Scowling, Toc crossed his arms. ‘You said you were waiting. Waiting for what?’
‘She has been away for some time. Now she returns.’
‘Who?’
‘She who has taken occupation of the tower, soldier.’
‘Can you at least stand up when you’re talking to me.’ Before I give in to temptation.
The T’lan Imass rose with an array of creaking complaints, dust cascading from its broad, bestial form. Something glittered for the briefest of moments in the depths of its eye-sockets as it stared at Toc, then Tool turned and retrieved the flint sword.
Gods, better I’d insisted he just stay lying down. Parched leather skin, taut muscle and heavy bone … all moving about like something alive. Oh, how the Emperor loved them. An army he never had to feed, he never had to transport, an army that could go anywhere and do damn near anything. And no desertions – except for the one standing in front of me right now.
How do you punish a T’lan Imass deserter anyway?
‘I need water,’ Toc said after a long moment in which they simply stared at each other. ‘And food. And I need to find some arrows. And bowstring.’ He unstrapped his helmet and pulled it clear. The leather cap beneath it was soaked through with sweat. ‘Can’t we wait in the tower? This heat is baking my brain.’ And why am I talking as if I expect you to help me, Tool?
‘The coast lies a thousand paces to the southwest,’ Tool said. ‘Food is available there, and a certain seagrass that will suffice as bowstring until some gut can be found. I do not, alas, smell fresh water. Perhaps the tower’s occupant will be generous, though she is less likely to be so if she arrives to find you within it. Arrows can be made. There is a saltmarsh nearby, where we can find bone reed. Snares for coast birds will offer us fletching. Arrowheads … Tool turned to survey the obsidian plain. ‘I foresee no shortage of raw material.’
All right, so help me you will. Thank Hood for that. ‘Well, I hope you can still chip stone and weave seagrass, T’lan Imass, not to mention work bone-reed – whatever that is – into true shafts, because I certainly don’t know how. When I need arrows, I requisition them, and when they arrive they’re iron-headed and straight as a plumb-line.’
‘I have not lost the skills, soldier—’
‘Since the Adjunct never properly introduced us, I am named Toc the Younger, and I am not a soldier, but a scout—’
‘You were in the employ of the Claw.’
‘With none of the assassin training, nor the magery. Besides which, I have more or less renounced that role. All I seek to do now is to return to Onearm’s Host.’
‘A long journey.’
‘So I gathered. The sooner I start the better, then. Tell me, how far does this glass wasteland stretch?’
‘Seven leagues. Beyond it you will find the Lamatath Plain. When you have reached it, set a course north by northeast—’
‘Where will that take me? Darujhistan? Has Dujek besieged the city?’
‘No.’ The T’lan Imass swung its head round. ‘She comes.’
Toc followed Tool’s gaze. Three figures had appeared from the south, approaching the edge of the ring of barrows. Of the three, only the one in the middle walked upright. She was tall, slim, wearing a flowing white telaba such as were worn by highborn women of Seven Cities. Her black hair was long and straight. Flanking her were two dogs, the one on her left as big as a hill-pony, shaggy, wolf-like, the other short-haired, dun-coloured and heavily muscled.
Since Tool and Toc stood in the open, it was impossible that they had not been seen, yet the three displayed no perturbation or change of pace as they strode nearer. At a dozen paces the wolfish dog loped forward, tail wagging as it came up to the T’lan Imass.
Musing on the scene, Toc scratched his jaw. ‘An old friend, Tool? Or does the beast want you to toss it one of your bones?’
The undead warrior regarded him in silence.
‘Humour,’ Toc said, shrugging. ‘Or a poor imitation. I didn’t think T’lan Imass could take offence.’ Or, rather, I’m hoping that’s the case. Gods, my big mouth …
‘I was considering,’ Tool replied slowly. ‘This beast is an ay, and thus has little interest in bones. Ay prefer flesh, still warm if possible.’
Toc grunted. ‘I see.’
‘Humour,’ Tool said after a moment.
‘Right.’ Oh. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Surprises never cease.
The T’lan Imass reached out to rest the tips of its bony fingers on the ay’s broad head. The animal went perfectly still. ‘An old friend? Yes, we adopted such animals into our tribes. It was that or see them starve. We were, you see, responsible for that starvation.’
