They reached the rise. The sorcerous detonations had ceased, all sounds of battle fading away.
The trader road ran below. Two carriages had made up the caravan, one much larger than the other. Both had been destroyed, ripped apart. Splintered wood, plush padding and clothes lay strewn on all sides. On a low hill off to the right lay three figures, the ground blackened around them. None moved. Eight more bodies were visible around the wagons, only two conscious — black-chain-armoured men slowly regaining their feet.
These details registered only briefly on the Shield Anvil's senses. Wandering among the dismembered corpses of five K'Chain Che'Malle hunters were hundreds of huge, gaunt wolves — with pitted eyes that were a match to those of the T'lan Imass.
Studying the silent, terrifying creatures, Itkovian spoke to Pran Chole. 'Are these … yours, sir?'
The Bonecaster at his side shrugged. 'Gone from our company for a time. T'lan Ay often accompany us, but are not bound to us. beyond the Ritual itself He was silent for a long moment, then continued, 'We had thought them lost. But it seems that they too have heard the summons. Three thousand years since our eyes last rested upon the T'lan Ay.'
Itkovian finally looked down on the undead shaman. 'Is that a hint of pleasure in your voice, Pran Chole?'
'Yes. And sorrow.'
'Why sorrow? From the looks of it, these T'lan Ay took not a single loss against these K'Chain Che'Malle. Four, five hundred. against five. Swift destruction.'
The Bonecaster nodded. 'Their kind are skilled at defeating large beasts. My sorrow arises from a flawed mercy, mortal. At the First Gathering, our misplaced love for the ay — these few that remained — led us onto a cruel path. We chose to include them in the Ritual. Our selfish needs were a curse. All that made the flesh and blood ay honourable, proud creatures was taken away. Now, like us, they are husks, plagued by dead memories.'
'Even undead, they have majesty,' Itkovian acknowledged. 'As with you.'
'Majesty in the T'lan Ay, yes. Among the T'lan Imass? No, mortal. None.'
'We differ in opinion, then, Pran Chole.' Itkovian turned to address his soldiers. 'Check the fallen.'
The Shield Anvil rode down to the two chain-clad men, who now stood together beside the remnants of the larger of the two carriages. Their ringed armour was in tatters. Blood leaked from them, forming sodden pools at their feet. Something about the two men made Itkovian uneasy, but he pushed the emotion away.
The bearded one swung to face the Shield Anvil as he reined in before them. 'I bid you welcome, warrior,' he said, his accent strange to Itkovian's ears. 'Extraordinary events, just past.'