Stonewielder

by Ian Cameron Esslemont

  ‘A landing on Korel, yes.’

  She stared at him, shocked that he could say that so casually. ‘It is clear you are all from elsewhere. What—’ She stopped herself, searching for the right words. ‘What does he intend regarding … regarding the Stormwall?’

  The young man did not look sure himself. He felt his way through it as he spoke: ‘I believe he intends to break the power of the Korelri here in this subcontinent. That he sees that as the only way he can truly win here.’ He was nodding as he finished. ‘And I agree,’ he added half to himself. ‘As to the Stormwall … The Malazans may have to step into the Korelris’ place for a time.’

  Devaleth twisted her hands across her stomach where they clenched, knuckles white. ‘If you do that you will be trapped there for ever.’ And she walked away, gaze lowered.

  Fist Rillish entered, and saluted. ‘You requested my presence, High Fist?’

  Greymane leaned back against his table, which was cluttered with ledgers and curled orders. He pushed back his long iron-grey hair, and for a time eyed the man from under his heavy brows, his blue eyes stormy. ‘Yes. Fist. We are disembarking for Korel with all speed. You know that. However, the worst option is that we may be repulsed. In which case we will need a secure port to return to. Banith, here in Rool, will be that port. Therefore, we cannot entirely abandon Rool.’

  Devaleth’s stomach clenched in dread. Oh, no, Greymane – do not do this to him …

  The Untan nobleman paled, swaying. ‘High Fist,’ he whispered, his voice cracking, ‘I beg you. Do not separate me from the Fourth.’

  ‘I will leave four thousand troops with you.’

  ‘Captain Betteries, or Captain Perin, surely …’

  ‘A captain cannot be the effective administrative head of a country, Fist. You know that.’

  ‘Greymane,’ Kyle murmured, ‘perhaps—’

  ‘You’re staying too.’

  Kyle flinched upright. ‘What!’ He stared in disbelief. ‘You will need me for the landing!’

  Greymane met his gaze: he seemed to be trying to tell the lad something. ‘With you here, Kyle, I’m confident at least Rool will remain in Malazan hands.’

  ‘With your permission …’ Fist Rillish grated, turning abruptly and leaving. Kyle glared his confusion but Greymane looked away, lowering his head, mouth clenched. Muttering a curse under his breath, Kyle stormed out to find the Fist. Bowing, Devaleth followed.

  She found them down on the wharf. The Fist was staring out over the harbour where the Blue vessels were readying to disembark. Already troops were heading out on launches for the larger men-of-war anchored in the bay. Kyle was standing nearby, also deep in thought. A chilling wind off the bay clawed at all of them and clouds roiled overhead, coasting inland.

  ‘You must be very angry with me,’ the Fist said, casting Kyle a quick glance.

  ‘Angry? With you?’

  The man shrugged, still staring out over the bay. ‘If it weren’t for me you’d be accompanying him, yes?’

  ‘I think he is right in keeping you here,’ Devaleth said. ‘If only he’d done it differently …’

  A strained smile from Rillish: ‘Diplomacy is not Stonewielder’s strength.’

  ‘We need to be with him. The landing will be butchery.’

  ‘No,’ Devaleth snapped, fierce. ‘It could easily go so badly – you will be needed here.’

  The Fist took a deep breath of the icy sea air then turned to face them. His face was pale, the lines at the mouth savage. His greying hair blew about, neglected and unkempt. ‘The High Fist has made his choice. We cannot but obey. Even with Yeull fled to Korel with the majority of the Sixth there still remain the Roolian militia, straggling units, renegade companies, and this self-appointed “Baron” to deal with. We will more than have our hands full.’

  ‘That is not reason enough to leave us behind,’ Kyle ground out.

  ‘You are not considering another reason,’ Devaleth said, her gaze arched. ‘I believe the man has just saved both your lives.’

  Kyle and Rillish shared a rueful glance, then she saw in their faces the realization: as High Mage, she would be accompanying Greymane.

  *

  Suth charged up the stairs of the inn the 4th Company had occupied when it entered Banith, threw open the door to his squad’s room and began pulling his equipment together. Pyke lay on one pallet while Wess lay on another, apparently asleep.

  ‘Get a move on,’ he told them, quickly packing his roll. ‘They’re lining up to board.’

