The Crippled God

‘You’d look the same,’ he retorted, ‘buried under fifty corpses for half a day.’



‘Not quite that long,’ the captain corrected.



Her breath caught. ‘So you were at the battle,’ she said. ‘What battle? What in Hood’s name happened?’



‘Bits are missing,’ Bottle replied, shrugging.



‘Bits?’



He seemed ready to say something, changed his mind and instead said, ‘I didn’t quite catch it all. Especially the, er, second half. But you know, Masan, all the stories about high attrition among officers in the Malazan military?’ He jerked a thumb at Ruthan Gudd. ‘It ain’t so with him.’



The captain said, ‘If you hear a certain resentment in his tone, it’s because I saved his life.’



‘And as for the smugness in the captain’s tone—’



‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘Aye, the Adjunct sent me to find some people.’



‘Which you evidently failed to do,’ observed Bottle.



‘No she didn’t,’ said Ruthan Gudd.



‘So all this crawling skin I’m feeling isn’t fleas?’



Ruthan Gudd bared his teeth in a hard grin. ‘Well no, it probably is, soldier. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you did feel something – oh, I know, you’re a mage. Fid’s shaved knuckle, right? Even so, these bastards know how to hide.’



‘Let me guess: they’re inside the horse. Isn’t there some legend about—’



‘The moral of which,’ Rudd interjected, ‘is consistently misapprehended. It’s nothing to do with what you think it’s to do with. The fact is, that tale’s moral is “don’t trust horses”. Sometimes people look way too hard into such things. Other times, of course, they don’t look hard enough. But most of the time by far, they don’t look at all.’



‘If you want,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘I can ask them to show themselves.’



‘I’ve absolutely no interest in—’



‘I do,’ Bottle cut him off. ‘Your pardon, sir, for interrupting.’



‘An apology I’m not prepared to accept, soldier. As for these guests, Masan Gilani, your offer is categorically—’



Swirls of dust on all sides.



Moments later five T’lan Imass encircled them.



‘Gods below,’ Ruthan Gudd muttered.



As one, the undead warriors bowed to the captain. One spoke. ‘We greet you, Elder.’



Gudd’s second curse was in a language Masan Gilani had never heard before.



‘ It’s not what you think ,’ he’d said with those hoary things bowing before him. And he’d not said much else. The T’lan Imass vanished again a short time later and the three soldiers continued on as the night deepened around them.



Bottle wanted to scream. The captain’s company over the past few days had been an exercise in patience and frustration. He wasn’t a man for words. Ruthan Gudd. Or whatever your name really is. It’s not what I think? How do you know what I think? Besides, it’s exactly what I think. Fid has his shaved knuckle, and it seems the Adjunct has one, too .



A Hood-damned Elder God – after all, what other kind of ‘Elder’ would T’lan Imass bow before? And since when did they bow before anything?



Masan Gilani’s barrage of questions had withered the T’lan Imass to dust with, Bottle thought, a harried haste. But things from the past had a way of refusing illumination. As bad as standing stones, they held all their secrets buried deep inside. It wasn’t even a question of irritating coyness. They just don’t give a shit. Explanations? What’s the point? Who cares what you think you need to know, anyway? If I’m a stone, lean against me. If I’m a ruin, rest your weary arse on the rubble. And if I’m an Elder God, well, Abyss take you, don’t look to me for anything .



But he’d ridden out against the Nah’ruk, when he could have ridden the other way. He went and made a stand. Which made him what? Another one in mysterious service to Adjunct Tavore Paran of Unta? But why? Even the Empress didn’t want her in the end. T’amber, Quick Ben, even Fiddler – they stood with her, even when it cost them their lives .



Soldiers muttered she didn’t inspire a damned thing in them. Soldiers grumbled that she was no Dujek Onearm, no Coltaine, no Crust, no Dassem Ultor. They didn’t know what she was. None of us do, come to that. But look at us, right here, right now, walking back to her. A Dal Honese horsewoman who can ride like the wind – well, a heavy wind, then. An Elder God … and me. Gods below, I’ve lost my mind .