The Bonehunters Page 48

  'You sent Pust here to find him!'

  'Shadowthrone, actually, not me. For that reason, I can­not say if mercy counted for anything in his decision.'

  Mogora glanced again at the tent. 'Magi... that blathering idiot.'

  Cotillion was gazing steadily at her, then he said, 'You're one of Ardata's, aren't you?'

  She veered into a mass of spiders.

  The god watched as they fled into every crack and, moments later, were gone. He sighed, took one last look round, momentarily meeting the placid eyes of the mule, then vanished in a flowing swirl of shadows.

  Chapter Ten

  When the day knew only darkness,

  the wind a mute beggar stirring ashes and stars

  in the discarded pools beneath the old

  retaining wall, down where the white rivers

  of sand slip grain by grain into the unseen,

  and every foundation is but a moment

  from a horizon's stagger, I found myself

  among friends and so was made at ease

  with my modest list of farewells.

  Soldier Dying, Fisher kel Tath

  They emerged from the warren into the stench of smoke and ashes, and before them, in the growing light of dawn, reared a destroyed city. The three stood unmoving for a time, silent, each seeking to comprehend this vista.

  Stormy was the first to speak. 'Looks like the Imperial Warren's spilled out here.'

  Ash and dead air, the light seeming listless — Kalam was not surprised by the marine's observation. They had just left a place of death and desolation, only to find themselves in another. 'I still recognize it,' the assassin said. 'Y'Ghatan.' Stormy coughed, then spat. 'Some siege.'

  'The army's moved on,' Quick Ben observed, studying the tracks and rubbish where the main encampment had been. 'West.'

  Stormy grunted, then said, 'Look at that gap in the wall. Moranth munitions, a whole damned wagon of 'em, I'd say.'

  A viscous river had flowed out through that gap, and, motionless now, it glittered in the morning light. Fused glass and metals. There had been a firestorm, Kalam realized. Yet another one to afflict poor Y'Ghatan. Had the sappers set that off?

  'Olive oil,' said Quick Ben suddenly. 'The oil harvest must have been in the city.' He paused, then added, 'Makes me wonder if it was an accident.'

  Kalam glanced over at the wizard. 'Seems a little extreme, Quick. Besides, from what I've heard of Leoman, he's not the kind to throw his own life away.'

  'Assuming he stayed around long enough.'

  'We took losses here,' Stormy said. 'There's a grave mound there, under that ash.' He pointed. 'Scary big, unless they included rebel dead.'

  'We make separate holes for them,' Kalam said, knowing that Stormy knew that as well. None of this looked good, and they were reluctant to admit that. Not out loud. 'The tracks look a few days old, at least. I suppose we should catch up with the Fourteenth.'

  'Let's circle this first,' Quick Ben said, squinting at the ruined city. 'There's something... some residue... I don't know. Only…'

  'Sound argument from the High Mage,' Stormy said. 'I'm convinced.'

  Kalam glanced over at the mass burial mound, and wondered how many of his friends were lying trapped in that earth, unmoving in the eternal dark, the maggots and worms already at work to take away all that had made each of them unique. It wasn't something he enjoyed thinking about, but if he did not stand here and gift them a few more moments of thought, then who would?

  ****

  Charred rubbish lay strewn on the road and in the flats to either side. Tent stakes still in place gripped burnt fragments of canvas, and in a trench beyond the road's bend as it made its way towards what used to be the city's gate, a dozen bloated horse carcasses had been dumped, legs upthrust like bony tree-stumps in a flyblown swamp. The stench of burnt things hung in the motionless air.

  Apsalar reined in on the road as her slow scan of the devastation before her caught movement a hundred paces ahead and to her left. She settled back in the saddle, seeing familiarity in the gaits and demeanours of two of the three figures now walking towards what remained of Y'Ghatan. Telorast and Curdle scampered back to flank her horse.

  'Terrible news, Not-Apsalar!' Telorast cried. 'Three terrible men await us, should we continue this course. If you seek to destroy them, well then, that is fine. We wish you well. Otherwise, I suggest we escape. Now.'

  'I agree,' Curdle added, small skeletal head bobbing as the creature paced, grovelled, then paced again, tail spiking the air.

  Her horse lifted a front hoof and the demonic skeletons scattered, having learned that near proximity to the beast was a treacherous thing.

