The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  This land, Kalam realized, was in itself a land under siege—and the enemy had yet to arrive. Sha’ik had drawn the Whirlwind close, a tactic that suggested to the assassin a certain element of fear. Unless, of course, Sha’ik was deliberately playing against expectations. Perhaps she simply sought to draw Tavore into a trap, into Raraku, where her power was strongest, where her forces knew the land whilst the enemy did not.

  But there’s at least one man in Tavore’s army who knows Raraku. And he’d damn well better speak up when the time comes.

  Night had arrived, stars glittering overhead. Kalam pressed on. Burdened beneath a pack heavy with food and waterskins, he continued to sweat as the air chilled. Reaching the summit of yet another hill, he discerned the glow of the besiegers’ camp beneath the ragged horizon’s silhouette. From the cliffside itself there was no light at all.

  He continued on.

  It was midmorning before he arrived at the camp. Tents, wagons, stone-ringed firepits, arrayed haphazardly in a rough semicircle before the rearing cliff-face with its smoke-blackened fortress. Heaps of rubbish surrounded the area, latrine pits overflowing and reeking in the heat. As he made his way down the track, Kalam studied the situation. He judged that there were about five hundred besiegers, many of them—given their uniforms—originally part of Malazan garrisons, but of local blood. There had been no assault in some time. Makeshift wooden towers waited off to one side.

  He had been spotted, but no challenge was raised, nor was much interest accorded him as he reached the camp’s edge. Just another fighter come to kill Malazans. Carrying his own food, ensuring he would not burden anyone else, and therefore welcome.

  As the hawker in G’danisban had suggested, the patience of the attackers had ended. Preparations were under way for a final push. Probably not this day, but the next. The scaffolds had been left untended for too long—ropes had dried out, wood had split. Work crews had begun the repairs, but without haste, moving slowly in the enervating heat. There was an air of dissolution to the camp that even anticipation could not hide.

  The fires have cooled here. Now, they’re only planning an assault so they can get this over with, so they can go home.

  The assassin noted a small group of soldiers near the centre of the half-ring where it seemed the orders were coming from. One man in particular, accoutred in the armour of a Malazan lieutenant, stood with hands on hips and was busy haranguing a half-dozen sappers.

  The workmen wandered off a moment before Kalam arrived, desultorily making for the towers.

  The lieutenant noticed him. Dark eyes narrowed beneath the rim of the helm. There was a crest on that skullcap. Ashok Regiment.

  Stationed in Genabaris a few years past. Then sent back to…Ehrlitan, I think. Hood rot the bastards, I’d have thought they would have stayed loyal.

  ‘Come to see the last of them get their throats cut?’ the lieutenant asked with a hard grin. ‘Good. You’ve the look of an organized and experienced man, and Beru knows, I’ve far too few of them here in this mob. Your name?’

  ‘Ulfas,’ Kalam replied.

  ‘Sounds Barghast.’

  The assassin shrugged as he set down his pack. ‘You’re not the first to think that.’

  ‘You will address me as sir. That’s if you want to be part of this fight.’

  ‘You’re not the first to think that…sir.’

  ‘I am Captain Irriz.’

  Captain…in a lieutenant’s uniform. Felt unappreciated in the regiment, did you? ‘When does the assault begin, sir?’

  ‘Eager? Good. Tomorrow at dawn. There’s only a handful left up there. It shouldn’t take long once we breach the balcony entrance.’

  Kalam looked up at the fortress. The balcony was little more than a projecting ledge, the doorway beyond narrower than a man’s shoulders. ‘They only need a handful,’ he muttered, then added, ‘sir.’

  Irriz scowled. ‘You just walked in and you’re already an expert?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Simply an observation.’

  ‘Well, we’ve a mage just arrived. Says she can knock a hole where that door is. A big hole. Ah, here she comes now.’

  The woman approaching was young, slight and pallid. And Malazan. Ten paces away, her steps faltered, then she halted, light brown eyes fixing now on Kalam. ‘Keep that weapon sheathed when you’re near me,’ she drawled. ‘Irriz, get that bastard to stand well away from us.’

