Assail

CHAPTER V

AFTER CONSIDERING FOR two nights and a day what to call their Andii guest, Fisher offered the name Jethiss. The man accepted it graciously as Fisher knew he would, for whatever else the Tiste Andii might have lost he had not forgotten his manners. As was the custom among the older races, gifts were not to be disputed or examined, but received with gratitude and an understanding of the obligation that binds giver and receiver.

The name was the best Fisher could parse out of the ancient lays and hero-songs that had come down to him from Tiste-influenced sources. It translated, roughly, as one-who-comes-from-the-sea. He thought it appropriate, descriptive, and poetic. The man simply took it on without question and was, from then onward, Jethiss.

He was kitted out from among the Malazan party, and so he wore thick sailor-style trousers tucked into tall leather moccasins that were bound by wrapped cloth and leather. He was given a faded gambeson of quilted linen and hide and a leather hauberk to pull over it sewn with iron rings and lozenges. A scuffed belt and worn gloves completed his accoutring. He was offered a battered iron pot-helmet, but turned it down, preferring instead to go bareheaded, his long hair loose.

The only thing missing was a weapon. After much cadging and harassing, Fisher was able to wheedle a set of Wickan long-knives out of a sympathetic veteran. The man had them at the bottom of his kit as souvenirs of an old campaign. The curved knives were wrapped in oiled cloth but were badly corroded none the less. Jethiss selected a flat rock and scraped the blades as he walked along through the days.

The party ascended winding mountain trails. The way was rocky, the slopes bare, and Fisher wondered if perhaps it was this feature of the landscape that lay behind the name the Bone Peninsula. He wondered, but was not convinced. Marshal Teal and his Letherii soldiers led the column. Malle and her Malazan guard followed. Enguf and his Genabackan pirates came bringing up the rear, puffing and sweating, unaccustomed as they were to any long overland march.

Fisher and Jethiss walked with Malle’s guard of twenty Malazan veterans. The Gris matriarch still rode her donkey, as sure-footed as any of its kind. Its hooves clicked and clattered over the stones as they climbed. At times the Cawn mage Holden walked with Fisher, but most of the time the mage walked alone, taking notes and making sketches – all for his hobby of natural philosophy, or so he claimed. Fisher wished he would simply drop the pretence, as he believed he knew what the man was doing. Especially as he once came quietly upon the fellow and heard him counting his steps as he paced along.

It was no surprise to him that the Malazans would be taking an interest in the interior of Assail, although if he’d been consulted he would have advised them not to get involved; in his opinion it was a pit that would swallow any entity foolish enough to jump in.

However, if the Malazans were casting an appraising eye over these lands, it was not his concern. Politics was not his province. It was history that interested him, both ancient and current. The mystery of their guest, for example. Who was he? What was his past? There were fewer and fewer Andii to be found these days. The fall of Moon’s Spawn had marked the end of an age for their kind. He’d heard that they had departed Coral. There were rumours that they’d withdrawn to the island of Avalli; one of the many rumours constantly swirling about the Andii and their supposedly devious plans and intentions.

He did not know any of the Andii personally. Few outside their society did. And they were a race well known for their similarity in face and kind. To put it bluntly: to outsiders they all looked alike. This one had the build and grace of a swordsman. His mind might be smothered by the trauma of his near-drowning, or perhaps as the result of a sorcerous attack, yet his hands knew what to do when they took up the long-knives. No clumsiness or hesitation there.

When they first walked together Fisher felt a strong temptation to quiz the man – to aid in the recovery of his memories, of course. Not to mention for the satisfaction of his own curiosity. Yet he held back, for he did not wish his company to become trying and thereby drive the fellow from him. And so as they walked he avoided all direct interrogation, preferring instead to amplify upon any questions the man posed, hoping that such information might elicit a memory or two.

Music seemed to please the Andii. And so Fisher had his idum out as they went, freely strumming, composing lines and melodies. The Malazan veterans in line about them were just as free with their comments. Most involved uses for which the instrument was not intended. However, none, he noted, ever actually told him to put the damned thing away.

