House of Chains

by Steven Erikson

  ‘I do not know who you are.’

  The man smiled. ‘Ah, yes, I am well ahead of myself . . .’ His gaze fell to the shadows spread long before him, though his back was to an unlit, closed door, and his smile broadened as if he was reconsidering those words. ‘I am Cotillion, Lostara Yil. Back then, I was Dancer, and yes, you can well guess the significance of that name, given what you were being trained to do. Of course, in Seven Cities, certain truths of the cult had been lost, in particular the true nature of Shadow Dancing. It was never meant for performance, Lostara. It was, in fact, an art most martial. Assassination.’

  ‘I am no follower of Shadow—Rashan or your version—’

  ‘That is not the loyalty I would call upon with you,’ Cotillion replied.

  She was silent, struggling to fit sense to her thoughts, to his words. Cotillion . . . was Dancer. Shadowthrone . . . must have been Kellanved, the Emperor! She scowled. ‘My loyalty is to the Malazan Empire. The Empire—’

  ‘Very good,’ he replied. ‘I am pleased.’

  ‘And now you’re going to try to convince me that the Empress Laseen should not be the empire’s true ruler—’

  ‘Not at all. She is welcome to it. But, alas, she is in some trouble right now, isn’t she? She could do with some . . . help.’

  ‘She supposedly assassinated you!’ Lostara hissed. ‘You and Kellanved both!’ She betrayed you.

  Cotillion simply shrugged again. ‘Everyone had their . . . appointed tasks. Lostara, the game being played here is far larger than any mortal empire. But the empire in question—your empire—well, its success is crucial to what we seek. And, were you to know the fullest extent of recent, distant events, you would need no convincing that the Empress sits on a tottering throne right now.’

  ‘Yet even you betrayed the Emper—Shadowthrone. Did you not just tell me—’

  ‘Sometimes, I see further than my dear companion. Indeed, he remains obsessed with desires to see Laseen suffer—I have other ideas, and while he may see them as party to his own, there is yet no pressing need to disabuse him of that notion. But I will not seek to deceive you into believing I am all-knowing. I admit to having made grave errors, indeed, to knowing the poison of suspicion. Quick Ben. Kalam. Whiskeyjack. Where did their loyalty truly reside? Well, I eventually got my answer, but I am not yet decided whether it pleases me or troubles me. There is one danger that plagues ascendants in particular, and that is the tendency to wait too long. Before acting, before stepping—if you will—from the shadows.’ He smiled again. ‘I would make amends for past, at times fatal, hesitation. And so here I stand before you, Lostara, to ask for your help.’

  Her scowl deepened. ‘Why should I not tell Pearl all about this . . . meeting?’

  ‘No reason, but I’d rather you didn’t. I am not yet ready for Pearl. For you, remaining silent will not constitute treason, for, if you do as I ask, you two will walk step in step. You will face no conflict, no matter what may occur, or what you may discover in your travels.’

  ‘Where is this . . . Delat?’

  His brows rose, as if he was caught off guard momentarily by the question, then he sighed and nodded. ‘I have no hold over him these days, alas. Why? He is too powerful. Too mysterious. Too conniving. Too Hood-damned smart. Indeed, even Shadowthrone has turned his attentions elsewhere. I would love to arrange a reunion, but I am afraid I have not that power.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Sometimes, one must simply trust in fate, Lostara. The future can ever promise but one thing and one thing only: surprises. But know this, we would all save the Malazan Empire, in our own ways. Will you help me?’

  ‘If I did, would that make me a Talon?’

  Cotillion’s smile broadened. ‘But, my dear, the Talons no longer exist.’

  ‘Oh, really, Cotillion, would you ask my help and then play me for a fool?’

  The smile slowly faded. ‘But I am telling you, the Talons no longer exist. Surly annihilated them. Is there knowledge you possess that would suggest otherwise?’

  She was silent a moment, then turned away. ‘No. I simply . . . assumed.’

  ‘Indeed. Will you help me then?’

  ‘Pearl is on his way,’ Lostara said, facing the god once again.

  ‘I am capable of brevity when need be.’

  ‘What is it you want me to do?’

