‘And you a host of powers unimagined.’
‘Formidable, granted, but I’ve no desire to use them now. The game we played, Whiskeyjack? Only one of survival. At first. We didn’t think you ‘d make it, to be perfectly honest. We thought Raraku would come to claim you – I suppose she did in a way, though not in a way I would have anticipated. What you and your soldiers have become…’ He shook his head.
‘What we have become,’ Whiskeyjack said ‘you have shared. You and Kalam.’
The wizard slowly nodded. ‘Hence this fateful meeting. Sir, Kalam and I, we’ll follow you, now. If you would have us.’
Whiskeyjack grunted ‘The Emperor will take you from me.’
‘Only if you tell him, Commander.’
‘And Kalam ?’ Whiskeyjack glanced back at the assassin.
‘The Claw will be … displeased’ the man rumbled. Then he smiled. ‘Too bad for Surly.’
Grimacing, Whiskeyjack twisted further to survey his soldiers. The array of faces could have been carved from stone. A company, culled from the army’s cast-offs, now a bright, hard core. ‘Gods,’ he whispered under his breath, ‘what have we made here?’
The first blood-letting engagement of the Bridgeburners was the retaking of G’danisban – a mage, an assassin, and seventy soldiers who swept into a rebel stronghold of four hundred desert warriors and crushed them in a single night.
* * *
The lantern’s light had burned low, but the tent’s walls revealed the dawn’s gentle birth. The sounds of a camp awakening and preparing for the march slowly rose to fill the silence that followed Whiskeyjack’s tale.
Anomander Rake sighed. ‘Soul-shifting.’
‘Aye.’
‘I have heard of shifting one soul – sending it into a vessel prepared for it. But to shift eleven souls – eleven mages – into the already-occupied body of a twelfth…’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Brazen, indeed. I see now why Quick Ben requested I probe him no further.’ His eyes lifted. ‘Yet here, this night, you unveil him I did not ask—’
‘To have asked, Lord, would have been a presumption,’ Whiskeyjack said.
‘Then you understood me.’
‘Instinct,’ the Malazan smiled. ‘I trust mine as well, Anomander Rake.’
The Tiste Andii rose from the chair.
Whiskeyjack followed suit.
‘I was impressed,’ Rake said, ‘when you stood ready to defend the child Silverfox.’
‘And I was in turn impressed when you reined yourself in.’
‘Yes,’ the Knight of Dark muttered, eyes suddenly averted and a faint frown marring his brow. ‘The mystery of the cherub…’
‘Excuse me?’
The Tiste Andii smiled. ‘I was recalling my first meeting with the one named Kruppe.’
‘I am afraid, Lord, that Kruppe is one mystery for whom I can offer nothing in way of revelation. Indeed, I think that effort will likely defeat us all.’
‘You may be right in that, Whiskeyjack.’
‘Quick Ben leaves this morning, to join Paran and the Bridgeburners.’
Rake nodded. ‘I shall endeavour to keep my distance, lest he grow nervous.’ After a moment, the Tiste Andii held out his hand.
They locked wrists.
‘A welcome evening just past,’ Rake said.
Whiskeyjack grimaced. ‘I’m not much for spinning entertaining tales. I appreciate your patience.’
‘Perhaps I can redress the balance some other evening – I’ve a few stories of my own.’
‘I’m sure you have,’ Whiskeyjack managed.
They released their grips and the commander turned to the entrance.
Behind him, Rake spoke, ‘One last thing. Silverfox need have nothing to fear from me. More, I will instruct Kallor accordingly.’
Whiskeyjack looked down at the ground for a moment. ‘I thank you, Lord,’ he breathed, then made his way out.
Gods below, I have made a friend this night. When did I last stumble on such a gift? I cannot remember. Hood’s breath, I cannot.
* * *
Standing at the tent entrance, Anomander Rake watched the old man limp away down the track.
A soft patter of taloned feet approached from behind. ‘Master,’ Crone muttered, ‘was that wise?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked distractedly.
‘There is a price for making friends among such short-lived mortals – as you well can attest from your own typically tragic memories.’
‘Careful, hag.’
‘Do you deny the truth of my words, Lord?’
‘One can find precious value in brevity.’
