The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  ‘Will he survive?’

  ‘They think so. This time. But the damage cannot be reversed. Trull, Hanradi’s son is dead. We have lost a K’risnan.’

  ‘To this?’ Trull asked. ‘To the sword’s power?’

  ‘Partly. The Letherii mages mostly, I think, given how badly burned he was. They resisted longer than we expected.’

  Trull faced High Fort. ‘It has surrendered?’

  ‘Yes, a few moments ago. A delegation. The garrison is being disarmed. I was thinking of leaving Hanradi to govern. His spirit is much damaged.’

  Trull said nothing to that. He moved past Fear and strode to the women gathered round the K’risnan. ‘One of you, please,’ he said. ‘There is healing I would have you attend to.’

  An Arapay woman nodded. ‘Wounded warriors. Yes, preferable. Lead me to them.’

  ‘Not Edur. A demon.’

  She halted. ‘Don’t be a fool. There are Edur who require my skills—I have no time for a demon. Let it die. We can always acquire more.’

  Something snapped in Trull, and before he was even aware of it the back of his right hand was stinging and the woman was on the ground, a stunned expression on her suddenly bloodied face. Then rage flared in her eyes.

  Fear pushed Trull back a step. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I want a demon healed,’ Trull said. He was trembling, frightened at the absence of remorse within him even as he watched the woman pick herself up from the mud. ‘I want it healed, then unbound and sent back to its realm.’

  ‘Trull—’

  The woman snarled, then hissed, ‘The empress shall hear of this! I will see you banished!’ Her companions gathered, all looking on Trull with raw hatred.

  He realized that his gesture had snapped something within them as well. Unfortunate.

  ‘How badly injured is it?’ Fear asked.

  ‘It is dying—’

  ‘Then likely it has already done so. No more of this, Trull.’ He swung to the women. ‘Go among our warriors, all of you. I will see the K’risnan carried to our camp.’

  ‘We will speak of this to the empress,’ the first healer said, wiping at her face.

  ‘Of course. As you must.’

  They stalked off into the rain.

  ‘The battle lust is still upon you, brother—’

  ‘No it isn’t—’

  ‘Listen to me. It is how you will excuse your actions. And you will ask for forgiveness and you will make reparations.’

  Trull turned away. ‘I need to find a healer.’

  Fear pulled him roughly round, but Trull twisted free. He headed off. He would find a healer. A Hiroth woman, one who knew his mother. Before word carried.

  The demon needed healing. It was as simple as that.

  An indeterminate time later, he found himself stumbling among bodies. Dead Edur, the ones killed by the sorcerous attack he recalled from earlier. Scorched, burnt so fiercely their faces had melted away. Unknown to his eyes and unknowable. He wandered among them, the rain pelting down to give the illusion of motion, of life, on all sides. But they were all dead.

  A lone figure nearby, standing motionless. A woman, her hands hanging at her sides. He had seen her before, a matron. Hanradi Khalag’s elder sister, tall, hawk-faced, her eyes like onyx. He halted in front of her. ‘I want you to heal a demon.’

  She did not seem to see him at all. ‘I can do nothing for them. My sons. I cannot even find them.’

  He took one of her hands and held it tight. ‘Come with me.’

  She did not resist as he led her away from the strewn corpses. ‘A demon?’

  ‘Yes. I do not know the name by which they call themselves.’

  ‘Kenyll’rah. It means “To Sleep Peacefully” or something like that. The Merude were charged with making their weapons.’

  ‘They have been sorely used.’

  ‘They are not alone in that, warrior.’

  He glanced back at her, saw that awareness had returned to her eyes. Her hand held his now, and tightly. ‘You are the emperor’s brother, Trull Sengar.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You struck an Arapay woman.’

  ‘I did. It seems such news travels swiftly—and mysteriously.’

  ‘Among the women. Yes.’

  ‘And yet you will help me.’

  ‘Heal this demon? If it lives, I shall.’

  ‘Why?’

  She did not reply.

  It took some time, but they finally found the creature. Its cries had ceased, but the woman released Trull’s hand and crouched down beside it. ‘It lives still, Trull Sengar.’ She laid her palms on the demon’s massive chest and closed her eyes.

