A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

be
mages, as well as a score or more Tiste Edur.'
    'Silchas Ruin is tired of being chased,' Udinaas said from
where he lounged, back resting on a stone slab.
    Dread filled Seren Pedac at these words. 'Silchas, can we
not go round these wards?'
    'No.'
    She glanced across at Fear Sengar, saw suspicion and
unease in the warrior's expression, but he would not meet
her eyes. What conversation did I just miss here? 'You are no
stranger to sorcery, Silchas Ruin. Could you put everyone
in that fort to sleep or something? Or cloud their minds,
make them confused?'
    He gave her an odd look. 'I know of no sorcery that can
achieve that.'
    'Mockra,' she replied. 'The warren of Mockra.'
    'No such thing existed in my day,' he said. 'The K'risnan
sorcery, rotted through with chaos as it is, seems recognizable
enough to me. I have never heard of this Mockra.'
    'Corlos, the mage with Iron Bars – the Crimson Guard
mercenaries – he could reach into minds, fill them with
false terrors.' She shrugged. 'He said the magic of Holds and
Elder Warrens has, almost everywhere else, been
supplanted.'
    'I had wondered at the seeming weakness of Kurald
Galain in this land. Acquitor, I cannot achieve what you
ask. Although, I do intend to silence everyone in that fort.
And collect for us some horses.'
    'Silchas, there are hundreds of Letherii there, not just
soldiers. A fort needs support staff. Cooks, scullions, smiths,
carpenters, servants—'
    'And the Tiste Edur,' Fear added, 'will have slaves.'
    'None of this interests me,' the Tiste Andii said, moving
past Seren and leaving the mouth of the cave.
    Udinaas laughed softly. 'Red Ruin stalks the land. We
must heed this tale of righteous retribution gone horribly
wrong. So, Fear Sengar, your epic quest twists awry – what
will you tell your grandchildren now?'
    The Edur warrior said nothing.
    Seren Pedac hesitated; she could hear Silchas Ruin walking
away – a few strides crunching through leaves – then he
was gone. She could hurry after him. Attempt one last time
to dissuade him. Yet she did not move. In the wake of
Ruin's passage the only sound filling the forest was the
scurry and rustle of the scaled mice, in their thousands it
seemed, all flowing in the same direction as the Tiste
Andii. Sweat prickled like ice on her skin. Look at us. Frozen like rabbits.
    Yet what can I do? Nothing. Besides, it's not my business, is it? I am but a glorified guide. Not one of these here holds to a cause that matters to me. They're welcome to their grand ambitions. I was asked to lead them out, that's all.
    This is Silchas Ruin's war. And Fear Sengar's. She looked
over at Udinaas and found him studying her from where he
sat, eyes glittering, as if presciently aware of her thoughts,
the sordid tracks each converging on a single, pathetic conclusion. Not my business. Errant take you, Indebted.
    Mangled and misshapen, the K'risnan Ventrala reached up a
scrawny, root-like forearm and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Around him candles flickered, a forlorn invocation to Sister
Shadow, but it seemed the ring of darkness in the small
chamber was closing in on all sides, as inexorable as any tide.
    He had woken half a bell earlier, heart pounding and
breath coming in gasps. The forest north of the fort was
seething with orthen, a rock-dwelling scaled creature
unique to this mountain pass – since his arrival at the fort
he had seen perhaps a half-dozen, brought in by the maned
cats the Letherii locals kept. Those cats knew better than
to attempt to eat the orthen, poison as they were, yet were
not averse to playing with them until dead. Orthen avoided
forest and soft ground. They dwelt among rocks. Yet now
they swarmed the forest, and the K'risnan could feel something
palpable from their presence, a stirring that tasted of
bloodlust.
    Should he crouch here in his room, terrified of creatures
he could crush underfoot? He needed to master this
unseemly panic – listen! He could hear nothing from the
fort lookouts. No alarms shouted out.
    But the damned orthen carpeted the forest floor up the
pass, massing in unimaginable numbers, and that dread
scaly flood was sweeping down, and Ventrala's panic rose
yet higher, threatening to erupt from his throat in shrieks.
He struggled to think.
    Some kind of once in a decade migration, perhaps. Once
in a century, even. A formless hunger. That and nothing
more. The creatures would heave up against the walls,
seethe for a time, then leave before the dawn. Or they'd
flow