Authors: Steven Erikson
And here I thought I was dangerous.
‘Sinter,’ she said under her breath, ‘you have lost your mind.’
Her sister heard her. ‘This one is far on the inside, Kiss, way farther in than anyone we know.’
‘What of it?’
Sinter did not reply. Masan Gilani had drawn too close for any exchange now, no matter how muted.
Her elongated eyes flitted between the sisters, curious, and then amused.
Bitch. I hate her already.
‘Southerners,’ she said. ‘I’ve always liked southerners. Your sweat smells of the jungle. And you’re never as gangly and awkward as us northerners. Did you know, I have to special-order all my armour and clothes—I’m no standard fit anywhere, except maybe among the Fenn and that’s no good because they’re extinct.’
Kisswhere snorted. ‘You ain’t that big,’ and then she looked away, as she realized how petty that sounded.
But Gilani’s smile had simply broadened. ‘The only real problem with you southerners is that you’re barely passable on horseback. I’d not count on you to ride hard as me, ever. So it’s a good thing you’re marines. Me, I could be either and to be honest, I’d have jumped over to the scouts long ago—’
‘So why didn’t you?’ Kisswhere asked.
She shrugged. ‘Scouting’s boring. Besides, I’m not interested in always being the one delivering bad news.’
‘Expecting bad news?’
‘Always.’ And her teeth gleamed.
Kisswhere turned away. She was done with this conversation. Sinter was welcome to it.
‘So,’ Masan Gilani said after a moment, ‘Sergeant Sinter. Rumour has it you’re a natural, a talent. Tell me if that’s true or not, since it’s the only thing that brought me out here—the chance that you are, I mean. If you’re not, then this meeting is over.’
‘Listen to her!’ Kisswhere sneered. ‘The Empress commands!’
Masan blinked. ‘You still here? Thought you went to pick flowers.’
Kisswhere reached for her knife but Sinter’s hand snapped out and closed on her wrist. Hissing, Kisswhere yielded, but her eyes remained fixed on Gilani’s.
‘Oh, it’s all so amusing to you, isn’t it?’
‘Kisswhere, yes? That’s your name? I’ll say this once. I don’t know what’s got the stoat in your breeches so riled, since as far as I know I ain’t never done anything to cross you. Leaves me no choice but to assume it’s just some kind of bizarre bigotry—what happened, lose a lover to a willowy northerner? Well, it wasn’t me. So, why not drop the hackles? Here, will this help?’ And she drew out a Dal Honese wineskin. ‘Not wild grape from our homeland, alas—’
‘It ain’t that rice piss from Lether, is it?’
‘No. It’s Bluerose—an Andiian brew, originally, or so the trader claimed.’ She shrugged and held out the skin. ‘It’s drinkable enough.’
Kisswhere accepted the skin. She knew overtures when they arrived, and she knew that Masan had given her a way through without too much damage to her pride, so it’d be stupid not to take that path. She tugged loose the gum stopper and took a mouthful. Swallowed and then gasped. ‘That’ll do,’ she said in a suddenly husky voice.
Sinter finally spoke: ‘Everyone’s claws retracted? Good. Masan, you want to know if I’m a talent. Well, not in the way of Dal Honese witches. But I’ve got something, I suppose.’
‘All right. So what’s that “something” telling you?’
Sinter hesitated, and then reached out to intercept the wineskin. She took two
deep draughts. ‘Aye, you’re a northerner and we’re not, but we’re all still Dal Honese. So we understand each other, and when I say I’m going to give you something I don’t need to add that I expect something back.’
Masan Gilani laughed, but it was not a mocking laugh. Not quite. ‘You just did.’
‘You been a soldier longer than us,’ Sinter countered, ‘so I was just reminding you of the ways you’ve maybe forgotten, or at least not used in a while.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘I get senses of things about to happen, or maybe could happen—if we don’t do something to make sure they don’t.’
‘You’re a seer.’
But Sinter shook her head. ‘Not so clear as that.’
‘What is about to happen to us, Sergeant?’
‘We’re about to be abandoned.’
Kisswhere joined Masan Gilani in regarding Sinter with alarm. What was all this? ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘what does that mean? Abandoned? By who? Do you mean just us? Or the Bonehunters?’