  Trull watched the rain streaming down her face, as if the world wept in her stead.

  ‘Take the first of the quarrels. You will pull, gently, while I push. Each one, slowly.’

  ‘I want it released.’

  ‘I cannot do that. It will not be permitted.’

  ‘Then I want it placed in my charge.’

  ‘You are the emperor’s brother. None will defy you.’

  ‘Except, perhaps, one of the emperor’s other brothers.’ He was pleased to see the crease of a smile on her thin features.

  ‘That trouble will be yours, not mine, Trull Sengar. Now, pull. Carefully.’

  The demon opened its small eyes. It ran its massive hands over the places where wounds had been, then it sighed.

  The healer stepped back. ‘I am done. There are bodies to gather.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Trull said.

  She made no reply. Wiping rain from her face, she walked away.

  The demon slowly climbed to its feet. ‘I will fight again,’ it said.

  ‘Not if I have any say in the matter,’ Trull replied. ‘I would place you in my charge.’

  ‘To not fight? That would be unfair, Denier. I would witness the death of my kind, yet not share the risk, or their fate. It is sad, to die so far from home.’

  ‘Then one among you must remain, to remember them. That one will be you. What is your name?’

  ‘Lilac.’

  Trull studied the sky. It seemed there would be no let up in the downpour. ‘Come with me. I must speak to my brother.’

  Tiste Edur warriors were entering the city. No Letherii soldiers were visible on the walls, or at the bastions. The gates had been sundered some time during the battle, struck by sorcery. Twisted pieces of bronze and splintered wood studded the muddy ground, amidst strewn corpses.

  The demon had collected a double-bladed axe near the body of one of its kind and now carried it over a shoulder. For all its size, Lilac moved quietly, shortening its stride to stay alongside Trull. He noted that the pattern of its breathing was odd. After a deep breath it took another, shorter one, followed by a faintly whistling exhalation that did not seem to come from its broad, flattened nose.

  ‘Lilac, are you fully healed?’

  ‘I am.’

  Ahead lay the rampart where four mages had stood. Three of them had been obliterated in the first wave of sorcery. On the berm’s summit now were gathered Fear and a number of officers. And two prisoners.

  The slope was treacherous underfoot as Trull and the demon made their ascent. Red, muddy streams, bodies slowly sliding down. Wraiths moved through the rain as if still hunting victims. From the west came the low rumble of thunder.

  They reached the rampart’s summit. Trull saw that one of the prisoners was Prince Quillas. He did not seem injured. The other was a woman in mud-spattered armour. She wore no helmet and had taken a head wound, staining the left side of her face with streaks of blood. Her eyes were glazed with shock.

  Fear had turned to regard Trull and the demon, his expression closed. ‘Brother,’ he said tonelessly, ‘it seems we have captured two personages of the royal family.’

  ‘This is Queen Janall?’

  ‘The prince expects we will ransom them,’ Fear said. ‘He does not seem to understand the situation.’

  ‘And
what is the situation?’ Trull asked.

  ‘Our emperor wants these two. For himself.’

  ‘Fear, we are not in the habit of parading prisoners.’

  A flicker of rage in Fear’s eyes, but his voice remained calm. ‘I see you have had your demon healed. What do you want?’

  ‘I want this Kenyll’rah in my charge.’

  Fear studied the huge creature. Then he shrugged and turned away. ‘As you like. Leave us now, Trull. I will seek you out later…for a private word.’

  Trull flinched. ‘Very well.’

  The world felt broken now, irreparably broken.

  ‘Go.’

  ‘Come with me, Lilac,’ Trull said. He paused to glance over at Prince Quillas, and saw the terror in the young Letherii’s visage. Rhulad wanted him, and the queen. Why?

  They walked the killing field, the rain pummelling down in a soft roar, devastation and slaughter on all sides. Figures were moving about here and there. Tiste Edur seeking fallen comrades, wraiths on senseless patrols. The thunder was closer.

  ‘There is a river,’ Lilac said. ‘I smelled it when we first arrived. It is the same river as ran beneath the bridge.’