He had an ulterior motive for strumming fragments of songs, of course. He knew that music could pluck the deepest memories from the recesses of human minds. He’d seen it often enough wherever he played, were it in the field around a fire, in the most isolated backwoods tavern, or in the richest court. A scrap of melody, or a turn of phrase, could summon images just as powerfully as any magic – and so indeed were bards considered to possess their own sort of sorcery.

He’d seen tears brought to the eyes of oldsters as they relived a childhood memory long thought buried. He’d heard people confess that they could almost hear the sea or smell the forest where they last heard this or that song. Or feel again the touch of a departed lover. It was not precisely why he pursued the craft and art of his calling. But it was close.

And so he strummed phrases from old lays and ballads as they climbed the paths through thick forest and over steep bare slopes of broken tilted stone. And occasionally their guest’s pace faltered. He would pause as if distracted, cock his head as if searching for some flitting scrap of something. Sometimes he would frown and his hands clench as if he were reliving some powerful emotion. Yet the man seemed unaware of all this himself. He would walk on without comment. Perhaps shake his head once or twice as if freeing it from some clinging fugue or daydream.

Fisher was not surprised. He knew that music spoke to the emotions, not the intellect. The heart was where people truly lived, and died. He also knew that this magic that music and poetry were said to possess was the power to touch that heart. So he pursued his phrasings from melodies and strumming from ancient hero cycles and lays. Perhaps at some point Jethiss might stop and turn to him and say with wonder: that reminds me …

These inland valleys and forests they crossed were not entirely empty. Tiny villages huddled here and there. Their inhabitants were a trickle of homesteaders slowly journeying inland and north from the lower, more settled, part of the peninsula. To a man and woman they looked with stunned incomprehension upon the arrival of this pocket army of outlanders.

To Fisher’s relief, Teal was strict in keeping his guard in hand. If they came across a clutch of chickens, not all were taken. Maize cribs were not entirely emptied. Larders were thinned, but not cleaned out. It seemed the Letherii officer was more than familiar with the art of taxing to the very bone – but not beyond. The Malazans under Malle were particularly watchful of the women and girls. It seemed they did not want to leave behind a name synonymous with wholesale rape and murder, and this also Fisher could not fail to note.

Enguf’s Genabackan pirates, however, clung hard to their traditional right to rape, murder, loot and burn. It took the threat of turning upon them from both Teal’s guard and Malle’s veterans to bring it to a stop. Even then, the Letherii and Malazans had to divide their time between scavenging for provisions and guarding the cottages and farms. Enguf’s crew were mutinous, but their captain kept reminding them of the real reward waiting ahead: all the gold they could carry. As it was, Fisher believed a number of the crew members had dropped away as they journeyed inland. Deserted with an eye on plain old-fashioned brigandage, probably.

On the seventh day he found the Cawn mage Holden waiting for him as he slogged past along a forest trail. He stepped out of the column and raised his brows in a question. The mage waved him over, then led him up a thin path through the woods. A cottage built of wattle and daub stood ahead, roofed in straw. The young and rather sour-faced mage of Cat, Alca, was standing with what Fisher presumed was the settler himself, a youngish fellow in tattered shirt and trousers with a defiant look on his lined face.

‘What is it?’ Fisher asked Holden.

‘Intelligence – if you can call it that.’

Fisher nodded a greeting to the farmer, who returned the gesture.

‘Would you care to repeat what you’ve said?’ Alca asked him.

The man nodded, his jaws set. ‘Aye. I’m not afeared.’

Fisher wanted to ask what the man was not afraid of, but decided not to interrupt.

‘You are travelling the Wight Road,’ the farmer said, addressing himself to Fisher. The way was actually more of a path, an old trail that linked passes through the high ridges, but Fisher did not correct him.

‘Yes.’

‘You should turn back.’

Fisher glanced to the mages. Holden’s face held scepticism, even tolerant amusement; Alca was grim, as if she was conducting an interrogation. ‘Oh? Why is that?’

‘Because o’ the Bonewight.’

