‘At least let me find a worthy weapon,’ Trull Sengar muttered. ‘I may end up facing my own kin, after all.’
Ibra Gholan spoke. ‘Tiste Edur, what is your weapon of choice?’
‘Spear. I am fair with a bow as well, but for combat… spear.’
‘I will acquire one for you,’ the clan leader said. ‘And a bow as well. Yet I am curious-there were spears to be found among the cache you but recently departed. Why did you not avail yourself of a weapon at that time?’
Trull Sengar’s reply was low and cool. ‘I am not a thief.’
The clan leader faced Onrack, then said, ‘You chose well, Onrack the Broken.’
I know. ‘Monok Ochem, has Logros a thought as to who the renegade bonecaster might be?’
‘Tenag Ilbaie,’ Monok Ochem immediately replied. ‘It is likely he has chosen a new name.’
‘And Logros is certain?’
‘All others are accounted for, barring Kilava Onas.’
Who remains in her mortal flesh and so cannot be among the renegades. ‘Born of Ban Raile’s clan, a tenag Soletaken. Before he was chosen as the clan’s bonecaster, he was known as Haran ’Alle, birthed as he was in the Summer of the Great Death among the Caribou. He was a loyal bonecaster-’
‘Until he failed against the Forkrul Assail in the Laederon Wars,’ Monok Ochem cut in.
‘As we in turn fail,’ Onrack rasped.
‘What do you mean?’ Monok Ochem demanded. ‘In what way have we failed?’
‘We chose to see failure as disloyalty, Bonecaster. Yet in our harsh judgement of fallen kin, we committed our own act of disloyalty. Tenag Ilbaie strove to succeed in his task. His defeat was not by choice. Tell me, when have we ever triumphed in a clash with Forkrul Assail? Thus, Tenag Ilbaie was doomed from the very beginning. Yet he accepted what was commanded of him. Knowing full well he would be destroyed and so condemned. I have learned this, Monok Ochem, and through you shall say to Logros and all the T’lan Imass: these renegades are of our own making.’
‘Then it falls to us to deal with them,’ Ibra Gholan growled.
‘And what if we should fail?’ Onrack asked.
To that, neither T’lan Imass gave answer.
Trull Sengar sighed. ‘If we are to indeed intercept these renegades, we should get moving.’
‘We shall travel by the Warren of Tellann,’ Monok Ochem said. ‘Logros has given leave that you may accompany us on that path.’
‘Generous of him,’ Trull Sengar muttered.
As Monok Ochem prepared to open the warren, the bonecaster paused and looked back at Onrack once more. ‘When you… repaired yourself, Onrack the Broken… where was the rest of the body?’
‘I do not know. It had been… taken away.’
‘And who destroyed it in the first place?’
Indeed, a troubling question. ‘I do not know, Monok Ochem. There is another detail that left me uneasy.’
‘And that is?’
‘The renegade was cut in half by a single blow.’
The winding track that led up the boulder-strewn hillside was all too familiar, and Lostara Yil could feel the scowl settling into her face. Pearl remained a few paces behind her, muttering every time her boots dislodged a stone that tumbled downward. She heard him curse as one such rock cracked against a shin, and felt the scowl shift into a savage smile.
The bastard’s smooth surface was wearing off, revealing unsightly patches that she found cause both for derision and a strange, insipid attraction. Too old to dream of perfection, perhaps, she had instead discovered a certain delicious appeal in flaws. And Pearl had plenty of those.
He resented most the relinquishing of the lead, but this terrain belonged to Lostara, to her memories. The ancient, exposed temple floor lay directly ahead, the place where she had driven a bolt into Sha’ik’s forehead. And, if not for those two bodyguards-that Toblakai in particular-that day would have ended in even greater triumph, as the Red Blades returned to G’danisban with Sha’ik’s head riding a lance. Thus ending the rebellion before it began.
So many lives saved, had that occurred, had reality played out as seamlessly as the scene in her mind. On such things, the fate of an entire subcontinent had irrevocably tumbled headlong into this moment’s sordid, blood-soaked situation.
That damned Toblakai. With that damned wooden sword. If not for him, what would this day be like? We’d likely not be here, for one thing. Felisin Paran would not have needed to cross all of Seven Cities seeking to avoid murder at the hands of frenzied rebels. Coltaine would be alive, closing the imperial fist around every smouldering ember before it rose in conflagration. And High Fist Pormqual would have been sent to the Empress to give an accounting of his incompetence and corruption. All, but for that one obnoxious Toblakai…
She passed by the large boulders they had hidden behind, then the one she had used to draw close enough to ensure the lethality of her shot. And there, ten paces from the temple floor, the scattered remains of the last Red Blade to fall during the retreat.
Lostara stepped onto the flagstoned floor and halted.
Pearl arrived at her side, looking around curiously.
Lostara pointed. ‘She was seated there.’
‘Those bodyguards didn’t bother burying the Red Blades,’ he commented.
‘No, why would they?’
‘Nor,’ the Claw continued, ‘it seems, did they bother with Sha’ik.’ He walked over to a shadowed spot between the two pillars of an old arched gate.
Lostara followed, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.
The form was tiny, wrapped in wind-frayed tent cloth. The black hair had grown, and grown, long after death, and the effect-after Pearl crouched and tugged the canvas away to reveal the desiccated face and scalp-was horrific. The hole the quarrel had punched into her forehead revealed a skull filled with windblown sand. More of the fine grains had pooled in the corpse’s eye sockets, nose and gaping mouth.
‘Raraku reclaims its own,’ Pearl muttered after a moment. ‘And you’re certain this was Sha’ik, lass?’
She nodded. ‘The Book of Dryjhna was being delivered, as I explained. Directly into her hands. From which, it was prophesied, a rebirth would occur, and that in turn would trigger the Whirlwind, the Apocalypse… the rebellion.’
‘Describe for me again these bodyguards.’
‘A Toblakai and the one known as Leoman of the Flails. Sha’ik’s most personal bodyguards.’
‘Yet, it would appear that the rebellion had no need for Sha’ik, or the Whirlwind. It was well under way by the time Felisin arrived at this place. So, what occurred in that time? Are you suggesting that the bodyguards simply… waited? Here? Waited for what?’
Lostara shrugged. ‘For the rebirth, perhaps. The beauty of prophecies is that they are so conveniently open to countless reinterpretations, as the demand presents itself. The fools waited, and waited…’
Frowning, Pearl straightened and looked around. ‘But the rebirth did occur. The Whirlwind rose, to give focus-to provide a raging heart-for the rebellion. It all happened, just as it had been prophesied. I wonder…’
Lostara watched him from beneath half-closed lids. A certain grace to his movements, she conceded. An elegance that would have been feminine in a man less deadly. He was like a flare-neck snake, calm and self-contained… until provoked. ‘But look at her,’ she said. ‘There was no rebirth. We’re wasting time here, Pearl. So, maybe Felisin stumbled here, onto all this, before continuing onward.’
‘You are being deliberately obtuse, dear,’ Pearl murmured, disappointing her that he had not risen to the bait.
‘Am I?’
Her irritation deepened at the smile he flashed her.
‘You are quite right, Lostara, in observing that nothing whatsoever could have been reborn from this corpse. Thus, only one conclusion follows. The Sha’ik alive and well in the heart of Raraku is not the same Sha’ik. Those bodyguards found a… replacement. An impostor, someone they could fit neatly into the role-the flexibility of prophecies you noted a moment ago would have served them well. Reborn. Very well, younger in appearance, yes? An old woman cannot lead an army into a new war, after all. And further, an old woman would find it hard to convince anyone that she’d been reborn.’