Cutter walked over to the shadow god. The Tiste Edur lay heaped in a ring around a clear spot off to the left, but Cotillion’s attention seemed to be on one body in particular, lying at his feet. As the Daru approached, the god slowly settled down into a crouch, reaching out to brush hair back from the corpse’s face.
It was the old witch, Cutter saw, the one who had been burned. The one I thought was the source of power in the Malazan party. But it wasn’t her. It was Traveller. He halted a few paces away, brought up short by Cotillion’s expression, the ravaged look that made him suddenly appear twenty years older. The gloved hand that had swept the hair back now caressed the dead woman’s scorched face.
‘You knew her?’ Cutter asked.
‘Hawl,’ he replied after a moment. ‘I’d thought Surly had taken them all out. None of the Talon’s command left. I thought she was dead.’
‘She is.’ Then he snapped his mouth shut. A damned miserable thing to say-
‘I made them good at hiding,’ Cotillion went on, eyes still on the woman lying in the bloody, trampled grass. ‘Good enough to hide even from me, it seems.’
‘What do you think she was doing here?’
Cotillion flinched slightly. ‘The wrong question, Cutter. Rather, why was she with Traveller? What is the Talon up to? And Traveller… gods, did he know who she was? Of course he did-oh, she’s aged and not well, but even so…’
‘You could just ask him,’ Cutter murmured, grunting as he shifted Apsalar’s weight in his arms. ‘He’s in the courtyard behind us, after all.’
Cotillion reached down to the woman’s neck and lifted into view something strung on a thong. A yellow-stained talon of some sort. He pulled it loose, studied it for a moment, then twisted round and flung it towards Cutter.
It struck his chest, then fell to lie in Apsalar’s lap.
The Daru stared down at it for a moment, then looked up and met the god’s eyes.
‘Go to the Edur ship, Cutter. I am sending you two to another… agent of ours.’
‘To do what?’
‘To wait. In case you are needed.’
‘For what?’
‘To assist others in taking down the Master of the Talon.’
‘Do you know where he or she is?’
He lifted Hawl into his arms and straightened. ‘I have a suspicion. Now, finally, a suspicion about all of this.’ He turned, the frail figure held lightly in his arms, and studied Cutter for a moment. A momentary, wan smile. ‘Look at the two of us,’ he said, then he swung away and began walking towards the forest trail.
Cutter stared after him.
Then shouted: ‘It’s not the same! It’s not!’ We’re not-
The forest shadows swallowed the god.
Cutter hissed a curse, then he turned to the trail that led down to the shoreline.
The god Cotillion walked on until he reached a small glade off to one side of the path. He carried his burden into its centre, and gently set her down.
A host of shadows spun into being opposite, until the vague, insubstantial form of Shadowthrone slowly resolved itself. For a change, the god said nothing for a long time.
Cotillion knelt beside Hawl’s body. ‘Traveller is here, Ammanas. In the Edur ruins.’
Ammanas grunted softly, then shrugged. ‘He’ll have no interest in answering our questions. He never did. Stubborn as any Dal Honese.’
‘You’re Dal Honese,’ Cotillion observed.
‘Precisely.’ Ammanas slipped noiselessly forward until he was on the other side of the corpse. ‘It’s her, isn’t it.’
‘It is.’
‘How many times do our followers have to die, Cotillion?’ the god asked, then sighed. ‘Then again, she clearly ceased being a follower some time ago.’
‘She thought we were gone, Ammanas. The Emperor and Dancer. Gone. Dead.’
‘And in a way, she was right.’
‘In a way, aye. But not in the most important way.’
‘Which is?’
Cotillion glanced up, then grimaced. ‘She was a friend.’
‘Ah, that most important way.’ Ammanas was silent for a moment, then he asked, ‘Will you pursue this?’
‘I see little choice. The Talon is up to something. We need to stop them-’
‘No, friend. We need to ensure that they fail. Have you found a… trail?’
‘More than that. I’ve realized who is masterminding the whole thing.’
Shadowthrone’s hooded head cocked slightly. ‘And that is where Cutter and Apsalar are going now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are they sufficient?’
Cotillion shook his head. ‘I have other agents available. But I would Apsalar be relatively close, in case something goes wrong.’
Ammanas nodded. ‘So, where?’
‘Raraku.’
Though he could not see it, Cotillion knew that his companion’s face was splitting into a broad grin. ‘Ah, dear Rope, time’s come, I think, that I should tell you more of my own endeavours…’
‘The diamonds I gave Kalam? I’d wondered about those.’
Ammanas gestured at Hawl’s corpse. ‘Let us take her home-our home, that is. And then we must speak… at length.’
Cotillion nodded.
‘Besides,’ Shadowthrone added as he straightened, ‘Traveller being so close by makes me nervous.’
A moment later, the glade was empty, barring a few sourceless shadows that swiftly dwindled into nothing.
Cutter reached the sandstone shoreline. Four runners had been pulled up on the flat, grainy shelf of rock. Anchored in the bay beyond were two large dromons, both badly damaged.
Around the runners gear lay scattered, and two huge trees had been felled and dragged close-probably intended to replace the snapped masts. Barrels containing salted fish had been broached, while other casks stood in a row nearby, refilled with fresh water.
Cutter set Apsalar down, then approached one of the runners. They were about fifteen paces from bow to stern, broad of beam with an unstepped mast and side-mounted steering oar. There were two oarlocks to a side. The gunnels were crowded with riotous carvings.
A sudden coughing fit from Apsalar swung him round.
She bolted upright, spat to clear her throat, then wrapped her arms about herself as shivering racked through her.
Cutter quickly returned to her side.
‘D-Darist?’
‘Dead. But so are all the Edur. There was one among the Malazans…’
‘The one of power. I felt him. Such… anger!’
Cutter went over to the nearest water cask, found a ladle. He dipped it full and walked back. ‘He called himself Traveller.’
‘I know him,’ she whispered, then shuddered. ‘Not my memories. Dancer’s. Dancer knew him. Knew him well. They were… three. It was never just the two of them-did you know that? Never just Dancer and Kellanved. No, he was there. Almost from the very beginning. Before Tayschrenn, before Dujek, before even Surly.’
‘Well, it makes no difference now, Apsalar,’ Cutter said. ‘We need to leave this damned island-Traveller can have it, as far as I’m concerned. Are you recovered enough to help me get one of these runners into the water? We’ve a bounty in supplies, too-’
‘Where are we going?’
He hesitated.
Her dark eyes flattened. ‘Cotillion.’
‘Another task for us, aye.’
‘Do not walk this path, Crokus.’
He scowled. ‘I thought you’d appreciate the company.’ He offered her the ladle.
She studied him for a long moment, then slowly accepted it.
‘Pan’potsun Hills.’
‘I know,’ Lostara drawled.
Pearl smiled. ‘Of course you would. And now, at last, you discover the reason I asked you along-’
‘Wait a minute. You couldn’t have known where this trail would lead-’
‘Well, true, but I have faith in blind nature’s penchant for cycles. In any case, is there a buried city nearby?’
‘Nearby? You mean, apart from the one we’re standing on?’ She was pleased to see his jaw drop. ‘What did you think all these flat-topped hills were, Claw?’