A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

children of Mother Dark.
She then gave rise, in her mercy, to the Third,
spawn of the war between Dark and Light,
the Tiste Edur, and there was shadow
upon their souls.
    Kilmanar's Fables
Sebun Imanan
     
    The hand slapped him hard, the shock quickly fading even as he struggled to comprehend its significance, leaving a tingling numbness that he was content to ride back into unconsciousness. He was slapped a second time.
    Gruntle pried open his eyes. 'Go away,' he mumbled, shutting them again.
    'You're drunk,' Stonny Menackis snarled. 'And you stink. Gods, the blanket's soaked with vomit. That's it, he can rot for all I care. He's all yours, Buke. I'm heading back to the barracks.'
    Gruntle listened to boots stamping away, across the creaking, uneven floorboards of his squalid room, listened to the door squeal open, then slam shut. He sighed, made to roll over and go back to sleep.
    Cold, wet cloth slapped down on his face. 'Wipe yourself,' Buke said. 'I need you sober, friend.'
    'No-one needs me sober,' Gruntle said, pulling the cloth away. 'Leave me be, Buke. You, of all people—'
    'Aye, me of all people. Sit up, damn you.'
    Hands gripped his shoulders, pulled him upright. Gruntle managed to grab Buke's wrists, but there was no strength in his arms and he could only manage a few feeble tugs. Pain rocked through his head, swarmed behind his closed eyes. He leaned forward and was sick, fermented bile pouring out through mouth and nostrils onto the floor between his scuffed boots.
    The heaves subsided. His head was suddenly clearer. Spitting out the last dregs of vomit, he scowled. 'I'm not asking, you bastard. You got no right—'
    'Shut up.'
    Grumbling, he sank his head into his hands. 'How many days?'
    'Six. You've missed your chance, Gruntle.'
    'Chance? What are you talking about?'
    'It's too late. The Septarch and his Pannion army have crossed the river. The investiture has begun. Rumour is, the blockhouses in the killing fields beyond the walls will be attacked before the day's done. They won't hold. That's one big army out there. Veterans who've laid more than one siege – and every one successful—'
    'Enough. You're telling me too much. I can't think.'
    'You won't, you mean. Harllo's dead, Gruntle. Time to sober up and grieve.'
    'You should talk, Buke.'
    'I've done my grieving, friend. Long ago.'
    'Like Hood you have.'
    'You misunderstand me. You always have. I have grieved, and that's faded away. Gone. Now ... well, now there's nothing. A vast, unlit cavern. Ashes. But you're not like me – maybe you think you are, but you're not.'
    Gruntle reached out, groped for the wet cloth he'd let fall to the floor. Buke collected it and pushed it into his hand. Pressing it against his pounding brow, Gruntle groaned. 'A pointless, senseless death.'
    'They're all pointless and senseless, friend. Until the living carve meaning out of them. What are you going to carve, Gruntle, out of Harllo's death? Take my advice, an empty cave offers no comfort.'
    'I ain't looking for comfort.'
    'You'd better. No other goal is worthwhile, and I should know. Harllo was my friend as well. From the way those Grey Swords who found us described it, you were down, and he did what a friend's supposed to do – he defended you. Stood over you and took the blows. And was killed. But he did what he wanted – he saved your hide. And is this his reward, Gruntle? You want to look his ghost in the eye and tell him it wasn't worth it?'
    'He should never have done it.'
    'That's not the point, is it?'
    Silence filled the room. Gruntle scrubbed his bristled face, then slowly lifted bleary eyes to Buke.
    The old man had tears tracking down the lines of his weathered cheeks. Caught by surprise, he turned away. 'Stonny's in a mood to kill you herself,' he muttered, walking over to unlatch the lone window's shutters. He opened them. Sunlight flooded the room. 'She lost one friend, and maybe now another.'
    'She lost two out there, Buke. That Barghast lad ...'
    'Aye, true enough. We ain't seen much of Hetan and Cafal since arriving. They're tight with the Grey Swords – something's brewing there, I think. Stonny might know more about it – she's staying at the barracks as well.'
    'And you?'
    'Still in the employ of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach.'
    'You Hood-damned fool.'
    Wiping his face, Buke turned from the window, managed a tight grin. 'Welcome back.'
    'Go to the Abyss, bastard.'
     
    They made their way down the single flight of sagging steps to