A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

me,
well, as I said, there's no real cause for worry.'
    'What are you talking about?'
    'Plague. Hardly surprising, given all the unburied corpses
following this rebellion. It began a week or so ago, somewhere
east of Ehrlitan. Any ships that made port or hail
from there are being turned away.'
    Apsalar said nothing for a time. Then she nodded.
'Poliel.'
    'Aye.'
    'And not enough healers left to intercede.'
    'The horse trader said officials went to the Temple of
D'rek, in Kansu. The foremost healers are found there,
of course. They found everyone within slaughtered.'
    She glanced over at him.
    'I take the south track,' Paran said, fighting with his edgy
gelding.
    Yes, there is nothing more to be said, is there. The gods are
indeed at war. 'The west for us,' Apsalar replied, already
uncomfortable with the Seven Cities style of saddle.
Neither she nor Cotillion had ever had much success with
horses, but at least the mare beneath her seemed a docile
beast. She opened her cloak and dragged out Telorast, then
Curdle, tossing them both onto the ground, where they
raced ahead, long tails flicking.
    'All too short,' Paran said, meeting her eyes.
    She nodded. 'But just as well, I think.'
    Her comment was not well received. 'I am sorry to hear
you say that.'
    'I do not mean to offend, Ganoes Paran. It's just that,
well, I was rediscovering ... things.'
    'Like comradeship?'
    'Yes.'
    'And that is something you feel you cannot afford.'
    'Invites carelessness,' she said.
    'Ah, well. For what it is worth, Apsalar, I believe we will
see each other again.'
    She allowed that sentiment, and nodded. 'I will look
forward to that.'
    'Good, then there's hope for you yet.'
    She watched him ride away, his two packhorses trailing.
Changes came to a man in ways few could imagine. He
seemed to have let go of so much ... she was envious of
that. And already, she realized with a faint stab of regret,
already she missed him. Too close, too dangerous by far. Just
as well.
    As for plague, well, he was probably right. Neither he
nor Apsalar had much to fear. Too bad for everyone else,
though.
     
    The broken remnants of the road made for an agonized traverse
up the limestone hillside, rocks tumbling and
skittering down in clouds of dust. A flash flood had cut
through the passage unknown years or decades past, revealing
countless layers of sediments on the channel's steep-cut
walls. Leading her horse and the pack-mules by the reins,
Samar Dev studied those multi-hued layers. 'Wind and
water, Karsa Orlong, without end. Time's endless dialogue
with itself.'
    Three paces ahead, the Toblakai warrior did not reply.
He was nearing the summit, taking the down-flow path of
the past flood, ragged, gnawed rock rising to either side of
him. The last hamlet was days behind them now; these
lands were truly wild. Reclaimed, since surely this road
must have led somewhere, once, but there were no other
signs of past civilization. In any case, she was less interested
in what had gone before. What was to come was her
fascination, the wellspring of all her inventions, her inspirations.
    'Sorcery, Karsa Orlong, that is the heart of the problem.'
    'What problem now, woman?'
    'Magic obviates the need for invention, beyond certain
basic requirements, of course. And so we remain eternally
stifled—'
    'To the Faces with stifled, witch. There is nothing wrong
with where we are, how we are. You spit on satisfaction,
leaving you always unsettled and miserable. I am a Teblor –
we live simply enough, and we see the cruelty of your so-called
progress. Slaves, children in chains, a thousand lies
to make one person better than the next, a thousand
lies telling you this is how things should be, and there's no
stopping it. Madness called sanity, slavery called freedom. I
am done talking now.'
    'Well, I'm not. You're no different, calling ignorance
wisdom, savagery noble. Without striving to make things
better, we're doomed to repeat our litany of injustices—'
    Karsa reached the summit and turned to face her, his
expression twisting. 'Better is never what you think it is,
Samar Dev.'
    'What does that mean?'
    He raised a hand, suddenly still. 'Quiet. Something's not
right.' He slowly looked round, eyes narrowing. 'There's a
... smell.'
    She joined him, dragging the horse and mules onto level
ground. High rocks to either side, the edge of a gorge just
beyond – the hill they were on was a ridge, blade-edged,
with more jagged rock beyond. A twisted ancient tree
squatting on the summit.