and sand-heaped. Sixty or so paces away stood the five figures, motionless barring the ripple of ragged strips of the fur cloaks they wore. Two held spears, the other three carrying long two-handed swords slung across their backs. Some of them appeared to be missing limbs.
Barathol's eyes were not as sharp as they once had been. Even so ... 'Jhelim, Filiad, go to the smithy. Walk, don't run. There's a trunk behind the hide bolts. It's got a lock – break it. Take out the axe and shield, and the gauntlets, and the helm – never mind the chain – there's no time for that. Now, go.'
In the eleven years that Barathol had lived among them, he had never spoken so many words in a row to anyone. Jhelim and Filiad both stared in shock at the blacksmith's broad back, then, sudden fear filling their guts, they turned about and walked, stiffly with awkward, overlong strides, back down the street.
'Bandits,' whispered Kulat, the herder who'd butchered his last goat in exchange for a bottle of liquor from a caravan passing through seven yean ago, and had done nothing since. 'Maybe they just want water – we ain't got nothing else.'
'They don't want water,' Barathol said. 'The rest of you, go find weapons – anything – no, never mind mat. Just go to your homes. Stay there.'
'What are they waiting for?' Kulat asked, as the others scattered.
'I don't know,' the blacksmith admitted.
'Well, they look to be from a tribe I ain't never seen before. Those furs – ain't it kind of hot for furs? And those bone helmets—'
'They're bone? Your eyes are better than mine, Kulat.'
'Only things still working, Barathol. Squat bunch, eh? You recognize the tribe, maybe?'
The blacksmith nodded. From the village behind them, he could now hear Jhelim and Filiad, their breaths loud as they hurried forward. 'I think so,' Barathol said in answer to Kulat's question.
'They going to be trouble?'
Jhelim stepped into his view, struggling beneath the weight of the double-bladed axe, the haft encased in strips of iron, a looping chain at the weighted pommel, the Aren Steel of the honed edges gleaming silver. A three-pronged punch-spike jutted from the top of the weapon, edged like a crossbow quarrel-head. The young man was staring down at it as if it was the old emperor's sceptre.
Beside Jhelim was Filiad, carrying the iron-scaled gauntlets, a round-shield and the camailed, grille-faced helm.
Barathol collected the gauntlets and tugged them on. The rippling scales reached up his forearms to a hinged elbow-cup, and the gauntlets were strapped in place just above the joint. The underside of the sleeves held a single bar, the iron black and notched, reaching from wrist to cup. He then took the helm, and scowled. 'You forgot the quilted under-padding.' He handed it back. 'Give me the shield – strap it on my arm, damn you, Filiad. Tighter. Good.'
The blacksmith then reached out for the axe. Jhelim needed both arms and all his strength to raise the weapon high enough for Barathol's right hand to slip through the chain loop, twisting twice before closing about the haft, and lifting it seemingly effortlessly from Jhelim's grasp. To the two men, he said, 'Get out of here.'
Kulat remained. 'They're coming forward now, Barathol.'
The blacksmith had not pulled his gaze from the figures. 'I'm not that blind, old man.'
'You must be, to stay standing here. You say you know the tribe – have they come for you, maybe? Some old vendetta?'
'It's possible,' Barathol conceded. 'If so, then the rest of you should be all right. Once they're done with me, they'll leave.'
'What makes you so sure?'
'I'm not.' Barathol lifted the axe into readiness. 'With T'lan Imass, there's no way to tell.'
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The Bonehunters
A Tale of the
Malazan Book of the Fallen
STEVEN ERIKSON
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Maps
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Epigraph
Prologue
BOOK ONE: THE THOUSAND-FINGERED GOD CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
BOOK TWO: BENEATH THIS NAME CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BOOK THREE: SHADOWS OF THE KING CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BOOK FOUR: THE BONEHUNTERS CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Epilogue
Glossary
Extract: REAPER'S GALE
NIGHT OF KNIVES
To Courtney Welch.
Keep the music coming, friend.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the usual suspects, including my early-draft readers Chris, Mark, Rick, Courtney, and Bill Hunter who has proved invaluable on the mechanics and full listing of variants of the Deck of Dragons – but listen, Bill, no more walking miles through the rain, right? Cam Esslemont for a most diligent read-through – I'm glad at