Midnight Tides & The Bonehunters - By Steven Erikson Page 0,210

warriors simply watched.

After a moment, Feather Witch followed, and came to his side. 'It looks as if it has just been... left here. Dropped.'

'It is a Meckros city,' he said. 'The wood at the bases, it is the kind that never grows waterlogged. Never rots. And see there' – he pointed – 'those are the remnants of docks. Landings. That's a ship's rail, dangling from those lines. I've never seen a Meckros city, but I've heard enough descriptions, and this is one. Plucked from the sea. That ice came with it.'

'There are mounds, freshly raised,' she said. 'Do you see them?'

Raw, dark earth rising from the flats around the ruins, each barrow ringed in boulders. 'The savages buried the Meckros dead,' he said.

'There are hundreds ...'

'And every one big enough to hold hundreds of corpses.'

'They feared disease,' she said.

'Or, despite their appearance, they are a compassionate people.'

'Don't be a fool, Indebted. The task would have taken months.'

He hesitated, then said, 'That was but one clan, Feather Witch, back there. There are almost four thousand living in this region.'

She halted, grasped his arm and pulled him round. 'Explain this to me!' she hissed.

He twisted his arm loose and continued walking. 'These ghosts hold strong memories. Of their lives, of their flesh. Strong enough to manifest as real, physical creatures. They're called T'lan Imass—'

Her breath caught. 'The Beast Hold.'

He glanced at her. 'What?'

'The Bone Perch. Elder, Crone, Seer, Shaman, Hunter and Tracker. The Stealers of Fire. Stolen from the Eres'al.'

'Eres'al. That's the Nerek goddess. The false goddess, or so claimed our scholars and mages, as justification for conquering the Nerek. I am shocked to discover the lie. In any case, aren't the images on the tiles those of beasts? For the Beast Hold, I mean.'

'Only among the poorer versions. The skins of beasts, draped round dark, squat savages. That is what you will see on the oldest, purest tiles. Do not pretend at ignorance, Udinaas. You brought us here, after all.'

They were approaching the nearest barrows, and could see, studding the raw earth, countless objects. Broken pottery, jewellery, iron weapons, gold, silver, small wooden idols, scraps of cloth. The remnant possessions of the people buried beneath.

Feather Witch made a sound that might have been a laugh. 'They left the treasure on the surfaces, instead of burying it with the bodies. What a strange thing to do.'

'Maybe so looters won't bother digging and disturbing the corpses.'

'Oh, plenty of looters around here.'

'I don't know this realm well enough to say either way,' Udinaas said, shrugging.

The look she cast him was uneasy.

Closer now, the destroyed city loomed before them. Crusted barnacles clinging to the bases of massive upright wooden pillars. Black, withered strips of seaweed. Above, the cross-sectioned profiles of framework and platforms supporting streets and buildings. And, in the massive chunks of grey, porous ice, swaths of rotting flesh – not human. Oversized limbs, clad in dull scales. A long, reptilian head, dangling from a twisted, torn neck. Entrails spilled from a split belly. Taloned, three-toed feet. Serrated tails. Misshapen armour and harnesses of leather, stretches of brightly coloured cloth, shiny as silk.

'What are those things?'

Udinaas shook his head. 'This city was struck by ice, even as it was torn from our world. Clearly, that ice held its own ancient secrets.'

'Why did you bring us here?'

He rounded on her, struggled to contain his anger, and managed to release it in a long sigh. Then he said, 'Feather Witch, what was the tile you held in your hand?'

'One of the Fulcra. Fire.' She faltered, then resumed. 'When I saw you, that first time, I lied when I said I saw nothing else. No-one.'

'You saw her, didn't you?'

'Sister Dawn ... the flames—'

'And you saw what she did to me.'

'Yes.' A whisper.

Udinaas turned away. 'Not imagined, then,' he muttered. 'Not conjured by my imagination. Not... madness ...'

'It is not fair. You, you're nothing. An Indebted. A slave. That Wyval was meant for me. Me, Udinaas!'

He flinched from her rage, even as understanding struck him. Forcing a bitter laugh. 'You summoned it, didn't you? The Wyval. You wanted its blood, and it had you, and so its poison should have infected you. But it didn't. Instead, it chose me. If I could, Feather Witch, I'd give it to you. With pleasure – no, that is not true, much as I'd like it to be. Be thankful that blood does not flow in your veins. It is in truth the curse you said it was.'

'Better to be cursed than—'