A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

beast, after
all, a Jhag, brother to their cherished horses-of-the-rock.
They possessed legends with similar themes, and indeed
they had spent half the night recounting many of them
– and now they had found themselves a new one. Master of
the Wolf-Horses met a woman so driven as to be his own
reflection, and together they rode into the north, having
drawn their threads through the last camp of the Kindaru,
and were now entwined each with the other and both with
the Kindaru, and though this was a tale not yet done it
would nevertheless live on, for as long as lived the Kindaru
themselves.
    He had noted the grief in Samar Dev's weary, weathered
face, as the many wounds delivered – in all innocence
– by the Kindaru slowly sank deeper, piercing her heart,
and now compassion swirled dark and raw in her eyes,
although the Kindaru were far behind them now. It was
clear, brutally so, that both she and Traveller had collected
a new thread to twist into their lives.
    'How far ahead?' she asked.
    'Two days at the most.'
    'Then he might have found them by now, or they him.'
    'Yes, it's possible. If this Skathandi Captain has an army,
well, even a Toblakai can die.'
    'I know that,' she replied. Then added, 'Maybe.'
    'And there are but two of us, Samar Dev.'
    'If you'd rather cut away from this trail, Traveller, I will
not question your decision. But I need to find him.'
    He glanced away. 'His horse, yes.'
    'And other things.'
    Traveller considered for a time. He studied the broad,
churned-up track. A thousand or five thousand; when
people were moving in column it was always difficult to
tell. The carriage itself would be a thing worth seeing,
however, and the direction just happened to be the one he
needed to take. The prospect of being forced into a detour
was unacceptable. 'If your friend is smart, he won't do
anything overt. He'll hide, as best one can on these plains,
until he sees an advantage – though what that advantage
might be, against so many, I can't imagine.'
    'So you will stay with me for a while longer?'
    He nodded.
    'Then I should tell you some things, I think.'
    They guided their horses on to the track and rode at the
trot.
    Traveller waited for her to continue.
    The sun's heat reminded him of his homeland, the
savannahs of Dal Hon, although in this landscape there
were fewer flies and of the enormous herds of countless
kinds of beasts – and the ones that hunted them – there
was little sign. Here on the Lamatath there were bhederin,
a lone species of antelope, hares, wolves, coyotes, bears and
not much else. Plenty of hawks and falcon overhead, of
course – but this place did not teem as one might expect
and he wondered about that.
    Had the conflagration at Morn wiped everything out?
Left a blasted landscape slow to recover, into which only
a few species drifted down from the north? Or were the
K'Chain Che'Malle rabid hunters, indulging in a slaughterfest
that did not end until they themselves were extinct?
'What do you know of the Emperor of a Thousand
Deaths?'
    He glanced across at her. 'Not much. Only that he cannot
be killed.'
    'Right.'
    He waited.
    Locusts crawled across the dusty track amidst shredded
blades of grass, as if wondering who had beaten them to it.
Somewhere high above a raptor loosed a piercing cry, the
kind intended to panic a bird in flight.
    'His sword was forged by the power of the Crippled
God. Possessing levels of sorcery which the wielder can
reach, each time, only by dying – fighting and dying with
that weapon in his hands. The Emperor, a poor ravaged
creature, a Tiste Edur, knew that death was but an illusion.
He knew, I am certain of it, that he was cursed, so terribly
cursed. That sword had driven him mad.'
    Traveller imagined that such a weapon would indeed
drive its wielder insane. He could feel sweat on the palms of
his hands and shifted the reins into his right hand, settling
the other on his thigh. His mouth felt unaccountably dry.
    'He needed champions. Challengers. Sometimes they
would kill him. Sometimes more than once. But as he
came back again and again, ever stronger, in the end the
challenger would fall. And so it went.'
    'A terrible fate,' Traveller muttered.
    'Until one day some ships arrived. On board, yet more
champions from distant lands. Among them, Karsa Orlong,
the Toblakai. I happened to be with him, then.'
    'I would hear the story behind such a partnership.'
    'Maybe later. There was someone else, another champion.
His name was Icarium.'
    Traveller