Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1)

Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) Page 180

“Success? What are you talking about?”

Kruppe waved a hand. “Dear man, though I was conscious but a moment during the fracas, clear it was that this woman warrior possessed an Otataral sword. Which means, as any child might guess, she's Malazan.”

Murillio hissed slowly between his teeth. “And we left Coll back there? Are you insane, Kruppe?”

“He'll mend enough to follow us shortly,” Kruppe said. “The need for haste overwhelms all other considerations.”

“Except cheap deals with a certain stabler,” Murillio growled. “So, there's some Malazan in the Gadrobi Hills. What's she up to? And don't try telling me you don't know. If you didn't suspect something we wouldn't be in such a hurry.”

“Suspicions, indeed.” Kruppe nodded, his shoulders hunching. “Recall Crokus uttering that perceptive comment as we left the crossroads? Hunting a rumour, or some such thing?”

“Wait a ininute.” Murillio groaned. “Not that barrow legend again? There's not a-”

Kruppe held up a finger and cut in smoothly, “What we believe is irrelevant, Murillio. The fact remains that the Malazans are seeking the truth of that rumour. And both Kruppe and Master Baruk suspect, being of equal intelligence, that they might well discover it. Hence this mission, my fluttery friend.” He waggled his brows. “Otataral in the hands of a swordmaster of the Empire. A T'lan Imass lurking in the vicinity-”

“What?” Murillio exploded, his eyes wide. He made to turn his mule around, but the beast complained and planted its hoofs. He struggled with it, cursing. “Coll's all cut up and he's got a Malazan killer out there and an Imass! You've lost your mind, Kruppe!”

“But, dear Murillio,” Kruppe crooned, “Kruppe would have thought you eager, nay, desperate to return to Darujhistan as quickly as possible!” That stopped the man. He rounded on Kruppe, face darkening. “Come on,” he gritted, “out with it, then.”

Kruppe's brows rose. “Out with what?”

“You've been hinting about something, poking me with it. So if you think you know something about whatever, let's hear it. Otherwise, we turn round right now and head back to Coll.” Seeing Kruppe's eyes dart, Murillio grinned. “Hah, you thought to distract me, didn't you? Well, it's not going to work.”

Kruppe raised his hands palm up. “No matter whose brain was responsible for your scheme to return Coll to his rightful title, Kruppe can do naught but eagerly applaud!”

Murillio's jaw dropped. How in Hood's name did Kruppe:?

The man continued, “But all that is inconsequential when faced with the fact of Crokus, and the grave danger he is presently in. More, if this young girl was indeed possessed, as Coll suspects, the risks are frightening to behold! Was she the only hunter for the lad's frail, unprotected life? What of the thousand gods and demons who would eagerly confound Oponn at the first opportunity? Thus, would Murillio, friend of long standing with Crokus, so callously abandon the child to the fates? Is Murillio a man to succumb to panic, to what-ifs, to a host of imagined nightmares slinking about within the shadows of his overwrought imagination-?”

“All right!” Murillio barked. “Now hold your tongue and let's ride.”

Kruppe gave a brusque nod at this wise remark.

An hour later, as dusk clambered up the hillsides and ever westward to the dying sun, Murillio started and threw Kruppe a furious glare that was lost in the gloom. “Damn him,” he whispered, “I said I wasn't about to let him distract me. So what's the first thing he does? Distract me.”

“Murillio murmurs something?” Kruppe asked.

Murillio massaged his forehead. “I'm having dizzy spells,” he said.

“Let's find a camp. Crokus and the girl won't make it to the city before tomorrow anyway. I doubt he's in any danger on the road, and we'll find him easily enough before tomorrow's sunset. They should be fine in the daytime-hell, they'll be with Mammot, right?”

“Kruppe admits to his own weariness. Indeed, a camp should be found, and Murillio can construct a small fire, perhaps, and so prepare dinner while Kruppe ponders vital thoughts and such.”

“Fine.” Murillio sighed. “Just fine.”

It came to Captain Paran a couple days after his encounter with the Tiste And? and the events within the lord's sword that Rake had not suspected him to be a Malazan soldier. Or he'd be dead. Oversights blessed him, it seemed. His assassin in Pale should have checked twice-and now the Son of Darkness, snatching him from the jaws of the Hounds, had in turn let him walk free. Was there a pattern to this? It had Oponn's flavour, yet Paran didn't doubt Rake's assertion.