A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

black with death. The wounded upright trees reminded Cutter of Darist – of the Tiste Andii's black skin and the deep red cuts slashing through it.
    He found he was shivering in the damp air as he padded along. His left arm was now entirely useless, and though he had retrieved his knives – including the broken-tipped one – he doubted that he would be able to put up much of a fight should the need arise.
    He could make out his destination directly ahead. A mound of rubble, pyramidal and particularly large, its summit sunbathed. There were trees on its flanks, but most were dead in the strangling grip of vines. A gaping hole of impenetrable darkness yawned from the side nearest Cutter.
    He slowed, then, twenty paces from the cave, halted. What he was about to do ran against every instinct. 'Malazans!' he called out, then winced at his own loudness. But the Edur are closing on the Throne – no-one nearby to hear me. I hope. 'I know you are within! I would speak with you!'
    Figures appeared at the flanking edges of the cave, two on each side, crossbows cocked and trained on Cutter. Then, from the centre, emerged three more, two women and a man. The woman on the left gestured and said, 'Come closer, hands out to your sides.'
    Cutter hesitated, then stretched out his right hand. 'My left arm won't lift, I'm afraid.'
    'Come ahead.'
    He approached.
    The speaker was tall, muscular. Her hair was long, stained red. She wore tanned leathers. A longsword was scabbarded at her hip. Her skin was a deep bronze in hue. Cutter judged she was ten or more years older than him, and he felt a shiver run through him when he lifted his gaze
and met her tilted, gold-hued eyes.
    The other woman was unarmed, older, and her entire right side, head, face, torso and leg, was horrifically burned – the flesh fused with wisps of clothing, mangled and melted by the ravages of a sorcerous attack. It was a wonder that she was standing – or even alive.
    Hanging back a step from these two was the man. Cutter guessed that he was Dal Honese, dusky-skinned, grey-shot black curled hair on his head cut short – though his eyes were, incongruously, a deep blue. His features were even enough, though crisscrossed with scars. He wore a battered hauberk, a plain longsword at his belt, and an expression so closed he could be Apsalar's brother.
    The flanking marines were in full armour, helmed and visored.
    'Are you the only survivors?' Cutter asked.
    The first woman scowled.
    'I have little time,' the Daru went on. 'We need your help. The Edur are assailing us—'
    'Edur?'
    Cutter blinked, then nodded. 'The seafarers you fought. Tiste Edur. They are seeking something on this island, something of vast power – and we'd rather it not fall into their hands. And why should you help? Because if it does fall into their hands, the Malazan Empire is likely finished. In fact, so is all of humanity—'
    The burned woman cackled, then broke into a fit of coughing that frothed her mouth with red bubbles. After a long moment, the woman recovered. 'Oh, to be young again! All of humanity, is it? Why not the whole world?'
    'The Throne of Shadow is on this island,' Cutter said.
    At this, the Dal Honese man started slightly.
    The burned woman was nodding. 'Yes yes yes, true words. The sense of things arrives – in a flood! Tiste Edur, Tiste Edur, a fleet set out on a search, a fleet from far away, and now they've found it. Ammanas and Cotillion are about to be usurped, and what of it? The Throne of Shadow
– we fought the Edur for that! Oh, what a waste – our ships, the marines – my own life, for the Throne of Shadow?' She spasmed into coughing once more.
    'Not our battle,' the other woman growled. 'We weren't even looking for a fight, but the fools weren't interested in actually talking, in exchanging emissaries – Hood knows, this is not our island, not within the Malazan Empire. Look elsewhere—'
    'No,' the Dal Honese rumbled.
    The woman turned in surprise. 'We were clear enough, Traveller, in our gratitude to you for saving our lives. But that hardly permits you to assume command—'
    'The Throne must not be claimed by the Edur,' the man named Traveller said. 'I have no desire to challenge your command, Captain, but the lad speaks without exaggeration when he describes the risks ... to the empire and to all of humanity. Like it or not, the Warren of Shadow is now human-aspected ...' he smiled crookedly, 'and it well suits our natures.' The smile vanished.