A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

stared as Udinaas then did something he did not think possible. The slave reached out and took Rhulad's head in his hands, as a mother might an inconsolable child. Tender, yet firm, the hands slowly lifted it clear of the knees.
    A sobbing sound came from Fear, quickly silenced, but Trull felt his brother tremble.
    The face – oh, Father Shadow, the face.
    A crazed mask of wax, cracked and scarred. And beneath it, gold coins, melded onto the flesh – not one had dislodged – angled like the scales of armour around the stretched jaw, the gasping mouth.
    Udinaas leaned closer still, spoke low beside Rhulad's left ear.
    Words, answered with a shudder, a spasm that made coins click – the sound audible but muted beneath wax. A foot scraped across the stone flagstones surrounding the platform, drew in tighter.
    Fear jolted in Trull's grip, but he held on, held his brother back as Udinaas reached down to his belt and drew out a work knife.
    Whispering; rhythmic, almost musical. The slave brought the knife up. Carefully set the edge near the tip alongside the coin covering Rhulad's left eye.
    The face flinched, but Udinaas drew his right arm round into a kind of embrace, leaned closer, not pausing in his murmuring. Pressure with the edge, minute motion, then the coin flashed as it came loose along the bottom. A moment later it fell away.
    The eye was closed, a mangled, red welt. Rhulad must have sought to open it because Udinaas laid two fingers against the lid and Trull saw him shake his head as he said something, then repeated it.
    A strange tic from Rhulad's head, and Trull realized it had been a nod.
    Udinaas then reversed the position of his arms, and set the knife edge to Rhulad's right eye.
    Outside was the sound of a mass of people, but Trull did not turn about. He could not pull his gaze from the Letherii, from his brother.
    He was dead. There was no doubt. None.
    The slave, who had worked on Rhulad for a day and a night, filling mortal wounds with wax, burning coins into the cold flesh, who had then seen his charge return to life, now knelt before the Edur, his voice holding insanity at bay, his voice – and his hands – guiding Rhulad back to the living.
    A Letherii slave.
    Father Shadow, who are we to have done this?
    The coin was prised loose.
    Trull pulled Fear along as he stepped closer. He did not speak. Not yet.
    Udinaas returned the knife to its sheath. He leaned back, one hand withdrawing to settle on Rhulad's left shoulder. Then the slave pivoted and looked up at Trull. 'He's not ready to speak. The screaming has exhausted him, given the weight of the coins encasing his chest.' Udinaas half rose, intending to move away, but Rhulad's left arm rustled, hand sobbing away from the sword's grip, coins clicking as the fingers groped, then found the slave's arm. And held on.
    Udinaas almost smiled – and Trull saw for the first time the exhaustion of the man, the extremity of all that he had gone through – and settled down once more. 'Your brothers, Rhulad,' he said. 'Trull, and Fear. They are here to take care of you now. I am but a slave—'
    Two coins fell away as Rhulad's grip tightened.
    'You will stay, Udinaas,' Trull said. 'Our brother needs you. We need you.'
    The Letherii nodded. 'As you wish, master. Only ... I am tired. I – I keep blacking out, only to awaken at the sound of my own voice.' He shook his head helplessly. 'I don't even know what I have said to your brother—'
    'It matters not,' Fear cut in. 'What you have done ...' His words trailed away, and for a moment it seemed his face would crumple. Trull saw the muscles of his brother's neck tauten, then Fear's eyes closed tight, he drew a deep breath and was himself once more. He shook his head, unable to speak.
    Trull crouched beside Udinaas and Rhulad. 'Udinaas, I understand. You need rest. But stay for a few moments longer, if you can.'
    The slave nodded.
    Trull shifted his gaze, studied Rhulad's ravaged face, the eyes still shut – but there was movement behind them. 'Rhulad. It is Trull. Listen to me, my brother. Keep your eyes closed, for now. We must get this – this armour – off you—'
    At that Rhulad shook his head.
    'They are funereal coins, Rhulad—'
    'Y-yes. I ... know.'
    Words raw and heavy, the breath pushed out from a constricted chest.
    Trull hesitated, then said, 'Udinaas has been with you, alone, preparing you—'
    'Yes.'
    'He is used up, brother.'
    'Yes. Tell Mother. I want. I want him.'
    'Of course. But let