  ‘Sinn? What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Wrong? Nothing, probably. But one of his knives is an otataral weapon.’

  The sudden avarice in the captain’s eyes as he studied Kalam sent a faint chill through the assassin. ‘Indeed. And where did you come by that, Ulfas?’

  ‘Took it from the Wickan I killed. On the Chain of Dogs.’

  There was sudden silence. Faces turned to regard Kalam anew.

  Doubt flickered onto Irriz’s face. ‘You were there?’

  ‘Aye. What of it?’

  There were hand gestures all round, whispered prayers. The chill within Kalam grew suddenly colder. Gods, they’re voicing blessings…but not on me. They’re blessing the Chain of Dogs. What truly happened there, for this to have been born?

  ‘Why are you not with Sha’ik, then?’ Irriz demanded. ‘Why would Korbolo have let you leave?’

  ‘Because,’ Sinn snapped, ‘Korbolo Dom is an idiot, and Kamist Reloe even worse. Personally, I am amazed he didn’t lose half his army after the Fall. What true soldier would stomach what happened there? Ulfas, is it? You deserted Korbolo’s Dogslayers, yes?’

  Kalam simply shrugged. ‘I went looking for a cleaner fight.’

  Her laugh was shrill, and she spun in mocking pirouette in the dust. ‘And you came here? Oh, you fool! That’s so funny! It makes me want to scream, it’s so funny!’

  Her mind is broken. ‘I see nothing amusing in killing,’ he replied. ‘Though I find it odd that you are here, seemingly so eager to kill fellow Malazans.’

  Her face darkened. ‘My reasons are my own, Ulfas. Irriz, I would speak with you in private. Come.’

  Kalam held his expression impassive as the captain flinched at the imperious tone. Then the renegade officer nodded. ‘I will join you in a moment, Sinn.’ He turned back to the assassin. ‘Ulfas. We want to take most of them alive, to give us sport. Punishment for being so stubborn. I especially want their commander. He is named Kindly—’

  ‘Do you know him, sir?’

  Irriz grinned. ‘I was 3rd Company in the Ashok. Kindly leads the 2nd.’ He gestured at the fortress. ‘Or what’s left of it. This is a personal argument for me, and that is why I intend to win. And it’s why I want those bastards alive. Wounded and disarmed.’

  Sinn was waiting impatiently. Now she spoke up, ‘There’s a thought. Ulfas, with his otataral knife—he can make their mage useless.’

  Irriz grinned. ‘First into the breach, then. Acceptable to you, Ulfas?’

  First in, last out. ‘It won’t be my first time, sir.’

  The captain then joined Sinn and the two strode off.

  Kalam stared after them. Captain Kindly. Never met you, sir, but for years you’ve been known as the meanest officer in the entire Malazan military. And, it now seems, the most stubborn, too.

  Excellent. I could use a man like that.

  He found an empty tent to stow his gear—empty because a latrine pit had clawed away the near side of its sand-crusted wall and was now soaking the ground beneath the floor’s single rug along the back. Kalam placed his bag beside the front flap then stretched out close to it, shutting his mind and senses away from the stench.

  In moments he was asleep.

  He awoke to darkness. The camp beyond was silent. Slipping out from his telaba, the assassin rose into a crouch and began winding straps around his loose-fitting clothes. When he was done, he drew on fingerless leather gloves, then wound a black cloth around his head until only his eyes remained uncovered. He edged outside.

  A few smouldering firepits, two tents
within sight still glowing with lamplight. Three guards sitting in a makeshift picket facing the fortress—about twenty paces distant.

  Kalam set out, silently skirting the latrine pit and approaching the skeletal scaffolding of the siege towers. They had posted no guard there. Irriz was probably a bad lieutenant, and now he’s an even worse captain. He moved closer.

  The flicker of sorcery at the base of one of the towers froze him in place. After a long, breathless moment, a second muted flash, dancing around one of the support fittings.

  Kalam slowly settled down to watch.

  Sinn moved from fitting to fitting. When she finished with the closest tower, she proceeded to the next. There were three in all.

  When she was working on the last fitting at the base of the second tower, Kalam rose and slipped forward. As he drew near her, he unsheathed the otataral blade.

