Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(124)

Gleeda glared her bloody rage. Then her gaze went to the blade lying on the naked gravel bed of the wash. It gleamed there like glowing ivory. ‘You’re … him,’ she half mouthed. ‘That fella.’ She backed away while squeezing her mangled hand. ‘Whiteblade …’

Kyle gestured them off with the crossbow. The three stumbled back across the creek. He picked up the blade and carefully resheathed it then edged away, weapon raised until he entered the woods. He jogged on for a time. Once he’d gone far enough he shot off the bolt and slammed the weapon against a tree to break it and threw it away.

Three days later, in a valley far higher above the dry prairie plateau, he knelt at a pond of run-off next to humps of shadowed snow. Beneath the snow rested a layer of deep sapphire ice thicker than his arm. It crackled and almost seemed to steam in the heat of the gathering spring.

He was kneeling to scoop up the frigid ice-water when a voice spoke, close and gruff: ‘You are bold.’

He held out his arms, turned, and was quite startled to find a near-giant standing directly behind him. The man must have possessed a good full third again in height over Kyle, though he knew he wasn’t all that tall to begin with. The fellow wore thick leathers and possessed a wild mane of mussed brown hair tied up with leather strips, and an equally wide and bushy beard that touched his chest. A sword hung on one hip, a long-hafted axe at the other. The fellow regarded him from within his nest of hair with something like an eager grin, as if hoping Kyle would go for his sword. He kept his arms wide. ‘I’m just passing through.’

The grin broadened on the man’s ruddy features and he scratched his scalp beneath his bunched and matted hair. ‘You pass through to what? To peak? You’ll not like it there, I think.’

‘I’m looking for someone.’

The expressive brows rose. ‘Oh-ho! Looking for someone! You have friends here, yes?’

‘Yes, in fact I might.’

The giant slapped Kyle’s side, nearly sending him tumbling into the pond. ‘Ho! You are funny little man! I give you chance. You go south now. Don’t come back.’

Kyle rubbed his ribs. ‘Do you know a man named Stalker? Badlands? Coots?’

The fellow dropped his grin. He edged backwards from Kyle. A hand went to the bearded axe at his side. ‘The Losts? Yes, I know.’

Losts? Kyle wondered. Well, that made sense. They called themselves the Lost Army. ‘Well … they named me Lost as well.’

‘Did they?’ the man rumbled. He threw his arms wide. ‘Cousin!’ He wrapped Kyle in a crushing hug and lifted him from the ground. Only when he set him down again could Kyle breathe once more. He leaned over, hands on knees, sucking in air.

‘I am Cull Heel!’ the fellow announced, his voice booming over the valley. ‘Come! You go with me to Greathall!’

Hardly able to talk, Kyle nodded. ‘Thank you, yes,’ he gasped. ‘Thank you.’

Cull set off upland. Kyle hurried after; the fellow set a fast pace with his great strides. ‘I know lowland ways,’ he was saying. ‘I travel. Sail as pirate. Work as mercenary. Much fighting, little coin. Wife not happy.’

‘I see.’

‘You?’

‘Oh – I was a mercenary as well. For a time.’

‘Same as Losts. They go too, I hear. They come back.’

It took some time for Kyle to realize that he’d been asked a question. ‘So they said.’

Cull grunted his understanding. ‘We go but we come back. Always. Cannot escape.’

‘Escape?’

By way of answer, the big fellow opened wide his arms as if to embrace the entire valley. ‘The land. The Holdings. We are one.’

‘Ah. I see.’

They climbed steeply for the rest of the day. Towards evening, Kyle was surprised by a shadowy figure awaiting them in the woods. Cull walked on, giving no clue that he’d seen the stranger. When they were quite close, Kyle cleared his throat and gestured ahead. ‘Someone’s there.’

Cull bunched his thick brows as if vexed. ‘Yes?’

‘Oh – so, a friend?’

‘No. No friend,’ the man answered darkly.

Closer, Kyle paused as he saw how the black trunks of the trees shone through the outline. Some sort of shade, or revenant. Cull walked on. He passed quite near to the tall wavering shape with its frayed tattered leathers and long unkempt hair, yet made no effort to acknowledge its presence.

‘There are trespassers on the Holding,’ the shape called after them.

Cull waved the back of his hand at the outline. ‘Yes, yes.’

‘You must deal with them!’

‘Certainly.’

As they walked on, Kyle following Cull who did not slow, the last thing the shade said was a murmured, ‘We are ashamed.’

Kyle decided not to ask what all that had been about.

They only stopped when Cull led him to what was an obvious campsite, complete with a lean-to of cut boughs and a ring of stones. The big fellow set to cutting wood with his bearded axe. Kyle followed his lead by gathering more wood. It was dark when Cull got the fire going by taking out a tinderbox and striking flint to iron over a bed of dried moss.

Once the fire was sure, the big fellow sat back. Overhead, the aurora was out in wide draping bands of green and yellow frilled in pink.