  Pyke watched, an arm under his head, a mocking smile at his lips. He raised a bottle and took a sip. ‘Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘We ain’t goin’.’

  Suth looked up from his packing. ‘What?’

  ‘We’re stayin’.’ Pyke held the bottle on his stomach. ‘Garrisoning Banith here. Sweet berth, if you ask me. We’ll be pulling in protection dues in no time. Maybe there’ll be some girls who need extra protection, if you know what I mean.’ He winked.

  Suth gripped his sword, newly sharpened and wrapped in its belt. He goes to find a grinder and now this happens? He threw it down. ‘You’re full of shit, Pyke.’

  For once the man wasn’t nettled. He grinned, sipping his wine. ‘Go ask fat-arse Goss. He’s downstairs.’

  Suth waved him a gesture and stormed down the stairs. He found the sergeant, and most of the squad, at a table towards the rear. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded, standing over them.

  Goss sank back in his seat, a tall stoneware stein before him. ‘It’s true,’ he growled, sounding defeated. Yana nodded, head in her hands, elbows on the table.

  ‘Imparala Ar take them! That is so full of shit!’

  Someone cuffed Suth from behind, a trooper he recognized from the 10th. ‘Good luck with these old ladies here in Banith – watch out for their canes!’ The next table over burst out laughing.

  Suth waved him off with a sick laugh of his own. Len kicked out a chair. Suth threw himself down. ‘Who else?’

  ‘The 11th, the 6th, a few others,’ Len answered.

  ‘The 20th?’

  Len shook his head. ‘They’re going.’

  ‘Sure – they get to go!’ Yana snarled.

  ‘It’ll be damned ugly,’ Goss warned, taking a deep drink. Len frowned down at the table. Keri looked pained, either for herself or for those going, Suth wasn’t sure.

  Lard just sighed. ‘An’ we’re gonna miss it. I was so lookin’ forward to it.’

  Suth eyed the big man. He really couldn’t say he was looking forward to it; he no longer needed to clash swords to see who was stronger or faster. The reason he wanted to go was to be there for everyone else – they’d all be needed for this ugly set-to. ‘I can’t fucking believe it.’

  Goss was nodding. ‘Welcome to the army.’

  *

  From the windows of his office Bakune watched the occupying Malazan Army march through the streets of Banith. So they march in and they march out; Malazans go and Malazans come. Our old overlords had been Malazan yet somehow these feel different. But then I wasn’t there when the Sixth first marched in. I imagine this is what they must have looked like then too: disciplined, hardened, the veterans of invasions on five continents. But after a few decades of occupation, now look at them …

  He turned away to his desk. Paperwork cluttered it. Demands from the religious hierarchy that Banith pay for repairs to the Cloister and Hospice. His denial of said demand: the church can pay for it. Though, given their disarray, there was no way of telling when that would occur. Demands from citizens for recompense regarding billeting and the occupation of rooms. Lost income, damages. Bakune could only shake his head. Didn’t they understand that these were their conquerors? They could do as they pleased. So far no one had been killed on either side: that was the important fact.

  And his request for an audience with this new High Fist – though he was far from relishing meeting the greatest fiend of the age. The B
etrayer, Stonewielder, Greymane himself! Who would have thought it? A figure out of the old tales mothers used to scare their children.

  Now here to scare them in truth.

  So far, to his relief, his request had gone unanswered. He’d dealt with only minor officers to date, captains and lieutenants. Brusque and rigid all, but reassuringly professional in their demeanour. It was all cautiously encouraging – but then, no doubt the Sixth had also been similarly professional. In the beginning.

  And Ipshank? Where was he? Gone to ground? He missed the man’s counsel, especially now. Damn the man for disappearing when needed most.

  A knock at his door. ‘Enter.’

  Captain Hyuke of the City Watch entered, and slumped down into a chair. He brushed thoughtfully at his fat moustache. Bakune regarded him. ‘Well?’

  ‘They’re leavin’ all right. Shippin’ out for Korel. Chasin’ after the Overlord. Gonna have it out with him. It’s outta our hands now …’ He shrugged.

  As it ever was. ‘And so?’

  He continued grooming the long moustache. ‘They’ll leave some kinda small contingent behind, course …’

  Bakune glared impatiently. ‘Yes?’

