A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

are all that hold me
together, all that keep me sane. You and our precious daughter.
I will see you again. I promise that. Perhaps soon.
    Ahlrada Ahn was, once more, at the head of the column.
Poor man. His facial features gave him away quickly
enough, to a soldier hailing from Bluerose, such as Varat
Taun. An imposter – what were the reasons for such
deception? Survival, maybe. That and nothing more. Yet he
had heard from Letherii slaves serving the Tiste Edur there
was an ancient enmity between the Edur and the Tiste
Andii, and if the Edur knew of the hidden enclaves in
Bluerose, of their hated dark-skinned kin, well ...
    And so Ahlrada Ahn was among them here. A spy. Varat
Taun wished him success. The Onyx Order had been
benign rulers, after all – of course, under the present
circumstances, the past was an invitation to romantic
idealism.
    Even considering that, it could not have been worse than
now.
    Another pointless battle awaited them. More Letherii
dead. He so wanted Twilight's respect, and this command
could prove a true testing ground. Could Varat
command well? Could he show that fine balance between
ferocity and caution? Ah, but I have apprenticed myself to the
best commander of the Letherii armies since Freda Unnutal
Hebaz, have I not?
    That thought alone seemed to redouble the pressure he
felt.
    The trench they had been trudging along debouched
onto a muddy plain, the surface chewed by horse hoofs and
cart wheels and the craters of sorcerous detonations. Here,
the reek of rotting flesh hung like a mist. Gravestones were
visible here and there, pitched askew or broken, and there
was splintered wood – black with sodden decay – and thin
white bones amidst the dead still clothed in flesh.
    Perhaps half a league away ran a ridge, possibly a raised
road, and figures were visible there, in a ragged line, marching
towards the distant battle, pikes on their backs.
    'Quickly!' Sathbaro Rangar hissed, hobbling forward.
'Stay low, gather round – no, there! Crouch, you fools! We
must leave!'
     
    Steth and Aystar, brother and sister, who had shared
memories of pain, hands and feet nailed to wood, ravens at
their faces tearing at their eyes – terrible nightmares, the
conjurings of creative imaginations, said their mother,
Minala – crept forward through the gloom of the fissure,
the rocky floor beneath them slick, sharp-edged,
treacherous.
    Neither had yet fought, although both voiced their zeal,
for they were still too young, or so Mother had decided. But
Steth was ten years of age, and Aystar his sister was nine;
and they wore the armour of the Company of Shadow,
weapons at their belts, and they had trained with the
others, as hard and diligently as any of them. And somewhere
ahead stood their favourite sentinel, guarding the
passage. They were sneaking up on him, their favourite
game of all.
    Crouching, they drew closer to where he usually stood.
    And then a grating voice spoke from their left. 'You two
breathe too loud.'
    Aystar squealed in frustration, jumping up. 'It's Steth! I
don't breathe at all! I'm just like you!' She advanced on the
hulking T'lan Imass who stood with his back to the
crevasse wall. Then she flung herself at him, arms wrapping
about his midsection.
    Onrack's dark, empty gaze settled upon her. Then the
withered hand not holding the sword reached up and
gingerly patted her on the head. 'You are breathing now,'
the warrior said.
    'And you smell like dust and worse.'
    Steth moved two paces past Onrack's position and
perched himself atop a boulder, squinting into the gloom
beyond. 'I saw a rat today,' he said. 'Shot two arrows at it.
One came close. Really close.'
    'Climb down from there,' the T'lan Imass said, prying
Aystar's arms from his waist. 'You present a target in
silhouette.'
    'Nobody's coming any more, Onrack,' the boy said, twisting
round as the undead warrior approached. 'They've
given up – we were too nasty for them. Mother was talking
about leaving—'
    The arrow took him full on the side of the head, in the
temple, punching through bone and spinning the boy
round, legs sliding out onto a side of the boulder, then, with
a limp roll, Steth fell to the ground.
    Aystar began screaming, a piercing cry that rang up and
down the fissure, as Onrack shoved her behind him
and said, 'Run. Back, stay along a wall. Run.'
    More arrows hissed down the length of the crevasse, two
of them thudding into Onrack with puffs of dust. He pulled
them loose and dropped them to the floor,