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‘Come and find me, Pearl,’ she growled. ‘Or else I’ll come looking for you.’
A flicker of life in his weary eyes. ‘I will. I promise.’
She watched his gaze flit past her shoulder and she turned. Tavore was still twenty paces from the riders, who had all but Baralta halted their horses. ‘What is it, Pearl?’
‘Just watching her… walking away,’ he replied. ‘She looks so…’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. That is the word, isn’t it. See you later, lass.’
She felt the breath of the warren gust against her back, then the day’s heat returned. Lostara hitched her thumbs in her belt, and waited for Tene Baralta.
Her once-commander would have wanted Sha’ik’s body. A trophy for this day. He would be furious. ‘Well,’ she muttered, ‘that’s just too damned bad.’
Keneb watched her approach. There was none of the triumph there he thought he would see. Indeed, she looked worn down, as if the falling of spirit that followed every battle had already come to her, the deathly stillness of the mind that invited dire contemplation, that lifted up the host of questions that could never be answered.
She had sheathed her sword without cleansing it, and Sha’ik’s blood had run crooked tracks down the plain scabbard.
Tene Baralta rode past her, on his way, Keneb suspected, to Sha’ik’s body. If he said anything to the Adjunct in passing, she made no reply.
‘Fist Blistig,’ she announced upon arriving. ‘Send scouts to the Dogslayer ramps. Also, a detachment of guards-the Claw have delivered to us Korbolo Dom.’
Ah, so that was what that man was carrying . Keneb glanced back to where the duel had taken place. Only the woman stood there now, over the prone shape that was the Napan renegade, her face turned up to Tene Baralta, who remained on his horse and seemed to be berating her. Even at this distance, something told Keneb that Baralta’s harangue would yield little result.
‘Adjunct,’ Nil said, ‘there is no need to scout the Dogslayer positions. They are all dead.’
Tavore frowned. ‘Explain.’
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‘Come and find me, Pearl,’ she growled. ‘Or else I’ll come looking for you.’
A flicker of life in his weary eyes. ‘I will. I promise.’
She watched his gaze flit past her shoulder and she turned. Tavore was still twenty paces from the riders, who had all but Baralta halted their horses. ‘What is it, Pearl?’
‘Just watching her… walking away,’ he replied. ‘She looks so…’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. That is the word, isn’t it. See you later, lass.’
She felt the breath of the warren gust against her back, then the day’s heat returned. Lostara hitched her thumbs in her belt, and waited for Tene Baralta.
Her once-commander would have wanted Sha’ik’s body. A trophy for this day. He would be furious. ‘Well,’ she muttered, ‘that’s just too damned bad.’
Keneb watched her approach. There was none of the triumph there he thought he would see. Indeed, she looked worn down, as if the falling of spirit that followed every battle had already come to her, the deathly stillness of the mind that invited dire contemplation, that lifted up the host of questions that could never be answered.
She had sheathed her sword without cleansing it, and Sha’ik’s blood had run crooked tracks down the plain scabbard.
Tene Baralta rode past her, on his way, Keneb suspected, to Sha’ik’s body. If he said anything to the Adjunct in passing, she made no reply.
‘Fist Blistig,’ she announced upon arriving. ‘Send scouts to the Dogslayer ramps. Also, a detachment of guards-the Claw have delivered to us Korbolo Dom.’
Ah, so that was what that man was carrying . Keneb glanced back to where the duel had taken place. Only the woman stood there now, over the prone shape that was the Napan renegade, her face turned up to Tene Baralta, who remained on his horse and seemed to be berating her. Even at this distance, something told Keneb that Baralta’s harangue would yield little result.
‘Adjunct,’ Nil said, ‘there is no need to scout the Dogslayer positions. They are all dead.’
Tavore frowned. ‘Explain.’
‘Raraku’s ghosts, Adjunct.’
Nether spoke up. ‘And the spirits of our own slain. Nil and I-we were blind to it. We’d forgotten the ways of… of seeing. The cattle dog, Adjunct. Bent. It should have died at Coltaine’s feet. At the Fall. But some soldiers saved it, saw to the healing of its wounds.’
‘A cattle dog? What are you talking about?’ Tavore demanded, revealing, for the very first time, an edge of exasperation.
‘Bent and Roach,’ Nil said. ‘The only creatures still living to have walked the Chain the entire way. Two dogs.’
‘Not true,’ Temul said from behind the two Wickan shamans. ‘This mare. It belonged to Duiker.’
Nil half turned to acknowledge the correction, then faced Tavore once more. ‘They came back with us, Adjunct-’
‘The dogs.’
He nodded. ‘And the spirits of the slain. Our own ghosts, Adjunct, have marched with us. Those that fell around Coltaine at the very end. Those that died on the trees of Aren Way. And, step by step, more came from the places where they were cut down. Step by step, Adjunct, our army of vengeance grew .’
‘And yet you sensed nothing ?’
‘Our grief blinded us,’ Nether replied.
‘Last night,’ Nil said, ‘the child Grub woke us. Led us to the ridge, so that we could witness the awakening. There were legions , Adjunct, that had marched this land a hundred thousand years ago. And Pormqual’s crucifed army and the legions of the Seventh on one flank. The three slaughtered clans of the Wickans on the other. And still others. Many others. Within the darkness last night, Tavore, there was war.’
‘Thus,’ Nether said, smiling, ‘you were right, Adjunct. In the dreams that haunted you from the very first night of this march, you saw what we could not see.’
‘It was never the burden you believed it to be,’ Nil added. ‘You did not drag the Chain of Dogs with you, Adjunct Tavore.’
‘Didn’t I, Nil?’ A chilling half-smile twisted her thin-lipped mouth, then she looked away. ‘All those ghosts… simply to slay the Dogslayers?’
‘No, Adjunct,’ Nether answered. ‘There were other… enemies.’
‘Fist Gamet’s ghost joined them,’ Nil said.
Tavore’s eyes narrowed sharply. ‘You saw him?’
Both Wickans nodded, and Nether added, ‘Grub spoke with him.’
