‘You’re not meditating or something, are you?’
‘If I had been,’ the wizard snapped, ‘you’d have just ruined it and possibly killed us all.’
‘It’s all the posturing, Quick,’ Hedge said, flopping down onto the gravel beside him. ‘You turn picking your nose into a Hood-damned ritual, so it gets I just give up on knowing when to talk to you or not.’
‘If that’s the case, then don’t ever talk to me and we’ll both be happy.’
‘Miserable snake.’
‘Hairless rodent.’
The two sat in companionable silence for a time, then Hedge reached out and picked up a shard of dark brown flint. He peered at one serrated edge.
‘What are you doing?’ Quick Ben demanded.
‘Contemplating.’
‘Contemplating,’ Quick Ben mimed, head wagging from side to side in time with each syllable.
‘I could cut your throat with this. One swipe.’
‘We never did get along, did we? Gods, I can’t believe how we hugged and slapped each other on the back, down at that river-’
‘Stream.’
‘Watering hole.’
‘Spring.’
‘Will you please cut my throat now, Hedge?’
The sapper tossed the flint away and dusted his hands with brisk slaps. ‘What makes you so sure the baddies are coming up from the south?’
‘Who says I’m sure of anything?’
‘So we could be sitting in the wrong place. Facing the wrong direction. Maybe everybody’s getting butchered right now even as I speak.’
‘Well, Hedge, if you hadn’t of interrupted my meditating, maybe I’d have figured out where we should be right now!’
‘Oh, nice one, wizard.’
‘They’re coming from the south because it’s the best approach.’
‘As what, rabbits?’
‘No, as dragons, Hedge.’
The sapper squinted at the wizard. ‘There always was a smell of Soletaken about you, Quick. We finally gonna see what scrawny beastie you got hiding in there?’
‘That’s a rather appalling way of putting it, Hedge. And the answer is: no.’
‘You still feeling shaky?’
The wizard glanced over, his eyes bright and half mad-his normal look, in other words. ‘No. In fact, the very opposite.’
‘How so?’
‘I stretched myself, way more than I’d ever done before. It’s made me… nastier.’
‘Really.’
‘Don’t sound so impressed, Hedge.’
‘All I know is,’ the sapper said, grunting to his feet, ‘when they roll over you, there’s just me and an endless supply of cussers. And that suits me just fine.’
‘Don’t blast my body to pieces, Hedge.’
‘Even if you’re already dead?’
‘Especially then, because I won’t be, will I? You’ll just think it, because thinking it is convenient, because then you can go wild with your damned cussers until you’re standing in a Hood-damned crater a Hood-damned league acrossl’
This last bit had been more or less a shriek.
Hedge continued his squinting. ‘No reason to get all testy,’ he said in a hurt tone, then turned and walked back to his crossbow, his beloved lobber. And said under his breath, ‘Oh, this is going to be so much fun, I can’t wait!’
‘Hedge!’
‘What?’
‘Someone’s coming.’
‘From where?’ the sapper demanded, readying a cusser in the cradle of the crossbow.
‘Ha ha. From the south, you bloated bladder of piss.’
‘I knew it,’ Hedge said, coming to the wizard’s side.
She had chosen to remain as she was, rather than veer into her Soletaken form. That would come later. And so she walked across the plain, through the high grasses of the basin. On a ridge directlyahead stood two figures. One was a ghost, but maybe something more than just a ghost. The other was a mage, and without question more than just a mage.
A sliver of disquiet stirred Menandore’s thoughts. Quickly swept away. If Rud Elalle had selected these two as allies, then she would accept that. Just as he had recruited the Tiste Edur and the one known as Onrack the Broken. All… complications, but she would not be alone in dealing with them, would she?
The two men watched as she ascended the gentle slope. One was cradling a bizarre crossbow of some kind. The other was playing with a handful of small polished stones, as if trying to choose one as his favourite.
