Brolos Haran had been speaking-about what Nom Kala had no idea-and he was not pleased with the interruption. ‘Nom Kala, what is it about the Fall at the Red Spires that so amuses you?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied, ‘unless it was meant to. I apologize, Brolos Haran. A stray thought. Well, a few stray thoughts.’
The others waited.
She elected to refrain from elaborating.
The wind moaned, whispered through remnants of fur.
Onos T’oolan spoke. ‘Orshayn. Brold. I have forsworn the Jaghut Wars. I seek no battle. I do not invite you to join me, for what I seek is an accounting. Like you, I am summoned from the dust, and it is to dust that I wish to return. But first, I will find the one who has so punished me with resurrection. The bonecaster of the Logros T’lan Imass, Olar Ethil.’
Ulag said, ‘Can you be certain it is her, First Sword?’
Onos T’oolan cocked his head. ‘Ulag Togtil, after all this time, do you still hold to the virtue of certainty?’
‘We fought no war against the Jaghut,’ Nom Kala said.
The bonecasters of the Orshayn reacted with a chill wave of disapproval. She ignored it.
Onos T’oolan said, ‘Ulag. I see the Orshayn Warleader standing with your kin. Why does Inistral Ovan not come forward?’
‘He is shamed, First Sword. The losses at the Red Spire…’
‘Nom Kala,’ Onos then said, ‘have you no ruler of the Brold Clan?’
‘Only us,’ she replied. ‘Even the war we fought against the humans was not a war that demanded a warleader. It was clear that we could not defeat them on a field of battle. There were too many.’
‘Then how did you fight?’
‘By keeping alive our stories, our ways of living. And by hiding, for in hiding, we survived. We persisted. This is itself a victory.’
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Brolos Haran had been speaking-about what Nom Kala had no idea-and he was not pleased with the interruption. ‘Nom Kala, what is it about the Fall at the Red Spires that so amuses you?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied, ‘unless it was meant to. I apologize, Brolos Haran. A stray thought. Well, a few stray thoughts.’
The others waited.
She elected to refrain from elaborating.
The wind moaned, whispered through remnants of fur.
Onos T’oolan spoke. ‘Orshayn. Brold. I have forsworn the Jaghut Wars. I seek no battle. I do not invite you to join me, for what I seek is an accounting. Like you, I am summoned from the dust, and it is to dust that I wish to return. But first, I will find the one who has so punished me with resurrection. The bonecaster of the Logros T’lan Imass, Olar Ethil.’
Ulag said, ‘Can you be certain it is her, First Sword?’
Onos T’oolan cocked his head. ‘Ulag Togtil, after all this time, do you still hold to the virtue of certainty?’
‘We fought no war against the Jaghut,’ Nom Kala said.
The bonecasters of the Orshayn reacted with a chill wave of disapproval. She ignored it.
Onos T’oolan said, ‘Ulag. I see the Orshayn Warleader standing with your kin. Why does Inistral Ovan not come forward?’
‘He is shamed, First Sword. The losses at the Red Spire…’
‘Nom Kala,’ Onos then said, ‘have you no ruler of the Brold Clan?’
‘Only us,’ she replied. ‘Even the war we fought against the humans was not a war that demanded a warleader. It was clear that we could not defeat them on a field of battle. There were too many.’
‘Then how did you fight?’
‘By keeping alive our stories, our ways of living. And by hiding, for in hiding, we survived. We persisted. This is itself a victory.’
‘And yet,’ cut in Ilm Absinos, ‘you failed in the end. Else you would not have attempted the Ritual of Tellann.’
‘That is true,’ she replied. ‘We ran out of places to hide.’
Ulag spoke. ‘First Sword, we would accompany you nonetheless. Like you, we wish to know the purpose of our return.’
‘If you join my quest,’ said Onos T’oolan, ‘then you bow to Olar Ethil’s desires.’
‘That perception may lead to carelessness on her part,’ Ulag replied.
Standing amidst the other T’lan Imass, Rystalle Ev watched, listened, and imagined a world taut with purpose. It had once been such a world, for her, for all of her kin. But that had vanished long ago. Perhaps the First Sword could bind them all to this quest of his. Perhaps answers could relieve the burden of despair. Reasons to stand, reasons to stand against .
But the dust beckoned with its promise of oblivion. The trail to the end of things had been hacked clear, pounded level. She yearned to walk it.
Beside her, Kalt Urmanal said, ‘See the sword he carries. See how its tip pins the earth. This Onos T’oolan, he is not one for poses. He never was. I remember when I last saw him. He had defeated his challenger. He had shown such skill that ten thousand Imass stood silent with awe. Yet, he stood as one defeated.’
‘Weary,’ Rystalle murmured.
‘Yes, but not from the fighting. He was weary, Rystalle Ev, of its necessity.’
She considered that, and then nodded.
Kalt then added, ‘This warrior I will follow.’
‘Yes.’
She sat on a pyramid of three stacked canvas bolts, huddled beneath her night-cloak. The shivering would not go away. She watched the glowing tip of her smoker dancing like a firefly close to her fingers. Atri-Ceda Aranict listened to the muted sounds of the Malazan encampment. Subdued, weary and shaken. She understood that well enough. Soldiers had fallen out from the column, staggering as if reeling from blows. Collapsing senseless, or falling to their knees spitting blood. Panic rippling through the ranks-was this an attack?
Not as such.
Those stricken soldiers had been, one and all, mages. And the enemy, blind and indifferent, had been power.
Her nausea was fading. Mind slowly awakening-wandering like a hungover reveller, desultorily sweeping aside the ashes-she thought back to her first meeting with High Mage Ben Adaephon Delat. She had been pathetic. It was bad enough fainting in a heap in front of Commander Brys Beddict; she had barely recovered from that before she was led into Quick Ben’s presence.
And now, weeks later, only fragments of the conversation that followed remained with her. He had been a distracted man, but when he had seen the enlivened earth cupped in Aranict’s hand, his dark eyes had sharpened, hardened as if transformed into onyx.