  'I know two of them,' Apsalar said. 'Besides, they have seen us.' She nudged her mount forward, walking it slowly towards the mage, his assassin companion, and the Malazan soldier, all of whom had now shifted direction and approached with a measured pace.

  'They will annihilate us!' Telorast hissed. 'I can tell — oh, that mage, he's not nice, not at all—'

  The two small creatures raced for cover.

  Annihilation. The possibility existed, Apsalar allowed, given the history she shared with Quick Ben and Kalam Mekhar. Then again, they had known of the possession, and she had since travelled with Kalam for months, first across the Seeker's Deep, from Darujhistan all the way to Ehrlitan, during which nothing untoward had occurred. This eased her mind somewhat as she waited for them to arrive.

  Kalam was the first to speak. 'Few things in the world make sense, Apsalar.'

  She shrugged. 'We have each had our journeys, Kalam Mekhar. I, for one, am not particularly surprised to find our paths converging once more.'

  'Now that,' said Quick Ben, 'is an alarming statement. Unless you're here to satisfy Shadowthrone's desire for vengeance, there is no possible reason at all that our paths should converge. Not here. Not now. I certainly haven't been pushed and pulled by any conniving god—'

  'You have the aura of Hood about you, Quick Ben,' Apsalar said, an observation that clearly startled Kalam and the soldier. 'Such residue comes only from long conver­sations with the Lord of Death, and so, while you might claim freedom for yourself, perhaps your motives for what you do and where you choose to go are less purely your own than you would have others believe. Or, for that matter, than what you yourself would like to believe.' Her gaze slid across to Kalam. 'Whilst the assassin has known the presence of Cotillion, only a short while ago. And as for this Falari soldier here, his spirit is bound to a T'lan Imass, and to the Fire of Life that passes for worship among the T'lan Imass. Thus, fire, shadow and death, drawn together even as the forces and gods of such forces find alignment against a single foe. Yet, I feel I should warn you all — that foe is no longer singular and, perhaps, never was. And present alliances may not last.'

  'What is it about all this,' Quick Ben said, 'that I'm not enjoying?'

  Kalam rounded on the wizard. 'Maybe, Quick, you're sensing something of my desire — which I am barely restrain­ing — to plant my fist in your face. The Lord of Death? What, in the name of the Abyss happened at Black Coral?'

  'Expedience,' the wizard snapped, eyes still on Apsalar. 'That's what happened. In that whole damned war against the Pannion Domin. That should have been obvious from the outset — Dujek joining forces with Caladan Brood was simply the first and most egregious breaking of the rules.'

  'So now you're working for Hood?'

  'Not even close, Kalam. To stretch a pun, Hood knows, he was working for me.'

  'Was? And now?'

  'And now,' he nodded towards Apsalar, 'as she says, the gods are at war.' He shrugged, but it was an uneasy shrug. 'I need to get a sense of the two sides, Kalam. I need to ask questions. I need answers.'

  'And is Hood providing them?'

  The glance he shot the assassin was skittish, almost diffident. 'Slowly.'

  'And what is Hood getting from you?'

  The wizard bridled. 'Ever try twisting a dead man's arm? It d
oesn't work!' His glare switched between Kalam and Apsalar. 'Listen. Remember those games Hedge and Fid played? With the Deck of Dragons? Idiots, but never mind that. The point is, they made up the rules as they went along, and that's what I'm doing, all right? Gods, even a genius like me has limits!'

  A snort from the Falari soldier, and Apsalar saw him bare his teeth.

  The wizard stepped towards him. 'Enough of that, Stormy! You and your damned stone sword!' He waved wildly at the city of Y'Ghatan. 'Does this smell sweet to you?'

  'What would smell even sweeter is the Adjunct's High Mage all chopped up and served in a stew to Hood himself.' He reached for the Imass sword, his grin broadening. 'And I'm just the man to do—'

  'Settle down, you two,' Kalam said. 'All right, Apsalar, we're all here and that's passing strange but not as strange maybe as it should be. Doesn't matter.' He made a gesture that encompassed himself, Quick Ben and Stormy. 'We're returning to the Fourteenth Army. Or, we will be, once we've circled the city and Quick's satisfied it's as dead as it looks—'

  'Oh,' the wizard cut in, 'it's dead all right. Still, we're circling the ruin.' He pointed a finger at Apsalar. 'As for you, woman, you're not travelling alone, are you? Where are they hiding? And what are they? Familiars?'