  He smiled at her soft curse. Then, as realization struck her, she whirled.

  Kalam held up a staying hand, slowly raised his knife, then sheathed it once more. He padded to her side. ‘Lass,’ he whispered in Malazan, ‘this is a nasty nest of snakes for you to play in.’

  Her eyes went wide, gleaming like pools in the starlight. ‘I wasn’t sure of you,’ she replied quietly. Her thin arms drew tight around herself. ‘I’m still not. Who are you?’

  ‘Just a man sneaking to the towers…to weaken all the supports. As you have done. All but one of them, that is. The third one is the best made—Malazan, in fact. I want to keep that one intact.’

  ‘Then we are allies,’ she said, still hugging herself.

  She’s very young. ‘You showed fine acting abilities earlier on. And you’ve surprising skill as a mage, for one so…’

  ‘Minor magicks only, I’m afraid. I was being schooled.’

  ‘Who was your instructor?’

  ‘Fayelle. Who’s now with Korbolo Dom. Fayelle, who slid her knife across the throats of my father and mother. Who went hunting for me, too. But I slipped away, and even with her sorcery she could not find me.’

  ‘And this is to be your revenge?’

  Her grin was a silent snarl. ‘I have only begun my revenge, Ulfas. I want her. But I need soldiers.’

  ‘Captain Kindly and company. You mentioned a mage in that fortress. Have you been in touch with him?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have not that skill.’

  ‘Then why do you believe that the captain will join you in your cause?’

  ‘Because one of his sergeants is my brother—well, my half-brother. I don’t know if he still lives, though…’

  He settled a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the answering flinch. ‘All right, lass. We will work together on this. You’ve your first ally.’

  ‘Why?’

  He smiled unseen behind the cloth. ‘Fayelle is with Korbolo Dom, yes? Well, I have a meeting pending with Korbolo. And with Kamist Reloe. So, we’ll work together in convincing Captain Kindly. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’

  The relief in her voice sent a twinge through the assassin. She’d been alone for far too long in her deadly quest. In need of help…but with no-one around to whom she could turn. Just one more orphan in this Hood-cursed rebellion. He recalled his first sight of those thirteen hundred children he had unwittingly saved all those months back, his last time crossing this land. And there, in those faces, was the true horror of war. Those children had been alive when the carrion birds came down for their eyes…A shudder ran through him.

  ‘What is wrong? You seemed far away.’

  He met her eyes. ‘No, lass, far closer than you think.’

  ‘Well, I have already done most of my work this night. Irriz and his warriors won’t be worth much come the morning.’

  ‘Oh? And what did you have planned for me?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure. I was hoping that, with you up front, you’d get killed quick. Captain Kindly’s mage wouldn’t go near you—he’d leave it to the soldiers with their crossbows.’

  ‘And what of this hole you were to blast into the cliff-face?’

  ‘Illusion. I’ve been preparing for days. I think I can do it.’

  Brave and desperate. ‘Well, lass, your efforts seem to have far outstripped mine in ambition. I’d intended a little mayhem and not much more. You mentioned that Irriz and his men wouldn’t be worth much. What did you mean by that?’

  ‘I poisoned their water.’

  Kalam blanched behind his mask. ‘Poison? What kind?’

  ‘Tralb.’

  The assassin said nothing for a long moment. Then, ‘How much?’

  She shrugged. ‘All that the healer had. Four vials. He once said he used it to stop tremors, such as afflicted old people.’

  Aye. A drop. ‘When?’

  ‘Not long ago.’

  ‘So, unlikely anyone’s drunk it yet.’

  ‘Except maybe a guard or two.’

  ‘Wait here, lass.’ Kalam set out, silent in the darkness, until he came within sight of the three warriors manning the picket. Earlier, they had been seated. That was no longer the case. But there was movement, low to the ground—he slipped closer.

  The three figures were spasming, writhing, their limbs jerking. Foam caked their mouths and blood had started from their bulging eyes. They had fouled themselves. A waterskin lay nearby in a patch of wet sand that was quickly disappearing beneath a carpet of capemoths.

