A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

purged – guilt, shame, regrets and grief,
they all swirled about these figures like a noxious cloud.
    'If getting killed lands me with you lot,' he said, 'I'd
rather do without.'
    The one named Iskar Jarak leaned wearily over the large
Seven Cities saddle horn. 'I sympathize, truly. Tell me, do
you think we've all earned our rest?'
    'Don't you?'
    'You have lost all your followers.'
    'I have.' Gruntle saw that Toc Anaster was now watching
him, fixed, sharp as a dagger point.
    'They are not here.'
    He frowned at Iskar Jarak. 'And they should be, I suppose?'
    Brukhalian finally spoke, 'It is just that. We are no
longer so sure.'
    'Stay out of Hood's realm,' said Toc Anaster. 'The gate
is . . . closed.'
    Master Quell started. 'Closed? But that's ridiculous!
Does Hood now turn the dead away?'
    Toc's single eye held on Gruntle. 'The borders are sealed
to the living. There will be sentinels. Patrols. Intrusions
will not be tolerated. Where we march you can't go. Not
now, perhaps never. Stay away, until the choice is taken
from you. Stay away.'
    And Gruntle saw then, finally, the anguish that
gripped Toc Anaster, the bone-deep fear and dread. He
saw how the man's warning was in truth a cry to a friend,
from one already lost, already doomed. Save yourself. Just
do that, and it will all be worth it – all we must do, the war
we must seek. Damn you, Gruntle, give all this meaning.
    Quell must have sensed something of these fierce
undercurrents, for he then bowed to the three riders. 'I
shall deliver your message. To all the pilots of the Trygalle
Trade Guild.'
    The ground seemed to shift uneasily beneath Gruntle's
boots.
    'And now you had better leave,' said Brukhalian.
    The hill groaned – and what Gruntle had imagined as
some internal vertigo was now revealed as a real quaking
of the earth.
    Master Quell's eyes were wide and he held his hands out
to the sides to stay balanced.
    At the far end of the range of hills, a massive eruption
thundered, lifting earth and stones skyward. From the
ruptured mound something rose, clawing free, sinuous
neck and gaping, snapping jaws, wings spreading wide—
    The hill shivered beneath them.
    The three riders had wheeled their horses and were now
barrelling down the slope.
    'Quell!'
    'A moment, damn you!'
    Another hill exploded.
    Damned barrows all right! Holding dead dragons! 'Hurry—'
    'Be quiet!'
    The portal that split open was ragged, edges rippling as
if caught in a storm.
    The hill to their right burst its flanks. A massive wedge-shaped
head scythed in their direction, gleaming bone and
shreds of desiccated skin—
    'Quell!'
    'Go! I need to—'
    The dragon heaved up from cascading earth, forelimbs
tearing into the ground. The leviathan was coming for
them.
    No – it's coming for the portal – Gruntle grasped Master
Quell and dragged him towards the rent. The mage
struggled, shrieking – but whatever he sought to say was
lost in the deafening hiss from the dragon as it lurched
forward. The head snapped closer, jaws wide – and Gruntle,
with Quell in his arms, threw himself back, plunging into
the portal—
    They emerged at twice the height of a man above the
sandy beach, plummeting downward to thump heavily in
a tangle of limbs.
    Shouts from the others—
    As the undead dragon tore through the rent with a piercing
cry of triumph, head, neck, forelimbs and shoulders,
then one wing cracked out, spreading wide in an enormous
torn sail shedding dirt. The second wing whipped into
view—
    Master Quell was screaming, weaving frantic words of
power, panic driving his voice ever higher.
    The monstrosity shivered out like an unholy birth,
lunged skyward above the island. Stones rained down in
clouds. As the tattered tip of its long tail slithered free, the
rent snapped shut.
    Lying half in the water, half on hard-packed sand,
Gruntle stared up as the creature winged away, still
shedding dust.
    Shareholder Faint arrived, falling to her knees beside
them. She was glaring at Master Quell who was slowly
sitting up, a stunned look on his face.
    'You damned fool,' she snarled, 'why didn't you throw a
damned harness on that thing? We just lost our way off this
damned island!'
    Gruntle stared at her. Insane. They are all insane.
    There was a tension in his stance that she had not
seen before. He faced east, across the vast sweeping
landscape of the Dwelling Plain. Samar Dev gave the
tea another stir then hooked the pot off the coals and
set it to one side. She shot Karsa Orlong a look, but