A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

the humid air. Quorl-mounted Black Moranth circled high above the two de-camped armies, fewer in number than was usual – their Achievant, Twist, had departed with Captain Paran and the Bridgeburners four days ago, and eight of the eleven Flights had left in the night just past, on their way to the Vision Mountains on the northwest border of the Domin.
    The commander was exhausted. The ache in his leg was robbing him of sleep, and each day was filled with the demands of supply, details on the planned deployment on the march, and the ceaseless swarm of messengers delivering reports and orders then hurrying off with the same. He was restless to begin the journey across half a continent, if only to answer the thousand questions of what awaited them.
    Quick Ben sat in silence beside Whiskeyjack, the mage's horse shifting nervously beneath him.
    'Your mount's picked up on your state of mind, Quick,' the commander said.
    'Aye.'
    'You're wondering when I'll cut you loose so you can chase after and catch up with Paran and the Bridgeburners, and put some distance between you and Kallor. You're also eager to get as far away from Silverfox as you can.'
    Quick Ben started at this last observation, then he sighed. 'Aye. I imagine I haven't managed to hide my unease – at least not from you, it's clear. The child's grown five years or more since we arrived, Whiskeyjack – I looked in on the Mhybe this morning. Korlat's doing what she can, as are the Rhivi shoulderwomen, but Silverfox has taken from that old woman almost her entire life-force – Hood knows what's keeping her alive. The thought of converging T'lan Imass ain't making me happy, either. And then there's Anomander Rake – he wants to know all about me—'
    'Has he attempted any further probing?'
    'Not yet, but why tempt him?'
    'I need you for a while longer,' Whiskeyjack said. 'Ride with my entourage – we'll keep our distance from the Son of Darkness, as best we can. Have those mercenaries in Capustan taken your bait yet?'
    'They're playing with it.'
    'We'll wait another week, then. If nothing, then off you go.'
    'Yes, sir.'
    'Now,' Whiskeyjack drawled, 'why don't you tell me what else you've got going, Quick Ben?'
    The mage blinked innocently. 'Sir?'
    'You've visited every temple and every seer in Pale, mage. You've spent a small fortune on readers of the Deck. Hood, I've had a report of you sacrificing a goat at dawn atop a barrow – what in the Abyss were you up to with that, Quick?'
    'All right,' the man muttered, 'the goat thing stinks of desperation. I admit it. I got carried away.'
    'And what did the lost spirits in the barrow tell you?'
    'Nothing. There, uh, there weren't any.'
    Whiskeyjack's eyes narrowed. 'There weren't any? It was a Rhivi barrow, was it not?''
    'One of the few still remaining in the area, aye. It was, uh, cleaned out. Recently.'
    'Cleaned out?'
    'Someone or something gathered them up, sir. Never known that to happen before. It's the strangest thing. Not a single soul remains within those barrows. I mean, where are they?'
    'You're changing the subject, Quick Ben. Nice try.'
    The mage scowled. 'I'm doing some investigating. Nothing I can't handle, and it won't interfere with anything else. Besides, we're now officially on the march, right? Not much I can do out in the middle of nowhere, is there? Besides, I have been sidetracked, sir. Those snatched spirits ... someone took them, and it's got me curious.'
    'When you figure it out you'll let me know, right?'
    'Of course, sir.'
    Whiskeyjack gritted his teeth and said no more. I've known you too long, Quick Ben. You've stumbled onto something, and it's got you scampering like a stoat with its tail between its legs.
    Sacrificing a goat, for Hood's sake!
    On the road from Pale, Onearm's Host – almost ten thousand veterans of the Genabackan Campaign – moved to join the ranks of Caladan Brood's vast army. The march had begun, onward to war, against an enemy they had never seen and of whom they knew almost nothing.

CHAPTER SIX
    Where they tread, blood follows ...
    Kulburat's Vision
Horal Thume (b.1134)
     
    Saltoan's sunset gate was reached by a broad, arching causeway over the canal. Both the bridge and the canal itself were in serious need of repair, the mortar crumbling and webbed in wide, grass-tufted cracks where the foundations had settled. One of the Vision Plain's oldest cities, Saltoan had once stood alongside the river Catlin, growing rich on the cross-continent trade, until the