  The assassin drew his pig-sticker. He would have to be careful, since to come into contact with blood, spit or any other fluid was to invite a similar fate. The warriors were doomed to suffer like this for what to them would be an eternity—they would still be spasming by dawn, and would continue to do so until either their hearts gave out or they died from dehydration. Horribly, with Tralb it was often the latter rather than the former.

  He reached the nearest one. Saw recognition in the man’s leaking eyes. Kalam raised his knife. Relief answered the gesture. The assassin drove the narrow-bladed weapon down into the guard’s left eye, angled upward. The body stiffened, then settled with a frothy sigh.

  He quickly repeated the grisly task with the other two.

  Then meticulously cleaned his knife in the sand.

  Capemoths, wings rasping, were descending on the scene. Hunting rhizan quickly joined them. The air filled with the sound of crunching exoskeletons.

  Kalam faced the camp. He would have to stove the casks. Enemies of the empire these warriors might be, but they deserved a more merciful death than this.

  A faint skittering sound spun him around.

  A rope had uncoiled down the cliff-face from the stone balcony. Figures began descending, silent and fast.

  They had watchers.

  The assassin waited.

  Three in all, none armed with more than daggers. As they came forward one halted while still a dozen paces distant.

  The lead man drew up before the assassin. ‘And who in Hood’s name are you?’ he hissed, gold flashing from his teeth.

  ‘A Malazan soldier,’ was Kalam’s whispered reply. ‘Is that your mage hanging back over there? I need his help.’

  ‘He says he can’t—’

  ‘I know. My otataral long-knife. But he need not get close—all he has to do is empty this camp’s water casks.’

  ‘What for? There’s a spring not fifty paces downtrail—they’ll just get more.’

  ‘You’ve another ally here,’ Kalam said. ‘She fouled the water with Tralb—what do you think afflicted these poor bastards?’

  The second man grunted. ‘We was wondering. Not pleasant, what happened to them. Still, it’s no less than they deserved. I say leave the water be.’

  ‘Why not take the issue to Captain Kindly? He’s the one making the decisions for you, right?’

  The man scowled.

  His companion spoke. ‘That’s not why we’re down here. We’re here to retrieve you. And if there’s another one, we’ll take her, too.’

  ‘To do what?’ Kalam demanded. He was about to say Starve? Die
of thirst? but then he realized that neither soldier before him looked particularly gaunt, nor parched. ‘You want to stay holed up in there for ever?’

  ‘It suits us fine,’ the second soldier snapped. ‘We could leave at any time. There’s back routes. But the question is, then what? Where do we go? The whole land is out for Malazan blood.’

  ‘What is the last news you’ve heard?’ Kalam asked.

  ‘We ain’t heard any at all. Not since we quitted Ehrlitan. As far as we can see, Seven Cities ain’t part of the Malazan Empire any more, and there won’t be nobody coming to get us. If there was, they’d have come long since.’

  The assassin regarded the two soldiers for a moment, then he sighed. ‘All right, we need to talk. But not here. Let me get the lass—we’ll go with you. On condition that your mage do me the favour I asked.’

  ‘Not an even enough bargain,’ the second soldier said. ‘Grab for us Irriz. We want a little sit-down with that fly-blown corporal.’

  ‘Corporal? Didn’t you know, he’s a captain now. You want him. Fine. Your mage destroys the water in those casks. I’ll send the lass your way—be kind to her. All of you head back up. I may be a while.’

  ‘We can live with that deal.’

  Kalam nodded and made his way back to where he’d left Sinn.

  She had not left her position, although instead of hiding she was dancing beneath one of the towers, spinning in the sand, arms floating, hands fluttering like capemoth wings.

  The assassin hissed in warning as he drew near. She halted, saw him, and scurried over. ‘You took too long! I thought you were dead!’

  And so you danced? ‘No, but those three guards are. I’ve made contact with the soldiers from the fortress. They’ve invited us inside—conditions seem amenable up there. I’ve agreed.’

  ‘But what about the attack tomorrow?’

  ‘It will fail. Listen, Sinn, they can leave at any time, unseen—we can be on our way into Raraku as soon as we can convince Kindly. Now, follow me—and quietly.’