Steven Erikson - Deadhouse Gates

Captain Keneb arrived. 'No luck, Commander.'

Blistig frowned, then sighed. The scorched ship's crew had disappeared almost immediately after docking and offloading the wounded soldiers from Coltaine's Seventh. The garrison commander had wanted them present for the Adjunct's arrival — he suspected Tavore would desire to question them — and Hood knows, those irreverent bastards could do with a blistering. ..

'The Seventh's survivors have been assembled for her inspection, sir,' Keneb said.

'Including the Wickans?'

'Aye, and both warlocks among them.'

Blistig shivered despite the sultry heat. They were a frightening pair. So cold, so silent. Two children who are not.

And Squint was still missing — the commander well knew that it was unlikely he would ever see that man again. Heroism and murder in a single gesture would be a hard thing for any person to live with. He only hoped that they wouldn't find the old bowman floating face down in the harbour.

Keneb cleared his throat. 'Those survivors, sir.. '

'I know, Keneb, I know.' They're broken. Queen's mercy, so broken. Mended flesh can do only so much. Mind you, I've got my own troubles with the garrison — I've never seen a company so. . brittle.

'We should make our way below, sir — she's almost at the gate.'

Blistig sighed. 'Aye, let's go meet this Adjunct Tavore.'

Mappo gently laid Icarium down in the soft sand of the sinkhole. He'd rigged a tarp over his unconscious friend, sufficient for shade, but there was little he could do about the stench of putrefaction that hung heavy in the motionless air. It was not the best of smells for the Jhag to awaken to..

The ruined village was behind them now, the black gate's shadow unable to reach to where Mappo had laid out the camp beside the road and its ghastly sentinels. The Azath warren had spat them out ten leagues to the north, days ago now. The Trell had carried Icarium in his arms all that way, seeking a place free of death — he'd hoped to have found it by now. Instead, the horror had worsened.

Mappo straightened at the sound of wagon wheels clattering on the road. He squinted against the glare. A lone ox pulled a flatbed cart up Aren Way. A man sat hunched on the buck-board seat, and there was motion behind him — two more men crouched down on the bed, bent to some unseen task.

Their progress was slow, as the driver stopped the cart at every tree, the man spending a minute or so staring up at the bodies nailed to it, before moving on to the next one.

Picking up his sack, Mappo made his way towards them.

On seeing him, the driver drew the cart to a halt and set the brake. He casually reached over the back of the seat and lifted into view a massive flint sword, which he settled sideways across his thighs.

'If you mean trouble, Trell,' the driver growled, 'back away now or you'll regret it.'

The other two men straightened up at this, both armed with crossbows.

Mappo set down his sack and held out both hands. All three men were strangely hued, and the Trell sensed a latent power in them that made him uneasy. 'The very opposite of trouble, I assure you. For days now I've walked among the dead — you're the first living people I've seen in that time. Seeing you has been a relief, for I had feared I was lost in one of Hood's nightmares …'

The driver scratched his red-bearded jaw. 'I'd say you are at that.' He set his sword down, twisted around. 'Reckon it's all right, Corporal — besides, maybe he has some bandages we can barter from him or something.'

The older of the two men on the flatbed swung down to the ground and approached Mappo.

The Trell said, 'You have injured soldiers? I've some skill in healing.'

The corporal's smile was taut, pained. 'I doubt you'd want to waste your skills. We ain't got hurt people in the wagon — we got a pair of dogs.'

'Dogs?'

'Aye. We found them at the Fall. Seems Hood didn't want 'em … not right away, anyway. Personally, I can't figure out why they're still alive — they're so full of holes and chopped up …' He shook his head.

The driver had climbed down as well, and was making his way up to the end of the road, studying each and every corpse before moving on.

Mappo gestured the driver's way. 'You're looking for someone.'

The corporal nodded. 'We are, but the bodies are pretty far gone, it's kind of hard to tell for sure. Still, Stormy says he'll know him when he sees him, if he's here.'

Mappo's gaze flicked from the corporal, travelled down Aren Way. 'How far does this go?'

'The whole way, Trell. Ten thousand soldiers, give or take.'

'And you've …'

'We've checked them all.' The corporal's eyes narrowed. 'Well, Stormy's up to the last few, anyway. You know, even if we wasn't looking for someone particular … well, at the very least…' He shrugged.

Mappo looked away, his own face tightening. 'Your friend mentioned something called the Fall. What is that?'

'The place where Coltaine and the Seventh went down. The dogs were the only survivors. Coltaine guided thirty thousand refugees from Hissar to Aren. It was impossible, but that's what he did. He saved those ungrateful bastards and his reward was to get butchered not five hundred paces from the city's gate. No-one helped him, Trell.' The corporal's eyes searched Mappo's. 'Can you imagine that?'

'I am afraid I know nothing of the events you describe.'

'So I guessed. Hood knows where you've been hiding lately.'

Mappo nodded. After a moment he sighed. 'I'll take a look at your dogs, if you like.'

'All right, but we don't hold out much hope. Thing is, the lad's gone and taken to 'em, if you know what I mean.'

The Trell walked to the cart and clambered aboard.

He found the lad hunched down over a mass of red, torn flesh and bone, feebly waving flies from the flesh.

'Hood's mercy,' Mappo whispered, studying what had once been a cattle-dog. 'Where's the other one?'

The youth pulled back a piece of cloth, revealing a lapdog of some kind. All four legs had been deliberately broken. Pus crusted the breaks and the creature shook with fever.

'That little one,' the youth said. 'It was left lying on this one.' His tone was filled with pain and bewilderment.

'Neither one will make it, lad,' Mappo said. 'That big one should have died long ago — it may well be dead now-'

'No. No, he's alive. I can feel his heart, but it's slowing. It's slowing, and we can't do nothing. Gesler says we should help it along, that slowing, we should end its pain, but maybe … maybe …'

Mappo watched the lad fuss over the hapless creatures, his long-fingered, almost delicate hands daubing the wounds with a blood-soaked piece of cloth. After a moment, the Trell straightened, slowly turning to stare down the long road. He heard a shout behind him, close to the gate, then heard the corporal named Gesler running to join Stormy.

Ah, Icarium. Soon you will awaken, and still I shall grieve, and so lead you to wonder. . My grief begins with you, friend, for your loss of memories — memories not of horror, but of gifts given so freely. . Too many dead. . how to answer this? How would you answer this, Icarium?

He stared for a long time down Aren Way. Behind him the lad crouched over the cattle-dog's body, while the crunch of boots approached slowly from up the road. The cart pitched as Stormy clambered up to take his seat. Gesler swung himself into the flatbed, expressionless.

The youth looked up. 'You find him, Gesler? Did Stormy find him?'

'No. Thought for a minute … but no. He ain't here, lad. Time to head back to Aren.'

'Queen's blessing,' the youth said. 'Then there's always a chance.'

'Aye, who can say, Truth, who can say.'

The lad, Truth, returned his attention to the cattle-dog.