having perused the latest roster updates, I have discovered that not a single one of those recruits can be found anywhere in the army.’
‘Yes, sir, they are well trained.’
‘At what, Master Sergeant? Disappearing?’
‘Well now, sir, I am reminded of a story from my youth. May I?’
‘Please, do go on.’
‘Thank you, sir. Ah, my youth. A sudden zeal afflicted young Aramstos Pores—’
‘Aramstos?’
‘Yes, sir—’
‘That’s your other name?’
‘It is indeed, sir. May I continue my tale, sir?’
‘Proceed.’
‘A sudden zeal, sir, to dig me a pond.’
‘A pond.’
‘Just behind the heap of broken bricks, sir, close to the lot’s back wall. I often played there when my parents had gone from fighting with words to fighting with knives, or the hovel caught fire as it was wont to do. On my hands and knees among the broken shards of pots and shattered dog teeth—’
‘Dog teeth.’
‘My father’s failures with pets, but that, sir, is another story, perhaps for another time. A pond, sir, one into which I could transplant the tiny minnows I was rescuing from the fouled river down past the sewage outlets—where we used to swim on cold days, warming up as it were, sir. Minnows, then, into my pond. Imagine my excitement—’
‘It is suddenly vivid in my mind’s eye, Master Sergeant.’
‘Wonderful. And yet, having deposited, oh, fifty of the tiny silver things, just the day before, imagine my horror and bafflement upon returning the very next morning to find not a single minnow in my pond. Why, what had happened to them? Some voracious bird, perhaps? The old woman from down the alley who kept her hair in a net? Are there perchance now glinting minnows adorning her coiffure? Insects? Rats? Unlikely to be either of those two, as they generally made up our nightly repast at the dinner table and so accordingly were scarce round our home. Well, sir, a mystery it was and a mystery it remains. To this very day and, I am certain, for the entirety of the rest of my life. Fifty minnows. Gone. Poof! Hard to believe, sir, and most crushing for that bright-eyed, zealous lad.’
‘And now, if I am to understand you, Master Sergeant, once more you find yourself victimized by inexplicable mystery.’
‘All those recruits, sir. Dispersed into the ranks. And then . . .’
‘Poof.’
‘As you say and say well, sir.’
‘Whatever happened to your pond, Master Sergeant?’
‘Well, my pet water snake thrived for a while longer, until the pond dried up. Children have such grand dreams, don’t they?’
‘That they do, Master Sergeant. Until it all goes wrong.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Until we meet again, Master Sergeant Pores.’
‘And a good night to you, too, Captain Kindly.’
It was him. I was fooling myself ever thinking otherwise. Who can explain love anyway? She slid the knife back into its sheath and pushed through the loose flaps of the tent, stepping outside and suddenly shivering as something cold slithered through the faint breeze.
The dark north flicks its tongue. Echoes of some unwanted rebirth—glad I’m not a mage. They had nothing to dance about this afternoon.
Lostara moved away from the command tent. The Adjunct sending her away this late at night was unusual—I was ready for bed, dammit— but having the guards roust and drive out a drunken Banaschar wasn’t just sweet entertainment. It was, on another level, alarming.
What did Quick Ben and Bottle tell you this night, Tavore? Is there any end to your secrets? Any breach in your wall of privacy? What’s so satisfying about being alone? Your love is a ghost. The empire you served has betrayed you. Your officers have stopped talking, even to each other.
O serpent of the north, your tongue does not lie. Draw closer. We’re barely breathing.
She was forced to halt as Banaschar reeled across her path. Seeing her, he managed to stop, tottering a moment before straightening. ‘Captain Yil,’ he said genially, taking a deep breath and then letting it loose in the way that drunks did when mustering sodden thoughts. ‘Pleasant evening, yes?’
‘No. It’s cold. I’m tired. I don’t know why the Adjunct cleared everyone out—it’s not as if she needs the extra room. For what?’
‘For what, indeed,’ he agreed, smiling as if his purse was full of sweets. ‘It’s the wardrobe, you see.’
‘What?’
He weaved back and forth. ‘Wardrobe. Yes, that’s the word? I think so. Not makes for easy travel, though. Doesn’t, rather. But . . . sometimes . . . where was I? Oh, sometimes the wardrobe’s so big the girl, she just runs away from it, fast and long as she can. Is that what I mean? Did I say it right?’
‘Wardrobe.’
Banaschar pointed at her, nodding. ‘Precisely.’
‘Who runs away from a wardrobe? Girls don’t do that—’
‘But women do.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘All those choices, right? What to put on. And when, and when not. If it’s this, but not if it’s that. What to put on, Captain Yil. Choices. Surrounding you. Closing in. Creeping. Girl’s got to run, and let’s hope she makes it.’
Sniffing, Lostara stepped round the fool and continued on between the tent rows.
It was him. But you let him go. Maybe you thought he’d come back, or you’d just find him again. You thought you had the time. But the world’s always armed and all it takes is a misstep, a wrong decision. And suddenly you’re cut, you’re bleeding, bleeding right out. Suddenly he’s gasping his last breaths and it’s time to put him away, just close him up, like a scroll bearing bad news.
What else can you do?
It was him, but he’s gone and he’s not coming back.
Her pace slowed. She frowned. Where am I going? Ah, that’s right. ‘New whetstone, that’s it.’
The world’s armed, Adjunct, so be careful. Kick open that wardrobe, girl, and start throwing on that armour. The days of fetes are over, all those nights among the glittering smirks of privilege and entitlement.
‘You idiot, Banaschar, there’s only one item in her wardrobe. What’s to choose?’
She almost heard him reply, ‘And still she’s running away.’
No, this conversation wasn’t even real, and it made no sense anyway. Resuming her journey to the smiths’ compound, she encountered a marine coming up the other way. A quick exchange of salutes, and then past.
A sergeant. Marine. Dal Honese. Where in Hood’s name is she going this time of night? Never mind. Whetstone. They keep wearing out. And the sound of the iron licking back and forth, the way it just perfectly echoes the word in my head—amazing. Perfect.
It was him. It was him.
It was him.
Most of the ties and fittings on his armour had loosened or come undone. The heavy dragon-scale breast- and back-plates hung askew from his broad shoulders. The clawed bosses on his knees rested on the ground as he knelt in the wet grasses. He’d pulled off the bone-strip gauntlets to better wipe the tears from his cheeks and the thick smears of snot running from his nose. The massive bone-handled battleaxe rested on the ground beside him.
