The High Priestess frowned. ‘Am I not yet understood?’
‘You are,’ replied the witch, with another flash of irritation, ‘but I have my own rules, and I will voice my gratitude, whether it pleases you or not.’
That statement earned a faint smile and the High Priestess dipped her head in acknowledgement.
‘Now, then,’ said the witch after yet another brief stretch of silence, ‘I ask that you help Salind.’
‘No.’
The witch’s face darkened.
‘You have come here,’ said the High Priestess, ‘because of a loss of your own faith. Yes, you would have the Temple act on behalf of Salind. It is our assessment that Salind does not yet need our help. Nor, indeed, does the Redeemer.’
‘Your. . assessment?’
‘We are,’ said the High Priestess, ‘rather more aware of the situation than you might have believed. If we must act, then we will, if only to preempt Silanah — although, I admit, it is no easy thing attempting to measure out the increments of an Eleint’s forbearance. She could stir at any time, at which point it will be too late.’
‘Too late?’
‘Yes, for Salind, for the usurpers, for the pilgrim camp and all its inhabitants.’
‘High Priestess, who is Silanah? And what is an Eleint?’
‘Oh, I am sorry. That was careless of me. Silanah commands the spire of this keep — she is rather difficult to miss, even in the eternal gloom. On your return to your home, you need but turn and glance back, and up, of course, and you will see her.’ She paused, and then added, ‘Eleint means dragon.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come, let us return to the others. I am sure more tea has been brewed, and we can take some rest there.’
The witch seemed to have run out of commentary, and now followed meekly as the High Priestess strode from the chamber.
The return journey did not take nearly as long.
It should have come as no surprise to Samar Dev when Karsa Orlong rode back into the camp at dusk at the end of the third day since leaving them. Riding in, saying nothing, looking oddly thoughtful.
Unscathed. As if challenging the Hounds of Shadow was no greater risk than, say, herding sheep, or staring down a goat (which, of course, couldn’t be done — but such a detail would hardly stop the Toblakai, would it? And he’d win the wager, too). No, it was clear that the encounter had been a peaceful one — perhaps predicated on the Hounds’ fleeing at high speed, tails between their legs.
Slipping down from Havok’s back, Karsa walked over to where sat Samar Dev beside the dung fire. Traveller had moved off thirty or so paces, as it was his habit to attend to the arrival of dusk in relative solitude.
The Toblakai crouched down. ‘Where is the tea?’ he asked.
‘There isn’t any,’ she said. ‘We’ve run out.’
Karsa nodded towards Traveller. ‘This city he seeks. How far away?’
Samar Dev shrugged. ‘Maybe a week, since we’re going rather slowly.’
‘Yes. I was forced to backtrack to find you.’ He was silent for a moment, looking into the flames, and then he said, ‘He does not seem the reluctant type.’
‘No, you’re right. He doesn’t.’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘Cook something.’
‘I will.’
She rubbed at her face, feeling the scrape of calluses from her hands, and then tugged at the knots in her hair. ‘Since meeting you,’ she said, ‘I have almost forgotten what it is to be clean — oh, Letheras was all right, but we were pretty much in a prison, so it doesn’t really count. No, with you it’s just empty wastelands, blood-soaked sands, the occasional scene of slaughter,’
‘You sought me out, Witch,’ he reminded her.
‘I delivered your horse.’ She snorted. ‘Since you two are so clearly perfect for each other, it was a matter of righting the cosmic balance. I had no choice.’
‘You just want me,’ he said, ‘yet whenever we are together, you do nothing but second-guess everything. Surrender, woman, and you can stop arguing with yourself. It has been a long time since I spilled my seed into a woman, almost as long as since you last felt the heat of a man.’
She could have shot back, unleashed a flurry of verbal quarrels that would, inevitably, all bounce off his impervious barbarity. ‘You’d be gentle as a desert bear, of course. I’d probably never recover.’
‘There are sides of me, Witch, that you have not seen, yet.’
She grunted.
‘You are ever suspicious of being surprised, aren’t you?’
A curious question. In fact, a damned tangle of a question. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want to go near it. ‘I was civilized, once. Content in a proper city, a city with an underground sewer system, with Malazan aqueducts and hot water from pipes. Hallways between enclosed gardens and the front windows to channel cool air through the house. Proper soap to keep clothes clean. Songbirds in cages. Chilled wine and candied pastries.’
‘The birds sing of imprisonment, Samar Dev. The soap is churned by indentured workers with bleached, blistered hands and hacking coughs. Outside your cool house with its pretty garden there are children left to wander in the streets. Lepers are dragged to the edge of the city and every step is cheered on by a hail of stones. People steal to eat and when they are caught their hands are cut off. Your city takes water from farms and plants wither and animals die.’
She glared across at him. ‘Nice way to turn the mood, Karsa Orlong.’
‘There was a mood?’
‘Too subtle, was it?’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Speak your desires plain.’
‘I was doing just that, you brainless bhederin. Just a little. . comfort. That’s all. Even the illusion would have served.’
Traveler returned to the fire. ‘We are about to have a guest,’ he said.
Samar Dev rose and searched round, but darkness was fast swallowing the plain. She turned with a query on her lips, and saw that Karsa had straightened and was looking skyward, to the northeast. And there, in the deepening blue, a dragon was gliding towards them.
‘Worse than moths,’ Traveller muttered.
‘Are we about to be attacked?’
He glanced at her, and shrugged.
‘Shouldn’t we at least scatter or something?’
Neither warrior replied to that, and after a moment Samar Dev threw up her hands and sat down once more beside the fire. No, she would not panic. Not for these two abominations in her company, and not for a damned dragon, either. Fine, let it be a single pass rather than three — what was she, an ant? She picked up another piece of dung and tossed it into the fire. Moths? Ah, I see. We are a bea shy;con, are we, a wilful abrogation of this wild, empty land. Whatever. Flap flap on over, beastie, just don’t expect scintillating discourse.
The enormous creature’s wings thundered as the dragon checked its speed a hundred paces away, and then it settled almost noiselessly on to the ground. Watching it, Samar Dev’s eyes narrowed. ‘That thing’s not even alive.’
‘No,’ Karsa and Traveller said in unison.
‘Meaning,’ she continued, ‘it shouldn’t be here.’
‘That is true,’ Traveller said.
In the gloom the dragon seemed to regard them for a moment, and then, in a blurring dissolution, the creature sembled, until they saw a tall, gaunt figure of indeterminate gender. Grey as cobwebs and dust, pallid hair long and ropy with filth, wearing the remnants of a long chain hauberk, unbelted. An empty, splintered scabbard hung from a baldric beneath the right arm. Leggings of some kind of thick hide, scaled and the hue of forest loam, reached down to grey leather boots that rose to just below the knees.
No light was reflected from the pits of its eyes. It approached with peculiar caution, like a wild animal, and halted at the very edge of the firelight. Whereupon it lifted both hands, brought them together into a peak before its face, and bowed.
In the native tongue of Ugari, it said, ‘Witch, I greet you.’
Samar Dev rose, shocked, baffled. Was it some strange kind of courtesy, to address her first? Was this thing in the habit of ignoring ascendants as if they were nothing more than bodyguards? And from her two formidable companions, not a sound.