The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  Quick Ben snarled. ‘Why, more good news, what did you think?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The High Mage threw up his hands. ‘Let’s just add the K’Chain Che’Malle and the Jaghut, and oh, we should probably mention Hood himself – no longer dragging the Throne of Death by one ankle. And who knows how many slavering fanatics of the Wolves of Winter! And what about the Crippled God himself – will he go quietly? Why should he? If I was him, even if you showed me the inviting door at the far end, I’d be slicing throats all the way down the corridor. I’d have damn well earned the right to as much vengeance as I could muster!’

  Paran grunted. ‘All right, it’s rather more complicated than I had imagined, then.’

  Quick Ben seemed to choke on his reply. After a bout of coughing, and then spitting, he shook his head and, eyes watering, he rubbed at his face again. Then he took a deep, settling breath, and said, ‘We need a secret weapon, Paran.’

  ‘I have a gut feeling about that—’

  ‘The one burning a hole in your stomach?’

  I hope not. ‘I think we might have two secret weapons, High Mage.’

  ‘Please, I am begging you, go on.’

  ‘Quick Ben, tell me, who was the toughest Bridgeburner you ever knew? Think back, and think carefully. Get your ego out of the way. Ignore your favourites and the ones who spent all their time looking mean. Not the callous shits, not the back-stabbers, none of the posers. The toughest, Quick Ben. Day in, day out, good times, bad. Tell me. Who?’

  The High Mage squinted, glanced down at the ground at his feet, and then he sighed and nodded, looking up as he said, ‘I didn’t need that list, Ganoes. I knew my answer right from the start. We all knew.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Fiddler. There’s no tougher man alive.’

  Paran looked away. ‘My family…aye, we were something of a mess. But I will tell you this, this one thing I know without any doubt, and it starts with a memory – my sister had an area of ground cleared for her at the country estate, and it was where, beginning when she was barely five years old, she used toys to fight battles from every history book and scroll she could find. And the times when my father entertained High Fists in his horse-selling ventures, he’d make it a kind of challenge to those veteran commanders – take to the field against little sallow-faced Tavore, with all those toy soldiers. Count your attrition honestly, and see what happens. My sister, Quick Ben, from about seven onward, never lost to a single commander. And when their corpses were dragged away, she went deeper into the histories, she started taking the loser’s sides, and then won those, too.’

  ‘Tavore, then.’

  ‘Think of all the great military leaders – Dassem, Coltaine, K’azz, Dujek, Greymane – for what it is worth, I would pit my sister against any of them. Gods below, against all of them.’ He continued staring into the southwest. ‘There you have it, High Mage. Fiddler and my sister. Our two weapons.’ When he looked back he saw Quick Ben studying him.

  The High Mage said, ‘The ascended Bridgeburners hold the gates of death.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Except for Hedge. Whiskeyjack sent Hedge back – to Fiddler.’

  ‘Did he now?’

  ‘Remember Pale, Ganoes Paran?’

  ‘As much of it as I could, which wasn’t much.’

  ‘Right – you weren’t there yet, not when we got together on a hill outside the city, to shake things down one more time. Or, if you were around, Sorry was sticking a dagger in your back about then.’

  ‘What about it, Quick?’

  ‘It’s just…we were all there. Trying to make sense of things. And now I’ve got this feeling…we’re all going to meet again. To bring it all to an end.’

  ‘One way or another.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘How do you gauge our chances, High Mage?’

  ‘Miserable.’

  ‘And our weapons?’

  ‘With me vouching for Fiddler, and you for your sister,’ he said, with a wry grin, ‘the best we could hope for, I suppose.’

  ‘And here I have two more – the infamous Kalam and Quick Ben. You know, if I wasn’t such a realist, I’d be feeling confident right now.’

  A scowl replaced the grin. ‘Did you really have to put it quite that way, High Fist?’

  He felt her eyes on him as he swung on to the horse. Settling in the saddle, gathering the reins, he squinted at the broad, terraced valley stretching away to his right. Rich lands, he mused. Then he glanced across at her. ‘What?’

