Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(192)

It seemed to Kyle that the man had left the role of bard behind. He was something else now and Kyle wasn’t certain just what that might be. Then, unexpectedly, he remembered the instrument the man had been strumming … the way he had held it. Like a treasure. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said.

The bard turned a puzzled frown upon him. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘That old stringed instrument at the Greathall. We had to flee. There was nothing you could have done.’

Understanding blossomed in rising brows and a broad smile broke through the man’s dark mood. He squeezed Kyle’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for your thoughts, Whiteblade. But not to worry.’ He raised the shoulder bag at his side. ‘Such a rare thing should not be left to destruction.’

‘So there is hope yet, then,’ Kyle said.

The bard appeared startled. His gaze went to the shrouded heights. ‘You are right, of course. The skein of our fates is unknown. Or at least is not for me to say.’

Badlands slumped on the fallen trunk. ‘Now that that’s settled – did anyone think to bring any food?’

It turned out that Cal-Brinn and the Guard always carried pouches with a few days’ worth of dried rations pressed into bricks. It was hardly edible, but Kyle found that if one kept a knot of it tucked into the cheek, it slowly softened into something resembling food.

Cal-Brinn signed that they should get going, so they packed up their gear and set off jogging upland once more. They trotted through the rest of the day, as the light through the black clouds deepened to a silvery pewter. Kyle knew he would freezing if it weren’t for the heat of his exertions. His breath steamed and plumes of mist rose through his armour from his sweat-soaked tunic beneath.

Stalker ran with him and Fisher and Jethiss for a time. He gestured ahead where the valley slope rose in a steep ridge of naked rock. ‘We are nearing the top of the Lost Holding. Beyond that ridge lies a wide run-off stream, the Stonewash. Past that are the ice-rivers that descend out of the frozen wastes above.’

‘Will they follow us?’ Kyle asked.

He gave a non-committal shrug. ‘They may send a party to dog us.’ He eyed Jethiss. ‘You are intent upon continuing?’

‘I am.’

‘There may be no one there.’

‘In which case we are all free to choose whichever direction we wish.’

Stalker drew off his conical iron helmet and rubbed a hand through his matted hair. ‘Well, I have to admit to being rather curious myself.’

‘Not a good enough reason,’ Fisher muttered.

‘And you a bard,’ Stalker remarked. He pulled the helmet on once again and turned his attention to Kyle. ‘You still wear it, I see,’ he said.

Kyle’s brows drew down. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘The stone you’re always fingering.’

He realized he was rubbing the amber pendant at his neck, as he often did. He dropped the hand. ‘Yes.’

Stalker nodded solemn agreement. ‘He was a good friend, Ereko. We miss him too.’

Kyle cleared his throat. It still pained him to hear the Thelomen-kind, Thel-Akai as he had it, mentioned. He’d forgotten that Stalker had spent as much time with the giant as he. He answered the Lost’s nod. ‘Yes.’

‘I know that name,’ Fisher said, his eyes narrowing in thought. ‘He was said to have been one of the oldest of those raised up by the earth.’ He studied Kyle anew. ‘You travelled with him?’

‘Yes.’

‘I would have that tale.’

Stalker flashed his teeth in a smile. ‘Now you’re sounding like a bard.’ He jogged ahead to start climbing the slope.

From the knife’s edge of the ridge-top they could see nothing. The mists enveloped them. Stunted long-needle pine and juniper clung to the rocks here, damp with fog. Stalker and Badlands started down into the vale, which promised to lead higher up this shoulder of the Salt range.

Close to the floor of the narrow valley, the Lost cousins raised their hands for a halt. Dense banners of fog obscured all ahead. A fiercely cold wind buffeted them. ‘What is it?’ Fisher asked.

‘Listen,’ Stalker said.

Kyle focused on what sounds he could make out. Other than the moaning, gusting wind, all he could hear was a distant cracking and booming, accompanied by the occasional crash as of rocks falling.

‘Those are the sounds of the great ice-tongues,’ Fisher said. ‘Some name them frost-serpents.’

Stalker tilted his head in agreement. ‘Yeah. That’s right. But what’s strange is that we shouldn’t be able to hear that above the roar of the stream that comes down here.’

‘I hear no stream,’ Kyle said.

Stalker’s moustache drew down. ‘Yeah. Something’s odd. Wait here.’ He gestured Badlands to the right and he took the left. They disappeared into the roiling sheets of mist. Cal-Brinn signed for the Avowed to form a defensive perimeter. Kyle nodded a greeting to Leena, who winked back.

After a brief time, the two figures came jogging back through the fog. Their boots crunched on the stones and gravel as they closed. Stalker stood breathing heavily, his breath steaming. He smoothed his moustache while he shook his head in wonder. ‘It’s gone,’ he told Fisher. ‘The run-off stream is dry – well, muddy, but free of any flow. Can’t figure it.’