A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

share blood with
Masarch.'
    'Yes, but more than that. I am old. Do you understand? I
am the oldest among our people, the last one left . . . who
was there, who remembers. Everything.' The smile
broadened, revealing rotted teeth, a pointed red – almost
purple – tongue. 'I know your secret, Redmask. I know
what she meant to you, and I know why .' The eyes glittered,
black and red-rimmed. 'You had best fear me, Redmask.
You had best heed my words – my advice. I shall ride your
shoulder, yes? From this moment on, until the very day of
battle. And I shall speak with the voice of the Awl, my
voice the voice of their souls. And know this, Redmask: I
shall not countenance their betrayal. Not by you, not by
that one-eyed stranger and his bloodthirsty wolves.'
    Redmask studied the old man a moment longer, then
fixed his gaze ahead once more.
    A soft, ragged laugh at his side, then, 'You dare say
nothing. You dare do nothing. I am a dagger hovering over
your heart. Do not fear me – there is no need, unless you
intend evil. I wish you great glory in this war. I wish the end
of the Letherii, for all time. Perhaps such glory shall come by
your hand – together, you and I, let us strive for that, yes?'
    A long moment of silence.
    'Speak, Redmask,' the elder growled. 'Lest I suspect
defiance.'
    'An end to the Letherii, yes,' Redmask finally said, in a
grating voice. 'Victory for the Awl.'
    'Good,' grunted the old man. 'Good.'
    The magic world had ended abruptly, an ending as sudden
as the slamming of a trunk lid – a sound that had always
shocked her, frozen her in place. Back in the city, that place
of reeks and noise, there had been a house steward, a tyrant,
who would hunt down slave children who had, in his
words, disappointed him. A night spent in the musty confines
of the bronze box would teach them a thing or two,
wouldn't it?
    Stayandi had spent one such night, enclosed in cramped
darkness, two months or so before the slaves joined the
colonists out on the plain. The solid clunk of the lid had
truly seemed, then, the end of the world. Her shrieks
had filled the close air of the trunk until something broke in
her throat, until every scream was naught but a hiss of air.
    Since that time, she had been mute, yet this had proved
a gift, for she had been selected to enter the Mistress's
domain as a handmaiden in training. No secrets would pass
her lips, after all. And she would have been there still, if
not for the homesteading.
    A magic world. So much space, so much air. The freedom
of blue skies, unending wind and darkness lit by
countless stars – she had not imagined such a world existed,
all within reach.
    And then one night, it ended. A fierce nightmare made
real in screams of slaughter.
    Abasard—
    She had fled into the darkness, stunned with the knowledge
of his death – her brother, who had flung himself into
the demon's path, who had died in her place. Her bared
feet, feather-light, carrying her away, the hiss of grasses
soon the only sound to reach her ears. Stars glittering, the
plain bathed silver, the wind cooling the sweat on her skin.
    In her mind, her feet carried her across an entire
continent. Away from the realm of people, of slaves and
masters, of herds and soldiers and demons. She was alone
now, witness to a succession of dawns, smeared sunsets,
alone on a plain that stretched out unbroken on all sides.
She saw wild creatures, always at a distance. Darting hares,
antelope watching from ridgelines, hawks wheeling in the
sky. At night she heard the howl of wolves and coyotes and,
once, the guttural bellow of a bear.
    She did not eat, and the pangs of hunger soon passed, so
that she floated, and all that her eyes witnessed shone with
a luminous clarity. Water she licked from dew-laden
grasses, the cupped holes of deer and elk tracks in basins,
and once she found a spring, almost hidden by thick
brush in which flitted hundreds of tiny birds. It had
been their chittering songs that had drawn her attention.
    An eternity of running later, she had fallen. And found
no strength to rise once more, to resume the wondrous
journey through this glowing land.
    Night then stole upon her, and not long after came the
four-legged people. They wore furs smelling of wind and
dust, and they gathered close, lying down, sharing the
warmth of their thick, soft cloaks. There were children
among them, tiny babes that crawled as did their parents,
squirming and snuggling up against her.
    And when they fed on milk, so did