‘Responsible? As in overhunting? I’d have thought your kind was one with nature. All those spirits, all those rituals of propitiation—’
‘Toc the Younger,’ Tool interrupted, ‘do you mock me, or your own ignorance? Not even the lichen of the tundra is at peace. All is struggle, all is war for dominance. Those who lose, vanish.’
‘And we’re no different, you’re saying—’
‘We are, soldier. We possess the privilege of choice. The gift of foresight. Though often we come too late in acknowledging those responsibilities…’ The T’lan Imass’s head tilted as he studied the ay before him, and, it seemed, his own skeletal hand where it rested upon the beast’s head.
‘Baaljagg awaits your command, dear undead warrior,’ the woman said upon arriving, her voice a lilting melody. ‘How sweet. Garath, go join your brother in greeting our desiccated guest.’ She met Toc’s gaze and smiled. ‘Garath, of course, might decide your companion’s worth burying – wouldn’t that be fun?’
‘Momentarily,’ Toc agreed. ‘You speak Daru, yet wear the telaba of Seven Cities…’
Her brows arched. ‘Do I? Oh, such confusion! Mind you, sir, you speak Daru yet you are from that repressed woman’s empire – what was her name again?’
‘Empress Laseen. The Malazan empire.’ And how did you know that? I’m not in uniform …
She smiled. ‘Indeed.’
‘I am Toc the Younger, and the T’lan Imass is named Tool.’
‘How apt. My, it is hot out here, don’t you think? Let us retire within the Jaghut tower. Garath, cease sniffing the T’lan Imass and awaken the servants.’
Toc watched the burly dog trot towards the tower. The entrance, the scout now saw, was in fact via a balcony, probably the first floor – yet another indication of the depth of the crushed glass. ‘That place doesn’t appear very habitable,’ he observed.
‘Appearances deceive,’ she murmured, once again flashing him a heart-stuttering smile.
‘Have you a name?’ Toc asked her as they began walking.
‘She is Lady Envy,’ Tool said. ‘Daughter of Draconus – he who forged the sword Dragnipur, and was slain by its present wielder, Anomander Rake, lord of Moon’s Spawn, with that selfsame sword. Draconus had two daughters, it is believed, whom he named Envy and Spite—’
‘Hood’s breath, you can’t be serious,’ Toc muttered.
‘The names no doubt amused him, as well,’ the T’lan Imass continued.
‘Really,’ Lady Envy sighed, ‘now you’ve gone and ruined all my fun. Have we met before?’
‘No. None the less, you are known to me.’
‘So it seems! It was, I admit, over-modest of me to assume that I would not be recognized. After all, I’ve crossed paths with the T’lan Imass more than once. At least twice, that is.’
Tool regarded her with his depthless gaze. ‘Knowing who you are does not answer the mystery of your present residency here in Morn, should you look to pursue coyness, Lady. I would know what you seek in this place.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ she asked mockingly.
As they approached the tower’s entrance a leather-armoured masked figure appeared in the gaping doorway. Toc stopped in his tracks. ‘That’s a Seguleh!’ He spun to Lady Envy. ‘Your servant’s a Seguleh!’
&nbs
p; ‘Is that what they’re called?’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘A familiar name, though its context escapes me. Ah well. I have gleaned their personal names, but little else. They happened by and chanced to see me – this one, who is called Senu, and two others. They concluded that killing me would break the monotony of their journey.’ She sighed. ‘Alas, now they serve me.’ She addressed the Seguleh. ‘Senu, have your brothers fully awakened?’
The short, lithe man tilted his head, his dark eyes flat within the slits of his ornate mask.
‘I’ve gathered,’ Lady Envy said to Toc, ‘that gesture indicates acquiescence. They are not a loquacious lot, I have found.’
Toc shook his head, his eyes on the twin broadswords slung under Senu’s arms. ‘Is he the only one of the three to acknowledge you directly, Lady?’
‘Now that you mention it … Is that significant?’
‘Means he’s on the bottom rung in the hierarchy. The other two are above conversing with non-Seguleh.’
‘How presumptuous of them!’
