The pit was at least a hundred paces across, the edges heaped in places with excavated fill. Burned bone jutted from those mounds.
Kalam's stallion stopped a few yards from the edge. Still gripping the crossbow, the assassin lifted one leg over the saddlehorn, then slipped down, landing in a puff of grey cloud. 'Best stay here,' he told the others. 'No telling how firm the sides are.'
'Then why approach at all?' Minala demanded.
Not answering, Kalam edged forward. He came to within two paces of the rim, close enough to see what lay at the bottom of the pit, although at first it was the far side that held his attention. Now I know what we're walking on and refusing to think on it didn't help at all. Hood's breath! The ash formed compacted layers, revealing past variations in the temperature and ferocity of the fires that had incinerated this land – and everything on it. The layers varied in thickness as well. One of the thickest was an arm's length in depth and looked solid with compacted, shattered bone. Immediately below it was a thinner, reddish layer of what looked like brick dust. Other layers revealed only charred bones, mottled with black patches rimmed in white. Those few that he could identify looked human in size – perhaps slightly longer of limb. The banded wall opposite him was at least six arm-spans deep. We stride ancient death, the remains of . . . millions.
His gaze slowly descended to the pit's floor. It was crowded with rusted, corroded mechanisms, all alike though strewn about. Each was the size of a trader's wagon, and indeed huge spoked iron wheels were visible.
Kalam studied them a long time, then he swung about and returned to the others, uncocking the crossbow as he did so.
'Well?'
The assassin shrugged, pulling himself back into the saddle. 'Old ruins at the bottom. Odd ones – the only time I've seen anything like them was in Darujhistan, within the temple that housed Icarium's Circle of Seasons, which was said to measure the passage of time.'
Keneb grunted.
Kalam glanced at the man. 'Something, Captain?'
'A rumour, nothing more. Months old.'
'What rumour?'
'Oh, that Icarium was seen.' The man suddenly frowned. 'What do you know of the Deck of Dragons, Corporal?'
'Enough to stay away from it.'
Keneb nodded. 'We had a Seer pass through around that time – some of my squads chipped in for a reading, ended up getting their money back since the Seer couldn't take the field past the first card – the Seer wasn't surprised, I recall. Said that'd been the case for weeks, and not just for him, but for every other reader as well.'
Alas, that wasn't my luck the last time I saw a Deck. 'Which card?'
'One of the Unaligned I think it was. Which are those?'
'Orb, Throne, Sceptre, Obelisk—'
'Obelisk! That's the one. The Seer claimed it was Icarium's doing, that he'd been seen with his Trell companion in Pan'potsun.'
'Does any of this matter?' Minala demanded.
Obelisk . . . past, present, future. Time, and time has no allies ... 'Probably not,' the assassin replied.
They rode on, skirting the pit at a safe distance. More dust trails crossed their route, with only a few suggesting the passage of a human. Athough it was hard to be certain, they seemed to be heading in the opposite direction to the one Kalam had chosen. If indeed we're travelling south, then the Soletaken and D'ivers are all travelling north. That might be reassuring, except that if there're more shapeshifters on the way, we'll run right into them.
A thousand paces later, they came to a sunken road. Like the mechanisms in the pit, it was six arm-spans down. While dust filled the air above the cobbles, making them blurry, the steeply banked sides had not slumped. Kalam dismounted, tied a long, thin rope to his stallion's saddlehorn, then, gripping the rope's other end, began making his way down. To his surprise he did not sink into the bank. His boots crunched. The slope had been solidified somehow. Nor was it too steep for the horses.
The assassin glanced up at the others. 'This can lead us in the direction we've been travelling along, more or less. I suggest we take it – we'll make much better time.'
'Going nowhere faster,' Minala said.
Kalam grinned.
When everyone had led their mounts down, the captain spoke. 'Why not camp here for a while? We're not visible and the air's a bit cleaner.'
'And cooler,' Selv added, her arms around her all too quiet children.
'All right,' the assassin agreed.
The bladders of water for the horses were getting ominously light – the animals could last a few days on feed alone, Kalam knew, though they would suffer terribly. We're running out of time. As he unsaddled, fed and watered the horses, Minala and Keneb laid out the bedrolls, then assembled the meagre supplies that would make up their own meal. The preparations were conducted in silence.
