Gardens of the Moon (The Malazan Book of the Fallen #1) 54

“I've food to spare, traveller, if you're of a mind.”

The captain dismounted and approached. “My name's Paran,” he said.

He sat down by the fire.

The other followed suit, the fire between them. “Coll,” he grunted, stretching out a bandaged leg. “You down from the north?”

“Genabaris, initially. Spent some time in Pale, recently.”

Coll's brows rose at that. “You've the look of a mercenary,” he said, “though likely an officer. I heard it was pretty bad up there.”

“I arrived a little late,” Paran admitted. “Saw lots of rubble and lots of dead, so I'm inclined to believe the stories.” He hesitated, then said; “There was a rurnour in Pale that Moon's Spawn is now over Darujhistan.”

Coll grunted, tossing a handful of sticks on to the fire. “So it is,” he said. He gestured at a battered pot tucked against the coals. “That's stew, if you're hungry. Help yourself.”

Paran realized he was famished. He accepted Coll's offer gratefully. As he ate, using a wooden spoon the man loaned him, he thought to ask about that leg wound. But then he recalled his Claw training. When you play a soldier, you play it to the hilt. Nobody talks about what's obvious.

Something staring you in the eye, you look around it and grumble about the weather. Anything important will come out in its own time. Soldiers have nothing to look forward to, making patience an easy virtue, and sometimes it's not just a virtue, but a contest of indifference. So Paran emptied the pot, while Coll waited in casual silence, poking at the fire and adding the occasional stick from an enormous pile behind him-where the wood had come from was anybody's guess.

Finally, Paran wiped his mouth with his sleeve and scrubbed the spoon as clean as he could manage without water. He sat back then, and belched.

Coll spoke. “You heading into Darujhistan, then?”

“I am. And you?”

“Should be able to manage it in another day or so, though I can't say I'm looking forward to riding into the city on the back of a mule.”

Paran looked westward. “Well,” he said, squinting, “sun's about down. Mind if I share this camp for the night?”

“By all means.”

The captain rose and attended to his horses. He thought about delaying a day to let this man mend some more, then lending him a horse. If he rode into the city in the company of a local, there'd be advantages-someone to direct him, perhaps even give him a place to stay for a day or two. Not only that, but he might learn something in the meantime.

Would another day matter? Possibly, but it looked worth it. He hobbled the Wickan horses near the mule, then carried his saddle back to the fire.

“Been thinking about your problem,” Paran said, as he dropped the saddle and sat with his back against it. “I'll ride in with you. You can use my pack horse.”

Coll's eyes were alert. “A generous offer.”

Seeing the man's suspicion, Paran smiled. “The horses could use the extra day's rest, for one. Second, I've never before been to Darujhistan, so in exchange for my so-called generosity I'd like to plague you with endless questions in the next two days. After that, I get my horse back and you're on your way, and if anyone's come out ahead, it's me.”

“Better warn you now, Paran, I'm not much of a talker.”

“I'll take the risk.”

Coll considered for a time. “Hell,” he said, “I'd be mad not to accept, wouldn't I? You don't look the type to stick me in the back. I don't know your real story, Paran. If that's something you want to keep to yourself, that's your business. That won't stop me from asking questions, though. It's up to you whether you lie or not.”

“I think that goes both ways, doesn't it?” Paran responded. “Well, you want my story straight? Fine, here it is, Coll. I'm a deserter from the Malazan Army, ranked as captain. I also did a lot of work with the Claw, and looking back on it that's where the trouble started. Anyway, it's done.” Oh, yes, and one more thing. People who get close to me usually end up dead.”

Coll was silent, his eyes glittering in the firelight and fixed on the man opposite him. Then he puffed his cheeks and blew out a loud breath of air. “Truth as bald as that makes a challenge, don't it?” He stared into the fire, then leaned back on his elbows and lifted his face to the stars now appearing overhead. “I was once a noble in Darujhistan, the last son of a long-lined, powerful family. I was set for an arranged marriage but I fell in love with another woman-a hungry, ambitious woman, though I was blind to that.” He smiled wryly. “She was a whore, in fact, only where most whores I've met are pretty down-to-earth, she was as twisted a soul as you could imagine.”