Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(111)

‘What is a child of the lowlands doing here amid the icefields?’ the ancient one repeated.

And Orman told him everything. Slowly, piece by piece, while he picked at the roasted bird. Including his shameful behaviour at the stream. The loss of his half-brother. All this Buri took in without making a sound. He started only once, when Orman described how he jammed Svalthbrul into the stones and Lotji took it.

When he finished, both were silent for a time. The fire snapped and crackled between them. Dawn’s light brightened the ice cave opening with a pink glow. Finally, Orman could stand the silence no longer and cleared his throat. ‘Will you not come, then? Lend your help? Your clan is sorely outnumbered. The invaders must number in the thousands.’

Buri raised his gaze from the fire. In the light of the flames, his great mane of hair and beard, so pale as to be colourless, now glowed orange and red. His eyes however held a deep amber radiance, like embers themselves. ‘No, little brother. I am gathering my strength.’

‘Gathering your— The enemy is upon us! Now is the time to act. Surely …’

But the ancient shook his head. He crossed his legs, rested his elbows on his knees. ‘These invaders, these pathetic seekers after gold and riches … they are not the true enemy. It is for others that I am preparing.’

‘Who—’

Buri silenced him with a raised hand. ‘What must be done is clear.’

And Orman believed he knew exactly what the ancient meant. He hung his head. ‘Yes.’

‘You know what you must do.’

‘Yes.’

‘You must return and challenge Lotji for possession of Svalthbrul.’

Orman, his head lowered, nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Very good.’ Buri rose smoothly, towered over Orman. ‘I will show you the swiftest descent.’

At the base of a looming cliff of ice, Orman waved to Buri, a nearly indistinguishable shape amid the cornices and curves of snow above. Then the ancient was gone. Nearby, a waterfall pounded the bare rocks and gravel. The stream wound into a forest of spruce and pine. Orman followed it.

Jogging down slope, only now did he wonder about Buri’s use of ‘little brother’. He decided the giant must have meant it affectionately. Perhaps for his dedication to young Jass.

And he felt it again. That strange tightness across his chest. That feeling of belonging that he knew when Jass had held out his hand. He realized then that it was for the sake of this feeling alone that he now scrambled down through the evergreen forest for Lotji.

* * *

The Lost brothers led Fisher and Jethiss north-east, round the forested north shores of the Sea of Gold. Having grown up in this region, Fisher was much surprised when their path brought them pushing through virgin forest to suddenly enter overgrown fields, or discover the rotting log remnants of abandoned homesteads. Some obviously dated from years long gone; others appeared to have been hacked from the woods only a few seasons ago. When he’d left to travel the world, this shore had been uninhabited. But then, that had been a long time ago.

On the third day, they emerged from a copse of mature ghost-white birch to see cleared fields, trampled and ragged, and a log homestead, sod-roofed. Coots reached the homestead first, and receiving no reply to his call pushed open the wooden door and went in. Almost immediately he came outside again and stood against the wall his arms crossed as if hugging himself.

‘What is it?’ Fisher asked.

‘Lowlander family,’ Coots answered, his voice faint. He dropped his gaze, let go a long breath. Fisher passed him. ‘You needn’t go in …’ the Iceblood called. Fisher ignored him.

Within, he found the corpses of two boys, both hacked to death by axes. On a simple bed nearby lay a woman he presumed was their mother, naked, beaten to death. She had been badly abused before being finally strangled. The dark of that tiny cabin closed in upon Fisher then and he backed away as if being physically pushed. Outside, in the cool air, he found that he could breathe once more. He raised his gaze to the sky for a time, blinking. She had been repeatedly raped while her own sons lay dying next to her … He shook his head as if to force the image from his mind.

‘Who was it?’ he finally asked, and it hurt to speak.

Coots shrugged. ‘Raiders.’ He motioned to the rearing peaks of the Salt range. ‘They’ll push north …’

Fisher felt his blood run cold. ‘We can’t let that happen.’ He moved to pass Coots, but the man caught his sleeve.

‘Those’re just stories, Fish. Tales we bloods tell when the fires die down and the Greathall darkens. There ain’t none of them Forkrul left – if there ever was.’

Fisher yanked his arm free. ‘No.’ He glanced away to the plume of clouds the highest peaks flew like banners. ‘I have been there, Coots. I’ve seen the caves. We can’t risk it.’ An old line came to him and he recited:

Abiding they wait in caverns of stone



Ruthless in innocence,



Children of Earth,



Bearers of justice



Sharper than swords.





Coots shot a glance to his brother, who stood cradling his jaw. He pinched his gold earring, rubbed it thoughtfully. ‘Well,’ he grudgingly allowed, ‘they won’t get through our cousins, will they?’