A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

got company in that body of yours?'
    The healer blinked. 'What?'
    'Feeling strange, are you?'
    'Well—'
    'So he says,' Paran cut in. 'What do you know about it?'
    'Only everything. Captain, we've got to go to Humbrall Taur. The three – no, the four of us – you too, Trotts. Hood, let's bring Twist, too – he knows a lot more than he's let on, and maybe I can't see that grin, Moranth, but I know it's there. Spindle, that hairshirt reeks. Go away before I throw up.'
    'Some gratitude for protecting your hide,' Spindle muttered, edging back.
    Paran straightened and swung his gaze back to Humbrall Taur's tent. 'Fine, here we go again.'
     
    Sunset approached, spreading a gloom across the valley. The Barghast had resumed their wild dancing and vicious duels with an almost febrile intensity. Thirty paces away from Humbrall Taur's tent, sitting amidst discarded armour, Picker scowled. "They're still in there, the bastards. Leaving us to do a whole lot of nothing, except watch these savages mutilate each other. I don't think we should be thinking it's all over, Blend.'
    The dark-eyed woman at her side frowned. 'Want me to hunt Antsy down?'
    'Why bother? Hear those grunts? That's our sergeant taking that Barahn maiden for a ride. He'll be back in a moment or two, looking pleased—'
    'And the lass trailing a step behind—'
    'With a confused look on her face—'
    '"That's it?"'
    'She blinked and missed it.'
    They shared a short, nasty laugh. Then Picker sobered again. 'We could be dead tomorrow no matter what Quick Ben says to Taur. That's still the captain's thinking, so he leaves us to our fun this night. . .'
    ' "Hooded comes the dawn . . ."'
    'Aye.'
    'Trotts did what he had to do in that scrap,' Blend observed. 'It should have been as simple as that.'
    'Well, I'd have been happier if it'd been Detoran from the start. There wouldn't have been no near draw or whatever. She would have done that brat good. From what I've heard, our tattooed Barghast just stood back and let the weasel come to him. Detoran would've just stepped forward and brained the lad at the feather's drop—'
    'Wasn't no feather drop, just a mace.'
    'Whatever. Anyway, Trotts ain't got her meanness.'
    'No-one has, and I've just noticed, she hasn't come back from dragging that Gilk warrior off into the bushes.'
    'Compensation for Hedge running and hiding. Poor lad – the Gilk, that is. He's probably dead by now.'
    'Let's hope she notices.'
    The two women fell silent. The duels down by the fire were coming fast and with a ferocity that had begun drawing more and more Barghast onlookers. Picker grunted, watching another warrior go down with a rival's knife in his throat. If this keeps up, they'll have to start building a new barrow tomorrow. Then again, they might do that anyway – a barrow for the Bridgeburners. She looked around, picking out solitary Bridgeburners among the crowds of natives. Discipline had crumbled. That fast surge of hope at the news that Trotts would live had sunk just as fast with the rumour that the Barghast might kill them all anyway – out of spite.
    'The air feels ... strange,' Blend said.
    Aye . . . as if the night itself was aflame . . . as if we're in the heart of an unseen firestorm. The tores on Picker's arms were hot and slowly getting hotter. I'm about due for another dousing in that water barrel – shortlived relief, but at least it's something.
    'Remember that night in Blackdog?' Blend continued in a low voice. 'That retreat..."
    Stumbling onto a Rhivi Burn Ground . . . malign spirits rising up out of the ashes . . . 'Aye, Blend, I remember well enough.' And if that wing of Black Moranth hadn't spied us and come down to pull us up . . .
    'Feels the same, Picker. We've got spirits loosed.'
    'Not the big ones – these are ancestors we've got gathering. If it was the big ones our hair'd be standing on end.'
    'True. So where are they? Where are the nastiest of the Barghast spirits?'
    'Somewhere else, obviously. With Oponn's luck, they won't show up tomorrow.'
    'You'd think they would. You'd think they'd not want to miss something like this.'
    'Try thinking pleasant thoughts for a change, Blend. Hood's breath!'
    'I was just wondering,' the woman shrugged. 'Anyway,' she continued, rising, 'I think I'm going to wander for a while. See what I can pick up.'
    'You understand Barghast?'
    'No, but sometimes the most telling communication doesn't use words.'
    'You're as bad as the rest, Blend. Likely our last night among the