Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7)

Reaper's Gale (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #7) Page 225

The Malazans threw the polished stones after them.

Then rode off down the dark road.

‘That has the look of a way station,’ the captain said under her breath.

Beak squinted, then said, ‘I smell horses, sir. That long building over there.’

‘Stables,’ Faradan Sort said, nodding. ‘Any Tiste Edur here?’

Beak shook his head. ‘Deepest blue of Rashan-that’s their candle, mostly. Not as deep as Kurald Galain. They call it Kurald Emurlahn, but these ones here, well, there’s skuzzy foam on that blue, like what sits on waves outside a harbour. That’s chaotic power. Sick power. Power like pain if pain was good, maybe even strong. I don’t know. I don’t like these Edur here.’

‘They’re here?’

‘No. I meant this continent, sir. There’s just Letherii in there. Four. In that small house beside the road.’

‘No magic?’

‘Just some charms.’

‘I want to steal four horses, Beak. Can you cast a glamour on those Letherii?’

‘The Grey Candle, yes. But they’ll find out after we’ve gone.’

‘True. Any suggestions?’

Beak was happy. He had never been so happy. This captain was asking him things. Asking for suggestions. Advice. And it wasn’t just for show neither. I’m in love with her. To her question he nodded, then tilted up his skullcap helm to scratch in his hair, and said, ‘Not the usual glamour, sir. Something lots more complicated. Finishing with the Orange Candle-’

‘Which is?’

‘Tellann.’

‘Is this going to be messy?’

‘Not if we take all the horses, Captain.’

He watched her studying him, wondered what she saw. She wasn’t much for expressions on that hard but beautiful face. Not even her eyes showed much. He loved her, true, but he was also a little frightened of Faradan Sort.

‘All right, Beak, where do you want me?’

‘In the stables with all the horses ready to leave, and maybe two saddled. Oh, and feed for us to take along.’

‘And I can do all that without an alarm’s being raised?’

‘They won’t hear a thing, sir. In fact, you could go up right now and knock on their door and they won’t hear it.’

Still she hesitated. ‘So I can just walk over to the stables, right out in the open, right now?’

Beak nodded with a broad smile.

‘Gods below,’ she muttered, ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this.’

‘Mockra has their minds, sir. They’ve got no defences. They’ve never been glamoured before, I don’t think.’

She set out in a half-crouch, moving quickly, although none of that was necessary, and moments later was inside the stables.

It would take some time, Beak knew, for her to do all that he’d asked-I just told a captain what to do! And she’s doing it! Does that mean she loves me right back? He shook himself. Not a good idea, letting his mind wander just now. He edged out from the cover of the trees lining this side of the stony road. Crouched to pick up a small rock, which he then spat on and set back down-to hold the Mockra in place-as he closed his eyes and sought out the White Candle.

Hood. Death, a cold, cold place. Even the air was dead. In his mind he looked in on that realm as if peering through a window, the wooden sill thick with melted candle wax, the white candle itself flickering to one side. Beyond, ash-heaped ground strewn with bones of all sorts. He reached through, closed a hand on the shaft of a heavy longbone, and drew it back. Working quickly, Beak pulled as many bones as would fit through the wandering window, always choosing big ones. He had no idea what the beasts had been to which all these bones belonged, but they would do.

When he was satisfied with the white, dusty pile heaped on the road, Beak closed the window and opened his eyes. Glancing across he saw the captain standing at the stables, gesturing at him.

Beak waved back, then turned and showed the bones the Purple Candle. They lifted from the road like feathers on an updraught, and as the mage hurried over to join Faradan Sort the bones followed in his wake, floating waist-high above the ground.

The captain disappeared back inside the stables before Beak arrived, then emerged, leading the horses, just as he padded up to the broad doors.

Grinning, Beak went into the stables, the bones tracking him. Once inside, smelling that wonderful musty smell of horses, leather, dung and piss-damp straw, he scattered the bones, a few into each stall, snuffing out the purple candle when he was done. He walked over to the mound of straw at one end, closed his eyes to awaken the Orange Candle, then spat into the straw.