Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen 7)

‘The first Edur he killed,’ said Udinaas, ‘has the keys.’

Silchas Ruin had walked down the road. Barely visible in the mist, the Tiste Andii veered into something huge, winged, then took to the air. Seren glanced over at the row of slaves-none had seen that, she was relieved to note. ‘Very well,’ she said in answer to Udinaas, and she walked up to where Fear Sengar still stood near the dead Edur.

‘I must take the keys,’ she said, crouching beside the first fallen Edur.

‘Do not touch him,’ Fear said.

She looked up at him. ‘The keys-the chains-’

‘I will find them,’ he said.

Nodding, she straightened, then stepped back. Watched as he spoke a silent prayer, then settled onto his knees beside the body. He found the keys in a leather pouch tied to the warrior’s belt, a pouch that also contained a handful of polished stones. Fear took the keys in his left hand and held the stones in the palm of his right. ‘These,’ he said, ‘are from the Merude shore. Likely he collected them when but a child.’

‘Children grow up,’ Seren said. ‘Even straight trees spawn crooked branches.’

‘And what was flawed in this warrior?’ Fear demanded, glaring up at her. ‘He followed my brother, as did every other warrior of the tribes.’

‘Some eventually turned away, Fear.’ Like you.

‘What I have turned away from lies in the shadow of-what I am now turned towards, Acquitor. Does this challenge my loyalty towards the Tiste Edur? My own kind? No. That is something all of you forget, conveniently so, again and again. Understand me, Acquitor. I will hide if I must, but I will not kill my own people. We had the coin, we could have bought their freedom-’

‘Not Udinaas.’

He bared his teeth, said nothing.

Yes, Udinaas, the one man you dream of killing. If not for Silchas Ruin… ‘Fear Sengar,’ she said. ‘You have chosen to travel with us, and there can be no doubt-none at all-that Silchas Ruin commands this meagre party. Dislike his methods if you must, but he alone will see you through. You know this.’

The Hiroth warrior looked away, back down the road, blinking the water from his eyes. ‘And with each step, the cost of my quest becomes greater-an indebtedness you should well understand, Acquitor. The Letherii way of living, the burdens you can never escape. Nor purchase your way clear.’

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‘The first Edur he killed,’ said Udinaas, ‘has the keys.’

Silchas Ruin had walked down the road. Barely visible in the mist, the Tiste Andii veered into something huge, winged, then took to the air. Seren glanced over at the row of slaves-none had seen that, she was relieved to note. ‘Very well,’ she said in answer to Udinaas, and she walked up to where Fear Sengar still stood near the dead Edur.

‘I must take the keys,’ she said, crouching beside the first fallen Edur.

‘Do not touch him,’ Fear said.

She looked up at him. ‘The keys-the chains-’

‘I will find them,’ he said.

Nodding, she straightened, then stepped back. Watched as he spoke a silent prayer, then settled onto his knees beside the body. He found the keys in a leather pouch tied to the warrior’s belt, a pouch that also contained a handful of polished stones. Fear took the keys in his left hand and held the stones in the palm of his right. ‘These,’ he said, ‘are from the Merude shore. Likely he collected them when but a child.’

‘Children grow up,’ Seren said. ‘Even straight trees spawn crooked branches.’

‘And what was flawed in this warrior?’ Fear demanded, glaring up at her. ‘He followed my brother, as did every other warrior of the tribes.’

‘Some eventually turned away, Fear.’ Like you.

‘What I have turned away from lies in the shadow of-what I am now turned towards, Acquitor. Does this challenge my loyalty towards the Tiste Edur? My own kind? No. That is something all of you forget, conveniently so, again and again. Understand me, Acquitor. I will hide if I must, but I will not kill my own people. We had the coin, we could have bought their freedom-’

‘Not Udinaas.’

He bared his teeth, said nothing.

Yes, Udinaas, the one man you dream of killing. If not for Silchas Ruin… ‘Fear Sengar,’ she said. ‘You have chosen to travel with us, and there can be no doubt-none at all-that Silchas Ruin commands this meagre party. Dislike his methods if you must, but he alone will see you through. You know this.’

The Hiroth warrior looked away, back down the road, blinking the water from his eyes. ‘And with each step, the cost of my quest becomes greater-an indebtedness you should well understand, Acquitor. The Letherii way of living, the burdens you can never escape. Nor purchase your way clear.’

She reached out for the keys.

He set them into her hand, unwilling to meet her eyes.

We’re no different from those slaves. She hefted the weight of the jangling iron in her hand. Chained together. Yet… who holds the means of our release?

‘Where has he gone?’ Fear asked.

‘To hunt down the Letherii. I trust you do not object to that.’

‘No, but you should, Acquitor.’

I suppose I should at that. She set off to where waited the slaves.

A prisoner near Udinaas had crawled close to him, and Seren heard his whispered question: ‘That tall slayer-was that the White Crow? He was, wasn’t he? I have heard-’

‘You have heard nothing,’ Udinaas said, raising his arms as Seren approached. ‘The three-edged one,’ he said to her. ‘Yes, that one. Errant take us, you took your time.’

She worked the key until the first shackle clicked open. ‘You two were supposed to be stealing from a farm-not getting rounded up by slave-trackers.’

‘Trackers camped on the damned grounds-no-one was smiling on us that night.’

She opened the other shackle and Udinaas stepped out from the line, rubbing at the red weals round his wrists. Seren said, ‘Fear sought to dissuade Silchas-you know, if those two are any indication, it’s no wonder the Edur and the Andii fought ten thousand wars.’

Udinaas grunted as the two made their way to where stood Kettle. ‘Fear resents his loss of command,’ he said. That it is to a Tiste Andii just makes it worse. He’s still not convinced the betrayal was the other way round all those centuries back; that it was Scabandari who first drew the knife.’

Seren Pedac said nothing. As she moved in front of Kettle she looked down at the girl’s dirt-smeared face, the ancient eyes slowly, lifting to meet her own.

Kettle smiled. ‘I missed you.’

‘How badly were you used?’ Seren asked as she removed the large iron shackles.

‘I can walk. And the bleeding’s stopped. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

‘Probably.’ But this talk of rape was unwelcome-Seren had her own memories haunting her every waking moment. ‘There will be scars, Kettle.’