  Minala shook her head. ‘He’s going to get you killed for real one of these days. You know that, don’t you?’

  Kalam snorted. ‘Whatever you think you’ve seen, Minala, you’ll just have to take my word: you really have no idea what we’ve survived, me and Quick.’

  ‘Fine. Impress me.’

  ‘Probably not possible, but I’ll try anyway. Jaghut and Crimson Guard Avowed in Mott Wood. Tiste Andii assassin-mages and highborn demons in Darujhistan. More Claw than you could count.’ Looking across at her, seeing her flat expression, he sighed. ‘And we ain’t so bad on our own, neither. Icarium, the Pannion Domin, K’Chain Nah’ruk and Soletaken dragons – Quick’s faced down them all. As for me…if I could raise up every person and every demon and every whatever I’ve personally killed, I’d have an army big enough to drown the Forkrul Assail in piss, never mind a knockdown fight.’

  She continued staring at him, and then she said, inflectionless, ‘You are both insufferable.’

  ‘Some nerve,’ he rumbled, ‘after all that attention I just gave you.’

  On all sides, Paran’s Host was forming up, preparing to march – they had a third of a day’s light left and it seemed the High Fist wasn’t much interested in resting his troops. In a hurry. That’s always bad. Decent-looking soldiers, though. Lots of North Genabackan and Malazan mainlanders. And then there’s those Seven Cities horsewarriors – tribals. Tribals always scared me.

  Minala took a drink from her waterskin and then spoke again. ‘Were all you Bridgeburners the same? Arrogant, self-important, narcissistic?’

  ‘Aye, and we earned every strut.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘In fact,’ Kalam went on, ignoring her comment, ‘it’s probably why they decided to wipe us out. Every officer they threw at us couldn’t hold up. We were a company run by the sergeants, Whiskeyjack first and foremost, but even then the sergeants voted on stuff, the orders they’d give to the captains and lieutenants, the orders to go down to the rest of us. As you might imagine, the high command didn’t much like that. Oh, we might listen to a few, the ones we knew would do right by us – Dassem, Dujek, the ones we knew were worth their salt. But the rest? Not a chance.’

  ‘Meaning you were ungovernable.’

  ‘Meaning we were actually thinking of taking down the Empress. Aye, looking on it that way, Laseen had to wipe us out. She had no choice, and if it didn’t sit well with her – having to kill off her toughest soldiers – well, I suppose we gave her few options.’

  ‘Well now,’ Minala said, ‘finally, a little honesty.’

  ‘So now I’m with the Host, wife. Which brings me to the question, what are you doing here? It ain’t safe, wherever we’re going.’

  ‘Shadowthrone’s children,’ she said. ‘Those that survived, I mean. I couldn’t look them in the eye, not after what happened. I couldn’t bear it any longer. And I could see – Cotillion and Shadowthrone, they were up to something. But mostly,’ she seemed to shudder, ‘the children, and what happened outside the throne room. I’ll grant you, Quick Ben didn’t hesitate, even when it looked like he was going to die. He didn’t hesitate.’

  ‘Icarium,’ Kalam muttered. ‘Maybe one day I’ll face off against him, and we’ll see.’

  Minala snorted. ‘That’d put a quick end to your arrogance, Kalam Mekhar.’

  A signaller waved a banner, and it was time to ride down to join the vanguard. Kalam thought about Minala’s last w
ords, and sighed.

  They kicked their horses into motion.

  And Kalam asked, ‘Love, tell me again, about that Tiste Edur with the spear…’

  Commander Erekala of the Grey Helms entered the tent to find Brother Serenity standing in a corner at the back, draped in shadows and facing the canvas wall. There was no one else present and Erekala was brought up short.

  ‘Pure?’

  Serenity slowly turned. ‘Have you ever been buried alive, Erekala? No, I would imagine not. Perhaps, in the occasional nightmare…no matter. Earlier this day I felt the murder of Sister Belie. And every one of her officers – all dead. The siege has been shattered, and our enemy is now loose within our demesne.’