The Great Raven cocked her head. ‘Honest observation? Dangerous admonition? Twisted and all too unhappy wisdom? I doubt you’ll elaborate. You won’t, will you? You’ll leave me wondering, pecking endlessly in fretful obsession! You pig!’
‘Do you smell carrion on the wind, my dear? I swear I do. Why not go find it. Now. This instant. And once you have filled your belly, find Kallor and bring him to me.’
With a snarl the Great Raven leapt outside, wings spreading explosively, heaving the huge bird skyward.
‘Korlat,’ Rake murmured. ‘Attend me, please.’ He swung back to the tent’s interior. Moments later Korlat arrived. Rake remained facing the back wall.
‘Lord?’
‘I shall depart for a short time. I feel the need for Silannah’s comfort’
‘She will welcome your return, Lord.’
‘A few days’ absence, no more than that.’
‘Understood.’
Rake faced her. ‘Extend your protection to Silverfox.’
‘I am pleased by the instruction.’
‘Unseen watchers on Kallor as well. Should he err, call upon me instantly, but do not hesitate in commanding the full force of the Tiste Andii down upon him. At the very least I can be witness to the gathering of his pieces.’
‘The full force, Lord? We have not done so in a long, long time. Do you believe it will be necessary in destroying Kallor?’
‘I cannot be sure, Korlat. Why risk otherwise?’
‘Very well. I shall begin the preparation for our warrens’ joining.’
‘I see that it troubles you none the less.’
‘There are eleven hundred Tiste Andii, Lord.’
‘I am aware of that Korlat’
‘At the Chaining, there were but forty of us, yet we destroyed the Crippled God’s entire realm – granted, a nascent realm. None the less, Lord. Eleven hundred … we risk devastating this entire continent.’
Rake’s eyes grew veiled. ‘I would advise some restraint in the unleashing, Korlat, should it prove necessary to collectively release Kurald Galain. Brood would not be pleased. I suspect that Kallor will do nothing precipitous, in any case. These are all but precautions.’
‘Understood.’
He turned back to the tent’s interior. ‘That will be all, Korlat.’
* * *
The Mhybe dreamed. Once more – after so long – she found herself wandering the tundra, the lichen and moss crunching underfoot as a dry wind swept over her, smelling of dead ice. She walked without aches, heard no rattle deep in her chest as she breathed the crisp air. She had returned, she realized, to the place of her daughter’s birth.
Tellann’s warren, a place not where, but when. The time of youth. For the world. For me.
She lifted her arms, saw their amber smoothness, the tendons and roped veins of her hands almost undiscernible beneath plump flesh.
I am young. I am as I should be.
Not a gift. No, this was torture. She knew she was dreaming; she knew what she would find when she awakened.
A small herd of some ancient, long-extinct beast rolled soft thunder through the hard earth beneath her moccasined feet, running parallel to the path she had chosen along a ridge, their humped backs appearing every now and then above the crest – a blurred flow of burnt umber. Something within her stirred, a quiet exultation to an
swer the majesty of those creatures.
Kin to the bhederin, only larger, with horns spreading out to the sides, massive, regal.
Glancing down, she paused in her steps. Footprints crossed her path. Hide-wrapped feet had punched through the brittle lichen. Eight, nine individuals.
Flesh and blood Imass? The Bonecaster Pran Chole and his companions? Who walks my dreamscape this time?
Her eyes blinked open to musty darkness. Dull pain wrapped her thinned bones. Gnarled hands drew the furs close to her chin against the chill. She felt her eyes fill with water, blinked up at the swimming, sloped ceiling of the hide tent, and released a slow, agonized breath.
‘Spirits of the Rhivi,’ she whispered, ‘take me now, I beg you. An end to this life, please. Jaghan, Iruth, Mendalan, S’ren Tahl, Pahryd, Neprool, Manek, Ibindur – I name you all, take me, spirits of the Rhivi…’
The rattle of her breath, the stubborn beat of her heart … the spirits were deaf to her prayer. With a soft whimper, the Mhybe sat up, reached for her clothes.
She tottered out into misty light. The Rhivi camp was awakening around her. Off to one side she heard the low of the bhederin, felt the restless rumble through the ground, then the shouts of the tribe’s youths returning from a night spent guarding the herd. Figures were emerging from the nearby tents, voices softly singing in ritual greeting of the dawn.
