Bonehunters Page 7

  ‘And I shall leave you to it,’ Cotillion said, pushing himself from the wall. ‘I am going for a walk.’

  Shadowthrone did not reply.

  Glancing over, Cotillion saw that he had vanished. ‘Oh,’ he murmured, ‘that was a good idea.’

  Emerging from Shadowkeep, he paused to study the landscape beyond. It was in the habit of changing at a moment’s notice, although not when one was actually looking, which, he supposed, was a saving grace. A line of forested hills to the right, gullies and ravines directly ahead, and a ghostly lake to the left, on which rode a half-dozen grey-sailed ships in the distance. Artorallah demons, off to raid the Aptorian coastal villages, he suspected. It was rare to find the lake region appearing so close to the keep, and Cotillion felt a moment of unease. The demons of this realm seemed to do little more than bide their time, paying scant attention to Shadowthrone, and more or less doing as they pleased. Which generally involved feuds, lightning attacks on neighbours and pillaging.

  Ammanas could well command them, if he so chose. But he hardly ever did, perhaps not wanting to test the limits of their loyalty. Or perhaps just preoccupied with some other concern. With his schemes.

  Things were not well. A little stretched, are you, Ammanas? I am not surprised. Cotillion could sympathize, and almost did. Momentarily, before reminding himself that Ammanas had invited most of the risks upon himself. And, by extension, upon me as well.

  The paths ahead were narrow, twisted and treacherous. Requiring utmost caution with every measured step.

  So be it. After all, we have done this before. And succeeded. Of course, far more was at stake this time. Too much, perhaps.

  Cotillion set off for the broken grounds opposite him. Two thousand paces, and before him was a trail leading into a gully. Shadows roiled between the rough rock walls. Reluctant to part as he walked the track, they slid like seaweed in shallows around his legs.

  So much in this realm had lost its rightful… place. Confusion triggered a seething tumult in pockets where shadows gathered. Faint cries whispered against his ears, as if from a great distance, the voice of multitudes drowning. Sweat beaded Cotillion’s brow, and he quickened his pace until he was past the sinkhole.

  The path sloped upward and eventually opened out onto a broad plateau. As he strode into the clear, eyes fixed on a distant ring of standing stones, he felt a presence at his side, and turned to see a tall, skeletal creature, bedecked in rags, walking to match his pace. Not close enough to reach out and touch, but too close for Cotillion’s comfort nonetheless. ‘Edgewalker. It has been some time since I last saw you.’

  ‘I cannot say the same of you, Cotillion. I walk—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Cotillion cut in, ‘you walk paths unseen.’

  ‘By you. The Hounds do not share your failing.’

  Cotillion frowned at the creature, then glanced back, to see Baran thirty paces back, keeping its distance. Massive head low to the ground, eyes glowing bruised crimson. ‘You are being stalked.’

  ‘It amuses them, I imagine,’ Edgewalker said.

  They continued on for a time, then Cotillion sighed. ‘You have sought me out?’ he asked. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘From you? Nothing. But I see your destination, and so would witness.’

  ‘Witness what?’

  ‘Your impending conversation.’

  Cotillion scowled. ‘And if I’d rather you did not witness?’

  The skeletal face held a permanent grin, but in some way it seemed to broaden slightly. ‘There is no privacy in Shadow, Usurper.’

  Usurper. I’d have long since killed this bastard if he wasn’t already dead. Long since.

  ‘I am not your enemy,’ Edgewalker said, as if guessing Cotillion’s thoughts. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘We have more than enough enemies as it is. Accordingly,’ Cotillion continued, ‘we have no wish for more. Unfortunately, since we have no knowledge as to your purpose, or your motivations, we cannot predict what might offend you. So, in the interests of peace between us, enlighten me.’

  ‘That I cannot do.’

  ‘Cannot, or will not?’

  ‘The failing is yours, Cotillion, not mine. Yours, and Shadowthrone’s.’

  ‘Well, that is convenient.’

  Edgewalker seemed to consider Cotillion’s sardonic observation for a moment, then he nodded. ‘Yes, it is.’

  Long since…

  They approached the standing stones. Not a single lintel left to bridge the ring, just rubble scattered about down the slopes, as if some ancient detonation at the heart of the circle had blasted the massive structure – even the upright stones were all tilted outward, like the petals of a flower.

