One hand twisting tight to keep the man upright, Balm guided Deadsmell back outside. Throatslitter and Widdershins closed in from either side, the looks on their faces fierce, as if they were moments from drawing weapons should anyone come close.
The Fists backed away as one, and the sergeant scowled at them all. ‘Make room if you please, sirs. Oh, and she’ll see you now.’ Without waiting a reply, Balm tugged Deadsmell forward, the healer staggering – his clothes sodden as frost and ice melted in the morning heat. Twenty paces away, behind a sagging supply tent, the sergeant finally halted. ‘Sit down, Deadsmell. Gods below, tell me this’ll pass.’
The healer slumped to the ground. His head sank and the others waited for the man to be sick. Instead, they heard something like a sob. Balm stared at Throatslitter, and then at Widdershins, but by their expressions they were as baffled as he was. He crouched down, one hand resting lightly on Deadsmell’s back – he could feel the shudders pushing through.
The healer wept for some time.
No one spoke.
When the sobs began to subside, Balm leaned closer. ‘Corporal, what in Togg’s name is going on with you?’
‘I – I can’t explain, Sergeant.’
‘The healing worked,’ said Balm. ‘We all saw it.’
He nodded, still not lifting his head.
‘So … what?’
‘She let down her defences, just for a moment. Let me in, Sergeant. She had to, so I could heal the damage – and gods, was there damage! Stepping into view – that must have taken everything she had. Standing, talking …’ he shook his head. ‘I saw inside. I saw—’
He broke down all over again, shaking with vast, overwhelming sobs.
Balm remained crouched at his side. Widdershins and Throatslitter stood forming a kind of barrier facing outward. There was nothing to do but wait.
In the moments before the Fists trooped inside, Lostara Yil stood facing Tavore. She struggled to keep her voice steady, calm. ‘Welcome back, Adjunct.’
Tavore slowly drew a deep breath. ‘Your thoughts, High Priest?’
To one side, Banaschar lifted his head. ‘I’m too cold to think, Adjunct.’
‘Omtose Phellack. Have you felt the footfalls of the Jaghut, Banaschar?’
The ex-priest shrugged. ‘So Hood had a back door. Should we really be surprised? That devious shit of a god was never one for playing straight.’
‘Disingenuous, High Priest.’
His face twisted. ‘Think hard on where your gifts come from, Adjunct.’
‘At last,’ she retorted, ‘some sound advice from you, High Priest. Almost … sober.’
If he planned on a reply, he bit it off when Kindly, Sort and Blistig entered the chamber.
There was a stretch of silence, and then Faradan Sort snorted and said, ‘And here I always believed a chilly reception was just a—’
‘I am informed,’ cut in the Adjunct, ‘that our guests are on their way. Before they arrive, I wish each of you to report on the disposition of your soldiers. Succinctly, please.’
The Fists stared.
Lostara Yil glanced over at Banaschar, and saw something flickering in his eyes as he studied the Adjunct.
Their approach took them down the north avenue of the Malazan encampment, winding down the crooked track between abattoir tents, where the stench of butchered animals was rank in the fly-swarmed air. Atri-Ceda Aranict rode in silence beside Commander Brys, hunched against the bleating of myrid and lowing of rodara, the squeal of terrified pigs and the moaning of cattle. Creatures facing slaughter well understood their fate, and the sound of their voices crowding the air was a torment.
‘Ill chosen,’ muttered Brys, ‘this route. My apologies, Atri-Ceda.’
Two soldiers crossed their path, wearing heavy blood-drenched aprons. Their faces were flat, expressionless. Their hands dripped gore.
‘Armies bathe in blood,’ said Aranict. ‘That is the truth of it, isn’t it, Commander?’
‘I fear we all bathe in it,’ he replied. ‘Cities permit us to hide from that bleak truth, I think.’
‘What would it be like, I wonder, if we all ate only vegetables?’
‘We’d break all the land and the wild animals would have nowhere to live,’ Brys replied.
‘So we should see these domesticated beasts as sacrifices in the name of wildness.’
