Reaper's Gate & Toll the Hounds - By Steven Erikson Page 0,176

a pace that stayed ahead of Hedge for this long. Not a chance of that. Still, it was odd that the ancient undead warrior was walking at all.

Easier traversing this wasteland as dust.

Maybe it's too damp. Maybe it's no fun being mud. I'll have to ask it that.

Assuming it doesn't kill me outright. Or try to, I mean. I keep forgetting that I'm already dead. If there's one thing the dead should remember, it's that crucial detail, don't you think, Fid? Bah, what would you know. You're still alive. And not here either.

Hood take me, I'm in need of company.

Not that damned whispering wind, though. Good thing it had fled, in tatters, unable to draw any closer to this T'lan Imass with – yes – but one arm. Beat up thing, ain't it just?

He was sure it knew he was here, a thousand paces behind it. Probably knows I'm a ghost, too. Which is why it hasn't bothered attacking me.

I think I'm getting used to this.

Another third of a league passed before Hedge was able to draw close enough to finally snare the undead warrior's regard. Halting, slowly turning about. The flint weapon in its lone hand was more a cutlass than a sword, its end strangely hooked. A hilt had been fashioned from the palmate portion of an antler, creating a shallow, tined bell-guard polished brown with age. Part of the warrior's face had been brutally smashed: but one side of its heavy jaw was intact, giving its ghastly mien a lopsided cant.

'Begone, ghost,' the T'lan Imass said in a ravaged voice.

'Well I would,' Hedge replied, 'only it seems we're heading in the same direction.'

'That cannot be.'

'Why?'

'Because you do not know where I am going.'

'Oh, perfect Imass logic. In other words, absurd idiocy. No, I don't know precisely where you are going, but it is undeniably to be found in the same direction as where I am headed. Is that too sharp an observation for you?'

'Why do you hold to your flesh?'

'The same reason, I suppose, why you hold on to what's left of yours. Listen, I am named Hedge. I was once a soldier, a Bridgeburner. Malazan marines. Are you some cast-off from Logros T'lan Imass?'

The warrior said nothing for a moment, then, 'I was once of Kron T'lan Imass. Born in the Season of Blood-from-the- Mountain to the clan of Eptr Phinana. My own blood arrived on the shores of Jagra Til. I am Emroth.'

'A woman?'

A clattering, uneven shrug.

'Well, Emroth, what are you doing walking across Hood's forgotten ice-pit?'

'There is no pit here.'

'As you say.' Hedge looked round. 'Is this where abandoned T'lan Imass go, then?'

'Not here,' Emroth replied. Then the cutlass lifted and slowly pointed.

Ahead. The direction Hedge had decided to call north. 'What, are we headed towards a huge pile of frozen bones, then?'

Emroth turned and began walking once more.

Hedge moved up alongside the undead creature. 'Were you beautiful once, Emroth?'

'I do not remember.'

'I was hopeless with women,' Hedge said. 'My ears are too big – yes, that's why I wear this leather cap. And I got knobby knees. It's why I became a soldier, you know. To meet women. And then I discovered that women soldiers are scary. I mean, a lot more scary than normal women, which is saying something. I guess with you Imass, well, everyone was a warrior, right?'

'I understand,' Emroth said.

'You do? Understand what?'

'Why you have no companions, Hedge of the Bridgeburners.'

'You're not going to turn into a cloud of dust on me, are you?'

'In this place, I cannot. Alas.'

Grinning, Hedge resumed, 'It's not like I died a virgin or anything, of course. Even ugly bastards like me – well, so long as there's enough coin in your hand. But I'll tell you something, Emroth, that's not what you'd call love now, is it? So anyway, the truth of it is, I never shared that with anybody. Love. I mean, from the time I stopped being a child, right up until I died.

'Now there was this soldier, once. She was big and mean. Named Detoran. She decided she loved me, and showed it by beating me senseless. So how do you figure that one? Well, I've got it worked out. You see, she was even less lovable than me. Poor old cow. Wish I'd understood that at the time. But I was too busy running away from her. Funny how that is, isn't it?

'She died, too. And so I had a chance to, you know, talk to her. Since we