A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

Chole strode forward. The undead Bonecaster tilted his head in greeting. 'Summoner.'
    Silverfox realized she was trembling. 'Can you forgive me, Pran Chole?'
    'Forgive? There is nothing to forgive, Summoner.'
    'I'd never intended to deny your wish for very long – only until, until ...'
    'We understand. You need not weep. Not for us, nor for yourself.'
    'I – I will free you now, as I have done the T'lan Ay – I will end your Vow, Pran Chole, to free you ... through Hood's Gate, as you wished.'
    'No, Summoner.'
    She stared, shocked silent.
    'We have heard Lanas Tog, the warrior at your side. There are kin, Summoner, who are being destroyed on a continent far to the south. They cannot escape their war. We would travel there. We would save our brothers and sisters.
    'Summoner, once this task is completed, we will return to you. Seeking the oblivion that awaits us.'
    'Pran Chole ...' Her voice broke. 'You would remain in your torment...'
    'We must save our kin, Summoner, if we are so able. Within the Vow, our power remains. It will be needed.'
    She slowly drew herself up, stilled her grief, her trembling. 'Then I will join you, Pran Chole. We. Nightchill, Tattersail, Bellurdan, and Silverfox.'
    The Bonecaster was silent for a long moment, then he said, 'We are honoured, Summoner.'
    Silverfox hesitated, then said, 'You are ... changed. What has Itkovian done?'
    A sea of bone-helmed heads bowed at mention of that name, and seeing that stole the breath from her lungs. By the Abyss, what has that man done?
    Pran Chole was long in replying. 'Cast your eyes about you, Summoner. At the life now in this realm. Reach out and sense the power, here in the earth.'
    She frowned. 'I do not understand. This realm is now home to the Beast Thrones. There are Rhivi spirits here ... two wolf-gods ...'
    Pran Chole nodded. 'And more. You have, perhaps unwitting, created a realm where the Vow of Tellann unravels. T'lan Ay... now mortal once more – that gesture was easier than you had expected, was it not? Summoner, Itkovian freed our souls and found, in this realm you created, a place. For us.'
    'You have been ... redeemed !'
    'Redeemed? No, Summoner. Only you are capable of that. The T'lan Imass have been awakened. Our memories – they live once more, in the earth beneath our feet. And they are what we will return to, the day you release us. Bonecaster – we expected nothing but oblivion, upon that release. We could not have imagined that an alternative was possible.'
    'And now?' she whispered.
    Pran Chole cocked his head. 'It surpasses us ... what one mortal man so willingly embraced.' He swung about to make his way back down to the ranks, then paused and looked back at her. 'Summoner.'
    'Yes.'
    'One task awaits us ... before we begin the long journey . . .'
     
    Picker sat on a smoke-stained foundation stone, eyes dulled with exhaustion, and watched the Rhivi move through the rubble, seeking still more bodies. There were Pannion soldiers about, unarmed – seemingly the only citizens left in the city were either dead or gnawed down to little more than bones.
    The Bridgeburners who had died within the keep had already left on a wagon – Picker and her meagre squad had retrieved most of them on the way out, even as the structure began to come down around them. A handful of other bodies had been found and recovered through sorcery, by the Tiste Andii, some of whom still lingered in the area, as if awaiting something, or someone. The only two no-one had yet found were Quick Ben and Paran, and Picker suspected it was because they weren't there.
    Torches lit the area, feeble in their battling the unnatural darkness that shrouded the city. The air stank of smoke and mortar dust. Distant cries of pain rose every now and then, like haunting memories.
    We were brittle. Destroyed months ago, outside Pale, it's just taken this long for the few of us left to realize it. Hedge, Trotts, Detoran. Corpses who kept saluting —
    Blend spoke beside her. 'I told the Rhivi on our wagon to wait inside the north gate.'
    Our wagon. The wagon carrying the dead Bridgeburners.
    First in.
    Last out.
    For the last time.
    A flash of light from the keep's rubble, a warren opening, through which figures emerged. A scarred hound – a cattle-dog, it looked like – followed by Lady Envy, and two Seguleh dragging a third masked warrior between them.
    'Well,' Blend murmured, 'that about does it, doesn't it?'
    Picker was unsure what Blend meant, did not pursue