Younger. Yet the fire within . . . it's the same. Ah, my faith . . .
Leoman lowered himself to one knee. 'You are reborn,' he said.
The woman's low laugh was triumphant. 'So I am,' she said.
She shifted her grip on the old man, whose head hung down, his clothes nothing but rags. 'Help me with him,' she commanded. 'But beware his hands ...'
BOOK FOUR - DEADHOUSE GATES
Coltaine rattles slow
across the burning land.
The wind howls through the bones
of his hate-ridden command.
Coltaine leads a chain of dogs
ever snapping at his hand.
Coltaine's fist bleeds the journey home
along rivers of red-soaked sand.
His train howls through his bones
in spiteful reprimand.
Coltaine leads a chain of dogs
ever snapping at his hand.
Coltaine
A marching song of the Bonehunters
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A god walking mortal earth trails blood.
Sayings of the Fool
Thenys Bule
'The chain of dogs,' the sailor growled, his voice as dark and heavy as the air of the hold. 'Now there's a curse no man would wish upon his worst enemy. What, thirty thousand starving refugees? Forty? Sweat-jowled noble-born among 'em, too, bleating this and that. Coltaine's hourglass is about run out, I'd wager.'
Kalam shrugged in the gloom, his hands still running along the damp hull. Name a ship Ragstopper and worry starts before you weigh anchor. 'He's survived this long,' he muttered.
The sailor paused in his stacking of bales. 'Look at this, will ya? Three-fifths' stowage gone before e'en the food and water comes 'board. Korbolo Dom's collected Reloe and his army – added up with his own and making what? Fifty thousand swords in all? Sixty? The traitor will catch hold o' that chain at Vathar. Then with the tribes massing to the south, aye, Beru fend, that Wickan mongrel's all but done for.' The man grunted as he heaved another canvas-wrapped bale. 'Heavy as gold ... and that ain't no empty rumour, I'd say. That blob of whale grease calling himself High Fist has his nose up in the wind - look here, his seal's on everything. The rotten worm's turning tail with his loot. Why else is the Imperial Treasurer comin' 'board, hey? And twenty marines besides ...'
'You may have a point,' the assassin said, distracted. He'd yet to find a dry plank.
'You the caulker's man, then, eh? Got a woman here in Aren? Bet you wish you was comin' wi' us, hey? Mind you, we'll be cramped enough what with the Treasurer and two perfumed elects.'
'Perfumed elects?'
'Aye, saw one of 'em come 'board not ten minutes ago. Smooth as rat-spit, that one, all airs and dainty but no amount of flower juice could hide the spunk, if you know what I mean.'
Kalam grinned in the darkness. Not precisely, you old swab, but I can guess. 'What of the other one?' he asked.
'I'd hazard the same, only I ain't seen him yet. Came 'board with the captain, I heard. Seven Cities blood, if you can believe that. That was before the captain sprung us from the harbour hole – not that we deserved to be arrested in the first place – Hood's breath, when a squad of soldiers comes on ya demanding this and that, it's only natural to put a fist in their mawks, hey? We wasn't ten paces from the gangplank – so much for shore leave!'
'Your last port of call?'
'Falar. Big red-haired women all gruff and muscle just like I like 'em. Ah, that was a time!'
'Your haul?'
'Weapons, in advance of Tavore's fleet. Rode the waves like a sow, let me tell you – like we're gonna do this one, too, all the way to Unta. Bulge the belly like that and your master's got wet hands and feet, hey? Good coin, though, I wager.'
Kalam straightened. 'There won't be time for a full refit,' he said.
'Never is, but Beru bless you – do what you can.'
The assassin cleared his throat. 'Sorry to say, you've got me as the wrong man. I'm not one of the caulker's men.'
The sailor paused over a bale. 'Hey?'
Kalam dried his hands on his cloak. 'I'm the other perfumed elect.'
There was silence from the other side of the hold, then a soft muttering, followed by, 'Beg your pardon, sir.'
'No need for that,' the assassin said. 'What's the likelihood of finding one of the captain's guests down here pressing the planks? I'm a cautious man and, alas, my nerves haven't been eased.'
'She ships, to be true,' the sailor said, 'but captain's got three dedicated hands on the pumps, workin' through every flip o' the glass, sir. And she'll ride any blow and that she has, more than once. Captain's got a lucky shirt, y'see.'