  ‘This is an unpleasant place,’ Edgewalker said as they swung right to take the formal approach, an avenue lined with low, rotted trees, each standing upended with the remnant roots clutching the air.

  Cotillion shrugged. ‘About as unpleasant as virtually anywhere else in this realm.’

  ‘You might believe that, given you have none of the memories I possess. Terrible events, long, long ago, yet the echoes remain.’

  ‘There is little residual power left here,’ Cotillion said as they neared the two largest stones, and walked between them.

  ‘That is true. Of course, that is not the case on the surface.’

  ‘The surface? What do you mean?’

  ‘Standing stones are always half-buried, Cotillion. And the makers were rarely ignorant of the significance of that. Overworld and underworld.’

  Cotillion halted and glanced back, studying the upended trees lining the avenue. ‘And this manifestation we see here is given to the underworld?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Is the overworld manifestation to be found in some other realm? Where one might see an inward-tilting ring of stones, and right-side-up trees?’

  ‘Assuming they are not entirely buried or eroded to nothing by now. This circle is very old.’

  Cotillion swung round again and observed the three dragons opposite them, each at the base of a standing stone, although their massive chains reached down into the rough soil, rather than into the weathered rock. Shackled at the neck and at the four limbs, with another chain wrapped taut behind the shoulders and wings of each dragon. Every chain drawn so tight as to prevent any movement, not even a lifting of the head. ‘This,’ Cotillion said in a murmur, ‘is as you said, Edgewalker. An unpleasant place. I’d forgotten.’

  ‘You forget every time,’ Edgewalker said. ‘Overcome by your fascination. Such is the residual power in this circle.’

  Cotillion shot him a quick look. ‘I am ensorcelled?’

  The gaunt creature shrugged in a faint clatter of bones. ‘It is a magic without purpose beyond what it achieves. Fascination… and forgetfulness.’

  ‘I have trouble accepting that. All sorcery has a desired goal.’

  Another shrug. ‘They are hungry, yet unable to feed.’

  After a moment, Cotillion nodded. ‘The sorcery belongs to the dragons, then. Well, I can accept that. Yet, what of the circle itself? Has its power died? If so, why are these dragons still bound?’

  ‘Not dead, simply not acting in any manner upon you, Cotillion. You are not its intent.’

  ‘Well enough.’ He turned as Baran padded into view, swinging wide to avoid Edgewalker’s reach, then fixing its attention on the dragons. Cotillion saw its hackles stiffen. ‘Can you answer me this,’ he said to Edgewalker, ‘why will they not speak with me?’

  ‘Perhaps you have yet to say anything worth a reply.’

  ‘Possibly. What do you think the response will be, then, if I speak of freedom?’

  ‘I am here,’ said Edgewalker, ‘to discover that for myself.’

  ‘You can read my thoughts?’ Cotillion asked in a low voice.

  Baran’s huge head slowly swung round to regard Edgewalker. The Hound took a single step closer to the creature.

  ‘I possess no such omniscience,’ Edgew
alker calmly replied, seeming to take no notice of Baran’s attention. ‘Although to one such as you, it might appear so. But I have existed ages beyond your reckoning, Cotillion. All patterns are known to me, for they have been played out countless times before. Given what approaches us all, it was not hard to predict. Especially given your uncanny prescience.’ The dead pits that were Edgewalker’s eyes seemed to study Cotillion. ‘You suspect, do you not, that dragons are at the heart of all that will come?’

  Cotillion gestured at the chains. ‘They reach through to the overworld presumably? And that warren is what?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Edgewalker countered.

  ‘Try reading my mind.’

  ‘I cannot.’

  ‘So, you are here because you are desperate to know what I know, or even what I suspect.’

  Edgewalker’s silence was answer enough to that question. Cotillion smiled. ‘I think I will make no effort to communicate with these dragons after all.’

  ‘But you will, eventually,’ Edgewalker replied. ‘And when you do, I will be here. Thus, what does it avail you to remain silent now?’

  ‘Well, in order to irritate you, I suppose.’

  ‘I have existed ages beyond your—’

  ‘So you have been irritated before, yes, I know. And will be again, without question.’

