Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(73)

Kyle resisted raising his hand to press it to his forehead. Blind idiot. ‘Listen – they’re coming in twos and threes, yes?’

The man frowned, losing patience. ‘Yes? What of it?’

‘They’re just using you. They’re sending their least experienced warriors to blood them. You don’t understand: it’s like a game to them. They’ve got you right where they want you.’

The fellow was scowling now, rubbing his bearded jaw. ‘Wait a moment … it’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one they’re after. You caused all this!’

Kyle raised a hand for a pause. ‘Now wait! I didn’t cause any of this …’

‘Kill him!’ the commander ordered. ‘Fire!’

Bows and crossbows thrummed. Kyle dived for cover. Bolts and arrows hissed through the grasses about him. ‘Get out there,’ the fellow bellowed. ‘Get his sword! It’s worth a fortune!’

Kyle ran hunched almost double, straight south. Bolts and arrows continued to punish the grass about him, but luckily none struck. One did slash his arm. He ran on until he judged it long enough, then cut due east. He kept glancing back to look for any pursuit but saw none. It appeared these men and women were unwilling to travel too far from the security of their redoubt.

Their voluntary burial ground, as far as he was concerned.

He jogged east until twilight came. Only then did he start to worry; he hadn’t really organized a firm rendezvous with Lyan. What if he’d lost her too? He assumed she’d been watching. Wouldn’t she have started east, knowing that this was his chosen direction?

He walked now in the open, scanned the gently rolling steppe lands as he went. It was getting cold as night gathered. Then a light flashed on a distant hillside. He raised a hand to shield his vision. It came again from north of him, flashing and flickering on and off. A signal? He set out jogging in that direction.

He came to a long winding hillock, not too tall, but broad with steep sides. A figure rose from the deep shadows there and descended towards him. He went to meet it.

It was Lyan. She held out his weapons and gear. He took it all and re-girt himself. Dorrin rose from cover nearby and came dragging the two heavy packs.

‘So,’ Lyan said. ‘That went well.’

Kyle just made a face.

‘Your diplomacy skills at work again, I see.’

He merely gestured, inviting her eastwards.

‘Making friends all over the region.’

He let out a long breath. ‘Try to help someone and what do you get?’

‘No good deed goes unpunished.’

‘No indeed.’

‘Now what?’ she asked. ‘Just going to leave them to be ground down?’

‘They deserve it. I recognized them. Slavers out of the south. A city named Kurzan. I have a particular dislike of slavers.’

‘Slavers! In truth? Then they do deserve it.’

He took a pack from Dorrin. ‘Thanks, lad. You’re doing just fine, you know?

‘Thank you, sir.’

Kyle laughed. ‘Sir? You don’t have to call me sir.’

‘Oh, but I should,’ the lad returned quite seriously. ‘All champions should be called sir. As a sign of respect.’

Kyle’s gaze snapped to Lyan, who looked away as if disinterested, but he thought her face a touch flushed.

‘Who says I am a champion?’ he said, still gazing over the lad to Lyan.

‘Oh, I’ve heard the stories too,’ Dorrin continued, unaware. ‘From my tutors. They said that Whiteblade cut through a ship’s chain a thick about as a man’s thigh.’

‘A wrist, perhaps,’ Kyle conceded.

‘That the sword Whiteblade cut a goddess that none other could touch.’

‘That is true.’

Lyan seemed to flinch at that, reddening even more.

‘They said Stonewielder broke the Shieldwall – though many in Fist claim it was just an earthquake.’

‘It was he,’ Kyle said, his voice hoarse and faint, and he looked away to scan the hillsides.

Lyan cleared her throat. ‘That’s enough, Dorrin.’ Then, to Kyle: ‘This sea to the east … it is the Sea of Gold, yes?’

He shook his head. ‘No. It is another. It has many names. My people called it the Sea of Terrors. Everyone knows it is cursed. We will not go near it.’

‘Then … what is our route?’

‘North, skirting its shore.’

‘Then … we remain within the Silent People’s territory?’

‘No. I understand their territory ends just to the north.’

‘And who is next? What murderous clans?’

Kyle did not answer immediately; he shaded his gaze to the west, squinted into the sunset, glanced away. ‘We’ll need to find a camp soon.’

‘What tribes?’ Lyan continued stubbornly.

His gaze lowered, he drew his hatchets, tested their edges with his thumbs, hooked them back into his belt. ‘There are stories,’ he began slowly. ‘Only stories. The further north we go the less I know of things.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘The Silent People’s territory ends north of here because they are afraid of those lands. As were my people.’

‘Who lives there?’