Fisher nodded. This was the ‘monster’ he’d warned Malle about. It was the ‘lurking threat’ mentioned in the old lays. ‘I know the old stories. All that was long ago.’

The man shook his head. Fisher now saw that he was even younger than he’d thought. The hardscrabble life here in the wilderness had aged him brutally. ‘’Twas and ’twasn’t. It was and it still is. It will come. It wards the way north.’

Now Fisher frowned, struck by something. ‘“Wards”?’ he asked.

‘How do you know this?’ Alca demanded. ‘No one else has said anything.’

The settler shifted his attention to her. He held his chin high, defiant still. ‘They are all afeared o’ the Jotunfiend.’

Holden scowled his impatience. ‘Jotunfiend? You mean a ghoul? A ghostie?’

‘It’s as real as you strange foreigners.’

‘And where is this monster?’ Alca demanded.

‘It waits under its bridge.’

Holden let out a snort and pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘Ogres under bridges …’ He shook his head, looked to Fisher. ‘Never mind. Seems our friend here has heard the same old ghost stories you have.’ He waved Alca off. ‘Let’s go.’

The two mages left to return to the column. Fisher studied the slate-hued overcast sky where it showed between the trees. It looked like rain. He returned his gaze to the settler, who glared back, his jaws set once more. ‘Thank you for the warning,’ he said.

‘It is real,’ the man growled resentfully.

‘Thank you.’ Fisher turned to go.

As he was walking up the trail, the man shouted after him: ‘It took my brother!’

Fisher glanced back but the man had turned away to return to his work, cutting wood. The bard stood for a time, watching, but the man said no more. Fisher returned to the column.

When he fell in with the Malazans once more, Jethiss gave him a questioning look. Fisher gestured ahead, where the ground climbed to another ridge and another high pass. ‘Some sort of possible threat ahead. Something haunting the highlands.’

Jethiss nodded. ‘Ah. I saw your mage friends. They did not appear convinced.’

Fisher chuckled. ‘No. But then, they have not seen what I have seen.’

‘And neither have I, it would seem.’

Fisher studied him, his lined face, his blowing white-streaked hair. ‘I believe you have. You just do not remember it.’

The man gave an easy shrug. ‘Perhaps. Immaterial now. What is gone is gone. How could I miss that which I do not even recall?’

Sidelong, Fisher studied the man. Could he cultivate such an untroubled equanimity if he’d lost all that he’d ever been? He doubted it. It would take a strong and centred spirit to awake into a strange new existence and still keep one’s sanity. Let alone one’s sense of humour, or irony.

He shivered in the cold wind blowing down out of the heights and shaking the trees. Dampness chilled it. A late snowstorm? Would the pass be open? He pulled his travelling cloak tighter about himself. ‘The old songs and stories are consistent on it. There must be something there.’

‘Perhaps they merely reference one another, perpetuating the myth.’

He walked for a time in silence. Ahead, Malle, the old Gris matriarch on her donkey, raised a parasol and opened it. Fisher held out a hand; a few drops struck. A cold rain. And perhaps snow in the upper passes. This late in the season, too. He drew his idum from his back to check its oiled leather wrap. ‘Perhaps,’ he allowed. ‘We shall see.’

That night it snowed. Fisher watched it from the open front of his tent. The fat flakes hissed and melted as they slapped the ground.

He played late into the evening. At times Jethiss stirred, thrashing on his bedding. It was not until Fisher put away the instrument and lay down upon his own Malazan-issued blankets that he realized he’d unconsciously been playing themes from Anomandaris, his epic lay concerning Anomander Rake.

Yelling from somewhere in the camp shocked him awake in the dead of night. He bolted up, pulled on his boots, and ran out of the tent in his leather shirt and trousers. Almost everyone was up and milling about, most running to the perimeter. He spotted Marshal Teal with a bodyguard of four men, jogging for Enguf’s camp, and followed. The pirate commander was shouting and waving to disperse his crew back to their campfires and tents.

Marshal Teal closed upon the captain. ‘What was it?’ he demanded. ‘What happened?’

