He smiles, starts brushing softly. Shipwright fixes him with a look. ‘Harder. He won’t break.’ They work quietly for a moment, until her courage recovers. She clears her throat. ‘So, Crowkisser has some body magic, maybe mixed up with some kindof prophecy. But that’s not all, is it? There’s what she did down south.’
Shroudweaver flinches back as the pony whickers.
She utterly fails to hide her grin.
He collects himself before he replies. ‘Yes, there’s that. And that’s one thing I don’t understand. There’s nothing I know of that could have taken a city, an army apart like that. Nothing that could have taken our names.’
Shipwright tries to keep the brush steady. Not too harsh, not too gentle. ‘Nothing?’ Watches his face as he answers.
‘Nothing. Either she’s found something very old, or very new. Or she’s mixed things that … shouldn’t be mixed. Broken some rules.’
Shipwright unpicks suckflies from around the little horse’s eyes, crushes them between thumb and forefinger. ‘Sounds like her.’
Shroudweaver leans forward onto the pony’s back. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’
He stays there for a moment, feeling the warmth of its body against him.
A little spike of guilt in his heart for holding back. A larger chunk of ice as he thinks again about what unbinding the dead means.
‘That’s why we need the composite. If we can hit her hard enough, we can take her out before she brings … whatever else she has to bear.’
Shipwright pats the horse on its flank, reties its stay.
‘Take her out. You keep saying that.’ She gestures. ‘Water into the trough, thanks.’
Shroudweaver stoops over the stone trough. ‘How do I do this again?’
‘Oh for heaven’s. Let me. And you,tell mewhat “take her out” means. I want to puke when you’re vague.’
He watches her work, her fingers dancing over a spinner she’s pulled from the saddlebags.
‘Like I said, hit her hard enough to stun her, or capture her. That would be ideal. She’d be a peerless hostage. That army,Slickwalker, they’re nothing without her.’
Shipwright presses softly on the spinner’s hull, and it starts to hum gently before she sets it in the trough.
‘And if that doesn’t work?’
He watches the brass orb turn for a while, slowly drawing all the moisture and dew from the stone and soil, collecting it in the trough. It takes him a while to get the words out.
‘If that doesn’t work. I can redirect the composite’s power. Pour it into Crowkisser until it burns her out.’ He looks away, out across the fields. ‘Like I said. That army’s nothing without her.’
The trough fills. Shipwright dips her hand and retrieves the spinner, letting her fingers move back and forth on the water’s surface for a moment before the horse shoulders her aside.
She walks across to Shroudweaver, hugs him. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’
He nods.
The tent is warmer once the lamp is lit, and his face softens in the glow. She kisses either cheek, then the bridge of his nose. ‘So this composite, it’s justloose. You’re going to be the only thing holding it together? How does anyone hold that many souls? I thought hanging onto those things was killing you.’
He’s quiet.
She can smell the night air on his skin, watch the shallowness of his breath. ‘I was there when we threw down the Empire. I know just how many dead there were. How can you stand it? Having them all roiling inside you?’ When Shroudweaver doesn’t reply, she turns his head gently. His eyes are bright with tears.
‘I can’t. It’s why I have to let them out.’
She frowns. ‘I thought so. And once they’re out, you’re the only thing that’s going to be holding thousands on thousands of souls together?’ She puts a hand to his cheek, holding the tremor from her voice. ‘My pale little lover. The only thing holding the shape of a new god? Just you.’
He runs a finger along her hairline, presses a curl straight. ‘Yes. Just me.’