‘You could,’ he said, ‘if it helps.’
‘I’m not sure it does.’
‘Nor am I.’
‘I think I am too soft for all this,’ she concluded. ‘I have a sentimental streak. Maybe you can hide from the slaughter itself, but if you possess any imagination at all, well, there’s no real hiding, is there?’
They drew closer to a broad intersection, and opposite them a sizeable troop of riders was converging on the same place, coming up from the south track. ‘Well now,’ said Brys, ‘are those Bolkando royal standards?’
‘Seems the queen has taken her escort duties well beyond her kingdom’s borders.’
‘Yes, most curious. Shall we await them?’
‘Why not?’
They reined in at the intersection.
The queen’s entourage was oversized, yet as it drew closer Brys frowned. ‘Those are Evertine regulars, I think,’ he said. ‘Not an officer among them.’
In addition to these hardened soldiers, three Barghast warriors rode close to Abrastal, while off to the right rode two Khundryl women, one of them seven or eight months pregnant. On the left was a pair of armoured foreigners – the Perish? Aranict drew a sharp breath. ‘That must be Mortal Sword Krughava. She alone could command a palace tapestry.’
Brys grunted. ‘I know what you mean. I have seen a few hard women in my time, but that one … formidable indeed.’
‘I doubt I could even lift that sword at her belt.’
With a gesture Queen Abrastal halted the entire troop. She said something to one of her soldiers, and suddenly the veterans were all dismounting, lifting satchels from their saddle horns and setting out into the Malazan camp. Aranict watched the soldiers fanning out, apparently seeking squad camps. ‘What are they doing?’
Brys shook his head. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘They’ve brought … bottles.’
Brys Beddict grunted, and then tapped his horse’s flanks. Aranict followed suit.
‘Commander Brys Beddict,’ said Queen Abrastal, settling back in her saddle. ‘We finally meet. Tell me, does your brother know where you are?’
‘Highness, does your husband?’
Her teeth flashed. ‘I doubt it. But isn’t this better than our meeting in anger?’
‘Agreed, Highness.’
‘Now, barring this Gilk oaf at my side and of course you, it seems this will be a gathering of women. Do you quake in your boots, Prince?’
‘If I am, I am man enough to not admit it, Highness. Will you be so kind as to perform introductions?’
Abrastal removed her heavy gauntlets and gestured to her right. ‘From the Khundryl, Hanavat, wife to Warleader Gall, and with her Shelemasa, bodyguard and One of the Charge.’
Brys tilted his head to both women. ‘Hanavat. We were witness to the Charge.’ His gaze momentarily flicked to Shelemasa, then back to Hanavat. ‘Please, if you will, inform your husband that I was shamed by his courage and that of the Burned Tears. Seeing the Khundryl stung me to action. I would he understand that all that the Letherii were subsequently able to achieve in relieving the Bonehunters is set in humble gratitude at the Warleader’s feet.’
Hanavat’s broad, fleshy face remained expressionless. ‘Most generous words, Prince. My husband shall be told.’
The awkwardness of that reply hung in the dusty air for a moment, and then Queen Abrastal gestured to the Perish. ‘Mortal Sword Krughava and Shield Anvil Tanakalian, of the Grey Helms.’
Once again Brys tilted his head. ‘Mortal Sword. Shield Anvil.’
‘You stood in our place six days ago,’ said Krughava, her tone
almost harsh. ‘This is now an open wound upon the souls of my brothers and sisters. We grieve at the sacrifice you suffered in our stead. This is not your war, after all, yet you stood firm. You fought with valour. Should the opportunity ever arise, sir, we shall in turn stand in your place. This the Perish Grey Helms avow.’
Brys Beddict seemed at a loss.
Aranict cleared her throat and said, ‘You have humbled the prince, Mortal Sword. Shall we now present ourselves to the Adjunct?’
Queen Abrastal collected up her reins and swung her mount on to the track leading to the camp’s centre. ‘Will you ride at my side, Prince?’
‘Thank you,’ Brys managed.
Aranict dropped her mount just behind the two, and found herself riding alongside the ‘Gilk oaf’.
