The Bonehunters

'I believe,' the Gral replied, 'that Ahlrada Ahn will prove disinclined to report our conversation to anyone.' He met her eyes then, and smiled. 'As will you, Atri-Preda.'



'You are careless, Taralack Veed.'



He spat on his hands and swept them through his hair, wondering again at her sudden look of distaste. 'Tell Tomad Sengar this, Atri-Preda.



It is he who risks much, with his demand that Icarium's prowess be tested.'



'You seem so certain,' she said.



'Of what?'



'That your companion represents the most formidable threat Emperor Rhulad has ever faced. Alas, as has invariably proved the case, all others who believed the same are now dead. And, Taralack Veed, there have been so many. Tomad Sengar must know for certain. He must be made to believe, before he will guide your friend to stand before his son.'



'His son?'



'Yes. Emperor Rhulad is Tomad Sengar's youngest son, Indeed, now, the only son he has left. The other three are gone, or dead. Likely they are all dead.'



'Then it strikes me,' the Gral said, 'that what Tomad seeks to measure is not Icarium's prowess, but his lack thereof. After all, what father would wish death upon his last surviving son?'



In answer, Twilight simply stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned away.



Leaving Taralack Veed alone, a frown growing ever more troubled on his face.



****

Sergeant Hellian had found a supply of sailor's rum and now walked round the decks, a benign smile on her face. Not half a bell earlier, she'd been singing some Kartoolian death dirge as the very Abyss was being unleashed in the skies overhead.



Masan Gilani, her armour off once more and a heavy woollen cloak wrapped about her against the chill wind, sat among a handful of other soldiers, more or less out of the way of the sailors. The enemy fleet was somewhere to the south now, lost in the deepening dusk, and good riddance to them.



We've got us a High Mage now. A real one. That Quick Ben, he was a Bridgeburner, after all. A real High Mage, who just saved all our skins. That's good.



A new badge adorned her cloak, in silver, crimson and gold thread – she was quite proud of her handiwork. The Bonehunters. Yes, I can live with that name. True, it wasn't as poignant as Bridgeburners. In fact, its meaning was a little bit obscure, but that was fine, since, thus far, the Fourteenth's history was equally obscure. Or at least muddied up enough to make things confused and uncertain.



Like where we're going. What's next? Why has the Empress recalled us?



It's not as if Seven Cities don't need rebuilding, or Malazans filling all those empty garrisons. Then again, the plague now held the land by the throat and was still choking the life from it.



But we got us a High Mage.



The young girl, Sinn, crawled near, shivering in the chill, and Masan Gilani opened one side of her cloak. Sinn slipped within that enveloping embrace, snuggled closer then settled her head on Masan's chest.



Nearby, Sergeant Cord was still cursing at Crump, who had stupidly waved at one of the passing enemy ships, just after the battle that wasn't. Crump had been the one who'd messed things badly at the wall of Y'Ghatan, she recalled. The one who ran with his knees up to either side of his big ears. And who was now listening to his sergeant with a broad, mindless smile, his expression twitching to sheer delight every time Cord's tirade reached new heights of imagination.



If all of that went on much longer, Masan Gilani suspected, the sergeant might well launch himself at Crump, hands closing on that long, scrawny neck with its bobbing fist-sized apple. Just to strangle that smile from the fool's horsey face.



Sinn's small hand began playing with one of Masan's breasts, the index finger circling the nipple.



What kind of company has this imp been keeping? She gently pushed the hand away, but it came back. Fine. What of it, but damn, that's one cold hand she's got there.



'All dead,' Sinn murmured.



'What? Who's all dead, girl?'



'They're all dead – you like this? I think you like this.'



'Your finger is cold. Who is all dead?'



'Big.'



The finger went away, was replaced by a warm, wet mouth. A dancing tongue.



Hood's breath! Well, I can think of worse ways to end this terrifying day.



'Is that my sister hiding in there?'



Masan Gilani looked up at Corporal Shard. 'Yes.'



A slightly pained expression on his face. 'She won't tell me… what happened at the estate. What happened… to her.' He hesitated, then added, 'Yours isn't the first cloak of the night she's crawled under, Masan Gilani. Though you're the first woman.'