The Bonehunters

Her heart was thudding hard. She was unable to speak, every counter argument, every refutation seeming to melt away. Sweat cooled on her skin.



Squint turned away. 'Gods below, a real conversation. All edges and life… I'd forgotten. I'm going below – my head's gone numb.' He paused. 'Don't suppose you'd ever care to talk again? Just Squint and Apsalar, who ain't got nothing in common except what they don't know about each other.'



She managed a nod, and said, 'I would… welcome that, Squint.'



'Good.'



She listened to his footsteps dwindle behind her. Poor man. He did the right thing taking Coltaine's life, but he's the only one who can't live with that.



****

Climbing down into the hold, Squint stopped for a moment, hands on the rope rails to either side of the steep steps. He could have said more, he knew, but he had no idea he'd slice so easily through her defences.



That vulnerability was… unexpected.



You'd think, wouldn't you, that someone who'd been possessed by a god would be tougher than that.



****

'Apsalar.'



She knew the voice and so did not turn. 'Hello, Cotillion.'



The god moved up to lean against the rail at her side. 'It was not easy to find you.'



'I am surprised. I am doing as you ask, after all.'



'Into the heart of the Malazan Empire. That detail was not something we had anticipated.'



'Victims do not stand still, awaiting the knife. Even unsuspecting, they are capable of changing everything.'



He said nothing for a time, and Apsalar could feel a renewal of tension within her. In the muted moonlight his face looked tired, and in his eyes as he looked at her, something febrile.



'Apsalar, I was… complacent-'



'Cotillion, you are many things, but complacency is not one of them.'



'Careless, then. Something has happened – it is difficult to piece together. As if the necessary details have been flung into a muddy pool, and I have been able to do little more than grope, half-blind and not even certain what it is I am looking for.'



'Cutter.'



He nodded. 'There was an attack. An ambush, I think – even the memories held in the ground, where the blood spilled, were all fragmented – I could read so little.'



What has happened? She wanted to ask that question. Now, cutting through his slow, cautious approach – not caution – he is hedging'A small settlement is near the scene – they were the ones who cleaned things up.'



'He is dead.'



'I don't know – there were no bodies, except for horses. One grave, but it had been opened and the occupant exhumed – no, I don't know why anyone would do that. In any case, I have lost contact with Cutter, and that more than anything else is what disturbs me.'



'Lost contact,' she repeated dully. 'Then he is dead, Cotillion.'



'I honestly do not know. There are two things, however, of which I am certain. Do you wish to hear them?'



'Are they relevant?'



'That is for you to decide.'



'Very well.'



'One of the women, Scillara-'



'Yes.'



'She gave birth – she survived to do that at least, and the child is now in the care of the villagers.'



'That is good. What else?'



'Heboric Light Touch is dead.'



She turned at that – but away from him – staring out over the seas, to that distant, murky moon. 'Ghost Hands.'



'Yes. The power – the aura – of that old man – it burned like green fire, it had the wild rage of Treach. It was unmistakable, undeniable-'



'And now it is gone.'



'Yes.'



'There was another woman, a young girl.'



'Yes. We wanted her, Shadowthrone and I. As it turns out, I know she lives, and indeed she appears to be precisely where we wanted her to be, with one crucial difference-'



'It is not you and Shadowthrone who control her.'



'Guide, not control – we would not have presumed control, Apsalar.



Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of her new master. The Crippled God.' He hesitated, then said, 'Felisin Younger is Sha'ik Reborn.'



Apsalar nodded. 'Like a sword that kills its maker… there are cycles to justice.'



'Justice? Abyss below, Apsalar, justice is nowhere to be seen in any of this.'



'Isn't it?' She faced him again. 'I sent Cutter away, because I feared he would die if he stayed with me. I sent him away and that is what killed him. You sought to use Felisin Younger, and now she finds herself a pawn in another god's hand. Treach wanted a Destriant to lead his followers into war, but Heboric is killed in the middle of nowhere, having achieved nothing. Like a tiger cub getting its skull crushed – all that potential, that possibility, gone. Tell me, Cotillion, what task did you set Cutter in that company?'