  'You could call them that,' she replied.

  'Where are they hiding?' Quick Ben demanded again.

  'Not sure. Close by, I suspect. They're... shy.' And she added nothing more, for now, satisfied as she was by the wizard's answering scowl.

  'Where,' Kalam asked, 'are you going, Apsalar?'

  Her brows rose. 'Why, with you, of course.'

  She could see that this did not please them much, yet they voiced no further objections. As far as she was con­cerned, this was a perfect conclusion to this part of her journey. For it coincided with her most pressing task — the final target for assassination. The only one that could not be ignored.

  She'd always known Cotillion for a most subtle bastard.

  ****

  'All right, then,' Sergeant Hellian said, 'which one of you wants to be my new corporal?'

  Touchy and Brethless exchanged glances.

  'What?' Touchy asked. 'Us? But you got Balgrid and Tavos Pond, now. Or even—'

  'It's my new squad and I decide these things.' She squinted over at the other soldiers. 'Balgrid's a mage. So's Tavos Pond.' She scowled at the two men. 'I don't like mages, they're always disappearing, right when you want to ask them something.' Her gaze slid across to the last two soldiers. 'Maybe's a sapper and enough said about that, and Lutes is our healer. That leaves...' Hellian returned her attention to the twins, 'you two.'

  'Fine,' said Touchy. 'I'll be corporal.'

  'Hold on,' Brethless said. 'I want to be corporal! I ain't taking no orders from him, Sergeant. Not a chance. I got the brains, you know—'

  Touchy snorted. 'Then, since you didn't know what to do with them, you threw them away.'

  'You're a big fat liar, Touchy—'

  'Quiet!' Hellian reached for her sword. But then remem­bered and drew a knife instead. 'Another word either of you and I'll cut myself.'

  The squad stared at her.

  'I'm a woman, see, and with women, it's how we deal with men. You're all men. Give me trouble and I'll stick this knife in my arm. Or leg. Or maybe I'll slice a nipple off. And you bastards will have to live with that. For the rest of your days, you'll have to live with the fact that you were being such assholes that Hellian went and disfigured herself.'

  No-one spoke.

  Smiling, Hellian resheathed the knife. 'Good. Now, Touchy and Brethless, I've decided. You're both corporals. There.'

  'But what if I want to order Brethless—'

  'Well you can't.'

  Brethless raised a finger. 'Wait, what if we give different orders to the others?'

  'Don't worry 'bout that,' Maybe said, 'we ain't gonna listen to you anyways. You're both idiots, but if the sergeant wants to make you corporals, that's fine. We don't care. Idiots make good corporals.'

  'All right,' Hellian said, rising, 'it's settled. Now, nobody wander off, since the captain wants us ready to march.' She walked away, up towards the ridge. Thinking.

  The captain had dragged off Urb and made him a sergeant. Madness. That old rule about idiots making good corporals obviously extended to sergeants, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. Besides, she might go and kill him and then there'd be trouble. Urb was big, after all, and there wasn't much in the way of places to hide his body. Not around here, anyway, she concluded, scanning the broken rocks, bricks and potsherds strewn on the slope.

  They needed to find a village. She could trade her knife — no, that wouldn't work, since it would mess up her threat and the squad might mutiny. Unless, next time, she added nails to the possible weapons — scratch her own eyes out, something like that. She glanced down at her nails — oh, mostly gone. What a mess...

  ****

  'Look at her,' Maybe said. 'Tells us not to wander off then what does she do? Wanders off. Finds a ridge to do what? Why, check out her nails. Ooh, they're chipped! Gods, we've got a real woman for our Hood-damned sergeant—'

  'She ain't a real woman,' Touchy said. 'You don't know her at all, sapper. Now, me and Brethless, we were two of the poor fools who came first to the temple in Kartool, where this whole nightmare started.'

  'What are you talking about?' Balgrid demanded.

  'Someone went and butchered all the priests in the D'rek temple, and we was the first ones on the scene. Anyway, you know how this goes. That was our quarter, right? Not that we could patrol inside temples, of course, so we weren't to blame. But since when does common sense count for anything in the empire? So, they had to send us away. Hopefully to get killed, so none of it gets out—'

  'It just did,' Tavos Pond said, scratching beneath the rough, crusted bandages swathing one side of his face.