Enguf was bleeding at the mouth. He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand. ‘Just a difference of opinion regarding this expedition of yours.’

Teal’s brows arched. ‘A difference of opinion? Really.’

‘We were debating its merits.’

‘A debate? Is that what this was? Sounded more like a damned tavern brawl.’

The captain rubbed his jaw. ‘For the Southern Confederacy, this was a debate.’

‘I see. Well, perhaps next time you could conduct your debating in such a manner that you do not alarm the entire camp.’

‘Well perhaps I’ll just table that at the next meeting!’

‘Gentlemen,’ Fisher interrupted. ‘It’s over now, whatever it was. I suggest we continue this discussion in the morning.’

Marshal Teal eyed him up and down, his mouth a sour line. ‘Very well. However,’ and he waved at him, ‘next time you respond to an alarm … I suggest you bring a weapon.’ And he stormed off.

Fisher watched him go, then looked down. It was true; he hadn’t brought a weapon. Not even his belt.

Enguf muttered under his breath, ‘The lads and lasses don’t like it. All this marching, with no loot in sight. Plenty of targets left behind along the coast …’ He shook his shaggy head and peered closely at Fisher. ‘How far now, would you say?’

Fisher let out a breath. His shoulders were damp and chilled with melted snow. ‘We’re close to the highest passes. Downhill from then on to the Sea of Gold.’

‘The Sea of Gold, you say?’ He nodded, impressed. ‘They’ll like that. Maybe that’ll keep ’em quiet.’ He frowned then, looking Fisher up and down as well. ‘And don’t come running without a weapon, y’damned fool.’ He lumbered off.

Fisher turned away to go back to his tent and flinched, almost jumping. Jethiss was there. The man seemed to have appeared from nowhere, emerging from the dark like magic. He held something out to him: his sheathed sword wrapped in its belt. Fisher ruefully shook his head and took it from him.

*

Two days later they tramped through the slush and muck of lingering snow cover. They were high here, but nowhere near the treeline. The spine of the Bone Peninsula did not rise anywhere as high as the Salt range. They marched through coniferous forest; the tall pine and spruce growing far apart, with moss and bare rock and patches of snow between. Ahead lay a pass, the ridgeline not far away.

Fisher was just thinking how quiet everything had been so far when he spotted Teal’s forward scouts come running pell-mell back to the column. He jogged up to the front along with some of Malle’s people.

The scouts were panting and short of breath. ‘What is it?’ Teal snapped.

‘Some kind of bridge,’ one of them managed, gulping and pointing ahead. ‘Spans a defile. Looks like the only way across.’

Fisher caught Holden’s eye; the mage rolled his gaze skyward. Teal grunted. ‘Imagine that. Let’s take a look.’ He turned to his men, called, ‘Spread out,’ and signed the order. The Letherii troops quickly shuffled to right and left, forming a skirmish line. The Malazans and Genabackans followed suit. Malle remained behind with a guard of five veterans. Fisher and Jethiss joined the line.

Hunched, dodging from tree to tree, he edged up next to Holden. ‘A bridge …’ he murmured.

‘Just because there’s some old relic bridge doesn’t mean …’

The scouts signalled from the forward right, and the skirmish line shifted that way. They came to the broken rock of the ridge. Mixed snow and rain swirled down. Fisher’s hands were freezing in the cloth he’d wrapped around them. He edged forward to peer over the lip. A steep slope of bare rock overlooked a dark defile. Blowing snow obscured the further distances.

Holden murmured from next to him, ‘Where in Togg’s name is the way down?’

Fisher peered around as well – where was it?

Down the ridge behind him, Jethiss pointed off to the south. Fisher nodded and touched Holden’s shoulder, and they pushed themselves back from the lip. Off to the south of their position Teal was conferring with his scouts and a few of Malle’s veterans. The pair jogged over to join them.

‘One at a time, I reckon,’ one scout was saying.

‘A night-time descent?’ Teal asked.

The scouts shook their heads. ‘Too dangerous.’ Teal looked even more sour.