  Erekala blinked, but said nothing.

  ‘Take off your helm,’ Serenity said. ‘Do you see, over there? A carafe. Foreign wine. I admit to having acquired a taste for it. It serves well in easing my…misgivings.’ And he went over to pour himself a goblet. He poured a second goblet and gestured to it.

  Helm now unstrapped and under one arm, Erekala shook his head and said, ‘Misgivings, Pure? Is not the cause just?’

  ‘Oh indeed, Erekala, there will be justice in our tide of retribution. But there will also be crime. We do not spare the children. We do not ask them to remake their world, to fashion a new place of humility, respect and compassion. We give them no chance to do better.’

  ‘Pure,’ said Erekala, ‘as the teachings of the Wolves make plain, each and every generation is given a new chance. And each time, they but perpetuate the crimes of their fathers and mothers. “From the blow that strikes the innocent child to the one that lays waste to a forest, while the magnitude of the gesture may vary, the desire behind the hand does not.” So the Wild would say, if it but had the words to speak.’

  Serenity’s eyes glittered in the shadows. ‘And you see no presumption?’

  Erekala cocked his head. ‘Pure, the presumptions of the Perish Grey Helms are unending. Yet if we refuse or are unable to comprehend the suffering of the innocent – be it babe or beast – what do our words replace, if not all that we would not hear, would not countenance, lest it force us to change our ways, which we will never do. If we would speak for the Wild, we must begin with the voice of human conscience. And when conscience is not heeded, or is discarded, then what choice remains to us?’

  ‘How clearly you enjoy such debate, Erekala. You remind me of better days…peaceful days. Very well, I will consider what the world would be like, for all within it, if conscience was more than just a whispering voice. If, indeed, it could raise a hand in anger. And, when even a sound beating is not enough, it might then close that hand about a throat and take the life from the transgressor.’

  ‘It is our greatest presumption, Pure,’ said Erekala, ‘that we be the hand of conscience.’

  ‘Holding a sword.’

  ‘And finally driven to use it, yes.’

  Serenity drained his goblet and replaced it with the other one. ‘Yet your fellow humans – your victims – could not but see you as evil, as terrible murderers of the innocent – in fact, the very notion of guilt or innocence would be without relevance, in their eyes.’

  ‘If we are to be evil, then we but balance the evil that opposes us.’

  ‘Seeking…negation.’ And Serenity smiled.

  ‘Sister Reverence made us kneel, Pure. But we are not so naïve as to have come to you expecting anything but the opportunity to give our lives in the name of that which we believe to be right. You will use us, until none of us are left. She did not need to compel the Perish.’

  ‘I believe you, Erekala. And I find in you and your people much to admire. I will regret sending you all to your deaths. But, as you might well understand, the Wild poses a threat even to us Forkrul Assail, should it truly be unleashed upon the world.’

  ‘Pure, with my own Thrones of War I have carried your most dangerous enemy to this land. I know well what is coming. It is my judgement – and I am confident that the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil will concur – it is my judgement, Pure, that in the war now begun we will all lose. And in our losing, the Wild shall win.’

  Serenity was silent for a time, studying the Perish commander, the unearthly eyes unwavering. Then, a small catch of breath. ‘Do I err in understanding you, Erekala? You crossed the field of battle…to help even the scales?’

  ‘By all means, Pure, send us to our deaths. Upon the other side, we shall await you.’

  Serenity advanced a step. ‘I know well these Malazans. And I will welcome them!’

  ‘The Mortal Sword Krughava stood before the Adjunct Tavore and placed her sword in the Adjunct’s hands. Before her, Pure, we did not kneel.’

  ‘Sister Reverence forced you to kneel, you pompous fool!’

  Erekala cocked his head. ‘Did she?’

  ‘You resisted!’

  ‘Pure, why would we resist? You forget, we came to you, not the other way round.’

