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The man glanced over.
‘This battle,’ Cutter elaborated. ‘Was it truly a Malazan battle?’
Traveller’s answering shrug chilled the Daru. ‘Some of these are still alive,’ he said, gesturing at the Tiste Andu.
‘And there are wounded in the cave,’ Cutter pointed out.
He watched as the man walked over to where lay Apsalar and Darist. ‘She is a friend,’ Cutter said.
Traveller grunted, then he flung his broken sword aside and stepped over Darist. He reached down for the sword.
‘Careful-’
But the man closed his gauntleted hand on the grip and lifted the weapon.
Cutter sighed, closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and said, ‘It is named Vengeance… or Grief. You can choose which best suits you.’
Traveller turned, met Cutter’s eyes. ‘Do you not wish it for yourself?’
The Daru shook his head. ‘It demands its wielder possess a singular will. I am not for that sword, nor, I think, will I ever be.’
Traveller studied the blade in his hand. ‘Vengeance,’ he murmured, then nodded and crouched down to retrieve the scabbard from Darist’s body. ‘This old man, who was he?’
Cutter shrugged. ‘A guardian. He was named Andarist. And now he’s gone, and so the Throne is without a protector-’
Traveller straightened. ‘I will abide here a time. As you said, there are wounded to tend to… and corpses to bury.’
‘I’ll help-’
‘No need. The god who strode through this place has visited the Edur ships-there are small craft aboard, and supplies. Take your woman and leave this island. If more Edur chance upon this location, your presence will only impede me.’
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The man glanced over.
‘This battle,’ Cutter elaborated. ‘Was it truly a Malazan battle?’
Traveller’s answering shrug chilled the Daru. ‘Some of these are still alive,’ he said, gesturing at the Tiste Andu.
‘And there are wounded in the cave,’ Cutter pointed out.
He watched as the man walked over to where lay Apsalar and Darist. ‘She is a friend,’ Cutter said.
Traveller grunted, then he flung his broken sword aside and stepped over Darist. He reached down for the sword.
‘Careful-’
But the man closed his gauntleted hand on the grip and lifted the weapon.
Cutter sighed, closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and said, ‘It is named Vengeance… or Grief. You can choose which best suits you.’
Traveller turned, met Cutter’s eyes. ‘Do you not wish it for yourself?’
The Daru shook his head. ‘It demands its wielder possess a singular will. I am not for that sword, nor, I think, will I ever be.’
Traveller studied the blade in his hand. ‘Vengeance,’ he murmured, then nodded and crouched down to retrieve the scabbard from Darist’s body. ‘This old man, who was he?’
Cutter shrugged. ‘A guardian. He was named Andarist. And now he’s gone, and so the Throne is without a protector-’
Traveller straightened. ‘I will abide here a time. As you said, there are wounded to tend to… and corpses to bury.’
‘I’ll help-’
‘No need. The god who strode through this place has visited the Edur ships-there are small craft aboard, and supplies. Take your woman and leave this island. If more Edur chance upon this location, your presence will only impede me.’
‘How long will you plan on staying here, in Andarist’s role?’
‘Long enough to do him honour.’
A groan came from Apsalar, drawing Cutter to her. She began thrashing, as if fevered.
‘Carry her from this place,’ Traveller said. ‘The sorcery’s effects linger.’
He looked up, met those eyes-and saw sorrow there, the first emotion yet to be revealed from the man. ‘I would help you bury-’
‘I need no help. It will not be the first time I have buried companions. Go. Take her.’
He lifted her in his arms. Her thrashing stilled and she sighed as if sinking into deep, peaceful sleep. Then he stood studying Traveller for a moment.
The man turned away. ‘Thank your god, mortal,’ he growled, his back still to Cutter, ‘for the sword…’
An elongated mass of the stone floor had fallen away, down to the black rushing water of the subterranean river. Athwart the gaping hole lay a bundle of spears, around which was tied a rope that reached down into the water, snaking about as the current tugged at it. The air of the rough-hewn chamber was chill and damp.
Kalam crouched at the edge and studied the swirling water below for a long moment.
‘The well,’ Sergeant Cord said from where he stood beside the assassin.
Kalam grunted, then asked, ‘What in Hood’s name inspired the captain and lieutenant to climb down there?’
‘If you look long enough, with the torches gone from this room, you’ll see a glow. There’s something lying on the bottom, maybe twice a man’s height in depth.’
‘Something?’
‘Looks like a man… all in armour. Lying spread-eagled.’
‘So take the torches out. I want to see this.’
‘Did you say something, Corporal ? Your demon friend has disappeared, remember-vanished.’
Kalam sighed. ‘Demons will do that, and in this case you should be thankful for that. Right now, Sergeant, I am of the opinion that you’ve all been cooped up in this mountain for far too long. I’m thinking maybe you’ve lost your minds. And I have also reconsidered your words about my position in your company, and I’ve reached a decision and it’s this.’ He turned his head and fixed his gaze on Cord’s eyes. ‘I’m not in your company, Cord. I’m a Bridgeburner. You’re Ashok Regiment. And if that’s not enough for you, I am resurrecting my old status… as a Claw, a Leader of a Hand. And as such, I’m only outranked in the field by Clawmaster Topper, the Adjunct, and the Empress herself. Now, take the damned torches out of here!’
Cord suddenly smiled. ‘You want to take command of this company? Fine, you can have it. Though we want to deal with Irriz ourselves.’ He reached up to collect the first of the sputtering torches on the wall behind him.
