Reaper's Gate & Toll the Hounds - By Steven Erikson Page 0,769

to be is nowhere

And where he must go is perhaps near

His beard is the hue of dirty snow

His eyes are eyes that will never thaw

Beneath him the horse does not breathe

Nor does the man and the wind moans hollow

Along the dents of his rusty scaled hauberk

And it is too much to shift about to the approach

Of riders one from his right the other from his left

On dead horses with empty eyes they rein in

Settle silent with strange familiarity

Flanking easy his natural command

Beneath these three the ground is lifeless

And within each ashes are stirred in the dirge

Of grim recollections that slide seeping into regret

But all is past and the horses do not move

And so he glances rightward with jaw clenching

Upon the one-eyed regard he once knew though not well

Answering the wry smile with sudden need

So he asks, 'Are they waiting, Corporal?'

'Bequeathed and loose on the dead plain, Sergeant,

And was this not what you wanted?'

To that he can but shrug and set gaze upon the other

'I see your garb and know you, sir, yet do not.'

Black beard and visage dark, a brow like cracked basalt

A man heavy in armour few could stand in

And he meets the observance with a grimace

'Then know, if you will, Brukhalian of the Grey Swords.'

Beneath these three thunder rides the unproven earth

Nothing sudden but growing like an awakening heart

And the echoes roll down from the shield overhead

As iron reverberates the charge of what must be

'So once more, the Bridgeburners march to war.'

To which Brukhalian adds, 'Too the Grey Swords who fell

And this you call Corporal was reborn only to die,

A new bridge forged between you and me, good sir.'

They turn then on their unbreathing mounts

To review the ranks arrayed in grainy mass on the plain

Onward to war from where and what they had once been

When all that was known is all that one knows again

And in this place the heather never blooms

The blood to be spilled never spills and never flows

Iskar Jarak, Bird That Steals, sits astride a black horse

And looks to command once more

Sword and Shield

Fisher kel Tath

Bliss on a sun-warmed sandy beach, on a remote island, proves tedious to souls habituated to stimulation and excitement. The smaller the island, the faster the scene palls. So Gruntle concluded after completing his thirtieth circle round the white rim of the shore, finding himself fascinated by his own footprints, especially when a new set arrived to track his path. Dulled and insensate as he had become, it was a moment before it occurred to him to halt and turn round, to see the one who now followed.

Master Quell was sweating, gasping, fighting through the soft sand as he probably fought through all of life, one wheezing step at a time. He was sunburned on one side of his body, face and neck, bared forearm, ankle and foot, the result of falling asleep in an unwise position. That he had been pursuing Gruntle for some time was clear in that his footprints completed an entire circumambulation, leaving Gruntle to wonder why the man had not simply called out to capture his attention. Indeed, if Gruntle had not noticed the new trail upon his own, they might well have gone round all day, one pursuing, the other simply walking at a pace the pursuer could not achieve.

'A simple shout,' he said as the man drew closer.

'I did not, uh, want, uh, to call undue attention, uh, upon us.'

'You do not sound well.'

'I need to pee.'

'Then—'

'I can't. Well, I can, but intermittently. Generally when I'm not, er, thinking about it.'

'Ah. A healer could—'

'Yes, yes, I know. Never mind that. Listen—'

'Master Quell,' said Gruntle, 'this was not the way to avoid undue attention – everyone else is sitting right there in the shade of the carriage, and they have been watching us for some time. Me, at least. Why, the Bole brothers wave to me with every pass I make.'

They both glanced over and, sure enough, Jula and Amby waved.

Master Quell rubbed at his bicolour red and pasty face. 'I need an escort.'

'For what? To where?'

'Back to the realm of the dead. No, not in the carriage. Just you and me, Gruntle. I need to get a sense of what's going on. We need to just, er, slip in. A quick look round, then back out.'

'And then?'

Quell's brows lifted. 'Then? Well, we resume our journey, of course.'

'You want me to escort you into Hood's realm, as what, your bodyguard?'

The man bristled slightly. 'The shareholder agreement you have made with the Guild includes discretionary