A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

encampment
– the livestock bawling in the stench of spilled blood and
wastes. He studied the three silhouettes on the ridge.
Where would they go now, he wondered. 'I have seen
enough.' He tugged his horse round, too tight on the reins,
and the beast's head snapped up and it snorted, backing as
it turned. Brohl struggled to keep his balance.
    If the Atri-Preda was amused she was wise enough not to
show it.
    In the sky overhead, the first carrion birds had appeared.
    The South Jasp River, one of the four tributaries of Lether
River leading down from the Bluerose Mountains, was
flanked on its south bank by a raised road that, a short
distance ahead, began its long climb to the mountain pass,
beyond which lay the ancient kingdom of Bluerose, now
subject to the Letherii Empire. The South Jasp ran fast
here, the momentum of its savage descent from the mountains
not yet slowed by the vast plain it now found itself
crossing. The icy water pounded over huge boulders left
behind by long-extinct glaciers, flinging bitter-cold mist
into the air that drifted in clouds over the road.
    The lone figure awaiting the six Tiste Edur warriors and
their entourage was if anything taller than any Edur, yet
thin, wrapped in a black sealskin cloak, hood raised. Two
baldrics criss-crossed its chest, from which hung two
Letherii longswords, and the few wisps of long white hair
that had pulled free in the wind were now wet, adhering to
the collar of the cloak.
    To the approaching Merude Edur, the face within that
cowl looked pallid as death, as if a corpse had just dragged
itself free of the numbing river, something long frozen in
the white-veined reaches of the mountains that awaited
them.
    The lead warrior, a veteran of the conquest of Letheras,
gestured for his comrades to halt then set out to speak to
the stranger. In addition to the other five Edur, there were
ten Letherii soldiers, two burdened wagons, and forty slaves
shackled one to the next in a line behind the second
wagon.
    'Do you wish company,' the Merude asked, squinting to
see more of that shadowed face, 'for the climb to the pass?
It's said there remain bandits and renegades in the heights
beyond.'
    'I am my own company.'
    The voice was rough, the accent archaic.
    The Merude halted three paces away. He could see more
of that face, now. Edur features, more or less, yet white as
snow. The eyes were . . . unnerving. Red as blood. 'Then
why do you block our path?'
    'You captured two Letherii two days back. They are
mine.'
    The Merude shrugged. 'Then you should have kept them
chained at night, friend. These Indebted will run at any
opportunity. Fortunate for you that we captured them. Oh,
yes – of course I will return them into your care. At least
the girl – the man is an escaped slave from the Hiroth, or
so his tattoos reveal. A Drowning awaits him, alas, but I
will consider offering you a replacement. In any case, the
girl, young as she is, is valuable. I trust you can manage
the cost of retrieving her.'
    'I will take them both. And pay you nothing.'
    Frowning, the Merude said, 'You were careless in losing
them. We were diligent in recapturing them. Accordingly,
we expect compensation for our efforts, just as you should
expect a certain cost for your carelessness.'
    'Unchain them,' the stranger said.
    'No. What tribe are you?' The eyes, still fixed unwavering
upon his own, looked profoundly . . . dead . 'What has
happened to your skin?' As dead as the Emperor's . 'What is
your name?'
    'Unchain them now.'
    The Merude shook his head, then he laughed – a little
weakly – and waved his comrades forward as he began
drawing his cutlass.
    Disbelief at the absurdity of the challenge slowed his
effort. The weapon was halfway out of its scabbard when
one of the stranger's longswords flashed clear of its sheath
and opened the Edur's throat.
    Shouting in rage, the other five warriors drew their
blades and rushed forward, while the ten Letherii soldiers
quickly followed suit.
    The stranger watched the leader crumple to the ground,
blood spurting wild into the river mist descending onto the
road. Then he unsheathed his other longsword and stepped
to meet the five Edur. A clash of iron, and all at once the
two Letherii weapons in the stranger's hands were singing,
a rising timbre with every blow they absorbed.
    Two Edur stumbled back at the same time, both mortally
wounded, one in the chest, the other with a third of his skull
sliced away. This latter one turned away as the fighting