Grub. Sinn.
Gesler leaned forward and glared down at the yapping dog. ‘Gods below, Roach,’ he said in a hoarse voice, ‘you returning the favour?’ He drew a shuddering breath. ‘Listen, rat, cos I’m only going to say this once-I guarantee it. But right now, your voice is the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard.’
The miserable thing snarled up at him.
It had never learned how to smile.
Slipping down from the Ve’Gath, Gesler sagged on aching legs. Kalyth was kneeling, facing the direction from which Sinn and Grub were approaching. ‘Get up, Destriant,’ he said, finding himself leaning against the Ve’Gath’s hip. ‘Those two got heads so swelled it’s a wonder a mortal woman pushed ’em out.’
She looked over and he saw the muddy streaks of tears on her cheeks. ‘She had… faith. In us humans.’ The woman shook her head. ‘I did not.’
The two children walked up.
Gesler scowled. ‘Stop looking so smug, Sinn. You two are in a lot of trouble.’
‘Bent and Roach found us,’ said Grub, scratching in the wild thatch of hair on his head. It looked as though neither of them had bathed in months. ‘We were safe, Sergeant Gesler.’
‘Happy for you,’ he said in a growl. ‘But they needed you-both of you. The Bonehunters were in the Nah’ruk’s path-what do you think happened to them?’
Grub’s eyes widened.
Sinn walked up to the Ve’Gath and set a hand on its flank. ‘I want one for myself,’ she said.
‘Didn’t you hear me, Sinn? Your brother-’
‘Is probably dead. We were in the warrens-the new warrens. We were on the path, we could taste the blood-so fresh, so strong.’ She looked up at Gesler with bleak eyes. ‘The Azath has sealed the wound.’
‘The Azath?’
She shrugged, facing the tree of rock, its lone knot gripping Kalse Uprooted. She bared her teeth in something that might have been a smile.
‘Who is in there, Sinn?’
‘He’s gone.’
‘Dead stone can’t seal a gate-not for long-even an Azath needs a life force, a living soul-’
She shot him a quick look. ‘That’s true.’
‘So what seals it-if he’s gone-’
‘An eye.’
‘A what?’
Kalyth spoke in the trader tongue. ‘Mortal Sword, the One Daughter is now the Matron of Mach Nest. Bre’nigan stands as her J’an Sentinel. Sag’Churok is the bearer of the seed. She will speak to you now.’
He turned to face the K’Chain Che’Malle.
‘Mortal Sword. The Shield Anvil returns. Shall we await him?’
Don’t bother, Matron, it’s not like he’s smart or anything.
‘I can, even from this distance, breach the defences he has raised.’
Do that. He deserves the headache.
‘Mortal Sword. Shield Anvil. Destriant. You three stand, you three are the mortal truths of my mother’s faith. New beliefs are born. What is an eternity spent in sleep? What is this morning of our first awakening? We honour the blood of our kin spilled this day. We honour too the fallen Nah’ruk and pray that one day they will know the gift of forgiveness.’
You must have seen it for yourself, Matron, Gesler said, that those Nah’ruk are bred down, past any hope of independent thought. Those sky keeps were old. They can repair, but they cannot make anything new. They are the walking dead, Matron. You can see it in their eyes.
Kalyth said, ‘I believed I saw the same in your eyes, Mortal Sword.’
He grunted and then sighed. Too tired for this. I have grieving to do. ‘You might have been right, Destriant. But we shed things like that like snake skin. You wear what you need to get through, that’s all.’
‘Then perhaps we can hope for the Nah’ruk.’
‘Hope all you like. Sinn-can they burn another gate through?’
‘Not for a long time,’ she replied, reaching down to collect up Roach. She cradled the foul thing in her arms, scratching it behind the ears.
The ugly rat’s pink tongue slid in and out as it panted. Its eyes were demonic with witless malice.
Gesler shivered.
The Matron spoke: ‘We are without a Nest. But the need must wait. Wounds must heal, flesh must be harvested. Mortal Sword, we now pledge ourselves to you. We now serve. Among your friends, there will be survivors. We shall find them.’
Gesler shook his head. ‘We led your army, Matron. We had our battle, but it’s over now. You don’t owe us anything. And whatever your mother believed, she never asked us, did she? Me and Stormy, we’re not priests. We’re soldiers and nothing more. Those titles you gave us-well, we’re shedding that skin too.’