  The man lifted his shoulders in a regretful hunch. ‘Well, there’ll be trouble. People will start gettin’ ideas. There’ll be ambushes, killin’. Then there’ll be retribution, arrests, executions. Things’ll escalate. It’ll be ugly.’

  Bakune pressed his fingertips to his temples. Damn all the gods! An insurrection. That was the last problem he needed right now. Just when things were settling down. He regarded his Watch captain. ‘You’ll just have to keep that from happening then, won’t you?’

  The man scratched his scalp, examined his blackened fingertips. ‘Well, that’ll put your name and mine at the top of their list, won’t it?’

  Bakune blinked. Am I not already condemned as a collaborator? Have there not already been attempts on my life? Hasn’t someone already tried to break into my house? ‘That would seem unavoidable. Unless you wish to quit? Or are you suggesting there exists an alternative?’

  The man seemed to squirm in embarrassment. He coughed into his fist. ‘Well, there is this Roolian general up in the hills … he already controls most of the south. Mosta the militia ’n’ insurgents ’n’ such swear loyalty to him. He’s offered to quash all that violence. Keep a lid on things …’

  Bakune sat back, his gaze narrowing. He did not like the direction this was headed. ‘And?’ he mouthed, already knowing the answer.

  Again, an almost apologetic shrug from Hyuke. ‘All you have to do is look the other way while he’s recruiting and resupplying ’n’ such, that’s all.’

  Bakune felt his gaze harden into an icy glare. Play both sides. How distasteful. Was he to betray his vows to uphold the laws of the land? Yet whose laws? The laws of an occupying foreign military elite? What loyalty could they demand from him? Or reasonably expect, for that matter?

  He cleared his throat. ‘And what guarantees can this general possibly offer that he will not launch any operations here in Banith? The Malazans are here, after all. I’ll not have this city become a war zone!’

  Hyuke nodded, pained. ‘Oh, that won’t happen. He gives you his sworn word. He’s busy consolidating right now anyway. Bringing order to more provinces.’

  ‘Eliminating his rivals, you mean.’

  An embarrassed shrug.

  ‘And does this Roolian general have a name, then?’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s his guarantee, you see …’

  Bakune sighed, impatient. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The general’s name is Karien’el.’

  * * *

  Lord Protector Hiam met Overlord Yeull in a pavilion raised to the east of Elri. Wall Marshal Quint accompanied him, as did his aide, Shool. The encampment of the landed Roolian troops sprawled like an instant city down the shore to the very strand. Ships lay anchored off shore. Reports from the regular Korelri guard had made it clear that far more than the agreed-upon ten thousand had disembarked. Arriving, Hiam saw this to be true. It occurred to him that any other ruler would view such a landing as an invasion. But no other ruler had standing behind him the Stormwall and the absolute truth of his indispensability.

  Guards opened the heavy cloth flaps and Hiam ducked beneath them. Within, a wall of heat struck him like a fist closing on his chest. Overlord Yeull sat next to a great glowing heap of embers resting on a wide iron bowl. Next to him stood a tall slim man, grey-bearded, in pale creamy robes sashed at the waist. The Overlord stood, straightened a thick fur hide slung over his shoulders, and bowed.

  Hiam answered the bow. ‘Welcome, Overlord, to Korel.’

  ‘Lord Protector. You are most gracious to allow us to land.’

  Quint and Shool entered and Hiam introduced them. Overlord Yeull gestured to the man beside him. ‘Ussü, my chief adviser.’

  ‘I must say,’ Hiam began, ‘I was most surprised to hear that you would be accompanying your troops.’

  Yeull sat, held his hands over the embers. The man acted as if he were chilled to the bone despite the crushing heat within the tent, his layers of clothes, his fur cloak, and the sweat dripping from his sallow brow. He nodded his assent to the point. ‘I will not prevaricate, Lord Protector. I am here because the Betrayer, Stonewielder, is coming here.’

  Hiam glanced at Quint, who could not keep the scorn from his expression. ‘Really, Overlord? I rather thought you’d come here because the Betrayer had defeated you and you had nowhere else to go.’

