A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

forward.
    A moment later another party of riders arrived at the desert warrior's side. Tribal standards on display – strangers. Two of the newcomers drew Sha'ik's attention. They were still too distant to make out their features, but she knew them anyway: Kamist Reloe and Korbolo Dom.
    'She will not be lonely,' she told Heboric.
    'Then feel no awe,' he replied. 'Her inclination will be to observe, rather than participate. Mystery lends itself to such remoteness.'
    'I can feel no awe, Heboric,' Sha'ik said, smiling to herself.
    They approached the waiting riders. The ex-priest's attention stayed on her as they guided their horses up the gentle slope.
    'And,' she continued, 'I understand remoteness. Quite well.'
    'You have named her Felisin, haven't you?'
    'I have.' She turned her head, stared into his sightless eyes. 'It's a fine name, is it not? It holds such ... promise. A fresh innocence, such as that which parents would see in their child, those bright, eager eyes—'
    'I wouldn't know,' he said.
    She watched the tears roll down his weathered, tattooed cheeks, feeling detached from their significance, yet understanding that his observation was not meant as a condemnation. Only loss. 'Oh, Heboric,' she said. 'It's not worthy of grief.'
    Had she thought a moment longer before speaking those words, she would have realized that they, beyond any others, would break the old man. He seemed to crumple inward before her eyes, his body shuddering. She reached out a hand he could not see, almost touched him, then withdrew it – and even as she did so, she knew that a moment of healing had been lost.
    Regrets? Many. Unending.
    'Sha'ik! I see the goddess in your eyes!' The triumphant claim was Kamist Reloe's, his face bright even as it seemed twisted with tension. Ignoring the mage, she fixed her gaze on Korbolo Dom. Half-Napan – he reminds me of my old tutor, even down to the cool disdain in his expression. Well, this man has nothing to teach me. Clustered around the two men were the warleaders of the various tribes loyal to the cause. There was something like shock in their faces, intimations of horror. Another rider was now visible, seated with equanimity on a mule, wearing the silken robes of a priest. He alone seemed untroubled, and Sha'ik felt a shiver of unease.
    Leoman sat his horse slightly apart from the group. Sha'ik already sensed a dark turmoil swirling between the desert warrior and Korbolo Dom, the renegade Fist.
    With Heboric at her side, she reached the crest and saw what lay beyond. In the immediate foreground was a ruined village – a scattering of smouldering houses and buildings, dead horses, dead soldiers. The stone-built entrance to the Aren Way was blackened with smoke.
    The road stretched away in an even declination southward. The trees lining it to either side ...
    Sha'ik nudged her horse forward. Heboric matched her, silent and hunched, shivering in the heat. Leoman rode to flank her on the other side. They approached the Aren Gate.
    The group wheeled to follow, in silence.
    Kamist Reloe spoke, the faintest quaver in his voice. 'See what has been made of this proud gate? The Malazan Empire's Aren Gate is now Hood's Gate, Seer. Do you see the significance? Do you—'
    'Silence!' Korbolo Dom growled.
    Aye, silence. Let silence tell this tale.
    They passed beneath the gate's cool shadow and came to the first of the trees, the first of the bloated, rotting bodies nailed to them. Sha'ik halted.
    Leoman's scouts were approaching at a fast canter. Moments later they arrived, reined in.
    'Report,' Leoman snapped.
    Four pale faces regarded them, then one said, 'It does not change, sir. More than three leagues – as far as we could see. There are – there are thousands.'
    Heboric pulled his horse to one side, nudged it closer to the nearest tree and squinted up at the closest corpse.
    Sha'ik was silent for a long minute, then, without turning, she said, 'Where is your army, Korbolo Dom?'
    'Camped within sight of the city—'
    'You failed to take Aren, then.'
    'Aye, Seer, we failed.'
    'And Adjunct Tavore?'
    'The fleet has reached the bay, Seer.'
    What will you make of this, sister?
    'The fools surrendered,' Korbolo Dom said, his voice betraying his own disbelief. 'At High Fist Pormqual's command. And that is the Empire's new weakness – what used to be a strength: those soldiers obeyed the command. The Empire has lost its great leaders—'
    'Has it now?' She finally faced him.
    'Coltaine was the last