That alone, Keneb suspected, was a worthy story, but it would remain forever untold, for Temul alone understood it, holding within himself each and every detail, and Temul was not one to explain, not a teller of stories. No, he just lives them. And this is what those cultists yearn for, for themselves, and what they will never truly possess.
Keneb could hear nothing of the huge encampment behind him. Yet one tent in particular within that makeshift city dominated his mind. The man within it had not spoken in days. His lone eye seemingly stared at nothing. What remained of Tene Baralta had been healed, at least insofar as flesh and bone was concerned. The man's spirit was, alas, another matter. The Red Blade's homeland had not been kind to him.
Keneb wondered if the man was as eager to leave Seven Cities as he was.
Nether said, 'The plague is growing more virulent. The Grey Goddess hunts us.'
The Adjunct's head turned at that.
Blistig cursed, then said, 'Since when is Poliel eager to side with some damned rebels – she's already killed most of them, hasn't she?'
'I do not understand this need,' Nether replied, shaking her head. '
But it seems she has set her deathly eyes upon Malazans. She hunts us, and comes ever closer.'
Keneb closed his eyes. Haven't we been hurt enough?
They came upon the dead horse shortly after dawn. Amidst the swarm of capemoths feeding on the carcass were two skeletal lizards, standing on their hind legs, heads ducking and darting as they crunched and flayed the bird-sized insects.
'Hood's breath,' Lostara muttered, 'what are those?'
'Telorast and Curdle,' Apsalar replied. 'Ghosts bound to those small frames. They have been my companions for some time now.'
Kalam moved closer and crouched beside the horse. 'Those lizard cats,' he said. 'Came in from all sides.' He straightened, scanning the rocks. 'I can't imagine Masan Gilani surviving the ambush.'
'You'd be wrong,' said a voice from the slope to their right.
The soldier sat on the crest, legs sprawled down the slope. One of those legs was crimson from upper thigh to the cracked leather boot.
Masan Gilani's dark skin was ashen, her eyes dull. 'Can't stop the bleeding, but I got one of the bastards and wounded another. Then the Hounds came…'
Captain Faradan Sort turned to the column. 'Deadsmell! Up front, quick!'
'Thank you for the knife,' Masan Gilani said to Apsalar.
'Keep it,' the Kanese woman said.
'Sorry about your horse.'
'So am I, but you are not to blame.'
Kalam said, 'Well, it seems we're in for a long walk after all.'
Bottle made his way to the front of the column in Deadsmell's wake, close enough to look long and hard at the two bird-like reptile skeletons perched on the horse carcass and intent on killing capemoths. He watched their darting movements, the flicking of their bony tails, the way the darkness of their souls bled out like smoke from a cracked water-pipe.
Someone came to his side and he glanced over. Fiddler, the man's blue eyes fixed on the undead creatures. 'What do you see, Bottle?'
'Sergeant?'
Fiddler took him by the arm and pulled him off to one side. 'Out with it.'
'Ghosts, possessing those bound-up bones.'
The sergeant nodded. 'Apsalar said as much. Now, what kind of ghosts?'
Frowning, Bottle hesitated.
Fiddler hissed a curse. 'Bottle.'
'Well, I was assuming she knows, only has her reasons for not mentioning it, so I was thinking, it wouldn't be polite-'
'Soldier-'
'I mean, she was a squad-mate of yours, and-'
'A squad-mate who just happened to have been possessed herself, by the Rope, almost all the time that I knew her. So if she's not talking, it's no surprise. Tell me Bottle, what manner of flesh did those souls call home?'
'Are you saying you don't trust her?'
'I don't even trust you.'
Frowning, Bottle looked away, watched Deadsmell working on Masan Gilani on the slope, sensed the whisper of Denul sorcery… and something like Hood's own breath. The bastard is a necromancer, damn him! 'Bottle.'
'Sergeant? Oh, sorry. I was just wondering.'
'Wondering what?'
'Well, why Apsalar has two dragons in tow.'
'They're not dragons. They're tiny lizards-'
'No, Sergeant, they're dragons.'
Slowly, Fiddler's eyes widened.
Bottle'd known he wouldn't like it.