  ‘Make your effort, Cotillion. Soon if not now. If you wish to survive what is to come.’

  ‘All right. Provided you tell me the names of these dragons.’

  A clearly grudging reply: ‘As you wish—’

  ‘And why they have been imprisoned here, and by whom.’

  ‘That I cannot do.’

  They studied each other, then Edgewalker cocked its head, and observed, ‘It seems we are at an impasse, Cotillion. What is your decision?’

  ‘Very well. I will take what I can get.’

  Edgewalker faced the three dragons. ‘These are of the pure blood. Eleint. Ampelas, Kalse and Eloth. Their crime was… ambition. It is a common enough crime.’ The creature turned back to Cotillion. ‘Perhaps endemic’

  In answer to that veiled judgement, Cotillion shrugged. He walked closer to the imprisoned beasts. ‘I shall assume you can hear me,’ he said in a low voice. ‘A war is coming. Only a few years away. And it will, I suspect, draw into its fray virtually every ascendant from all the realms. I need to know, should you be freed, upon which side shall you fight.’

  There was silence for a half-dozen heartbeats, then a voice rasped in Cotillion’s mind. ‘You come here, Usurper, in a quest for allies.’

  A second voice cut through, this one distinctly female, ‘Bound by gratitude for freeing us. Were I to bargain from your position, I would be foolish to hope for loyalty, for trust.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Cotillion, ‘that that is a problem. Presumably, you will suggest I free you before we bargain.’

  ‘It is only fair,’ the first voice said.

  ‘Alas, I am not that interested in being fair.’

  ‘You fear we will devour you?’

  ‘In the interest of brevity,’ Cotillion said, ‘and I understand that your kind delight in brevity.’

  The third dragon spoke then, a heavy, deep voice: ‘Freeing us first would indeed spare us the effort of then negotiating. Besides, we are hungry.’

  ‘What brought you to this realm?’ Cotillion asked.

  There was no reply.

  Cotillion sighed. ‘I shall be more inclined to free you – assuming I am able – if I have reason to believe your imprisonment was unjust.’

  The female dragon asked, ‘And you presume to make that decision?’

  ‘This hardly seems the right moment to be cantankerous,’ he replied in exasperation. ‘The last person who made that judgement clearly did not find in favour of you, and was able to do something about it. I would have thought that all these centuries in chains might have led you three to reevaluate your motivations. But it seems your only regret is that you were unequal to the last entity that presumed to judge you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that is a regret. But it is not our only one.’

  ‘All right. Let’s hear some of the others.’

  ‘That the Tiste Andii who invaded this realm were so thorough in their destruction,’ the third dragon said, ‘and so absolute in their insistence that the throne remain unclaimed.’

  Cotillion drew a slow, long breath. He glanced back at Edgewalker, but the apparition said nothing. ‘And what,’ he asked the dragons, ‘so spurred their zeal?’

  ‘Vengeance, of course. And Anomandaris.’

  ‘Ah, I think I can now assume I know who imprisoned the three of you.’

  ‘He very nearly killed us,’ said the female dragon. ‘An over-reaction on his part. After all, better Eleint on the Throne of Shadow than another Tiste Edur, or worse, a usurper.’

  ‘And how would Eleint not be usurpers?’

  ‘Your pedantry does not impress us.’

  ‘Was all this before or after the Sundering of the Realm?’

  ‘Such distinctions are meaningless. The Sundering continues to this day, and as for the forces that conspired to trigger the dread event, those were many and varied. Like a pack of enkar’al closing on a wounded drypthara. What is vulnerable attracts… feeders.’

  ‘Thus,’ said Cotillion, ‘if freed, you would once again seek the Shadow Throne. Only this time, someone occupies that throne.’

  ‘The veracity of that claim is subject to debate,’ the female dragon said.

  ‘A matter,’ added the first dragon, ‘of semantics. Shadows cast by shadows.’

  ‘You believe that Ammanas is sitting on the wrong Shadow Throne.’

  ‘The true throne is not even in this fragment of Emurlahn.’

  Cotillion crossed his arms and smiled. ‘And is Ammanas?’

  The dragons said nothing, and he sensed, with great satisfaction, their sudden disquiet.

