Do you understand? Will you ever understand?'
'Samar Dev has spoken,' said Traveller. 'We met not long ago, both journeying on this plain. We chose to ride as companions. I am from Dal Hon, on the continent of Quon Tali—'
Karsa grunted. 'Malazan.'
An answering nod. 'I am called Traveller.'
'You hide your name.'
'What I hide merely begins with my name, Karsa Orlong.'
The Toblakai's eyes thinned at that.
'You bear the tattoos,' Traveller went on, 'of an escaped slave of Seven Cities. Or, rather, a recaptured one. Clearly, the chains did not hold you for long.'
Samar Dev had picked herself up and was now brushing the dust from her clothes. 'Are these Skathandi?' she asked, gesturing at the bodies. 'Karsa?'
The giant turned away from his study of the Malazan. 'Idiots,' he said. 'Seeking vengeance for the dead king – as if I killed him.'
'Did you?'
'No.'
'Well,' she said, 'at least now I will have a horse of my own.'
Karsa walked over to Havok and settled a hand on his neck. The beast's nostrils flared and the lips peeled back to reveal the overlong fangs. Karsa laughed. 'Yes, old friend, I smell of death. When was it never thus?' And he laughed again.
'Hood take you, Karsa Orlong – what happened?'
He frowned at her. 'What do you mean, witch?'
'You killed the Emperor.'
'I said I would, and so I did.' He paused, and then said, 'And now this Malazan speaks as if he would make me a slave once more.'
'Not at all,' said Traveller. 'It just seems as if you have lived an eventful life, Toblakai. I only regret that I will probably never hear your tale, for I gather that you are not the talkative type.'
Karsa Orlong bared his teeth, and then swung up into the saddle. 'I am riding north,' he said.
'As am I,' replied Traveller.
Samar Dev collected both horses and tied a long lead to the one she decided she would not ride, then climbed into the saddle of the other – a russet gelding with a broad back and disinterested eyes. 'I think I want to go home,' she pronounced. 'Meaning I need to find a port, presumably on the western coast of this continent.'
Traveller said, 'I ride to Darujhistan. Ships ply the lake and the river that flows to the coast you seek. I would welcome the company, Samar Dev.'
'Darujhistan,' said Karsa Orlong. 'I have heard of that city. Defied the Malazan Empire and so still free. I will see it for myself.'
'Fine then,' Samar Dev snapped. 'Let's ride on, to the next pile of corpses – and with you for company, Karsa Orlong, that shouldn't be long – and then we'll ride to the next one and so on, right across this entire continent. To Darujhistan! Wherever in Hood's name that is.'
'I will see it,' Karsa said again. 'But I will not stay long.' And he looked at her with suddenly fierce eyes. 'I am returning home, witch.'
'To forge your army,' she said, nodding, sudden nerves tingling in her gut.
'And then the world shall witness.'
'Yes.'
After a moment, the three set out, Karsa Orlong on her left, Traveller on her right, neither speaking, yet they were histories, tomes of past, present and future. Between them, she felt like a crumpled page of parchment, her life a minor scrawl.
High, high above them, a Great Raven fixed preternatural eyes upon the three figures far below, and loosed a piercing cry, then tilted its broad black-sail wings and raced on a current of chill wind, rushing east.
She thought she might be dead. Every step she took was effortless, a product of will and nothing else – no shifting of weight, no swing of legs nor flexing of knees. Will carried her where she sought to go, to that place of formless light where the white sand glowed blindingly bright beneath her, at the proper distance had she been standing. Yet, looking down, she saw nothing of her own body. No limbs, no torso, and nowhere to any side could she see her shadow.
Voices droned somewhere ahead, but she was not yet ready for them, so she remained where she was, surrounded in warmth and light.
Pulses, as from torches flaring through thick mist, slowly approached, disconnected from the droning voices, and she now saw a line of figures drawing towards her. Women, heads tilted down, long hair over their faces, naked, each one heavy with pregnancy. The torch fires hovered over each one, fist-sized suns in which rainbow flames flickered and spun.
Salind wanted to recoil. She was a