  ‘Yes,’ Trull replied. ‘The Katter River.’

  ‘I would see it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  They angled northwest. Reached the loggers’ road that ran parallel to the forest and followed its three-rutted track until the treeline thinned on their right, and the river became visible.

  ‘Ah,’ Lilac murmured, ‘it is so small…’

  Trull studied the fast-flowing water, the glittering skin it cast over boulders. ‘A caster of nets,’ he said.

  ‘My home, Denier.’

  The Tiste Edur walked down to the river’s edge. He reached and plunged his bloodstained hand into the icy water.

  ‘Are there not fish in there?’ Lilac asked.

  ‘I am sure there are. Why?’

  ‘In the river where I live, there are n’purel, the Whiskered Fish. They can eat a Kenyll’rah youth whole, and there are some in the deep lakes that could well eat an adult such as myself. Of course, we never venture onto the deeps. Are there no such creatures here?’

  ‘In the seas,’ Trull replied, ‘there are sharks. And, of course, there are plenty of stories of larger monsters, some big enough to sink ships.’

  ‘The n’purel then crawl onto shore and shed their skins, whereupon they live on land.’

  ‘That is a strange thing,’ Trull said, glancing back at the demon. ‘I gather that casting nets is a dangerous activity, then.’

  Lilac shrugged. ‘No more dangerous than hunting spiders, Denier.’

  ‘Call me Trull.’

  ‘You are an Arbiter of Life, a Denier of Freedom. You are the Stealer of my Death—’

  ‘All right. Never mind.’

  ‘What war is this?’

  ‘A pointless one.’

  ‘They are all pointless, Denier. Subjugation and defeat breed resentment and hatred, and such things cannot be bribed away.’

  ‘Unless the spirit of the defeated is crushed,’ Trull said. ‘Absolutely crushed, such as with the Nerek and the Faraed and Tarthenal.’

  ‘I do not know those people, Denier.’

  ‘They are among those the Letherii—our enemy in this war—have conquered.’

  ‘And you think them broken?’

  ‘They are that, Lilac.’

  ‘It may not be as it seems.’

  Trull shrugged. ‘Perhaps you are right.’

  ‘Will their station change under your rule?’

  ‘I suspect not.’

  ‘If you understand all this, Denier, why do you fight?’

  The sound of moccasins on gravel behind them. Trull straightened and turned to see Fear approaching. In his hand was a Letherii sword.

  Trull considered readying the spear strapped to his back, then decided against it. Despite what he’d said earlier, he was not prepared to fight his brother.

  ‘This weapon,’ Fear said as he halted five paces from Trull, ‘is Letherii steel.’

  ‘I saw them on the field of battle. They defied the K’risnan sorcery, when all else was destroyed. Swords, spear-heads, undamaged.’ Trull studied his brother. ‘What of it?’

  Fear hesitated, then looked out on the river. ‘It is what I do not understand. How did they achieve such a thing as this steel? They are a corrupt, vicious people, Trull. They do not deserve such advances in craft.’

  ‘Why them and not us?’ Trull asked, then he smiled. ‘Fear, the Letherii are a forward-looking people, and so inherently driven. We Edur do not and have never possessed such a force of will. We have our Blackwood, but we have always possessed that. Our ancestors brought it with them from Emurlahn. Brother, we look back—’

  ‘To the time when Father Shadow ruled over us,’ Fear cut in, his expression darkening. ‘Hannan Mosag speaks the truth. We must devour the Letherii, we must set a yoke upon them, and so profit from their natural drive to foment change.’

  ‘And what will that do to us, brother? We resist change, we do not worship it, we do not thrive in its midst the way the Letherii do. Besides, I am not convinced that theirs is the right way to live. I suspect their faith in progress is far more fragile than it outwardly seems. In the end, they must ever back up what they seek with force.’ Trull pointed to the sword. ‘With that.’

  ‘We shall guide them, Trull. Hannan Mosag understood this—’

  ‘You revise the past now, Fear. He was not intending to wage war on the Letherii.’

