Midnight Tides & The Bonehunters - By Steven Erikson Page 0,569

Mezla.'

'Yes.'

Samar Dev opened her mouth for one more question, then realized that it wasn't necessary. She knew its answer. Instead, she said, 'Boatfinder, tell me, from the frozen time into the flowing time, is there a bridge?'

His smile was wistful, filled with longing. 'There is.'

'But you cannot cross it.'

'No.'

'Because it's burning.'

'Yes, witch, the bridge burns.'

King Iskar Jarak, and the unfound kingdom ...

Descending like massive, raw steps, the shelves of rock marched down into crashing foam and spume. A fierce wind raked the northern sea's dark waves to the very horizon, where storm-clouds commanded the sky, the colour of blackened armour. At their backs and stretching the western length of coastline, rose a bent-back forest of pines, firs and cedars, their branches torn and made ragged by the battering winds.

Shivering, Taralack Veed drew the furs closer, then turned his back on the raging seas. 'We now travel westward,' he said, speaking loud enough to be heard above the gale. 'Follow this coast until it curls north. Then we strike inland, directly west, into the land of stone and lakes. Difficult, for there is little game to be found there, although we will be able to fish. Worse, there are bloodthirsty savages, too cowardly to attack by day. Always at night. We must be ready for them. We must deliver slaughter.'

Icarium said nothing, his unhuman gaze still fixed on that closing storm.

Scowling, Taralack moved back into the rock-walled camp they had made, crouching in the blessed lee and holding his red, cold-chafed hands over the driftwood fire. Few glimmers of the Jhag's legendary, near mythical equanimity remained. Dark and dour, now. A refashioning of Icarium, by Taralack Veed's own hands, although he but followed the precise instructions given him by the Nameless Ones. The blade has grown dull. You shall be the whetstone, Gral.

But whetstones were insensate, indifferent to the blade and to the hand that held it. For a warrior fuelled by passion, such immunity was difficult to achieve, much less maintain. He could feel the weight now, ever building, and knew he would, one day, grow to envy the merciful death that had come to Mappo Runt.

They had made good time thus far. Icarium was tireless. Once given direction. And Taralack, for all his prowess and endurance, was exhausted. I am no Trell, and this is not simple wandering. Not any more, and never again for Icarium.

Nor, it seemed, for Taralack Veed.

He looked up when he heard scrabbling, and watched Icarium descend.

'These savages you spoke of,' the Jhag said without preamble, 'why should they seek to challenge us?'

'Their forsaken forest is filled with sacred sites, Icarium.'

'We need only avoid trespass, then.'

'Such sites are not easily recognized. Perhaps a line of boulders on the bedrock, mostly buried in lichen and moss. Or the remnant of an antler in the crotch of a tree, so overgrown as to be virtually invisible. Or a vein of quartzite glittering with flecks of gold. Or the green tool-stone – the quarries are no more than a pale gouge in vertical rock, the green stone shorn from it by fire and cold water. Mayhap little more than a bear trail on bedrock, trodden by the miserable beasts for countless generations. All sacred. There is no fathoming the minds of such savages.'

'It seems you know much of them, yet you have told me you have never before travelled their lands.'

'I have heard of them, in great detail, Icarium.'

A sudden edge in the Jhag's eyes. 'Who was it that informed you so, Taralack Veed of the Gral?'

'I have wandered far, my friend. I have mined a thousand tales—'

'You were being prepared. For me.'

A faint smile suited the moment and Taralack found it easily enough. 'Much of that wandering was in your company, Icarium. Would that I could gift you my memories of the time we have shared.'

'Would that you could,' Icarium agreed, staring down at the fire now.

'Of course,' Taralack added, 'there would be much darkness, many grim and unpleasant deeds, within that gift. The absence within you, Icarium, is both blessing and curse – you do understand that, don't you?'

'There is no blessing in that absence,' the Jhag said, shaking his head. 'All that I have done cannot demand its rightful price. Cannot mark my soul. And so I remain unchanging, forever naïve—'

'Innocent—'

'No, not innocent. There is nothing exculpatory in ignorance, Taralack Veed.'

You call me by name, now, not as 'friend'. Has mistrust begun to poison you? 'And so it is my task, each time, to return