  The man leapt from his chair, blood darkening his face. ‘How dare you! Here you are, hard pressed, with barely the numbers necessary to defend the wall, and I come offering aid – and this is how you repay me!’

  The adviser, Ussü, eased the Overlord back into his seat. He raised his hands to speak. ‘Please. Lords. Let us not quarrel. It seems to me that like any agreement both parties have something to gain and something to give. We pledge ten thousand in support of the wall – our half of a pact of mutual defence. Surely our presence is a welcome boon, yes?’

  Hiam inclined his head in acquiescence. ‘Well spoken, sir. You are welcome, Overlord. For so long as you contribute to the defence of the Stormwall, you may remain as guests in our lands.’

  ‘And should there be Malazan landings here in Korel we will defend the shores,’ said Yeull. ‘Surely, in such an event, you too would fly to the defence of your lands.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Hiam responded. No matter how unlikely.

  Ussü bowed. ‘Very good. Then we are in accord. Our thanks, Lord Protector.’

  Overlord Yeull inclined his head a fraction. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Agreed,’ supplied Hiam. ‘And now, my apologies, but duties on the wall demand my presence. I really must return.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Yeull, thinly. ‘Another time, Lord Protector.’

  Hiam bowed. ‘Another time.’

  Outside the tent, the adviser, Ussü, joined their party as they walked back to their mounts: three of the few horses the Stormguard kept for extremely vital messages. Hiam nodded to him. ‘Adviser Ussü, how may we help you?’

  The man walked with hands clasped at his back, head bowed. ‘Lord Protector, a small request.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Word has reached me of your current champion of the wall …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That he speaks Malazan, that is, Quon Talian, yet is not of the Sixth Army …’

  ‘Yes. That is so.’ They reached their horses. Roolian troops steadied them while they struggled to mount.

  ‘I wonder if I may have permission to see him? To speak to him?’

  Tightening his reins, Hiam shrugged. ‘I do not see why not. If you wish. Shool, arrange it, won’t you?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Shool answered as he fought to get his foot into the stirrup.

  Ussü helped the aide steady his foot then bowed as they cantered off. Poor riders, these Korelri. I wonder how much support we can count on whe
n Stonewielder arrives. Very little, no doubt. I do not see this man pulling troops from the wall. And this champion. Malazan, yet not Malazan. Bars. An unusual name. Could he be the Bars? Avowed of the Crimson Guard? Practically unkillable, these Avowed. Imagine what I could accomplish with one of them …

  Ussü returned to the command tent. He found Yeull bent over the brazier.

  ‘Lady deliver me,’ the Overlord groaned. ‘This cold is killing me.’

  ‘M’lord, when can we expect Borun and the Moranth? Soon, I should hope. Greymane may be here any day.’

  Yeull sank back into his chair. ‘What’s that? The Moranth? Ussü – no ships have been sent. Nor will they ever be sent.’

  Ussü felt as if he’d been slapped. He stared, open-mouthed. So shocked was he that he almost took the man by his collar and shook him. ‘What? I do not see—’

  Yeull roused himself, furious once more. ‘See? See? You do not see? Who are the Malazan allies in this, Ussü? Did you not see those reports?’

  ‘Yes. The Moranth, but—’

  ‘Yes! The Moranth. Exactly! They cannot be trusted. They are foreign. You cannot trust these foreigners.’

  We are foreigners, you fool! The man had just thrown away their greatest advantage! How was he to salvage this? How could he salvage it? Lady – give him strength! Ussü forced himself to move to a table where tea brewed. He took his time preparing a glass. Eventually, he cleared his throat. ‘He will land here, south of Kor?’

  ‘Yes. Of that I am certain.’

  ‘How so, may I ask?’

  The man’s voice took on a cunning, almost insinuating whisper. ‘The Lady guides me in these things, Ussü. Now go and prepare. We will meet them on the shore and they will drown in the waves.’

  Ussü knew not to dispute that tone. He bowed. ‘Very good, m’lord.’

  *

  As they rode north, Hiam gestured Quint up beside him. The Wall Marshal awkwardly urged his mount into a faster canter. ‘So what do you think?’ Hiam asked. ‘And none of your usual smooth talk.’

  Quint spat, hands in a death’s grip on the reins. ‘A lot more than ten thousand arrived, Hiam,’ he pointed out.