A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

a
goat (which, of course, couldn't be done – but such a detail
would hardly stop the Toblakai, would it? And he'd win the
wager, too). No, it was clear that the encounter had been a
peaceful one – perhaps predicated on the Hounds' fleeing
at high speed, tails between their legs.
    Slipping down from Havok's back, Karsa walked over to
where sat Samar Dev beside the dung fire. Traveller had
moved off thirty or so paces, as it was his habit to attend to
the arrival of dusk in relative solitude.
    The Toblakai crouched down. 'Where is the tea?' he
asked.
    'There isn't any,' she said. 'We've run out.'
    Karsa nodded towards Traveller. 'This city he seeks. How
far away?'
    Samar Dev shrugged. 'Maybe a week, since we're going
rather slowly.'
    'Yes. I was forced to backtrack to find you.' He was silent
for a moment, looking into the flames, and then he said,
'He does not seem the reluctant type.'
    'No, you're right. He doesn't.'
    'I'm hungry.'
    'Cook something.'
    'I will.'
    She rubbed at her face, feeling the scrape of calluses
from her hands, and then tugged at the knots in her hair.
'Since meeting you,' she said, 'I have almost forgotten what
it is to be clean – oh, Letheras was all right, but we were
pretty much in a prison, so it doesn't really count. No, with
you it's just empty wastelands, blood-soaked sands, the
occasional scene of slaughter.'
    'You sought me out, witch,' he reminded her.
    'I delivered your horse.' She snorted. 'Since you two are
so clearly perfect for each other, it was a matter of righting
the cosmic balance. I had no choice.'
    'You just want me,' he said, 'yet whenever we are together,
you do nothing but second-guess everything. Surrender,
woman, and you can stop arguing with yourself. It has been
a long time since I spilled my seed into a woman, almost as
long as since you last felt the heat of a man.'
    She could have shot back, unleashed a flurry of
verbal quarrels that would, inevitably, all bounce off his
impervious barbarity. 'You'd be gentle as a desert bear, of
course. I'd probably never recover.'
    'There are sides of me, witch, that you have not seen,
yet.'
    She grunted.
    'You are ever suspicious of being surprised, aren't you?'
    A curious question. In fact, a damned tangle of a
question. She didn't like it. She didn't want to go near it.
'I was civilized, once. Content in a proper city, a city with
an underground sewer system, with Malazan aqueducts and
hot water from pipes. Hallways between enclosed gardens
and the front windows to channel cool air through the
house. Proper soap to keep clothes clean. Songbirds in
cages. Chilled wine and candied pastries.'
    'The birds sing of imprisonment, Samar Dev. The soap
is churned by indentured workers with bleached, blistered
hands and hacking coughs. Outside your cool house with
its pretty garden there are children left to wander in the
streets. Lepers are dragged to the edge of the city and every
step is cheered on by a hail of stones. People steal to eat
and when they are caught their hands are cut off. Your city
takes water from farms and plants wither and animals die.'
    She glared across at him. 'Nice way to turn the mood,
Karsa Orlong.'
    'There was a mood?'
    'Too subtle, was it?'
    He waved a dismissive hand. 'Speak your desires plain.'
    'I was doing just that, you brainless bhederin. Just a
little . . . comfort. That's all. Even the illusion would have
served.'
    Traveller returned to the fire. 'We are about to have a
guest,' he said.
    Samar Dev rose and searched round, but darkness was
fast swallowing the plain. She turned with a query on her
lips, and saw that Karsa had straightened and was looking
skyward, to the northeast. And there, in the deepening
blue, a dragon was gliding towards them.
    'Worse than moths,' Traveller muttered.
    'Are we about to be attacked?'
    He glanced at her, and shrugged.
    'Shouldn't we at least scatter or something?'
    Neither warrior replied to that, and after a moment
Samar Dev threw up her hands and sat down once more
beside the fire. No, she would not panic. Not for these
two abominations in her company, and not for a damned
dragon, either. Fine, let it be a single pass rather than
three – what was she, an ant? She picked up another piece
of dung and tossed it into the fire. Moths? Ah, I see. We
are a beacon, are we, a wilful abrogation of this wild, empty
land. Whatever. Flap flap on over, beastie, just don't expect
scintillating discourse.
    The enormous creature's wings thundered as the dragon
checked its