‘So where’s this bridge?’ Holden asked.

‘Switchback trail leads down to it,’ a scout said.

‘See us coming five league away,’ one of the veterans grumbled.

‘No signa any guards so far,’ another scout pointed out.

‘Not yet,’ Teal breathed absently, peering away into the gusting snow. Then he scowled, muttering, ‘Dead take them …’

Fisher glanced over. Enguf and a handful of his crew were sauntering up.

‘What’s all this?’ the Genabackan called out.

The scouts all winced. The veterans hung their heads.

‘Quiet,’ Teal hissed.

‘What’s that?’ the man shouted back. ‘What?’

Fisher could swear veins were writhing in the Letherii commander’s temples. Through clenched teeth he grated, ‘Quiet.’

Enguf was now close enough to hear and he nodded. ‘Ah! Quiet. Very well. May I ask why?’

Teal was pressing his fingertips to his brow, his head lowered.

‘The scouts think they saw a bridge down the trail here,’ one of Malle’s old veterans said. ‘But the clouds closed in on us so we can’t be sure. Why don’t you take your boys down and have a look?’

Fisher glared at the man, but the rest of the veterans were grinning. One had a strip of dried meat held in his teeth. Sucking on it to soften it, Fisher knew.

‘No thank you,’ Enguf answered. ‘We’re happy where we are.’

It was good to know that the Genabackan wasn’t a complete fool. ‘You Malazans go down under cover of these clouds,’ Teal said, raising his head. ‘Reconnoitre.’

The four veterans exchanged slow looks. ‘Don’t think so,’ answered the one who’d spoken earlier.

Teal studied the man for a moment. ‘You don’t …’ He drew a breath. ‘Go down and reconnoitre … soldier.’

The Malazan’s stare was steady. Then he gave a small shrug of his rounded shoulders. ‘I don’t take orders from you.’

Teal appeared ready to bring the rocks down around them excoriating the man, so Fisher jumped in, saying, ‘What’s your name, solder?’

The man’s gaze swung to him. It was half-lidded, distant, the eyes a pale hazel. Fisher recognized the loose watchfulness of someone poised to kill at any moment. Not your usual veteran. A trained bodyguard, perhaps? But field experienced, obviously.

‘Stub,’ the man said. ‘Sergeant Stub.’

Teal nodded brusquely. ‘Thank you, Fisher.’ To the sergeant, he said: ‘I will have a word with your employer regarding your insubordination, soldier. You can be sure of that.’

The man actually gave Teal a wink, saying, ‘You do that.’

But irony appeared lost on Teal, who merely nodded, indicating that he most certainly would.

There seemed to be an impasse, as none of the three parties was willing to risk men on the steep twisting trail down to the hidden defile below. Fisher blew on his painful hands and clenched them to being warmth to the fingers. It struck him that one man might sneak down whereas a full party would make too much noise.

‘I will go,’ he said.

Teal’s quick nod of acceptance seemed to say it was about time he did something useful. The veteran, Stub, frowned, either displeased or uneasy, Fisher wasn’t certain which. He started down the trailhead. It was extraordinarily steep; to keep from falling he had to lean into the slope, running his hands along the rock as he descended. Gusting curtains of snow obscured the bottom. The sky was iron-grey, the rock slate-hued, or black with melt and ice, while the snow seemed to swallow everything down its swirling leaden throat.

After many switchbacks, he stepped out on to a relatively flat ledge. It was wide and deep. He thought he could make out a structure of sorts at its far end and was about to step towards it when movement in the corner of his eye snapped him round, sword out.

It was Jethiss. Fisher let out a breath, sheathed his sword. ‘You needn’t have come,’ he whispered.

‘I could not let you go alone.’

‘You are very quiet.’

‘Thank you.’

Fisher gestured ahead. ‘What do you sense?’

The Andii’s long-jawed face hardened in distaste. The contrary gusting winds whipped his white-streaked hair. ‘Something terrible. A crime.’