Iruth met inal barku sen netral … ah’rhitan! Iruth met inal …
The Mhybe did not sing. There was no joy within her for another day of life.
‘Dear lass, I have just the thing for you.’
She turned at the voice. The Daru Kruppe was waddling down the path towards her, clutching a small wooden box in his pudgy hands.
She managed a wry smile. ‘Forgive me if I hesitate at your gifts. Past experience…’
‘Kruppe sees beyond the wrinkled veil, my dear. In all things. Thus, his midnight mistress is Faith – a loyal aide whose loving touch Kruppe deeply appreciates. Mercantile interests,’ he continued, arriving to stand before her, his eyes on the box, ‘yield happy, if unexpected gifts. Within this modest container awaits a treasure, which I offer to you, dear.’
‘I have no use for treasures, Kruppe, though I thank you.’
‘A history worth recounting, Kruppe assures you. In extending the tunnel network leading to and from the famed caverns of gaseous bounty beneath fair Darujhistan, hewn chambers were found here and there, the walls revealing each blow of countless antler picks, and upon said rippling surfaces glorious scenes from the distant past were found. Painted in spit and charcoal and haematite and blood and snot and Hood knows what else, but there was more. More indeed. Pedestals, carved in the fashion of rude altars, and upon these altars – these!’
He flipped back the lid of the box.
At first, the Mhybe thought she was looking upon a collection of flint blades, resting on strangely wrought bangles seemingly of the same fractious material. Then her eyes narrowed.
‘Aye,’ Kruppe whispered. ‘Fashioned as if they were indeed flint. But no, they are copper. Cold-hammered, the ore’ gouged raw from veins in rock, flattened beneath pounding stones. Layer upon layer. Shaped, worked, to mirror a heritage.’ His small eyes lifted, met the Mhybe’s. ‘Kruppe sees the pain of your twisted bones, my dear, and he grieves. These copper objects are not tools, but ornaments, to be worn about the body – you will find the blades have clasps suitable for a hide thong. You will find wristlets and anklets, arm-torcs and … uh, necklets. There is efficacy in such items … to ease your aches. Copper, the first gift of the gods.’
Bemused at her own sentimentality, the Mhybe wiped the tears from her lined cheeks. ‘I thank you, friend Kruppe. Our tribe retains the knowledge of copper’s healing qualities. Alas, they are not proof against old age…’
The Daru’s eyes flashed. ‘Kruppe’s story is not yet complete, lass. Scholars were brought down to those chambers, sharp minds devoted to the mysteries of antiquity. The altars, one for each each chamber … eight in all … individually aspected, the paintings displaying crude but undeniable images. Traditional representations. Eight caverns, each clearly identified. We know the hands that carved each of them – the artists identified themselves – and Darujhistan’s finest seers confirmed the truth. We know, my dear, the names of those to whom these ornaments belonged.’ He reached into the box and withdrew a blade.’ Jaghan.’ He set it down and picked up an anklet. ‘S’ren Tahl. And here, this small, childlike arrowhead … Manek, the Rhivi imp – a mocker, was he not? Kruppe feels an affinity with this trickster runt, Manek, oh yes. Manek, for all his games and deceits, has a vast heart, does he not? And here, this torc. Iruth, see its polish? The dawn’s glow, captured here, in this beaten metal—’
‘Impossible,’ the Mhybe whispered. ‘The spirits—’
‘Were once flesh, my dear. Once mortal. That first band of Rhivi, perhaps? Faith,’ he said with a wistful smile, ‘is ever a welcoming mistress. Now, upon completing of morning ablutions, Kruppe expects to see said items adorning you. Through the days to come, through the nights yet to pass, Holy Vessel, hold fast to this faith.’
She could say nothing. Kruppe offered her the box. She took its weight in her hands.
How did you know? This morning of mornings, awakening in the ashes of abandonment. Bereft of lifelong beliefs. How, my dear, deceptive man, did you know?
The Daru stepped back with a sigh. ‘The rigours of delivery have left Kruppe exhausted and famished! Said box trembled these all too civilized appendages.’
She smiled. ‘Rigours of delivery, Kruppe? I could tell you a thing or two.’