‘Yes,’ answered Sinter. ‘Bonehunters. All of us, the Adjunct included.’
Masan Gilani was frowning. ‘You’re talking about the Burned Tears? The Perish? Or the Letherii escort?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe all of them.’
‘So wherever we end up,’ Masan said slowly, ‘we’ll be fighting on our own. No one guarding our backs, no one on our flanks. Like that?’
‘I think so.’
Masan rubbed at her neck. When Kisswhere offered her the skin she shook her head. ‘Hard to know, Sinter, how much shit should be freezing with that, since nobody has a clue about who we’ll be fighting. What if it’s some noseplug savages cowering behind a bamboo palisade throwing rocks at us? We’d hardly need help knocking on that door, would we?’
‘But you know we’re not heading for anything so easy,’ Sinter said.
Masan’s lovely eyes narrowed. ‘This is what you want back from me? You think I’ve got my ear against the Adjunct’s tent?’
‘I know you know more than we do.’
‘And if I do? What difference would it make to you?’
Kisswhere’s breath caught as she saw her sister’s hands clench into fists at her sides. ‘I need a reason, Masan Gilani. I need to know it’s all worth it.’
‘And you think what little I know can give you that? You must be desperate—’
‘Yes! I am!’
‘Why?’
Sinter’s mouth shut, her jaw setting.
Masan Gilani looked over at Kisswhere, as if to ask:
What’s her problem here? What’s so hard to say?
But Kisswhere had no answers. Well, not satisfying ones. ‘My sister,’ she said, ‘is a very loyal person. But she holds that loyalty in highest regard. She’ll give it, I mean—’
‘But,’ cut in Masan Gilani, ‘whatever or whoever she’s giving it to had better be worthy of it. Right. I think I’m beginning to understand this. Only, Kisswhere, you should look to your own feelings about that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you sounded pretty bitter right there. As if loyalty is a curse and not one you want any part of. I’d wager your sister dragged you here as much to convince you of something as to convince me. Sinter, would that be a good guess?’
‘That’s between me and her,’ Sinter replied.
Kisswhere glared at her sister.
‘All right,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘I’ll give you what little I know. What Ebron and Bottle and Deadsmell and Widdershins have put together. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t. That’s for you to decide. Here’s what we think.’ She paused, reached for the skin.
Kisswhere handed it to her.
Masan drank, then squatted before them—taking the pose of the teller of tales, one they knew well—and both sisters followed suit.
‘He didn’t ask for it. But he’s been making trouble ever since. Quick Ben met him face to face. So, we worked out, did that Meckros weaponsmith, Withal. He’s poison and he knows it and he can’t help it, because he doesn’t belong here. There are pieces of him scattered over half the world, but the biggest one is sitting in this place called Kolanse—and it’s being . . . used.’
‘We’re going to kill the Crippled God.’
Kisswhere shot her sister a wild look. ‘But who’d want to stop us doing that?’
Sinter shook her head. Her face was wretched with confusion.
Masan was eyeing them and when she spoke her voice was flat, ‘You jumped the wrong way, Sinter, like a one-eyed mongoose.’ She drank again, sloshed the skin and then scowled. ‘Should’ve brought two. We don’t think we’re off to kill the Chained One. In fact, it’s those chains we’re after. Well, the Adjunct, I mean. What she’s after.’ She lifted her head and fixed on Sinter’s eyes, and then Kisswhere’s. ‘We’re going to set the bastard free.’
Kisswhere barked a savage laugh. ‘No wonder they’ll all abandon us! And I’m the first in line to join them!’
‘Be quiet,’ Sinter said through the hands she’d lifted to her face. She was trembling, no, shuddering, and Kisswhere saw the glitter of tears trickle to the heels of her sister’s palms.
Masan Gilani’s face was grave, patient.
Kisswhere rounded on Sinter. ‘You cannot! No! This is impossible! What if they’re wrong? They must be—even the Adjunct’s not that stupid! Every god and ascendant in the world will be coming against us, never mind those idiots in Kolanse! She’s lost her mind! Our commander’s insane and there’s no damned law anywhere says we have to follow her!’