The scout grinned. ‘I’ve never seen one before – but I’ve heard plenty. Their homeland is an island south of here, and they’re said to be a private lot, disinclined to travel. But they are known of as far north as Nathilog.’ And Hood take me, aren’t they known.
‘Hmm, I did sense a certain arrogance that has proved entertaining. Lead us within, dear Senu.’
The Seguleh made no move. His eyes had found Tool and now held steady on the T’lan Imass.
Hackles rising, the ay stepped to one side to clear a space between the two figures.
‘Senu?’ Lady Envy enquired with honeyed politeness.
‘I think,’ Toc whispered, ‘he’s challenging Tool.’
‘Ridiculous! Why would he do that?’
‘For the Seguleh, rank is everything. If the hierarchy’s in doubt, challenge it. They don’t waste time.’
Lady Envy scowled at Senu. ‘Behave yourself, young man!’ She waved him into the room beyond.
Senu seemed to flinch at the gesture.
An itch spasmed across Toc’s scar. He scratched it vigorously, breathing a soft curse.
The Seguleh backed into the small room, then hesitated a moment before turning and leading the others to the doorway opposite. A curved hallway brought them to a central chamber in which a tightly wound staircase rose from the centre. The walls were unadorned, roughly pitted pumice. Three limestone sarcophagi crowded the far end of the room, their lids leaning in a neatly arranged row against the wall behind them. The dog Lady Envy had sent in ahead sat nearby. Just within the entrance was a round wooden table, crowded with fresh fruit, meats, cheese and bread, as well as a beaded clay jug and a collection of cups.
Senu’s two companions stood motionless over the table, as if standing guard and fully prepared to give their lives in its defence. Both were a match to their companion’s height and build, and similarly armed; the difference between each was evident only in their masks. Where Senu’s enamelled face-covering was crowded with dark-stained patterns, such decoration diminished successively in the other two examples. One was only slightly less marked than Senu’s, but the third mask bore naught but twin slashes, one on each gleaming white cheek. The eyes that stared out from the slits of this mask were like chips of obsidian.
The twin-scarred Seguleh stiffened upon seeing the T’lan Imass, took one step forward.
‘Oh really!’ Lady Envy hissed. ‘Challenges are forbidden! Any more of this nonsense and I shall lose my temper—’
All three Seguleh flinched back a step.
‘There,’ the woman said, ‘that’s much better.’ She swung to Toc. ‘Assuage your needs, young man. The jug contains Saltoan white wine, suitably chilled.’
Toc found himself unable to look away from the Seguleh wearing the twin-scarred mask.
‘If a fixed stare represents a challenge,’ Lady Envy said quietly, ‘I suggest, for the sake of peace – not to mention your life – that you refrain from your present engagement, Toc the Younger.’
He grunted in sudden alarm, tore his gaze from the man. ‘Good point, Lady. It’s only that I’ve never heard of … well, never mind. Doesn’t matter.’ He approached the table, reached for the jug.
Movement exploded behind him, followed by the sound of a body skidding across the room, striking the wall with a sickly thud. Toc spun round to see Tool, sword upraised, facing the two remaining Seguleh. Senu lay crumpled ten paces away, either unconscious or dead. His two swords were both halfway out of their sheaths.
Standing beside Tool, the ay named Baaljagg was staring at the body, tail wagging.
Lady Envy regarded the other Seguleh with eyes of ice. ‘Given that my commands have proved insufficient, I now leave future encounters in the T’lan Imass’s obviously capable hands.’ She swung to Tool. ‘Is Senu dead?’
‘No. I used the flat of my blade, Lady, having no desire to slay one of your servants.’
‘Considerate of you, given the circumstances.’
Toc closed one shaky hand on the jug’s handle. ‘Shall I pour one for you as well, Lady Envy?’
She glanced at him, raised one eyebrow, then smiled. ‘A splendid idea, Toc the Younger. Clearly, it falls to you and me to establish civility.’
‘What have you learned,’ Tool said, addressing her, ‘of the Rent?’
Cup in hand, she faced him. ‘Ah, you cut to the quick in all matters, I see. It has been bridged. By a mortal soul. As I am sure you are aware. The focus of my studies, however, has been on the identity of the warren itself. It is unlike any other. The portal seems almost … mechanical.’