  ‘Not immediately, true, but it would have come. And he knew it. So the K’risnan have told me. We had lost Father Shadow. It was necessary to find a new source of faith.’

  ‘A faceless one?’

  ‘Damn you, Trull! You knelt before him—no different from the rest of us!’

  ‘And to this day, I wonder why. What about you, Fear? Do you wonder why you did as you did?’

  His brother turned away, visibly trembling. ‘I saw no doubt.’

  ‘In Hannah Mosag. And so you followed. As did the rest of us, I suspect. One and all, we knelt before Rhulad, believing we saw in each other a certainty that did not in truth exist—’

  With a roar, Fear spun round, the sword lifting high. It swung down—

  —and was halted, suddenly, by the demon, whose massive hand had closed round Fear’s forearm and held it motionless.

  ‘Release me!’

  ‘No,’ Lilac replied. ‘This warrior stole my death. I now steal his.’

  Fear struggled a moment longer, then, seeing it was hopeless, he sagged.

  ‘You can let him go now,’ Trull said.

  ‘If he attacks again I will kill him,’ the demon said, releasing Fear’s arm.

  ‘We followed Hannan Mosag,’ Trull said, ‘and yet, what did we know of his mind? He was our Warlock King, and so we followed. Think on this, Fear. He had sought out a new source of power, rejecting Father Shadow. True, he knew, as we did, that Scabandari Bloodeye was dead, or, at best, his spirit lived but was lost to us. And so he made pact with…something else. And he sent you and me, Binadas and Rhulad and the Buhns, to retrieve the gift that…thing…created for him. The fault lies with us, Fear, in that we did not question, did not challenge the Warlock King. We were fools, and all that is before us now, and all that will come, is our fault.’

  ‘He is the Warlock King, Trull.’

  ‘Who arrived at absolute power over all the Edur. He held it and would not lose it, no matter what. And so he surrendered his soul. As did we, when we knelt before Rhulad.’

  Fear’s eyes narrowed on him. ‘You are speaking treason, brother.’

  ‘Against what? Against whom? Tell me, I truly want to know. Have you seen the face of our new god?’

  ‘Were Binadas standing here and not I,’ Fear whispered, ‘you would be dead now.’

  ‘And, in our wondrous new empire, will that be the singular fate of all those who voice dissent?’

 
Fear looked down at the sword in his hand. Then let it drop. ‘Your warriors are awaiting you, Trull. In two days’ time we resume our march. South, to Letheras.’ He then turned and walked away.

  Trull watched him for a moment, then looked out on the river once more. For every eddy in the current, in the lees of boulders and notches in the bank, the river rushed on, slave to relentless laws. When he had placed his hand in the water, it had quickly grown numb. ‘Eventually, Lilac, we will make sense of this.’

  The demon said nothing.

  Trull walked to a nearby boulder and sat down on it. He lowered his head into his hands and began to weep.

  After a time the demon moved to stand beside him. Then a heavy hand settled on his shoulder.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Invisible in all his portions

  This thick-skinned thing has borders

  Indivisible to every sentinel

  Patrolling the geography of

  Arbitrary definitions, and yet the

  Mountains have ground down

  The fires died, and so streams

  This motionless strand of sharp

  Black sand where I walk

  Cutting my path on the coarse

  Conclusions countless teeth

  Have grated—all lost now

  In this unlit dust—we are not

  And have never been

  The runners green and fresh

  Of life risen from the crushed

  Severing extinctions (that one past

  this one new) all hallowed and self-sure

  But the dead strand moves unseen,

  The river of black crawls on

  To some wistful resolution

  The place with no meaning

  Inconsequential in absence

  Of strings and shadows

  Charting from then to now

  And these stitched lines

  Finding this in that…

  EXCERPT FROM THE BLACK SANDS OF TIME (IN THE COLLECTION SUICIDAL POETS OF DARUJHISTAN)

  EDITED BY HAROAK

  The corpse beyond the pier was barely visible, a pallid patch resisting the roll of the waves. The shark that rose alongside it to make a sideways lunge was one of the largest ones Udinaas had yet seen during the time he’d sat looking out on the harbour, his legs dangling from the jetty’s edge.