Fisher nodded his agreement. They spread apart and advanced. The structure emerged from the flurries: tall and thin, the landing or buttress of a bridge that went on to span the defile ahead. The bridge, however, was not a suspended arc of rope and wood, as Fisher expected. It was the trellis sort, one that descended in segments all the way down into the darkness where, presumably, it rested upon the uneven ground below.

He heard a grunt from Jethiss at his side, a gut-punched exhalation of shock, or revulsion, and the man stopped advancing. A few steps later the bridge resolved clearly in his vision and he halted, stunned. The whole thing, the tower buttress, the bed, the trellis supporting structure, was built entirely of bones.

Not an exaggeration then, he mused. Nor poetic metaphor. The majority of the upper segments appeared to be built of thinner, less robust bones, while the lower he cast his eye down the immense edifice the thicker and heavier became the bones. Some seemed even gigantic, though the scale was difficult to make out. He was curious as to how they were all attached, or woven together, as it were, but he did not wish to approach any closer.

They backed away. At the base of the trail they found the four veterans, including Sergeant Stub. Fisher sent him an arched brow. The man raised his eyes to sky. ‘Couldn’t let you do m’damned work.’ He gestured ahead. ‘So? What is it?’

‘It is a bridge,’ Fisher allowed. ‘Made of bones.’

‘Hunh,’ the man grunted. ‘That’s not you bein’ all bardish, is it?’

‘No. Sadly not.’

‘Well. Ain’t that a curiosity, then.’

‘It is a perversion,’ Jethiss supplied, his voice hard.

Fisher was surprised by the man’s vehemence. He might be without conscious memories, but this artefact seemed to have touched him. It outraged something deep within him. Through slit eyes the sergeant studied the Andii for a time. He rubbed his thumb over his scarred chin. Then he motioned his companions forward. ‘Take a look-see.’ Before they could obey, tumbling gravel and rocks announced the arrival of Teal and the van of his force.

‘Afraid we found a copper sliver and he won’t get his share,’ Stub murmured to Fisher, who answered with a quick grin.

‘What is it?’ Teal demanded.

‘It really is a bridge of bone,’ Fisher said.

‘Sounds unsteady,’ the marshal remarked, as if its engineering was the only question of relevance. Holden and Alca arrived, slipping and sliding down the sheer trail.

‘This stinks of Elder magic,’ the ex-cadre mage warned, short of breath.

‘I will examine it,’ Alca said.

Holden thrust an arm out before her. ‘Don’t be a fool!’

‘We should go around,’ Fisher said.

‘And how many weeks would that cost us?’ Teal answered impatiently.

‘Thought you’d be all cat-curious,’ Stub said to Fisher, grinning.

Jethiss suddenly spoke over everyone: ‘You are all in great danger here. You should all leave.’

Stub and Teal examined the man as if questioning his sanity. Teal arched a brow. ‘Thank you for the valuable insight.’ He gestured, inviting Stub forward. ‘Shall we look?’

The sergeant shrugged once more. ‘I’ll take a peek.’

The party edged forward together. The Letherii and Malazans drawing swords or readying crossbows and bows. Fisher heard Malle descending the trail on her donkey, along with Enguf and his party. He advanced with the soldiers through the gusting snow until the edifice resolved into view once more. The soldiers grunted or swore as they made out the grisly details of its construction. It seemed to Fisher that the snowstorm was thinning. He could see further down into the defile, which was far indeed.

The mages snarled warnings then, leaping back. Jethiss pulled Fisher by the arm. The soldiers shuffled backwards. The very ground they stood upon was heaving. Bones of every sort and description were pushing their way up through the dirt and gravel: animal scapulae, pelvises and femurs, all sturdy and large; dirty human bones still holding tatters of ligaments, these mostly the long limb bones of femur, humerus, and tibia. Mixed in among them all came enormous bones to which Fisher could not put a name: the remains of giants, he wondered, or perhaps dragons. Bones as tall as he and as thick around as his torso.

The macabre collection slid and grated together into a heap before the entrance to the bridge. As the parties continued to retreat, the bones assembled themselves before their eyes into a gruesome skeleton of gigantic size that reared fully some four man-heights above them.

