A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

speed a hundred paces away, and then it settled
almost noiselessly on to the ground. Watching it, Samar
Dev's eyes narrowed. 'That thing's not even alive.'
    'No,' Karsa and Traveller said in unison.
    'Meaning,' she continued, 'it shouldn't be here.'
    'That is true,' Traveller said.
    In the gloom the dragon seemed to regard them for a
moment, and then, in a blurring dissolution, the creature sembled , until they saw a tall, gaunt figure of indeterminate
gender. Grey as cobwebs and dust, pallid hair long and ropy
with filth, wearing the remnants of a long chain hauberk,
unbelted. An empty, splintered scabbard hung from a baldric
beneath the right arm. Leggings of some kind of thick
hide, scaled and the hue of forest loam, reached down to
grey leather boots that rose to just below the knees.
    No light was reflected from the pits of its eyes. It approached
with peculiar caution, like a wild animal, and
halted at the very edge of the firelight. Whereupon it lifted
both hands, brought them together into a peak before its
face, and bowed.
    In the native tongue of Ugari, it said, 'Witch, I greet
you.'
    Samar Dev rose, shocked, baffled. Was it some strange
kind of courtesy, to address her first? Was this thing in
the habit of ignoring ascendants as if they were nothing
more than bodyguards? And from her two formidable
companions, not a sound.
    'And I greet you in return,' she managed after a
moment.
    'I am Tulas Shorn,' it said. 'I scarce recall when I last
walked this realm, if I ever have. The very nature of my
demise is lost to me, which, as you might imagine, is proving
disconcerting.'
    'So it would, Tulas Shorn. I am Samar Dev—'
    'Yes, the one who negotiates with spirits, with the sleeping
selves of stream and rock, crossroads and sacred paths.
Priestess of Burn—'
    'That title is in error, Tulas Shorn—'
    'Is it? You are a witch, are you not?'
    'Yes, but—'
    'You do not reach into warrens, and so force alien power
into this world. Your congress is with the earth, the sky,
water and stone. You are a priestess of Burn, chosen among
those of whom she dreams, as are others, but you, Samar
Dev, she dreams of often.'
    'How would you know that?'
    Tulas Shorn hesitated, and then said, 'There is death in
dreaming.'
    'You are Tiste Edur,' said Karsa Orlong, and, baring his
teeth, he reached for his sword.
    'More than that,' said Traveller, 'one of Hood's own.'
    Samar Dev spun to her two companions. 'Oh, really!
Look at you two! Not killed anything in weeks – how can
you bear it? Planning on chopping it into tiny pieces, are
you? Well, why not fight for the privilege first?'
    Traveller's eyes widened slightly at her outburst.
    Karsa's humourless smile broadened. 'Ask it what it
wants, then, witch.'
    'The day I start taking orders from you, Karsa Orlong, I
will do just that.'
    Tulas Shorn had taken a step back. 'It seems I am not
welcome here, and so I shall leave.'
    But Samar Dev's back was up, and she said, 'I welcome
you, Tulas Shorn, even if these ones do not. If they decide
to attack you, I will stand in their way. I offer you all the
rights of a guest – it's my damned fire, after all, and if these
two idiots don't like it they can make their own, preferably
a league or two away.'
    'You are right,' Traveller said. 'I apologize. Be welcome,
then, Tulas Shorn.'
    Karsa shrugged. 'I suppose,' he said, 'I've killed enough
Edur. Besides, this one's already dead. I still want to know
what it wants.'
    Tulas Shorn edged in warily – a caution that seemed
peculiarly out of place in a corpse, especially one that
could veer into a dragon at any moment. 'I have no urgent
motivations, Tartheno Toblakai. I have known solitude
for too long and would ease the burden of being my only
company.'
    'Then join us,' Karsa said, returning to crouch at the fire.
'After all,' he added, 'perhaps one day I too will tire of my
own company.'
    'Not any time soon, I would wager,' said the Tiste Edur.
    Traveller snorted a laugh, and then looked shocked at
himself.
    Samar Dev settled down once more, thinking of Shorn's
words. 'There is death in dreaming .' Well, she supposed, there
would be at that. Then why did she feel so . . . rattled? What were you telling me, Tulas Shorn?
    'Hood has released you?' Traveller asked. 'Or was he
careless?'
    'Careless?' The Tiste Edur seemed to consider the word.
'No, I do not think that. Rather, an opportunity presented
itself to me. I chose not to waste it.'
    'So now,' said Traveller, eyes fixed on the withered