A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

connected, would have shattered his chest. He landed four paces away with a thud.
    The horse ran off, bucking with glee.
    Coll lay unmoving for a moment, blinking at the sky.
    'You all right?' Murillio asked.
    'Get me a lasso. And some sweetroot.'
    'I'd suggest a mallet instead,' Murillio replied, 'but since you know your mind, I won't.'
    Distant horns sounded.
    'Hood's breath,' Coll groaned. 'The march to Capustan's begun.' He slowly sat up. 'We were supposed to be up front for this.'
    'We could always ride in the wagon, friend. Return the horses to the Mott Irregulars and get our money back.'
    'That wagon's overloaded as it is.' Coll painfully regained his feet. 'Besides, he said no refunds.'
    Murillio squinted at his companion. 'Did he now? And not even a stir of suspicion from you at that?'
    'Quiet.'
    'But—'
    'Murillio, you want the truth? The man was so homely I felt sorry for him, all right? Now stop babbling and let's get on with this.'
    'Coll! He was asking a prince's ransom for—'
    'Enough,' he growled. 'That ransom's going to pay for the privilege of killing the damned beasts, or you – which do you prefer?'
    'You can't kill them—'
    'Then another word from you and it's this hillside under a pile of boulders for dear old Murillio of Darujhistan. Am I understood? Good. Now hand me that lasso and the sweet-root – we'll start with the one still here.'
    'Wouldn't you rather run after—'
    'Murillio,' Coll warned.
    'Sorry. Make the boulders small, please.'
     
    The miasmic clouds churned low over the heaving waves, waves that warred with each other amidst jagged mountains of ice, waves that spun and twisted even as they struck the battered shoreline, flinging spume skyward. The thunderous roar was shot through with grinding, cracking, and the ceaseless hiss of driving rain.
    'Oh my,' Lady Envy murmured.
    The three Seguleh crouched on the leeside of a large basaltic boulder, applying thick grease to their weapons. They were a sadly bedraggled trio, sodden with rain, smeared with mud, their armour in tatters. Minor wounds crisscrossed their arms, thighs and shoulders, the deeper ones roughly stitched with gut, the rows of knots black and gummed with old blood that streamed crimson in the rain.
    Nearby, surmounting a jutting spar of basalt, stood Baaljagg. Matted, scabbed, her fur in tangled tufts around bare patches, a hand's length of broken spear shaft jutting from her right shoulder – three days it had been, yet the beast would not allow Envy close, nor the Seguleh – the giant wolf stared steadily northward with feverish, gleaming eyes.
    Garath lay three paces behind her, shivering uncontrollably, wounds suppurating as if his body wept since he could not, massive and half mad, allowing no-one – not even the wolf – to come near.
    Only Lady Envy remained, to all outward appearances, untouched by the horrendous war they had undertaken; untouched, even, by the driving rain. Her white telaba showed not a single stain. Her unbound black hair hung full and straight down to the small of her back. Her lips were painted a deep, vaguely menacing red. The kohl above her eyes contained the hues of dusk.
    'Oh my,' she whispered yet again. 'How shall we follow Tool across ... this? And why was he not a T'lan Elephant, or a T'lan Whale, so that he could carry us on his back, in sumptuous howdahs? With running hot water and ingenious plumbing.'
    Mok appeared at her side, rain streaming from his enamel mask. 'I will face him yet,' he said.
    'Oh really. And when did duelling Tool become more important than your mission to the Seer? How will the First or the Second react to such self-importance?'
    'The First is the First and the Second is the Second,' Mok replied laconically.
    Lady Envy rolled her eyes. 'How astute an observation.'
    'The demands of the self have primacy, mistress. Always, else there would be no champions. There would be no hierarchy at all. The Seguleh would be ruled by mewling martyrs blindly trampling the helpless in their lust for the common good. Or we would be ruled by despots who would hide behind an army to every challenge, creating of brute force a righteous claim to honour. We know of other lands, mistress. We know much more than you think.'
    She turned to study him. 'Goodness. And here I have been proceeding on the assumption that entertaining conversation was denied to me.'
    'We are immune to your contempt, mistress.'
    'Hardly, you've been smarting ever since I reawakened you. Smarting?