A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

riotous carvings.
    A sudden coughing fit from Apsalar swung him round.
    She bolted upright, spat to clear her throat, then wrapped her arms about herself as shivering racked through her.
    Cutter quickly returned to her side.
    'D-Darist?'
    'Dead. But so are all the Edur. There was one among the Malazans...'
    'The one of power. I felt him. Such ... anger!'
    Cutter went over to the nearest water cask, found a ladle. He dipped it full and walked back. 'He called himself Traveller.'
    'I know him,' she whispered, then shuddered. 'Not my memories. Dancer's. Dancer knew him. Knew him well. They were... three. It was never just the two of them – did you know that? Never just Dancer and Kellanved. No, he was there. Almost from the very beginning. Before Tayschrenn, before Dujek, before even Surly.'
    'Well, it makes no difference now, Apsalar,' Cutter said. 'We need to leave this damned island – Traveller can have it, as far as I'm concerned. Are you recovered enough to help me get one of these runners into the water? We've a bounty in supplies, too—'
    'Where are we going?'
    He hesitated.
    Her dark eyes flattened. 'Cotillion.'
    'Another task for us, aye.'
    'Do not walk this path, Crokus.'
    He scowled. 'I thought you'd appreciate the company.' He offered her the ladle.
    She studied him for a long moment, then slowly accepted it.
     
    'Pan'potsun Hills.'
    'I know,' Lostara drawled.
    Pearl smiled. 'Of course you would. And now, at last, you discover the reason I asked you along—'
    'Wait a minute. You couldn't have known where this trail would lead—'
    'Well, true, but I have faith in blind nature's penchant for cycles. In any case, is there a buried city nearby?'
    'Nearby? You mean, apart from the one we're standing on?' She was pleased to see his jaw drop. 'What did you think all these flat-topped hills were, Claw?'
    He loosened his cloak. 'Then again, this place will suit just fine.'
    'For what?'
    He cast her a sardonic glance. 'Well, dear, a ritual. We need to find a trail, a sorcerous one, and it's old. Did you imagine we would just wander directionless through this wasteland in the hopes of finding something?'
    'Odd, I thought that was what we've been doing for days.'
    'Just getting some distance between us and that damned Imass head,' he replied, walking over to a flat stretch of
stone, where he began kicking it clear of rubble. 'I could feel its unhuman eyes on us all the way across that valley.'
    'Him and the vultures, aye.' She tilted her head back and studied the cloudless sky. 'Still with us, in fact. Those damned birds. Not surprising. We're almost out of water, with even less food. In a day or two we'll be in serious trouble.'
    'I will leave such mundane worries with you, Lostara.'
    'Meaning, if all else fails, you can always kill and eat me, right? But what if I decide to kill you first? Obsessed as I am with mundane worries.'
    The Claw settled down into a crosslegged position. 'It's become much cooler here, don't you think? A localized phenomenon, I suspect. Although I would imagine that some measure of success in the ritual I am about to enact should warm things up somewhat.'
    'If only the excitement of disbelief,' Lostara muttered, walking over to the edge of the tel and looking south-westward to where the red wall of the Whirlwind cut a curving slash across the desert. Behind her, she heard muted words, spoken in some language unknown to her. Probably gibberish. I've seen enough mages at work to know they don't need words ... not unless they're performing. Pearl was probably doing just that. He was one for poses, even while affecting indifference to his audience of one. A man seeking his name in tomes of history. Some crucial role upon which the fate of the empire pivots.
    She turned as he slapped dust from hands, and saw him rising, a troubled frown on his all-too-handsome face.
    'That didn't take long,' she said.
    'No.' Even he sounded surprised. 'I was fortunate indeed. A local earth spirit was killed ... close by. By a confluence of dire fates, an incidental casualty. Its ghost lingers, like a child seeking lost parents, and so would speak to any and every stranger who happens by, provided that stranger is prepared to listen.'
    Lostara grunted. 'All right, and what did it have to say?'
    'A terrible incident – well, the terrible incident, the one that killed the spirit – the details of which lead me to conclude there is some connec—'
    'Good,' she interrupted. 'Lead on, we're wasting time.'
    He