Its legs were built of the most massive of the remains, the dragon or elephant bones. Its pelvis was constructed of many such pelvises, lashed and articulated by slithering ligament and tendon. Its ribs might have been those of the fearsome sea-behemoths, so massive was their arch. Its spine was a pile of segments, any one of which was probably as large as Fisher’s own pelvis. The flat blades of its scapulae were constructed of many taken from elk or similar giant ungulates. The longest of the bones banged and scraped together to build its arms, the reach of which made Fisher despair. It had them all easily within its sweep.

Yet Fisher saw no skull of any kind. Was it headless? Or the skull yet to be assembled? The hands, constructed of the lesser human bones, now clutched and flexed. They swung down, digging into the ground, working and probing. When they emerged, throwing up a great swath of dirt and gravel that everyone raised their arms against as it came pattering and clattering down, they held an immense object that rained more dirt and mud. They set it upon their own shoulders and as the dirt fell away Fisher made out the elongated muzzle and fleshless grin of a dragon skull.

Cold intelligence regarded them through the empty dark sockets. No one, Fisher noted, had run; all had understood that the creature had them within its reach. All gripped weapons, were hunched for battle. The Malazan veterans had even readied their broad heavy-infantry shields.

All except Jethiss, who stood with arms crossed, an expression upon his face that Fisher could only interpret as disgust.

‘Pay the price,’ the creature boomed in a voice that brought rocks tumbling down the trail, ‘and you may pass.’

The Cawn mage, Holden stepped forward. Fisher had to give the ex-cadre mage his due: the man was damned brave. ‘What is your price?’

‘One in three must give his bones.’

Malle, just behind Fisher, let her breath out in a furious hiss. ‘This is not to be borne,’ she murmured.

‘And if we merely turn round?’ Holden asked.

‘Fight or flee, the bones of all will stay behind.’

‘A steep price then,’ Teal whispered to Malle. ‘But better than …’

He tailed off, because Jethiss had stepped forward.

‘What is your name?’ the Andii demanded.

Teal glared at Fisher. ‘Shut that damned fool up before he gets us all killed!’

The giant’s dragon skull turned to examine Jethiss. ‘You ask my name,’ it boomed. ‘You who do not even know your own.’

Fisher could have sworn that Jethiss literally jumped into the air at that. His arms fell to his sides, his hands clutched. He edged even closer to the creature. ‘Give me my name.’

The dark empty sockets regarded him steadily. Fisher thought he glimpsed dark blue-black flames flickering within. ‘I will strike a bargain with thee, child of the Andii.’ Its voice growled and rolled, and struck echoes from deep within the defile below. ‘Give me your bones and all others may keep theirs.’

‘And my name?’

‘That you shall have – for a time.’

Fisher lunged forward. ‘No!’

‘Done,’ Jethiss called out, sweeping a hand to seal the bargain.

Fisher gripped his arm. ‘Are you a fool? What have you done?’

The man offered a crooked smile. ‘I have bought my name – at a fair price.’

‘At the price of your life!’

‘At the price of saving near twenty.’

Fisher released him, let out a ragged breath. ‘Well, yes. But still …’

‘All must pass now!’ the creature boomed. ‘Go!’

Marshal Teal approached, inclined his head to Jethiss. He regarded him for a time as if searching for the right words, then said, ‘You may not believe me when I say this … but I understand what you are doing. We in Lether believe that everything has a price, but we are not fools. We understand that the most important things are paid for with blood. And so I salute you. You have found something more precious than life … I can only hope to find a thing so precious myself one day.’ And he bowed again, then waved his guard forward.

Malle came next – on foot. One of her guards led her mount. She studied Jethiss closely, peering sharply at him. ‘This is distasteful to me,’ she said. ‘Especially when,’ and she leaned forward, lowering her voice, ‘as you fighting men say, I believe we could have taken him.’

Jethiss smiled again. ‘At the price of many more than twenty, I should think.’

