Toll the Hounds (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 8)

Horses shrilling (but then, they always did that when arriving), carriage slap-

ping down on to gritty mud in a chorus of outraged creaks, splinters and calam-COphony, slewing this way and that-and the sky was coming down in giant balls of mercury and there were dragons up there and wyval and Hood knew what else-

Chains sawing back and forth, to the sides and straight up, all emerging from the ghastliest wagon Glanno had ever seen-loaded with more bodies than seemed reasonable, much less possible.

So of course he froze up all the brakes-what else was he supposed to do? And then bodies were flying past. Sweetest Sufferance, curled up into a soft flouncy bouncy ball that landed bouncily and rolled and rolled. That snarling hulk Grun-tle, twisting in the air so that he could land on all fours- meow- and Faint, far less elegant for all her bountiferous beauty, going splat on her face all spread-eagled, silly girl. Amby and Jula flew past embraced like lovers, at least until the ground showed up and got between them. Reccanto Ilk fetched up beside Glanno, cracking the backrest of the bench.

‘You idiot! We ain’t tied ourselves! It was just dark and dark and nothing else and now you just go and drop us into-’

‘Wasn’t me, you clumsy pig!’

This argument didn’t survive the fullest comprehension of their surroundings.

Reccanto Ilk slowly sat up. ‘Holy shit.’

Glanno leapt to his feet. ‘Cartographer!’ But he’d forgotten about his splints. Yelping, he tottered, and then pitched forward on to the backs of the first two horses. They deftly stepped to either side so that he could fall a little more before getting tangled in all the crap down there, whereupon the horses eagerly moved back in an effort to crush him into the kind of pulp that could never again whip the reins.

Reccanto scrabbled to drag him back on to the bench. The splint bindings helped, although Glanno did plenty of shrieking in pain-at least he wasn’t being crushed. Moments later he fetched up again on the splintered bench.

A wretched dead-looking Jaghut was walking up to Cartographer, who, lashed to a wheel, had come to rest with his head down, eyeing the Jaghut’s muddy boots. ‘I had begun to wonder,’ the Jaghut said, ‘if you had become lost.’

Pushing Reccanto aside, Glanno worked his way round to witness this fateful meeting-oh yes, that had to be Hood himself. Why, a damned family reunione-bration!

Cartographer’s upside-down smile seemed to send a nearby rider’s horse into yet another panic, and the soldier swore impressively as he fought to quell the beast. ‘My Lord,’ Cartographer was saying, ‘we both know, surely, that what goes around comes around.’ And then he struggled feebly at his bindings. ‘And around,’ he added despondently.

Gruntle, who had staggered up to join them, now growled deep in his chest and then went to the carriage door, thumping it with a fist. ‘Master Quell!’

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Horses shrilling (but then, they always did that when arriving), carriage slap-

ping down on to gritty mud in a chorus of outraged creaks, splinters and calam-COphony, slewing this way and that-and the sky was coming down in giant balls of mercury and there were dragons up there and wyval and Hood knew what else-

Chains sawing back and forth, to the sides and straight up, all emerging from the ghastliest wagon Glanno had ever seen-loaded with more bodies than seemed reasonable, much less possible.

So of course he froze up all the brakes-what else was he supposed to do? And then bodies were flying past. Sweetest Sufferance, curled up into a soft flouncy bouncy ball that landed bouncily and rolled and rolled. That snarling hulk Grun-tle, twisting in the air so that he could land on all fours- meow- and Faint, far less elegant for all her bountiferous beauty, going splat on her face all spread-eagled, silly girl. Amby and Jula flew past embraced like lovers, at least until the ground showed up and got between them. Reccanto Ilk fetched up beside Glanno, cracking the backrest of the bench.

‘You idiot! We ain’t tied ourselves! It was just dark and dark and nothing else and now you just go and drop us into-’

‘Wasn’t me, you clumsy pig!’

This argument didn’t survive the fullest comprehension of their surroundings.

Reccanto Ilk slowly sat up. ‘Holy shit.’

Glanno leapt to his feet. ‘Cartographer!’ But he’d forgotten about his splints. Yelping, he tottered, and then pitched forward on to the backs of the first two horses. They deftly stepped to either side so that he could fall a little more before getting tangled in all the crap down there, whereupon the horses eagerly moved back in an effort to crush him into the kind of pulp that could never again whip the reins.

Reccanto scrabbled to drag him back on to the bench. The splint bindings helped, although Glanno did plenty of shrieking in pain-at least he wasn’t being crushed. Moments later he fetched up again on the splintered bench.

A wretched dead-looking Jaghut was walking up to Cartographer, who, lashed to a wheel, had come to rest with his head down, eyeing the Jaghut’s muddy boots. ‘I had begun to wonder,’ the Jaghut said, ‘if you had become lost.’

Pushing Reccanto aside, Glanno worked his way round to witness this fateful meeting-oh yes, that had to be Hood himself. Why, a damned family reunione-bration!

Cartographer’s upside-down smile seemed to send a nearby rider’s horse into yet another panic, and the soldier swore impressively as he fought to quell the beast. ‘My Lord,’ Cartographer was saying, ‘we both know, surely, that what goes around comes around.’ And then he struggled feebly at his bindings. ‘And around,’ he added despondently.

Gruntle, who had staggered up to join them, now growled deep in his chest and then went to the carriage door, thumping it with a fist. ‘Master Quell!’

Hood turned to the warrior. ‘That will not be necessary, Treach-spawn. My sole requirement was that you arrive here. Now, you need only leave once more. Cartographer will guide you.’

Sweetest Sufferance was dragging a dazed Faint back up on to the carriage, dis-playing surprising strength, although the effort made her eyes bulge alarmingly, Glanno nudged Reccanto and nodded towards Sweetest. ‘That face remind you of anything?’

Reccanto squinted, and then sniggered.

‘You’re both dead,’ she hissed.

Amby and Jula bobbed into view to either side of her, grinning through smears of mud.

Inside the carriage, Mappo started to open the door but Quell snapped out a shaky hand to stay him. ‘Gods, don’t do that!’

Precious Thimble had curled up on the floor at their feet, rocking and moaning.

‘What awaits us outside?’ the Trell asked.

Quell shook his head. He was bone white, face glistening with sweat. ‘I should’ve guessed. The way that map on the road narrowed at the far end. Oh, we’ve been used! Duped! Gods, I think I’m going to be sick-’

‘Damned Trygalle,’ muttered Toc. More confused than he had ever been by this sudden, inexplicable arrival. How did they manage to arrive here?. And then he saw Gruntle. ‘Gods below, it’s you!’

Someone was being loudly sick inside the carriage.

Gruntle stared up at Toc, and then frowned.

Ah, I guess I don’t look like Anaster any more. ‘We shared-’

‘Herald,’ said Hood. ‘It is time.’

Toc scowled, and then scratched at his eye socket. ‘What? You’re sending me with them?’

‘In a manner of speaking.’