  'What are you talking about?' Balgrid demanded again. 'And what's the sergeant doing over there?'

  Maybe glared at Lutes. 'He's still deaf. Do something!'

  'It'll come back,' the healer replied, shrugging. 'Mostly. It takes time, that's all.'

  'Anyway,' Touchy resumed, 'she ain't a real woman. She drinks—'

  'Right,' Brethless cut in, 'and why does she drink? Why, she's scared of spiders!'

  'That don't matter,' his brother retorted. 'And now she's stuck sober and that's bad. Listen, all of you—'

  'What?' Balgrid asked.

  'Listen, the rest of you, we just keep her drunk and everything'll be fine—'

  'Idiot,' Maybe said. 'Probably you didn't catch whoever killed all those priests because your sergeant was drunk. She did good in Y'Ghatan, or have you forgotten? You're alive 'cause of her.'

  'That'll wear off, sapper. Just you wait. I mean, look at her — she's fussing over her nails!'

  ****

  Adopting heavies into a squad was never easy, Gesler knew. They didn't think normally; in fact, the sergeant wasn't feven sure they were human. Somewhere between a flesh-and-blood Imass and a Barghast, maybe. And now he had four of them. Shortnose, Flashwit, Uru Hela and Mayfly. Flashwit could probably out-pull an ox, and she was Napan besides, though those stunning green eyes came from some­where else; and Shortnose seemed in the habit of losing body parts, and there was no telling how far that had gone beyond the missing nose and ear. Uru was a damned Korelri who'd probably been destined for the Stormwall before stowing aboard a Jakatakan merchanter, meaning she felt she didn't owe anybody anything. Mayfly was just easily confused, but clearly as tough as they came.

  And Heavies came tough. He'd have to adjust his think­ing on how to work the squad. But if he ever shows up, Stormy will love these ones.

  Maybe in one way it made sense to reorganize the squads, but Gesler wasn't sure of the captain's timing. It was Fist Keneb's responsibility, anyway, and he'd likely prefer splitting up soldiers who were, one and all now, veterans. Well, that was for the damned officers to chew over. What
concerned him the most at the moment, was the fact that they were mostly unarmed and unarmoured. A score of raiders or even bandits happening upon them and there'd be more Malazan bones bleaching in the sun. They needed to get moving, catch up with the damned army.

  He fixed his gaze on the west road, up on the ridge. Hellian was there already, he saw. Lit up by the rising sun. Odd woman, but she must have done something right, to have led her soldiers through that mess. Gesler would not look back at Y'Ghatan. Every time he had done that before, the images returned: Truth shouldering the munitions packs, running into the smoke and flames. Fiddler and Cuttle racing back, away from what was coming. No, it wasn't worth any last looks back at that cursed city.

  What could you take from it that was worth a damned thing, anyway? Leoman had drawn them right in, made the city a web from which there was no escape — only... we made it, didn't we? But, how many didn't? The captain had told them. Upwards of two thousand, wasn't it? All to kill a few hundred fanatics who would probably have been just as satisfied killing themselves and no-one else, to make whatever mad, futile point they felt worth dying for. It was how fanatics thought, after all. Killing Malazans simply sweetened an already sweet final meal. All to make some god's eyes shine.

  Mind you, polish anything long enough and it'll start to shine.

  The sun lifted its blistered eye above the horizon, and it was almost time to begin the march.

  ****

  Ten, maybe more pups, all pink, wrinkled and squirming inside an old martin's nest that had dislodged from an exploding wall. Bottle peered down at them, the nest in his hands. Their mother clung to his left shoulder, nose twitch­ing as if she was contemplating a sudden leap — either towards her helpless brood or towards Bottle's neck.

  'Relax, my dear,' he whispered. 'They're as much mine as they are yours.'

  A half-choking sound nearby, then a burst of laughter.

  Bottle glared over at Smiles. 'You don't understand a thing, you miserable cow.'

  'I can't believe you want to take that filthy thing with you. All right, it got us out, so now leave it be. Besides, there's no way you can keep them alive — she's got to feed 'em, right, meaning she has to scrounge. When's she gonna be able to do that? We're about to march, you fool.'