Her mouth remained a tight slash. ‘Still, I do not like it.’ She shook her head, cast a quick glance to the creature, which had raised its notched skull and now stared into the distance, seemingly paying no attention, and whispered, ‘Remember your ancestry.’ She bowed, and moved away. Her Malazan guard of veterans followed. Every one of them saluted.

Enguf came last. He was rubbing the back of his neck and looking quite sheepish. ‘A third of my lads and lasses thank you heartily. I tell you, they were all for running off. But now … well. We can hardly do that, hey?’ The man obviously wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Finally, tears in his eyes, he lunged forward and enveloped the much taller Andii in a great hug, thumping him on the back. Releasing him, he growled, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for, man. I truly do.’ He waved his Genabackan crew onward. Some of these, when they passed, just stared at Jethiss as if they thought him touched.

Then Fisher was alone with him. Jethiss gently urged him onward. ‘Go on. Go with my blessings. You saved me. Brought me to my name. You have my thanks.’

Fisher found himself shaking his head. ‘I’m not going.’

The Andii frowned. A touch of anger hardened his face. ‘Now who is playing the fool …’

Above them, the giant was stirring. Its titanic skull was lowering to regard them. Fisher leaned close to Jethiss. ‘You see … I too would like to know your name.’

Then the gigantic bone hands swept in and closed upon them, sweeping them off their feet and swinging them into the air, and Fisher screamed his surprise and terror as the creature took one great leap into the defile.

It thrust them into a cave that opened directly on to the sheer cliff. Fisher could see no way down as he was pushed within. The hands released them to fall to a rocky floor.

‘My name!’ Jethiss yelled into the absolute night surrounding them.

The rumbling voice echoed back, mocking. ‘I did not say when you would have it.’ Then Fisher sensed they were alone in the inky black.

‘I am sorry,’ Jethiss said from off to one side.

‘It’s all right. We still have our bones.’

‘For a time,’ Jethiss agreed.

Fisher felt at his back then, alarmed. He whipped the idum from where he’d slung it and gingerly felt along its wrapped length to find that the neck was broken. ‘Damn.’

‘What is it?’

‘Broke my neck.’

‘Your neck!’

Fisher snorted a laugh. ‘Sorry – the neck of my instrument.’

‘Oh.’

A hand clasped Fisher’s arm and helped him upright. ‘You can see?’ he marvelled.

‘I see fine. Why?’

‘I cannot. Although …’ He squinted in one direction. ‘I believe I see some sort of a glow off that way. A fire?’

After a moment Jethiss answered, ‘I see it as well.’ The hand pulled lightly. ‘I will guide you.’

Fisher shifted the hand to his elbow. ‘There.’

‘Ah. I see.’

It can’t have been that far, but the walk seemed excruciatingly long to Fisher. He lost count of the number of times he barked his shins on rocks, or twisted his ankles on the uneven cave floor. At times Jethiss had him duck under low-hanging formations or ledges. Eventually, as they neared the fire, he could see better and better, and finally he eased free of the Andii’s hand.

They came to a very modest little fire that gave hardly any light or heat. It appeared to be built of old dry roots and other such burnable trash. In the utter black of the cave, however, it felt wonderful to Fisher. He knelt to warm his hands at it.

Jethiss breathed a low warning: ‘We are not alone.’

Fisher straightened.

Two figures came emerging from the murk. Twins they appeared, so alike were they, both in rough torn leathers, both squat with extraordinarily burly muscular builds, like wrestlers, and both as hairy as bears. One was mostly bald, with gold earrings; the other sported a great massed curly nest about his head. Twigs rode in their thick black and russet beards. Long-knives and hatchets were tucked into their leather belts.

For a time they stared at each other, wordless. Then the massively haired one struck the bald one in the chest, saying, ‘It’s that songster, Fisher. Hey, Fish. Remember us?’

Fisher squinted. He knew the accent. It was a northerner’s … ‘I’m sorry … I don’t …’

The hairy one thumped his companion in his massive chest again, once more raising a cloud of dust. ‘It’s us! Badlands and Coots! Remember us? We’re of the Losts!’

And Fisher remembered, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. ‘Oh, no …’