  Half a bell later there was a light rap upon the door and Pearl entered.

  And immediately halted. ‘I smell sorcery.’

  Seated on the bed, Lostara shrugged then rose to collect her kit bag. ‘There are sequences in the Shadow Dance,’ she said casually, ‘that occasionally evoke Rashan.’

  ‘Rashan! Yes.’ He stepped close, his gaze searching. ‘The Shadow Dance. You?’

  ‘Once. Long ago. I hold to no gods, Pearl. Never have. But the Dance, I’ve found, serves me in my fighting. Keeps me flexible, and I need that the most when I am nervous or unhappy.’ She slung the bag over a shoulder and waited.

  Pearl’s eyebrows rose. ‘Nervous or unhappy?’

  She answered him with a sour look, then walked to the doorway. ‘You said you’ve stumbled on a lead . . .’

  He joined her. ‘I have at that. But a word of warning first. Those sequences that evoke Rashan—it would be best for us both if you avoided them in the future. That kind of activity risks drawing . . . attention.’

  ‘Very well. Now, lead on.’

  A lone guard slouched outside the estate’s gate, beside a bound bundle of straw. Pale green eyes tracked Lostara and Pearl as they approached from across the street. The man’s uniform and armour were dull with dust. A small human finger bone hung on a brass loop from one ear. His expression was sickly, and he drew a deep breath before saying, ‘You the advance? Go back and tell her we’re not ready.’

  Lostara blinked and glanced over at Pearl.

  Her companion was smiling. ‘Do we look like messengers, soldier?’

  The guard’s eyes thinned. ‘Didn’t I see you dancing on a table down at Pugroot’s Bar?’

  Pearl’s smile broadened. ‘And have you a name, soldier?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘I just told you. Maybe. Do you need me to spell it or something?’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘No. I was just wondering if you was stupid, that’s all. So, if you’re not the Adjunct’s advance, come to warn us about that surprise inspection, then what do you want?’

  ‘A moment,’ Pearl said, frowning. ‘How can an inspection be a surprise if there’s advance warning?’

  ‘Hood’s leathery feet, you are stupid after all. That’s how it’s done—’

  ‘A warning, then.’ He glanced at Lostara and winked as he added, ‘Seems I’m offering those all day. Listen, Maybe, the Adjunct won’t be warning you about her inspections—and don’t expect your officers to do so either. She has her own rules, and you’d better get used to it.’

  ‘You still ain’t told me what you want.’

  ‘I need to speak to a certain soldier of the 5th squad of the 9th Company, and I understand he is stationed in the temporary barracks here.’

  ‘Well, I’m in the 6th, not the 5th.’

  ‘Yes . . . so?’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious then, isn’t it? You don’t want to speak to me at all. Go on in, you’re wasting my time. And hurry up, I’m not feeling too well.’

  The guard opened the gate and watched them stride inside, his eyes falling to Lostara’s swaying hips for a long moment before he slammed the reinforced gate shut.

  Beside him, the bale of straw shimmered suddenly then reformed as an overweight young man seated cross-legged on the cobbles.

  Maybe’s head turned and he sighed. ‘Don’t do that again—not near me, Balgrid. Magic makes me want to puke.’

  ‘I had no choice but to maintain the illusion,’ Balgrid replied, drawing a sleeve across his sweat-beaded brow. ‘That bastard was a Claw!’

  ‘Really? I could have sworn I saw him w
earing a woman’s clothes and dancing at Pug—’

  ‘Will you shut up with that! Pity the poor bastard he’s looking for in the 5th!’

  Maybe suddenly grinned. ‘Hey, you just fooled a real live Claw with that damned illusion! Nice work!’

  ‘You ain’t the only one feeling sick,’ Balgrid muttered.

  Thirty paces took Lostara and Pearl across the compound to the stables.

  ‘That was amusing,’ said the man at her side.

  ‘And what was the point?’

  ‘Oh, just to see them sweat.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘The man and the bale, of course. Well, here we are.’ As she reached to draw back one of the broad doors, Pearl closed a hand on her wrist. ‘In a moment. Now, there’s actually more than one person within that we need to question. A couple of veterans—leave them to me. There’s also a lad, was a guard at a mining camp. Work your charms on him while I’m talking with the other two.’

