‘I’m starting to doubt the Whirlwind Wall ever vanished,’ Keneb said.
‘Aye, there’s less we’re kicking up than is still coming down,’ Gamet replied. He hesitated, then said, ‘My apologies, Captain-’
‘No need, sir. I am in fact relieved-if you’ll excuse the pun. Not just from the pressure of being a Fist, but also because Ranal’s promotion was rescinded. It was a pleasure informing him of that. Were you aware he had restructured the units? Using Greymane’s arrangements? Of course, Greymane was fighting a protracted war over a huge territory with no defined front. He needed self-contained fighting units, ready for any contingency. Even more irritating, he neglected to inform anyone else.’
‘Are you returning the squads to their original placement, Captain?’
‘Not yet, sir. Waiting for your word.’
Gamet thought about it for a time. ‘I will inform the Adjunct of our legion’s new structure.’
‘Sir?’
‘It might prove useful. We are to hold the rear at the battle, on a broken landscape. Ranal’s decision, no doubt made in ignorance, is none the less suitable.’
Keneb sighed, but said nothing, and Gamet well understood. I may have returned as Fist with the Adjunct’s confirmation, but her decision on our positioning has made it clear she’s lost confidence in me.
They rode on in silence, but it was not a comfortable one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Who among the pantheon would the Fallen One despise and fear the most? Consider the last chaining, in which Hood, Fener, the Queen of Dreams, Osserc and Oponn all participated, in addition to Anomander Rake, Caladan Brood and a host of other ascendants. It is not so surprising, then, that the Crippled God could not have anticipated that his deadliest enemy was not found among those mentioned…
The Chainings
Istan Hela
‘JUST BECAUSE I’M A WOMAN-ALL WOMAN-IT DOESN’T MEAN I CAN COOK.’
Cutter glanced across at Apsalar, then said, ‘No, no, it’s very good, really-’
But Mogora wasn’t finished, waving a grass-snarled wooden ladle about as she stomped back and forth. ‘There’s no larder, nothing at all! And guests! Endless guests! And is he around to go find us some food? Never! I think he’s dead-’
‘He’s not dead,’ Apsalar cut in, holding her spoon motionless above the bowl. ‘We saw him only a short while ago.’
‘So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips-and those breasts-just wait till you start dropping whelps, they’ll be at your ankles one day, big as they are-not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair-no, not that shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech. What was I talking about? Yes, I have to go out every day, climbing up and down that rope ladder, scrounging food-yes, that grass is edible, just chew it down. Chew and chew. Every day, armfuls of grasses, tubers, rhizan, cockroaches and bloodflies-’ Both Cutter and Apsalar put down their spoons.
‘-and me tripping over my tits. And then!’ She waved the ladle, flinging wet grass against a wall. ‘Those damned bhok’arala get into my hoard and steal all the yummy bits-every single cockroach and bloodfly! Haven’t you noticed? There’s no vermin in this ruin anywhere! Not a mouse, not a bug-what’s a thousand spiders to do?’
Cautiously, the two guests resumed eating, their sips preceded by close examination of the murky liquid in their spoons.
‘And how long do you plan to stay here? What is this, a hostel? How do you expect my husband and me to return to domestic normality? If it’s not you it’s gods and demons and assassins messing up the bedrooms! Will I ever get peace?’ With that she stomped from the room.
After a moment, Cutter blinked and sat straighter. ‘Assassins?’
‘Kalam Mekhar,’ Apsalar replied. ‘He left marks, an old Bridgeburner habit.’
‘He’s back? What happened?’
She shrugged. ‘Shadowthrone and Cotillion have, it seems, found use for us all. If I were to guess, Kalam plans on killing as many of Sha’ik’s officers as he can.’
‘Well, Mogora did raise an interesting question. Cotillion wanted us here, but why? Now what?’
‘I have no answers for you, Crokus. It would seem Cotillion’s interests lie more with you than with me. Which is not surprising.’
‘It isn’t? It is to me. Why would you say otherwise?’
She studied him for a moment, then her eyes shifted away. ‘Because I am not interested in becoming his servant. I possess too many of his memories, including his mortal life as Dancer, to be entirely trustworthy.’
‘That’s not an encouraging statement, Apsalar-’
A new voice hissed from the shadows, ‘Encouragement is needed? Simple, easy, unworthy of concern-why can’t I think of a solution! Something stupid to say, that should be effortless for me. Shouldn’t it?’ After a moment, Iskaral Pust edged out from the gloom, sniffing the air. ‘She’s been… cooking!’ His eyes then lit on the bowls on the table. ‘And you’ve been eating it! Are you mad? Why do you think I’ve been hiding all these months? Why do you think I have my bhok’arala sift through her hoard for the edible stuff? Gods, you fools! Oh yes, fine food… if you’re an antelope!’
‘We’re managing,’ Cutter said. ‘Is there something you want with us? If not, I’m with Mogora on one thing-the less I see of you the better-’
‘She wants to see me, you Daru idiot! Why do you think she’s always trying to hunt me down?’
‘Yes, it’s a good act, isn’t it? But let’s be realistic, Pust, she’s happier without you constantly in her face. You’re not wanted. Not necessary. In fact, Pust, you are completely useless.’
The High Priest’s eyes widened, then he snarled and bolted back into the corner of the room, vanishing into its shadows.
Cutter smiled and leaned back in his chair. ‘That worked better than I could have hoped.’
‘You have stepped between husband and wife, Crokus. Not a wise decision.’
He narrowed his gaze on her. ‘Where do you want to go from here, Apsalar?’
She would not meet his eyes. ‘I have not yet made up my mind.’
And Cutter knew that she had.
The spear was a heavy wood, yet surprisingly flexible for its solid feel. Upright, its fluted chalcedony point reached to Trull Sengar’s palm when he stood with one arm stretched upward. ‘Rather short for my fighting style, but I will make do. I thank you, Ibra Gholan.’
The T’lan Imass swung round and strode to where Monok Ochem waited.
Onrack watched Trull Sengar blow on his hands, then rub them on his tattered buckskin leggings. He flexed the spear shaft once more, then leaned it on one shoulder and faced Onrack. ‘I am ready. Although I could do with some furs-this warren is cold, and the wind stinks of ice-we’ll have snow by nightfall.’
‘We shall be travelling south,’ Onrack said. ‘Before long, we shall reach the tree line, and the snow will turn to rain.’
‘That sounds even more miserable.’
‘Our journey, Trull Sengar, shall be less than a handful of days and nights. And in that time we shall travel from tundra to savanna and jungle.’
‘Do you believe we will reach the First Throne before the renegades?’
Onrack shrugged. ‘It is likely. The path of Tellann will present to us no obstacles, whilst that of chaos shall slow our enemies, for its path is never straight.’
‘Never straight, aye. That notion makes me nervous.’
Ah. That is what I am feeling. ‘A cause for unease, granted, Trull Sengar. None the less, we are faced with a more dire concern, for when we reach the First Throne we must then defend it.’
Ibra Gholan led the way, Monok Ochem waiting until Onrack and the Tiste Edur passed by before falling in step.