The Crippled God

me?
    ‘The day I set foot on that grassy sward, the day I shoo the first mob of flies from my lips and nostrils and eyes, why, that’s the day all will be right with the world once again. No, don’t leave me to die here, Dal Hon. It ain’t fair.’
    She coughed, squinted ahead. Something of a mess up there, those two rises, the valley sprawled in between. Holes in the ground. Craters? The slopes seemed to be swarming. She blinked, wondering if she was imagining that. Deprivation played nasty games, after all. Swarming – it was swarming all right. Rats? No. ‘Orthen.’
    A field of battle. She caught the gleam of picked bones, took note of ashy mounds on the far ridge, from pyres, no doubt. Sound practice, burning the dead, she knew. Kept disease to a minimum. She kicked her horse into a heavy canter. ‘I know, I know, not for long, sweetie.’
    The dust devils whirled out past her now, spinning towards a ridge overlooking the valley.
    Masan Gilani rode after them, to the top of the crest. There she reined in, scanning the wreckage filling the valley, and then the gaping entrenchments slashing across the opposite ridge, beyond which rose the humps of burned bones. Dread slowly seeped in, stealing all the day’s heat from her bones.
    The T’lan Imass of the Unbound solidified in a rough line on her right, also studying the scene. Their sudden appearance after so many days of dust was strangely comforting to Masan Gilani. She’d only had her horse for company for far too long now. ‘Not that I’ll kiss any of you,’ she said.
    Heads turned to regard her. None spoke.
    Thank Hood for that . ‘My horse is dying,’ she announced. ‘And whatever happened here happened to my Bonehunters and it doesn’t look good. So,’ she added, now glaring at the five undead warriors, ‘if you have any good news to tell me, or, gods below, any explanation at all, I really might kiss you.’
    The one named Beroke said, ‘We can answer your horse’s plight, human.’
    ‘Good,’ she snapped, dismounting. ‘Get to it. And a little water and grub for yours truly wouldn’t go amiss either. I won’t be eating orthen any more, just so you know. Who ever thought crossing a lizard with a rat was a good idea?’
    One of the other T’lan Imass stepped out from the line. She couldn’t recall this one’s name, but it was bigger than the others and looked to becomposed of body parts from three, maybe four individuals. ‘K’Chain Nah’ruk,’ it said in a low voice. ‘A battle and a harvest.’
    ‘Harvest?’
    The creature pointed at the distant mounds. ‘They butchered. They fed upon their fallen enemy.’
    Masan Gilani shivered. ‘Cannibals?’
    ‘The Nah’ruk are not human.’
    ‘That makes a difference? To me it’s cannibalism. Only white-skinned barbarians from the Fenn Mountains sink so low as to eat other people. Or so I hear.’
    ‘They did not complete their feeding,’ said the oversized T’lan Imass.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘See the newborn mountain to the north?’
    ‘No,’ she drawled, ‘never noticed it.’
    They all studied her again.
    Sighing, Masan said, ‘Aye, the mountain. The storm.’
    ‘Another battle,’ said Beroke. ‘An Azath was born. From this, we conclude that the Nah’ruk were defeated.’
    ‘Oh? We hit them a second time? Good.’
    ‘K’Chain Che’Malle,’ said Beroke. ‘Civil war, Masan Gilani.’ The warrior gestured with a twisted arm. ‘Your army … I do not think they all died. Your commander—’
    ‘Tavore’s alive then?’
    ‘Her sword is.’
    Her sword. Oh. That Otataral blade . ‘Can I send you ahead? Can you find a trail, if there is one?’
    ‘Thenik will scout the path before us,’ Beroke said. ‘It is a risk. Strangers would not welcome us.’
    ‘I can’t imagine why.’
    Another protracted look. Then Beroke said, ‘If our enemies should find us, Masan Gilani, before the moment of our final resurrection, then all we aspire to win will be lost.’
    ‘Win? Win what?’
    ‘Why, our Master’s release.’
    She thought about asking a few more questions, decided against it. Gods below, you’re not who I was sent to find, are you? Still, you wanted to find us, didn’t you? Sinter, I wish you were here, to explain what’s going on. But my gut’s telling me bad things. Your Master? No, don’t tell me . ‘All right. Let’s ride clear of this, and then you feed us like you promised. But decent food, right? I’m civilized. Dal Honese, Malazan