He glanced across at her and his broad, scarified face was solemn. ‘That Mortal Sword,’ he muttered low, ‘she comes across with all the soft sweetness of a mouthful of quartz. Well done to your commander for recovering.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t turn round, but if you did you would see tears on the face of Hanavat. I think I like your commander. I am Spax, Warchief of the Gilk Barghast.’
‘Atri-Ceda Aranict.’
‘That means High Mage Aranict, yes?’
‘I suppose it does. Warchief, those Evertine soldiers who have gone out among the Malazans – what are they doing?’
Spax reached up and made a clawing gesture beneath his eyes. ‘What are they doing, Atri-Ceda? Spirits below, they are being human.’
BOOK TWO
ALL THE TAKERS OF MY DAYS
Well enough she faces away
Walking past these dripping thrones
No one knows where the next foot
Falls
When we stumble in the shadows
Our standards bow to wizened winds
I saw that look beneath the rim
Of blistered iron
And it howled to the men kneeling
In the square and the dogs sleep on
In the cool foot of the wall, no fools there
She was ever looking elsewhere
Like a disenchanted damsel
A shift of her shoulder
Sprawls corpses into her wake
No matter
There was a child dream once
You remember well
Was she the mother or did that tit
Seep seduction?
All these thrones I built with my own
Hands
Labours of love thin over ragged nails
I wanted benediction, or the slip away
Of clothes, whichever bends my way
Behind her back
Oh we were guards then, stern sentinels,
And these grilled masks smelling of blood
Now sweat something old
We never knew what we were guarding
We never do and never will
But I swear to you all:
I will die at its feet before I take a step inside
Call me duty and be done with it
Or roll from your tongue that sweet curl
That is valour
While the dogs twitch in dream
Like children left lying
Underfoot
Adjunct
Hare Ravage
CHAPTER FIVE
She was dying but we carried her down to the shore. There was light stretched like skin over her pain, but it was thin and fast fraying. None of us dared note in any whisper of irony, how she who was named Awakening Dawn was now fading in this morning’s wretched rise.
Her weak gestures had brought her down here, where the silver waves fell like rain and the froth at the curling foot was flecked crimson. Bodies bloated and pale fanned limbs in the shallows, and we wondered at the fitness of her last command.
Is it suit to face your slayer? Soon enough I will answer that for myself. We can hear the legions mustering again behind the flowing wall, and the others are drawing back to ready their rough line. So few left. Perhaps this is what she came to see, before the killing light dried her eyes.
Shake fragment, Kharkanas, Author unknown
THE BLACK LACQUERED AMPHORA EMERGED FROM THE SIDE DOOR AND skidded, rather than rolled, diagonally across the corridor. It struck the base of the marble banister at the top of the stairs, and the crack echoed sharp as a split skull before the huge vessel tilted and pitched down the steps. Shattering, it flung its shards in a glistening spray down the stone flight all the way to the main floor. Sparkling dust spun and twisted for a time, before settling like flecks of frost.
Withal walked over to the edge of the steps and looked down. ‘That,’ he said under his breath, ‘was rather spectacular.’ He turned at a sound behind him.
Captain Brevity was leaning out from the doorway, glancing round until she spotted Withal. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said.
‘I was doing just that,’ he replied. ‘Five strides closer and she’d be a widow.’
Brevity made a face he couldn’t quite read, and then edged to one side to let him pass.
The throne room was still a chamber of ghosts. Black stone and black wood, the crimson and onyx mosaic of the floor dulled with dust and dried leaves that had wandered in from some high window. It seemed to hold nothing of the now brimming power of the Teronderai, the holy sepulchre of Mother Dark, yet for all that Withal felt diminished as he stepped through the side entrance and edged out towards the centre of the room.
The throne was on his right, raised on a knee-high dais that was, he realized, the vast stump of a blackwood tree. Roots snaked down to sink into the surrounding floor. The throne itself had been carved from the bole, a simple, almost ascetic chair. Perhaps it had once been plush, padded and bold in rich fabrics, but not even the tacks remained.
