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Stab deep. Push the blade in, slicing through the leather, the wool, the skin. This is what vengeance means. What I’m doing right here.
Hearing a sound he glanced up. Two women sat astride horses made of knotted grasses and twigs. They sat in silence, watching him from a dozen paces away.
He didn’t know either of them. They didn’t match the faces he was looking for. Wreneck returned his attention to the dead man. He leaned on the spear, but the leather armour would not give. It needs a thrust. He drew the weapon back, and then poked it against the body.
‘He’s not bothered,’ said one of the women. ‘Go ahead, if you must. But abusing a corpse is unseemly, don’t you think?’
Unseemly? Wreneck looked around at all the dead bodies. Shaking his head, he poked a second time. The leather armour was tough. He leaned closer then, to find what had killed the man. He saw a nick in the corpse’s throat, where blood had sprayed and then poured out on to the ground. It didn’t seem like much, but no other wounds were visible.
He prodded a third time, hard against the chest, and then stepped back. He turned to the two women. ‘It’s all right now,’ he said. ‘I’m done avenging what they did to her. I’m going home now.’
The woman who had spoken earlier now leaned forward on her saddle. ‘And I, sir, am your witness. She is avenged.’
‘What’s your name?’ Wreneck asked. ‘I need to know, since you’ve witnessed and everything.’
‘Threadbare.’
The golden-haired woman beside Threadbare said, ‘And I am T’riss.’ She smiled. ‘Your witnesses.’
Satisfied, Wreneck nodded. Home was a long way away and he had a lot of walking to do. He would salvage a cloak from one of these bodies, with maybe a second one for a blanket.
Jinia, it’s done. I feel better. I hope you will, too.
Sometimes it takes being a child to do what’s right.
* * *
‘What was all that about?’ T’riss asked. ‘You send children into war now, Tiste?’
‘His blade was clean,’ Threadbare replied. She raised her gaze skyward. ‘They’re gone, right? Not still winging around up there in the gloom and clouds?’
‘Gone, for now.’
Threadbare sighed, gathering up the braided reins. ‘I think I prefer it this way,’ she said.
‘Prefer what?’
‘Coming too late to fight. Missing the whole fucking mess. I’ve seen enough of it, T’riss. Look around here. All these sad corpses. It’s a stupid argument that ends up with someone dead and the others looking guilty behind all that satisfaction.’ She looked over at T’riss. ‘I am riding to Kharkanas, to find my people. What about you?’
‘There is a forest,’ T’riss replied, ‘where waits another Azathanai. I think I need to see him.’
‘What for?’
‘He will know of me. Who I once was.’
‘That makes a difference?’
‘What do you mean?’
Threadbare shrugged. ‘Whoever you were isn’t who you are now. Sounds to me you’re heading for confusion and probably misery. Maybe some secrets should stay secrets. That ever occurred to you?’
T’riss smiled. ‘All the time. The thing is, we almost clashed. Here, in the Valley of Tarns. Had I come in time. Had he awakened his power. The dragons would have … enjoyed that.’ She paused, and then shrugged. ‘But something happened. Someone, I think, held him back. Someone pretty much saved the world. I’m curious, aren’t you? About this Tiste who refused my Azathanai brother?’
Threadbare studied T’riss for a time, and then sighed. ‘Where is this forest, then?’
‘Just outside the city.’
‘So, it seems we ride together for a little while longer.’
