A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

yes, I see you hulking
out there – it occurs to me, given the precedent, that the
question of cowardice is one your Awl must face, tomorrow.
I have no doubt Redmask – if he has any concerns – is
thinking on that right now. Wondering. Can he bully all of
you into honour?'
    The vague shape that was Torrent moved off.
    Toc fell silent, tossed yet another lump of rodara dung
onto the fire, and thought about old friends long gone.
    The lone line of scuffed footprints ended with a figure,
trudging up the distant slope of clay and pebbles. That was
the thing about following a trail, Hedge reminded himself.
Easy to forget the damned prints belonged to something
real, especially after what seemed weeks of tracking the
bastard.
    T'lan Imass, as he had suspected. Those splayed, bony
feet dragged too much, especially with an arch so high it
left no imprint. True, some bowlegged Wickan might leave
something similar, but not walking at a pace that stayed
ahead of Hedge for this long. Not a chance of that. Still, it
was odd that the ancient undead warrior was walking at all.
    Easier traversing this wasteland as dust.
    Maybe it's too damp. Maybe it's no fun being mud. I'll have to ask it that.
    Assuming it doesn't kill me outright. Or try to, I mean. I keep forgetting that I'm already dead. If there's one thing the dead should remember, it's that crucial detail, don't you think, Fid? Bah, what would you know. You're still alive. And not here either.
    Hood take me, I'm in need of company.
    Not that damned whispering wind, though. Good thing
it had fled, in tatters, unable to draw any closer to this
T'lan Imass with – yes – but one arm. Beat up thing, ain't it just?
    He was sure it knew he was here, a thousand paces
behind it. Probably knows I'm a ghost, too. Which is why it hasn't bothered attacking me.
    I think I'm getting used to this.
    Another third of a league passed before Hedge was able
to draw close enough to finally snare the undead warrior's
regard. Halting, slowly turning about. The flint weapon in
its lone hand was more a cutlass than a sword, its end
strangely hooked. A hilt had been fashioned from the
palmate portion of an antler, creating a shallow, tined
bell-guard polished brown with age. Part of the warrior's
face had been brutally smashed: but one side of its
heavy jaw was intact, giving its ghastly mien a lopsided
cant.
    'Begone, ghost,' the T'lan Imass said in a ravaged voice.
    'Well I would,' Hedge replied, 'only it seems we're heading
in the same direction.'
    'That cannot be.'
    'Why?'
    'Because you do not know where I am going.'
    'Oh, perfect Imass logic. In other words, absurd idiocy.
No, I don't know precisely where you are going, but it is
undeniably to be found in the same direction as where I am
headed. Is that too sharp an observation for you?'
    'Why do you hold to your flesh?'
    'The same reason, I suppose, why you hold on to what's
left of yours. Listen, I am named Hedge. I was once a
soldier, a Bridgeburner. Malazan marines. Are you some
cast-off from Logros T'lan Imass?'
    The warrior said nothing for a moment, then, 'I was once
of Kron T'lan Imass. Born in the Season of Blood-from-the-
Mountain to the clan of Eptr Phinana. My own blood
arrived on the shores of Jagra Til. I am Emroth.'
    'A woman?'
    A clattering, uneven shrug.
    'Well, Emroth, what are you doing walking across Hood's
forgotten ice-pit?'
    'There is no pit here.'
    'As you say.' Hedge looked round. 'Is this where
abandoned T'lan Imass go, then?'
    'Not here,' Emroth replied. Then the cutlass lifted and
slowly pointed.
    Ahead. The direction Hedge had decided to call north.
'What, are we headed towards a huge pile of frozen bones,
then?'
    Emroth turned and began walking once more.
    Hedge moved up alongside the undead creature. 'Were
you beautiful once, Emroth?'
    'I do not remember.'
    'I was hopeless with women,' Hedge said. 'My ears are
too big – yes, that's why I wear this leather cap. And I got
knobby knees. It's why I became a soldier, you know. To
meet women. And then I discovered that women soldiers
are scary. I mean, a lot more scary than normal women,
which is saying something. I guess with you Imass, well,
everyone was a warrior, right?'
    'I understand,' Emroth said.
    'You do? Understand what?'
    'Why you have no companions, Hedge of the
Bridgeburners.'
    'You're not going to turn into a cloud of dust on me, are
you?'
    'In this place, I cannot. Alas.'
    Grinning, Hedge resumed, 'It's not like I died a virgin or
anything, of