  Lostara stared at him. ‘My charms,’ she said, deadpan.

  Pearl grinned. ‘Aye, and if you leave him smitten, well, consider it a future investment in case we need the lad later.’

  ‘I see.’

  She opened the door, stepping back to let Pearl precede her. The air within the stables was foul. Urine, sweat, honing oil and wet straw. Soldiers were everywhere, lying or sitting on beds or on items from a collection of ornate furniture that had come from the main house. There was little in the way of conversation, and even that fell away as heads turned towards the two strangers.

  ‘Thank you,’ Pearl drawled, ‘for your attention. I would speak with Sergeant Gesler and Corporal Stormy . . .’

  ‘I’m Gesler,’ a solid-looking, bronze-skinned man said from where he sprawled on a plush couch. ‘The one snoring under those silks is Stormy. And if you come from Oblat tell him we’ll pay up . . . eventually.’

  Smiling, Pearl gestured at Lostara to follow and strode up to the sergeant. ‘I am not here to call in your debts. Rather, I would like to speak with you in private . . . concerning your recent adventures.’

  ‘Is that right. And who in Fener’s hoofprint are you?’

  ‘This is an imperial matter,’ Pearl said, his gaze falling to Stormy. ‘Will you wake him or shall I? Further, my companion wishes to speak with the soldier named Pella.’

  Gesler’s grin was cool. ‘You want to wake my corporal? Go right ahead. As for Pella, he’s not here at the moment.’

  Pearl sighed and stepped to the side of the bed. A moment’s study of the heap of expensive silks burying the snoring corporal, then the Claw reached down and flung the coverings clear.

  The hand that snapped to Pearl’s right shin—halfway between knee and ankle—was large enough to almost close entirely around the limb. The surge that followed left Lostara gaping.

  Up. Pearl yelling. Up, as Stormy reared from the bed like a bear prodded from its hibernation, a roar rolling from his lungs.

  Had the chamber contained a ceiling of normal height—rather than a few simple crossbeams spanning the space beneath the stable roof, none of which were, mercifully, directly overhead—Pearl would have struck it, and hard, as he was lifted into the air by that single hand clasped around his shin. Lifted, then thrown.

  The Claw cavorted, arms flailing, his knees shooting up over his head, spinning, legs kicking free as Stormy’s hand let go. He came down hard on one shoulder, the breath leaving his lungs in a grunting whoosh. He lay unmoving, drawing his legs up, in increments, into a curled position.

  The corporal was standing now, shaggy-haired, his red beard in wild disarray, the oblivion of sleep vanishing from his eyes like pine needles in a fire—a fire that was quickly flaring into a rage. ‘I said no-one wakes me!’ he bellowed, huge hands held out to either side and clutching at the air, as if eager to close on offending throats. His bright blue eyes fixed suddenly on Pearl, who was only now moving onto his hands and knees, his head hanging low. ‘Is this the bastard?’ Stormy asked, taking a step closer.

  Lostara blocked his path. Grunting, Stormy halted.

  ‘Leave them be, Corporal,’ Gesler said from the couch. ‘That fop you just tossed is a Claw. And a sharper look at that woman in front of you will tell you she’s a Red Blade, or was, and can likely defend herself just fine. No need to get into a brawl over lost sleep.’

  Pearl was climbing to his feet, massaging his shoulder, his breaths deep and shuddering.

  Hand on the pommel of her sword, Lostara stared steadily into Stormy’s eyes. ‘We were wondering,’ she said conversationally, ‘which of you is the better story-teller. My companion here would like to hear a tale. Of course, there will be payment for the privilege. Perhaps your debts to this Oblat can be . . . taken care of, as a show of our appreciation.’

  Stormy scowled and glanced back at Gesler.

  The sergeant slowly rose from the couch. ‘Well, lass, the corporal here’s better with the scary ones . . . since he tells them so bad they ain’t so scary any more. Since you’re being so kind with . . . uh, our recent push of the Lord at knuckles, me and the corporal will both weave you a tale, if that’s what you’re here for. We ain’t shy, after all. Where should we start? I was born—’

  ‘Not that early,’ Lostara cut in. ‘I will leave the rest to Pearl—though perhaps someone could get him something to drink to assist in his recovery. He can advise you on where to start. In the meantime, where is Pella?’

