A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

of us dead shards. To bring an end to this —'
    'Someone is with us.'
    'Who?'
    'A mortal is here with us. Two Mistresses to the same Hold. She is one, and she is here. She is here now and she listens to our words.'
    'Steal her mind!'
    'Take her soul!'
    'Let us out!'
    Seren reeled away from the black wall. Staggered, hands to her ears, shaking her head. 'Enough,' she moaned. 'No more, please. No more.' She sank to her knees, was motionless as the voices faded, their screams dwindling. 'Mistress?' she whispered. I am no-one's mistress. Just one more reluctant ... lover of solitude. No place for voices, no place for hard purposes ... fierce fires.
    Like Hull, only ashes. The smudged remnants of possibilities. But, unlike the man she had once thought to love, she had not knelt before a new icon to certainty. No choices to measure out like the soporific illusion of some drug, the consigning invitation to addiction. She wanted no new masters over her life. Nor the burden of friendships.
    A croaking voice behind her. 'What's wrong with you?'
    She shook her head. 'Nothing, Buruk.' She climbed wearily to her feet. 'We have reached the border.'
    'I'm not blind, Acquitor.'
    'We can move on a way, then make camp.'
    'You think me weak, don't you?'
    She glanced over at him. 'You are sick with exhaustion, Buruk. So am I. What point all this bravado?'
    Sudden pain in his expression, then he turned away. 'I'll show you soon enough.'
    'What of my contract?'
    He did not face her. 'Done. Once we reach Trate. I absolve you of further responsibility.'
    'So be it,' she said, walking to her pack.
    They built a small fire with the last of their wood. The wraiths, it seemed, cared nothing for borders, flitting along the edges of the flickering light. A renewed interest, and Seren thought she knew why. The spirits within the stone wall. She was now marked.
    Mistress of the Hold. Mistresses. There are two, and they think I am one of those two. A lie, a mistake.
    Which Hold?
    'You were young,' Buruk suddenly said, his eyes on the fire. 'When I first saw you.'
    'And you were happy, Buruk. What of it?'
    'Happiness. Ah, now that is a familiar mask. True, I wore it often, back then. Joyful in my spying, my unceasing betrayals, my deceits and the blood that appeared again and again on my hands.'
    'What are you talking about?'
    'My debts, Acquitor. Oh yes, outwardly I stand as a respected merchant... of middling wealth.'
    'And what are you in truth?'
    'It is where dreams fall away, Seren Pedac. That crumbling edifice where totters self-worth. You stand, too afraid to move, and watch your hands in motion, mangling every dream, every visage of the face you would desire, the true face of yourself, behind that mask. It is not helpful, speaking of truths.'
    She thought for a time, then her eyes narrowed. 'You are being blackmailed.' He voiced no denial, so she continued, 'You are Indebted, aren't you?'
    'Debts start small. Barely noticeable. Temporary. And so, in repayment, you are asked to do something. Something vile, a betrayal. And then, they have you. And you are indebted anew, in the maintenance of the secret, in your gratitude for not being exposed in your crime, which has since grown larger. As it always does, if you are in possession of a conscience.' He was silent a moment, then he sighed and said, 'I do envy those who have no conscience.'
    'Can you not get out, Buruk?'
    He would not look up from the flames. 'Of course I can,' he said easily.
    That tone, so at odds with all else he had said, frightened her. 'Make yourself... un-useful, Buruk.'
    'Indeed, that seems the way of it, Acquitor. And I am in a hurry to do just that.' He rose. 'Time to sleep. Downhill to the river, then we can trail our sore feet in the cool water, all the way to Trate.'
    She remained awake for a while longer, too tired to think, too numb to feel fear.
    Above the fire, sparks and stars swam without distinction.
    Dusk the following day, the two travellers reached Kraig's Landing, to find its three ramshackle buildings surrounded by the tents of an encamped regiment. Soldiers were everywhere, and at the dock was tethered an ornate, luxuriously appointed barge above which drifted in the dull wind the king's banner, and directly beneath it on the spar the crest of the Ceda.
    'There's a cadre here,' Buruk said as they strode down the trail towards the camp, which they would have to pass through to reach the hostel and dock.
    She nodded. 'And the soldiers are here as escort.