His wife stood just to the other side of the throne, her arms crossed, now dragging her glare from Yan Tovis – who stood facing the throne as would a supplicant – to Withal. ‘Finally,’ she snapped, ‘my escort. Take me out of here, husband.’
Yan Tovis, queen of the Shake, cleared her throat. ‘Leaving solves nothing—’
‘Wrong. It solves everything.’
The woman facing her sighed. ‘This is the throne of the Tiste Andii, and Kharkanas is the capital of the Hold of Darkness. You are home, Highness—’
‘Stop calling me that!’
‘But I must, for you are of royal blood—’
‘We were all of royal blood in this infernal city!’ Sandalath Drukorlat pointed a finger at Yan Tovis. ‘As were the Shake!’
‘But our realm was and is the Shore, Highness, whereas Kharkanas is yours. But if it must be that there be only one queen, then I freely abdicate—’
‘You will not. They are your people! You led them here, Yan Tovis. You are their queen.’
‘Upon this throne, Highness, only one of royal Tiste Andii blood can make a true claim. And, as we both well know, there is only one Tiste Andii in this entire realm, and that is you.’
‘Fine, and over whom do I rule? Heaps of dust? Mouldy bones? Blood stains on the floor? And where is my High Priestess, in whose eyes Mother Dark shines? Where is my Blind Gallan, my brilliant, tortured court fool? Where are my rivals, my hostages, my servants and soldiers? Handmaidens and— Oh, never mind. This is pointless. I don’t want that throne.’
‘Nonetheless,’ said Yan Tovis.
‘Very well, I accept it, and my first act is to abdicate and yield the throne and all of Wise Kharkanas to you, Queen Yan Tovis. Captain Brevity, find us a royal seal – there must be one lying around here somewhere – and parchment and ink and wax.’
The queen of the Shake was smiling, but it was a sad smile. ‘“Wise Kharkanas.” I had forgotten that honorific. Queen Sandalath Drukorlat, I respectfully decline your offer. My duties are upon the Shore.’ She nodded to Brevity. ‘Until such time that other Tiste Andii return to Kharkanas, I humbly submit Captain Brevity here to act as your Chancellor, Palace
Guard Commander, and whatever other duties of organization as are required to return this palace to its former glory.’
Sandalath snorted. ‘Oh, clever. And I suppose a few hundred of your Shake are waiting outside with mops and buckets.’
‘Letherii, actually. Islanders and other refugees. They have known great privation, Highness, and will view the privilege of palace employment with humility and gratitude.’
‘And if I turn them all away? Oh yes, I see the traps you’ve set around me, Yan Tovis. You intend to guilt me on to that accursed throne. But what if I am a harder woman than you?’
‘The burden of rule hardens us both, Highness.’
Sandalath cast Withal a beseeching look. ‘Talk her out of this, husband.’
‘I would if I thought I had any chance of swaying her, beloved.’ He strode to the base of the dais, eyeing the throne. ‘Needs a cushion or two, I should think, before you could hope to sit there for any length of time.’
‘And you as my consort? Gods, don’t you think I could do better?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ he replied. ‘For the moment, however, you are stuck with me, and,’ he added with a wave at the throne, ‘with this. So sit down and make it official, Sand, so Yan Tovis can kneel or curtsey or whatever it is she has to do, and Brevity can get on with scrubbing the floors and beating the tapestries.’
The Tiste Andii woman cast about, as if seeking another amphora, but the nearest one stood perched on a stone cup near the side door – now an orphan, Withal saw, noting the unoccupied stone base on the entrance’s other side. He waited to see if she’d make the fierce march to repeat her gesture of frustration and anger, but all at once his wife seemed to subside. Thank Mael. That would have made her look ridiculous. Decorum, beloved, as befits the Queen of Darkness. Aye, some things you can’t run from.
‘There will be two queens in this realm,’ Sandalath said, coming round to slump down in the throne. ‘Don’t even think of curtseying, Tovis.’ She eyed the Shake woman with something close to a glower. ‘Other Tiste Andii, you said.’
The Crippled God Page 16