The Crippled God (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #10) - Page 134/472

‘ I never tarnished her – not once! ’

‘ Tehol, have you seen that damned painting? ’

‘ Only once, dearest, since you went and burned the only copy. And – that’s right, you look well at this wagging finger – that artist has been depressed ever since —’

‘ More like running scared,’ suggested Bugg .

‘ Tehol, about this Imperial Standard —’

‘ Not again, Brys. I thought we were past all that. It’s lovely and most apt —’

‘ But who will rally under it? ’

‘ Brys, if an army must rally, one must presume it is in dire straits, yes? Well then, where better to hide than under the king’s bed? ’

‘ With all the other chickens ,’ added Bugg . ‘ Well now, sire, that’s clever .’

‘ Hold on ,’ said the queen , ‘ What did you mean by “ the only copy”?’

‘ Brys! Rally the troops! ’

Sweating under the bright sun, the king’s brother snorted – but how he missed those days now. The chaotic palace of King Tehol seemed very far away. He squinted up at the standard, and smiled.

Aranict arrived, reining in. ‘Prince, it pleases me to see you smiling. What so amuses you?’

‘Nothing, Atri-Ceda. That is, nothing of import. We have been found by the K’Chain Che’Malle – such a motley collection of allies we make, don’t you think? No matter. Ride with me. I would become acquainted with our new commanders.’

The woman frowned. ‘Are they not two common marines, sire? Anyone can acquire a title – it hardly makes them fit to demand the obedience of a prince, not to mention the queen of the Bolkando.’

‘Gesler and Stormy are far more than just Malazan marines, Aranict. And I am not referring to their new titles.’

‘I don’t recall meeting them.’

‘I will be pleased to introduce you, if you like.’

With the standard-bearer twenty paces ahead, they set out side by side, horse hoofs thumping as if on hollow ground. ‘Brys, do you hear that?’

‘We ride across an ancient lake bed,’ he said. ‘Often the lake remains, but only beneath the surface, and I think that must have been the case here, once. But now …’

‘The water’s gone.’

‘Yes. Gone.’

‘Might we all fall through?’

He shrugged.

‘So now even the ground under us is uncertain.’

‘I am sorry, Aranict. I have been neglecting you.’

‘Yes, you have.’

The flying wing was swinging in behind them, thirty Bluerose lancers in perfect formation. Brys thought about the soldier he’d lost – to love, no less . Henar Vygulf now marched with the Bonehunters. And if I have sent him to his death … I do not think he will curse my name . ‘I am not very good with grief, Aranict. When our parents died, well, without Tehol and Hull I don’t think I would have made it through. Kuru Qan once told me that grieving had nothing to do with the ones gone, and everything to do with the ones left behind. We feel the absences in our life like open wounds, and they never really close, no matter how many years pass.’

‘Do you grieve then for the Adjunct and the Bonehunters?’

‘It makes no sense, does it? She … well … she is a difficult woman to like. She views a human gesture as if it was some kind of surrender, a weakness. Her responsibilities consume her, because she will allow herself nothing else.’

‘It was said she had a lover,’ said Aranict. ‘She died saving Tavore’s life.’

‘Imagine the wound that made.’

‘No one wants to be un-liked, Brys. But if it must be so, one can strive for other things. Like respect. Or even fear. Choices fall away, without you even noticing, until there are very few left, and you realize that you are nothing but what you are.’

Brys thought about that, and then sighed. ‘I should have liked her. I should have found something – beyond her competence, beyond even her stubbornness. Something …’

‘Brys, what is it that you grieve over? Is it your own failure to find in Tavore the reasons you need for following her?’

He grunted. ‘I should have talked to you days ago.’

‘You were too busy saying nothing.’

‘I stayed close, as long as I could. Like a man dying of thirst – was she my salvation? Or just a mirage?’ He shook his head.

‘We won’t turn back, will we?’