‘No doubt, but do not despair of ever receiving just reward, lass.’ He winked, then swung about and ambled off. A few paces away, Kruppe stopped and turned. ‘Oh, Kruppe further informs that Faith has a twin, equally sweet, and that is Dreams. To discount such sweetness is to dismiss the truth of her gifts, lass.’ He fluttered one hand in a wave then turned once more.
He walked on, and moments later was beyond her line of sight. So like Manek, indeed. You buried something there, didn’t you, Kruppe? Faith and dreams. The dreams of hope and desire? Or the dreams of sleep?
Whose path did I cross last night?
* * *
Eighty-five leagues to the northeast, Picker leaned back against the grassy slope, squinting as she watched the last of the quorls – tiny specks against a sea-blue sky – dwindle westward.
‘If I have to sit another heartbeat on one a those,’ a voice growled beside her, ‘someone kill me now and I’ll bless ’em for the mercy.’
The corporal closed her eyes. ‘If you’re giving leave to wring your neck, Antsy, I’ll lay odds one of us will take you up on it before the day’s done.’
‘What an awful thing to say, Picker! What’s made me so unpopular? I ain’t done nothing to no-one never how, have I?’
‘Give me a moment to figure out what you just said and I’ll answer you honestly.’
‘I didn’t not make any sense, woman, and you know it.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Captain’s fault, anyhow—’
‘No it ain’t, Sergeant, and that kinda muttering’s damn unfair and could end up spitting poison right back in your eye. This deal was cooked up by Whiskeyjack and Dujek. You feel like cursing someone, try them.’
‘Curse Whiskeyjack and Onearm? Not a chance.’
‘Then stop your grumbling.’
‘Addressing your superior in that tone earns you the role of duffer today, Corporal. Maybe tomorrow, too, if I feel like it.’
‘Gods,’ she muttered, ‘I do hate short men with big moustaches.’
‘Gettin’ all personal, are ya? Fine, y’can scrub the pots and plates tonight, too. And I got a real complicated meal in mind. Hare stuffed with figs—’
Picker sat up, eyes wide. ‘You’re not gonna make us eat Spindle’s hairshirt? With figs?’
‘Hare, you idiot! The four-legged things, live in holes, saw a brace of ’em in the foodpack. With f
igs, I said. Boiled. And rubyberry sauce, with freshwater oysters—’
Picker sat back with a groan. ‘I’ll take the hairshirt, thanks.’
The journey had been gruelling, with few and all too brief reststops. Nor were the Black Moranth much in the way of company. Virtually silent, aloof and grim – Picker had yet to see one of the warriors shed his or her armour. They wore it like a chitinous second skin. Their commander, Twist, and his quorl were all that remained of the flight that had transported them to the foot of the Barghast Range. Captain Paran was saddled with the task of communicating with the Black Moranth commander – and Oponn’s luck to him, too.
The quorls had taken them high, flying through the night, and the air had been frigid. Picker ached in every muscle. Eyes closed once more, she sat listening to the other Bridgeburners preparing the gear and food supplies for the journey to come. At her side, Antsy muttered under his breath a seemingly endless list of complaints.
Heavy boots approached, unfortunately coming to a halt directly in front of her, blocking out the morning sun. After a moment, Picker pried open one eye.
Captain Paran’s attention, however, was on Antsy. ‘Sergeant.’
Antsy’s muttering ceased abruptly. ‘Sir?’
‘It appears that Quick Ben’s been delayed. He will have to catch up with us, and your squad will provide his escort. The rest of us, with Trotts, will move out. Detoran’s separated out the gear you’ll need.’
‘As you say, sir. We’ll wait for the snake, then – how long should we give him afore we chase after you?’
‘Spindle assures me the delay will be a short one. Expect Quick Ben some time today.’
‘And if he don’t show?’
‘He’ll show.’
‘But if he don’t?’
With a growl, Paran marched off.
Antsy swung a baffled expression on Picker. ‘What if Quick Ben don’t show?’
‘You idiot, Antsy.’
‘It’s a legit question, dammit! What got him all huffy about it?’
‘You got a brain in there somewhere, Sergeant, why not use it? If the mage don’t show up, something’s gone seriously wrong, and if that happens we’re better off hightailing it – anywhere, so long as it’s away. From everything.’
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 190