Rent? That would be the red welt in the air. Uh.
‘You have examined the K’Chain Che’Malle tombs, Lady?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Briefly. They are all empty, and have been for some time. Decades.’
Tool’s head tilted with a soft creak. ‘Only decades?’
‘Unpleasant detail, indeed. I believe the Matron experienced considerable difficulty in extricating herself, then spent still further time in recovering from her ordeal, before releasing her children. She and her brood made further efforts in the buried city to the northwest, though incomplete, as if the results proved unsatisfactory. They then appear to have departed the area entirely.’ She paused, then added, ‘It may be relevant that the Matron was the original soul sealing the Rent. Another hapless creature resides there now, we must presume.’
The T’lan Imass nodded.
During the exchange Toc had been busy eating, and was on his second cup of the crisp, cold wine. Trying to make sense of the conversation thus far was giving him a headache – he’d mull on it later. ‘I need to head north,’ he said round a mouthful of grainy bread. ‘Is there any chance, Lady, that you can furnish me with suitable supplies? I would be in your debt…’ His words trailed away at seeing the avid flash in her eyes.
‘Careful what you offer, young man—’
‘No offence, but why do you call me “young man”? You look not a day over twenty-five.’
‘How flattering. Thus, despite Tool’s success in identifying me – and I admit that I find the depth of his knowledge most disconcerting – the names the T’lan Imass revealed meant little to you.’
Toc shrugged. ‘Anomander Rake I’ve heard, of course. I didn’t know he took a sword from someone else – nor when that event occurred. It strikes me, however, that you may well be justified in feeling some animosity towards him, since he killed your father – what was his name? Draconus. The Malazan Empire shares that dislike. So, in sharing enemies—’
‘We are perforce allies. A reasonable surmise. Unfortunately wrong. Regardless, I would be pleased to provide what food and drink you are able to carry, though I have nothing in the way of weapons, I’m afraid. In return, I may some day ask of you a favour – nothing grand, of course. Something small and relatively painless. Is this acceptable?’
Toc felt his appetite draining away. He glanced at Tool, got no help from the und
ead warrior’s expressionless face. The Malazan scowled. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, Lady Envy.’
She smiled.
And here I was hoping we’d get past the polite civility to something more … intimate. Here you go again, Toc, thinking with the wrong brain—
Her smile broadened.
Flushing, he reached for his cup. ‘Very well, I agree to your proposal.’
‘Your equanimity is a delight, Toc the Younger.’
He almost choked on his wine. If I wasn’t a sword-kissed one-eyed bastard, I’d be tempted to call that a flirt.
Tool spoke. ‘Lady Envy, if you seek further knowledge of this Rent, you will not find it here.’
Toc was pleased to see the mild shock on her face as she swung to the T’lan Imass. ‘Indeed? It appears I am not alone in enjoying a certain coyness. Can you explain?’
Anticipating the response to that, Toc the Younger grunted, then ducked as she flashed him a dark look.
‘Perhaps,’ Tool predictably replied.
Hah, I knew it.
An edge came into her tone. ‘Please do so, then.’
‘I follow an ancient trail, Lady Envy. Morn was but one stop on that trail. It now leads northward. You would find your answers among those I seek.’
‘You wish me to accompany you.’
‘I care not either way,’ Tool said in his uninflected rasp. ‘Should you choose to stay here, however, I must warn you. Meddling with the Rent has its risks – even for one such as you.’
She crossed her arms. ‘You think I lack suitable caution?’
‘Even now you have reached an impasse, and your frustration mounts. I add one more incentive, Lady Envy. Your old travelling companions are converging on the very same destination – the Pannion Domin. Both Anomander Rake and Caladan Brood prepare to wage war against the Domin. A grave decision – does that not make you curious?’
‘You are no simple T’lan Imass,’ she accused.
Tool made no reply to that.
‘He has you at a disadvantage, it seems,’ Toc said, barely restraining his amusement.
‘I find impertinence disgustingly unattractive,’ she snapped. ‘Whatever happened to your affable equanimity, Toc the Younger?’
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 160