  ‘That, Cotillion,’ said Edgewalker behind him, ‘is a curious distinction. Or are you simply being disingenuous?’

  ‘That I cannot tell you,’ Cotillion said, with a faint smile.

  The female dragon spoke, ‘I am Eloth, Mistress of Illusions – Meanas to you – and Mockra and Thyr. A Shaper of the Blood. All that K’rul asked of me, I have done. And now you presume to question my loyalty?’

  ‘Ah,’ Cotillion said, nodding, ‘then I take it you are aware of the impending war. Are you also aware of the rumours of K’rul’s return?’

  ‘His blood is growing sickly,’ said the third dragon. ‘I am Ampelas, who shaped the Blood in the paths of Emurlahn. The sorcery wielded by the Tiste Edur was born of my will – do you now understand, Usurper?’

  ‘That dragons are prone to grandiose claims and sententiousness? Yes, I do indeed understand, Ampelas. And I should now presume that for each of the warrens, Elder and new, there is a corresponding dragon? You are the flavours of K’rul’s blood? What of the Soletaken dragons, such as Anomandaris and, more relevantly, Scabandari Bloodeye?’

  ‘We are surprised,’ said the first dragon after a moment, ‘that you know that name.’

  ‘Because you killed him so long ago?’

  ‘A poor guess, Usurper, poorer for that you have revealed the extent of your ignorance. No, we did not kill him. In any case, his soul remains alive, although tormented. The one whose fist shattered his skull and so destroyed his body holds no allegiance to us, nor, we suspect, to anyone but herself.’

  ‘You are Kalse, then,’ Cotillion said. ‘And what path do you claim?’

  ‘I leave the grandiose claims to my kin. I have no need to impress you, Usurper. Furthermore, I delight in discovering how little you comprehend.’

  Cotillion shrugged. ‘I was asking about the Soletaken. Scabandari, Anomandaris, Osserc, Olar Ethil, Draconus—’

  Edgewalker spoke behind him: ‘Cotillion, surely you have surmised by now that these three dragons sought the Shadow Throne for honourable reasons?’

  ‘To heal
Emurlahn, yes, Edgewalker, I understand that.’

  ‘And is that not what you seek as well?’

  Cotillion turned to regard the creature. ‘Is it?’

  Edgewalker seemed taken aback for a moment, then, head cocking slightly, it said, ‘It is not the healing that concerns you, it is who will be sitting on the Throne afterwards.’

  ‘As I understand things,’ Cotillion replied, ‘once these dragons did what K’rul asked of them, they were compelled to return to Starvald Demelain. As the sources of sorcery, they could not be permitted to interfere or remain active across the realms, lest sorcery cease to be predictable, which in turn would feed Chaos – the eternal enemy in this grand scheme. But the Soletaken proved a problem. They possessed the blood of Tiam, and with it the vast power of the Eleint. Yet, they could travel as they pleased. They could interfere, and they did. For obvious reasons. Scabandari was originally Edur, and so he became their champion—’

  ‘After murdering the royal line of the Edur!’ Eloth said in a hiss. ‘After spilling draconean blood in the heart of Kurald Emurlahn! After opening the first, fatal wound upon that warren! What did he think gates were?’

  ‘The Tiste Andii for Anomandaris,’ Cotillion continued. ‘Tiste Liosan for Osserc. The T’lan Imass for Olar Ethil. These connections and the loyalties born of them are obvious. Draconus is more of a mystery, of course, since he has been gone a long time—’

  ‘The most reviled of them all!’ Eloth shrieked, the voice filling Cotillion’s skull so that he winced.

  Stepping back, he raised a hand. ‘Spare me, please. I am not really interested in all that, to be honest. Apart from discovering if there was enmity between Eleint and Soletaken. It seems there is, with the possible exception of Silanah—’

  ‘Seduced by Anomandaris’s charms,’ snapped Eloth. ‘And Olar Ethil’s endless pleadings…’

  ‘To bring fire to the world of the Imass,’ Cotillion said. ‘For that is her aspect, is it not? Thyr?’

  Ampelas observed, ‘He is not so uncomprehending as you believed, Kalse.’

  ‘Then again,’ Cotillion continued, ‘you too claim Thyr, Eloth. Ah, that was clever of K’rul, forcing you to share power.’