A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

both bones below the knee. The
back of his helm was dented, but he breathed evenly, which
Kalam took for a good sign. Quick Ben seemed physically
intact – nothing obviously shattered, at least, nor any
blood. For both of them, however, internal injuries were
another matter. Kalam studied the wizard's face for a
moment, then slapped it.
    Quick's eyes snapped open. He blinked, looked round,
coughed, then sat up. 'One half of my face is numb – what
happened?'
    'No idea,' Kalam said. 'You and Stormy fell through a
hole. The Falari's in rough shape. But somehow you made
it unscathed – how did you do that?'
    'Unscathed? I think my jaw's broken.'
    'No it isn't. Must have hit the floor – looks a little puffy
but you wouldn't be talking if it was broke.'
    'Huh, good point.' He climbed to his feet and approached
Stormy. 'Oh, those legs look bad. We need to set those before
I can do any healing.'
    'Healing? Dammit, Quick, you never did any healing in
the squad.'
    'No, that was Mallet's task. I was the brains, remember?'
    'Well, as I recall, that didn't take up much of your time.'
    'That's what you think.' The wizard paused and looked
round. 'Where are we? And where did that light come
from?'
    'Compliments of Cotillion, who is on the other end of
that rope.'
    'Oh. Well, he can do the healing, then. Get him down
here.'
    'Then who will hold the rope?'
    'We don't need it. Hey, weren't you climbing the Moon's
Spawn? Ah, that's why your god is here. Right.'
    'To utter the demon's name is to call him,' Kalam said,
looking up to watch Cotillion's slow, almost lazy descent.
    The god settled near Stormy and Quick Ben. A brief nod
to the wizard, one eyebrow lifting, then Cotillion crouched
beside the marine. 'Adjutant Stormy, what has happened to
you?'
    'That should be obvious,' Kalam said. 'He broke his legs.'
    The god rolled the marine onto his back, pulled at each
leg, drawing the bones back in line, then rose. 'That will
do, I think.'
    'Hardly—'
    'Adjutant Stormy,' Cotillion said, 'is not quite as mortal
as he might seem. Annealed in the fires of Thyrllan. Or
Kurald Liosan. Or Tellann. Or all three. In any case, as you
can see, he's mending already. The broken ribs are completely
healed, as is the failing liver and shattered hip. And
the cracked skull. Alas, nothing can be done for the brain
within it.'
    'He's lost his mind?'
    'I doubt he ever had one,' the god replied. 'He's worse
than Urko. At least Urko has interests, peculiar and pointless
as they are.'
    A groan from Stormy.
    Cotillion walked over to the nearest wall. 'Curious,' he
said. 'This is a temple to an Elder God. Not sure which one.
Kilmandaros, maybe. Or Grizzin Farl. Maybe even K'rul.'
    'A rather bloody kind of worship,' Kalam muttered.
    'The best kind,' Quick Ben said, brushing dust from his
clothes.
    Kalam noted Cotillion's sly regard of the wizard and
wondered at it. Ben Adaephon Delat, Cotillion knows something
about you, doesn't he? Wizard, you've got too many
secrets by far. The assassin then noticed the rope, still dangling
from the hole far above. 'Cotillion, what did you tie
the rope to?'
    The god glanced over, smiled. 'A surprise. I must be
going. Gentlemen ...' And he faded, then was gone.
    'Your god makes me nervous, Kalam,' Quick Ben said as
Stormy groaned again, louder this time.
    And you in turn make him nervous. And now ... He
looked down at Stormy. The rips in the leggings were all
that remained of the ghastly compound fractures. Adjutant
Stormy. Annealed in holy fires. Still scowling.
     
    High rock, the sediments stepped and ragged, surrounded
their camp, an ancient tree to one side. Cutter sat near the
small dung-fire they had lit, watching as Greyfrog circled
the area, evincing ever more agitation. Nearby, Heboric
Ghost Hands looked to be dozing, the hazy green emanations
at the ends of his wrists dully pulsing. Scillara and
Felisin Younger were packing their pipes for their new
sharing of a post-meal ritual. Cutter's gaze returned to the
demon.
    Greyfrog, what's ailing you?
    'Nervous. I have intimations of tragedy, swiftly approaching.
Something ... worried and uncertain. In the air, in the sands.
Sudden panic. We should leave here. Turn back. Flee.'
    Cutter felt sweat bead his skin. He had never heard the
demon so ... frightened. 'We should get off this ridge?'
    The two women looked up at his spoken words. Felisin
Younger glanced at Greyfrog, frowned, then paled. She
rose. 'We're in trouble,' she said.
    Scillara straightened and walked