He felt hunched down inside himself, as if folding round an old wound, leaving his bones feeling frail, a cage that could crumple at the first hint of pressure.
The wasted land passed him by on all sides, barely observed. The day’s heat faltered before the conflagration in his skull.
Mappo forced himself onward. He had to find Icarium now, more than ever. To beg forgiveness. And to end it.
My friend. I am not enough any more. I am not the warrior you once knew. I am not the wall to lean your weary self against. I have betrayed children, Icarium. Look into my eyes and see the truth of this.
I beg a release.
‘End it, Icarium. Please, end this.’
Stormy thought he could make out a pall of dust to the southeast. No telling how far – the horizons played tricks in this place. The lizard he rode devoured leagues. It never seemed to tire. Glancing back, he glowered at the drones plodding in his wake. K’ell Hunters ranged on his flanks, sometimes visible, but mostly not, lost somewhere in the deceptive folds and creases of the landscape.
I’m riding a damned Ve’Gath. The nastiest weapon of war I’ve ever seen. I don’t need a damned escort. All right, so it needed to be fed come evening. There was that to consider. But I’m a man. I hate the need to consider anything. It’s not a problem either. Mostly.
He preferred being just a corporal. This Shield Anvil business left a sour taste in his mouth. Aye, there’s a sentimental streak in me. I don’t deny it, and maybe it’s wide as an ocean like Ges says. But I didn’t ask for it. I cried for a dying mouse once – dying because I tried to catch it only my hand was too clumsy and something got broken inside. Lying there in my palm, breaths coming so fast, but the tiny limbs’d stopped moving, and then the breaths slowed.
I knelt on the stones and watched it slowly die. There in my hand. Gods, it’s enough to make me bawl all over again, just remembering. How old was I? Twenty?
He leaned to one side and cleared his nose, one nostril and then the other. Then cleaned his moustache with his fingers, wiping them on his leg. Dust cloud any closer? Hard to say.
Clearing a rise, he cursed and silently ordered his mount to a halt. The basin below stretched out three hundred or more paces, and half that distance out a dozen or so figures were standing or sitting in a rough circle. As soon as he came into view the ones standing turned to face him, while the ones sitting slowly climbed upright and did the same.
They were tall, gaunt, and armoured in black chain, black scales and black leather.
The Ke’ll Hunters had appeared suddenly to Stormy’s right and left and were closing up at a swift lope, their massive cutlasses held out to the sides.
Stormy could taste something oily and bitter.
‘Calm down, lizards,’ he said under his breath, kicking the Ve’Gath into motion. ‘They ain’t drawing.’
Dark narrow faces beneath ornate helms tracked Stormy’s approach. Withered faces. Those bastards are tusked. Jaghut? Must be – that old bust of Gothos in Aren’s Grey Temple had tusks like those. But then, these fellows ain’t looking too good. T’lan? Did the Jaghut have T’lan? Oh, never mind these questions, idiot. Just ask ’em. Or not. Ten paces between them, Stormy reined in. The Hunters halted a few paces back, settled and planted the tips of their cutlasses in the hard earth.
He studied the warriors before him. ‘Ugly,’ he muttered.
One spoke, though Stormy wasn’t immediately certain from which one the voice came. ‘Do you see this, Bolirium?’
‘I see,’ another answered.
‘A human – well, mostly human. Hard to tell behind all that hair. But let us be generous. A human, with K’Chain as pets. And only a few moments ago, Bolirium, you had the nerve to suggest that the world was a better place than when we’d last left it.’
‘I did,’ Bolirium admitted, and then added, ‘I was an idiot.’
Low laughter.
A third Jaghut then said, ‘K’Chain and termites, Gedoran. Find one …’
‘And you know there’s a hundred thousand more in the woodwork. As you say, Varandas.’
‘And with that other smell …’
‘Just so,’ Gedoran said – and Stormy found him by the nod accompanying the words. ‘Dust.’
‘Dreams and nightmares, Gedoran, hide in the same pit. Reach down and you’re blind to what you pull out.’
They were all speaking Falari, which was ridiculous. Stormy snorted, and then said, ‘Listen. You’re in my way.’
Gedoran stepped forward. ‘You did not come in search of us?’
‘Do I really look that stupid? No. Why, should I have?’
‘He is impertinent.’
‘Daryft, a human riding a Ve’Gath can be as impertinent as he likes,’ said Bolirium.
Hard laughter, heads rocking back.
Stormy said, ‘You’re in the middle of nowhere. What are you up to?’
‘Ah,’ said Gedoran, ‘now that is a pertinent query. We have sent our commander on a quest, and now await his return.’
‘You order your commander around?’
‘Yes, isn’t that wonderful?’
The Jaghut laughed again, a habit, Stormy decided as it went on, and on, that could prove maddening. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.’
The fourteen Jaghut bowed, and Gedoran said, ‘Until we meet again, Shield Anvil.’
‘I don’t intend to ride back the way I came in.’
‘Wisdom is not yet dead,’ said Bolirium. ‘Did I not suggest this to you all?’
‘Amidst a host of idiotic assertions, perhaps you did.’
‘Varandas, there must be a balance in the world. On one side a morsel of weighty wisdom, offsetting a gastric avalanche of brainless stupidity. Is that not the way of things?’
‘But Bolirium, a drop of perfume cannot defeat a heap of shit.’
‘That depends, Varandas, on where you put your nose.’
Gedoran said, ‘Be sure to inform us, Varandas, when you finally smell something sweet.’
‘Don’t hold your breath, Gedoran.’
To raucous laughter, Stormy kicked the Ve’Gath into motion, steering the creature to the left to ride round the Jaghut. Once past he urged his mount into a loping trot. A short while later the K’ell Hunters drew in closer.
He could smell their unease. ‘Aye,’ he muttered.
He wondered who the commander was. Must be a damned idiot. But then, anything to escape that laughing. Aye, now that makes sense. Why, I’d probably ride straight up Hood’s arsehole to get away from that lot.
And as soon as I smell something sweet, boys and girls, why, I’ll ride straight back and tell you.
That dust cloud looked closer. Maybe.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Awaiting Restitution’
‘IS IT AS I SEE?’ BRYS BEDDICT ASKED. ‘THE FATE OF THE WORLD IN THE hands of three women?’
Atri-Ceda Aranict drew one more time on the stick and then flicked the stub into the fire. Into flames … She held the smoke in her lungs as long as she could, as if in refusing to breathe out she could hold back time itself. I saw caverns. I saw darkness … and the rain, gods below, the rain … Finally, she sighed. If there was any smoke left she didn’t see it. ‘Not three women alone,’ she said. ‘There is one man. You.’
They sat undisturbed before the fire. Soldiers slept. The bawling of animals awaiting slaughter had died down for the night. Cookfires dwindled as the swirling wind ate the last dung, and the air was filled with ashes. Come the dawn … we leave. Broken apart, each our separate ways. Could I have imagined this? Did she know? She must have. By her sword we are shattered.