  ‘He’s out back,’ Gesler said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  As she was making her way to the narrow, low door at the back of the stables, another sergeant emerged to move up alongside her. ‘I’ll escort you,’ he said.

  Another damned Falari veteran. And what’s with the finger bones? ‘Am I likely to get lost, Sergeant?’ she asked as she swung open the door. Six paces beyond was the estate’s back wall. Heaps of sun-dried horse manure were banked against it. Seated on one of them was a young soldier. At the foot of a nearby pile lay two dogs, both asleep, one huge and terribly scarred, the other tiny—a snarl of hair and a pug nose.

  ‘Possibly,’ the sergeant replied. He touched her arm as she made to approach Pella, and she faced him with an enquiring look. ‘Are you with one of the other legions?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah.’ He glanced back at the stables. ‘Newly assigned to handmaid the Claw.’

  ‘Handmaid?’

  ‘Aye. The man needs . . . learning. Seems he chose well in you, at least.’

  ‘What is it you want, Sergeant?’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll leave you now.’

  She watched him re-enter the stables. Then, with a shrug, she swung about and walked up to Pella.

  Neither dog awoke at her approach.

  Two large burlap sacks framed the soldier, the one on the soldier’s right filled near to bursting, the other perhaps a third full. The lad himself was hunched over, holding a small copper awl which he was using to drill a hole into a finger bone.

  The sacks, Lostara realized, contained hundreds of such bones.

  ‘Pella.’

  The young man looked up, blinked. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘No. But we perhaps share an acquaintance.’

  ‘Oh.’ He resumed his work.

  ‘You were a guard in the mines—’

  ‘Not quite,’ he replied without looking up. ‘I was garrisoned at one of the settlements. Skullcup. But then the rebellion started. Fifteen of us survived the first night—no officers. We stayed off the road and eventually made our way to Dosin Pali. Took four nights, and we could see the city burning for the first three. Wasn’t much left when we arrived. A Malazan trader ship showed up at about the same time as us, and took us, eventually, here to Aren.’

  ‘Skullcup,’ Lostara said. ‘There was a prisoner there. A young girl—’

  ‘Tavore’s sister, you mean. Felisin.’

  Her breath caught.

  ‘I was wondering when somebody would find me about that. Am I under arrest,
then?’ He looked up.

  ‘No. Why? Do you think you should be?’

  He returned to his work. ‘Probably. I helped them escape, after all. The night of the Uprising. Don’t know if they ever made it, though. I left them supplies, such as I could find. They were planning on heading north then west . . . across the desert. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one aiding them, but I never found out who the others were.’

  Lostara slowly crouched down until she was at his eye-level. ‘Not just Felisin, then. Who was with her?’

  ‘Baudin—a damned frightening man, that one, but strangely loyal to Felisin, though . . .’ He lifted his head and met her gaze. ‘Well, she wasn’t one to reward loyalty, if you know what I mean. Anyway. Baudin, and Heboric.’

  ‘Heboric? Who is that?’

  ‘Was once a priest of Fener—all tattooed with the fur of the Boar. Had no hands—they’d been cut off. Anyway, them three.’

  ‘Across the desert,’ Lostara murmured. ‘But the west coast of the island has . . . nothing.’

  ‘Well, they were expecting a boat, then, weren’t they? It was planned, right? Anyway, that’s as far as I can take the tale. For the rest, ask my sergeant. Or Stormy. Or Truth.’

  ‘Truth? Who is he?’

  ‘He’s the one who’s just showed up in the doorway behind you . . . come to deliver more bones.’ He raised his voice. ‘No need to hesitate, Truth. In fact, this pretty woman here has some questions for you.’

  Another one with the strange skin. She studied the tall, gangly youth who cautiously approached, carrying another bulging burlap sack from which sand drifted down in a dusty cloud. Hood take me, a comely lad . . . though that air of vulnerability would get on my nerves eventually. She straightened. ‘I would know of Felisin,’ she said, slipping some iron into her tone.