Sinter drew a deep breath and then lowered her hands. Something solid filled her face, as if implacable stone was replacing the soft tissues beneath her onyx
skin. The bleakness drained from her eyes as they settled on Kisswhere. ‘It will do,’ she said. ‘I think,’ she added, ‘nothing else would have.’
‘What—’
‘It is just, sister.
Just.
’
‘They’ll all turn on us,’ Kisswhere retorted. ‘You said so yourself—’
‘If we do nothing, yes. They will turn on us. And what little chance we had to succeed will go with them. We need to change their minds.’
‘How?’ asked Masan Gilani.
‘I will tell you how,’ said Sinter. ‘And it begins with you, Kisswhere.’
‘I didn’t say I was going to help—’
‘You’re going to desert.’
‘Wha—what?’
‘That’s how this starts. It’s the only way. Now, it’s what you want and don’t tell me any different. You’re deserting the Bonehunters, and you’re doing it tonight—on the fastest horse Masan Gilani can find you.’
But Masan Gilani held up a staying hand. ‘Hold on. I need to talk this over with—’
‘Of course,’ cut in Sinter, ‘but it changes nothing. Now, you need to hear the rest, because I need you to do the same—’
‘Desert? Me?’
Sinter nodded. ‘But you’ll ride in a different direction, Masan Gilani. Different from Kisswhere. With luck, you’ll both return.’
‘And get hanged? No thanks, sister—’
‘You won’t. The Adjunct is cold iron—the coldest there ever was. She’ll work it out, fast as lightning, she’ll work it out.’
‘Then why don’t we just go tell her?’ asked Masan Gilani. ‘We figured it all out but there’s a problem, only you got an idea on how to fix it.’
Sinter smiled, and it was a smile that would have fitted well on the Adjunct’s own face. ‘I will do just that . . . once you two are gone.’
‘She might just chase us down anyway.’
‘She won’t. I said she’s quick.’
‘So why wait until we leave?’
Sinter rubbed at her face, wiping away the last of the tears. ‘You don’t get it. She’s locked in a room, a prison of her own making. In there, she hears nothing, sees nothing. In there, she is absolutely alone. And holding on with white knuckles. It’s her burden and she won’t dump it on anyone else, not even her Fists, not even on her High Mage—though he’s probably worked it out by now. She’s put herself between us and the truth—but it’s killing her.’
‘So,’ said Masan Gilani, ‘you got to show her she ain’t alone, and that we’re not all fools, that maybe we’re ready for that truth. We not only worked it out, we’re with her. There to help, whether she asks for it or not.’
‘That’s it,’ said Sinter.
Masan Gilani sighed, and then flashed Kisswhere a grin. ‘You won’t surprise anyone. Me, that’s a different story.’
‘The Adjunct will hint something to put your reputation square,’ said Sinter. ‘Otherwise, you going might tip the balance for a whole mass of wavering soldiers in the ranks. Kisswhere, well, sister, nobody will be much surprised by you, will they?’
‘Thank you. So long as people understand I’m no coward—’
Masan Gilani grunted, ‘But they’ll see it that way. Nothing you can do about it, either, Kisswhere. We’re marching to a war, and you went and ran off. Me too. So Sinter and the Adjunct work it out so it sounds like I was sent on some kind of mission—’
‘Which is true,’ cut in Sinter.
‘Which helps, aye. Thing is, people already thinking of maybe deserting might just take it as the perfect push. That’s the risk that the Adjunct might find unacceptable, no matter what you say to her, Sinter.’
‘I’m no coward,’ Kisswhere repeated. ‘I’m just not one for this whole family thing. Armies ain’t families, no matter how many times you try to tell me different. It’s rubbish. It’s the lie commanders and kings need so they always got us ready to do shit for them.’
‘Right,’ snapped Masan Gilani, ‘and I guess in that snarly jungle where you grew up you never heard any stories about what happens when armies mutiny. Kill their commanders. Depose their country’s ruler. Take over—’
‘What’s that got to do with the whole “we’re family” business?’
‘I’m saying some people run things and the rest should just stay out of it. That’s all. Just like in a family. Somebody’s in charge, not everybody. Usurpers never been anything better, or even different, from whoever they killed. Usually, they make it worse. That whole “family” thing, it’s about fighting to survive. You stand fast for kin, not strangers. Don’t you get that?’