Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

Well, the world can go fuck itself.

‘A haunted man,’ the elder said in his broken growl as he reached up and scratched the savage red scar marring his neck. ‘He should not be with us. Fey in darkness, that one. He dreams of running with wolves.’

Redmask shrugged, wondering yet again what this old man wanted with him. An elder who did not fear the K’Chain Che’Malle, who was so bold as to guide his ancient horse between Redmask and Sag’Churok.

‘You should have killed him.’

‘I do not ask for your advice, Elder,’ Redmask said. ‘He is owed respite. We must redeem our people in his eyes.’

‘Pointless,’ the old man snapped. ‘Kill him and we need redeem ourselves to no-one. Kill him and we are free.’

‘One cannot flee the past.’

‘Indeed? That belief must taste bitter for one such as you, Redmask. Best discard it.’

Redmask slowly faced the man. ‘Of me, Elder, you know nothing.’

A twisted smile. ‘Alas, I do. You do not recognize me, Redmask. You should.’

‘You are Renfayar-my tribe. You share blood with Masarch.’

‘Yes, but more than that. I am old. Do you understand? I

am the oldest among our people, the last one left… who was there, who remembers. Everything.’ The smile broadened, revealing rotted teeth, a pointed red-almost purple-tongue. ‘I know your secret, Redmask. I know what she meant to you, and I know why.’ The eyes glittered, black and red-rimmed. ‘You had best fear me, Redmask. You had best heed my words-my advice. I shall ride your shoulder, yes? From this moment on, until the very day of battle. And I shall speak with the voice of the Awl, my voice the voice of their souls. And know this, Redmask: I shall not countenance their betrayal. Not by you, not by that one-eyed stranger and his bloodthirsty wolves.’

Redmask studied the old man a moment longer, then fixed his gaze ahead once more.

A soft, ragged laugh at his side, then, You dare say nothing. You dare do nothing. I am a dagger hovering over your heart. Do not fear me-there is no need, unless you intend evil. I wish you great glory in this war. I wish the end of the Letherii, for all time. Perhaps such glory shall come by your hand-together, you and I, let us strive for that, yes?’

A long moment of silence.

‘Speak, Redmask,’ the elder growled. ‘Lest I suspect defiance.’

An end to the Letherii, yes,’ Redmask finally said, in a grating voice. ‘Victory for the Awl.’

‘Good,’ grunted the old man. ‘Good.’

The magic world had ended abruptly, an ending as sudden as the slamming of a trunk lid-a sound that had always shocked her, frozen her in place. Back in the city, that place of reeks and noise, there had been a house steward, a tyrant, who would hunt down slave children who had, in his words, disappointed him. A night spent in the musty confines of the bronze box would teach them a thing or two, wouldn’t it?

Stayandi had spent one such night, enclosed in cramped darkness, two months or so before the slaves joined the colonists out on the plain. The solid clunk of the lid had truly seemed, then, the end of the world. Her shrieks had filled the close air of the trunk until something broke in her throat, until every scream was naught but a hiss of air.

Since that time, she had been mute, yet this had proved a gift, for she had been selected to enter the Mistress’s domain as a handmaiden in training. No secrets would pass her lips, after all. And she would have been there still, if not for the homesteading.

A magic world. So much space, so much air. The freedom of blue skies, unending wind and darkness lit by countless stars-she had not imagined such a world existed, all within reach.

And then one night, it ended. A fierce nightmare made real in screams of slaughter.

Abasard-

She had fled into the darkness, stunned with the knowledge of his death-her brother, who had flung himself into the demon’s path, who had died in her place. Her bared feet, feather-light, carrying her away, the hiss of grasses soon the only sound to reach her ears. Stars glittering, the plain bathed silver, the wind cooling the sweat on her skin.

In her mind, her feet carried her across an entire continent. Away from the realm of people, of slaves and masters, of herds and soldiers and demons. She was alone now, witness to a succession of dawns, smeared sunsets, alone on a plain that stretched out unbroken on all sides. She saw wild creatures, always at a distance. Darting hares, antelope watching from ridgelines, hawks wheeling in the sky. At night she heard the howl of wolves and coyotes and, once, the guttural bellow of a bear.