  Serenity turned, faced the back wall again. His head tilted as he emptied the goblet of wine. ‘Tomorrow we double our pace, Commander. We will hunt down the foreign army – the murderers of Sister Belie. And your Perish will fling themselves into the battle, and fight and not yield. If it takes the life of every single one of you, the enemy shall be destroyed.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Erekala replied.

  ‘Dismissed.’

  Donning his helm once more, Erekala left the tent.

  Hips aching, Sister Reverence made her way along the ridge overlooking the now-withered farmland. She could see where Brother Diligence had established revetments, arbalest sangers, berms and trenches. She could see how he intended to funnel the enemy to the place of killing. Only the forward echelons and the engineer corps of the Shriven Army were present, the rest remaining closer to the city where supplies could readily accommodate them.

  Such an army. Fifty thousand for this one battle, says Brother Diligence. And soon, more Perish Grey Helms. Five thousand heavy infantry, fanatical, and entirely subject to my desire – and Brother Diligence’s. And surrounding the Spire, twenty thousand more, entrenched, immovable. What foe would dare this?

  She saw her commander ahead, surrounded by officers and messengers. Old as he was, Brother Diligence seemed to have shed years now that a battle was imminent. As she drew closer, she heard him addressing his officers. ‘…shall be starving – we well know how unproductive the southlands are. And in this weakened state, they will gamble everything on a single cast of the die, a solitary, determined, desperate advance. We need but hold them until their energy is spent, for once that strength is gone they will have nothing in reserve. And then, and only then, shall we advance. Ah, Sister Reverence. Welcome.’

  ‘Brother Diligence. All that I see here pleases me.’

  He tilted in head in acknowledgement. ‘Sister, has there been any word from Sisters Calm and Equity?’

  ‘No, but I am not unduly concerned. In truth, we can manage quite well without them.’

  He frowned, but nodded.

  They walked a short distance from the officers.

  ‘Brother Diligence,’ she said, studying the preparations, ‘I am aware of the Spire defences, and of this, your main army. Where are the reserve armies?’

  ‘Sister Freedom and Brother Grave command twenty thousand Kolanse infantry positioned ten leagues to the west. To support them, Brother Aloft oversees fifteen thousand Shriven auxiliaries. These combined forces are so positioned as either to respond to a break-out from the enemy holding the keep, or to drive south to engage the enemy marching here – should we perceive the need for them, which I do not.’ He fell silent then, and Reverence saw that his attention had been drawn downslope, to where a rider was fast approaching.

  ‘News comes,’ Reverence said. ‘In haste.’

  ‘From my southern outlying pickets, Sister.’

  The Shriven’s horse was lathered, straining with exhaustion as it lumbered up the slope. When the rider reined the beast in, it stumbled
and barely recovered. The man, soaked in sweat, dismounted and stood before Diligence. ‘Inquisitor,’ he said, struggling to catch his breath.

  ‘A moment,’ Diligence said. ‘I see you have ridden hard, Shriven, and such efforts tax your imperfect bodies. Gather yourself, and when you are ready, begin.’

  The man gulped air for a dozen or so heartbeats, and then nodded. ‘Inquisitor, a report by relay. Six days to the south, an army approaches.’

  ‘And the size of this army?’

  ‘Perhaps seven thousand, Inquisitor.’

  Diligence gestured one of his officers over. ‘Watered Hestand, prepare a single mounted battalion and a full support train – water and food for at least three legions. You are to make haste to intercept the army now marching up from the south. These foreigners are our allies, the land-based element of the Perish Grey Helms. Treat them with respect, Hestand, on your life.’

  ‘Yes sir. Shall I deliver a message from you?’

  ‘A simple welcome will do, until such time as we meet in person. However, it is certain that they will have news of our enemy’s disposition, and that I wish to hear immediately. Be sure to have with you a full cadre of messengers and mounts.’

  The Watered saluted and left.

  Sister Reverence sighed. ‘Soon, then.’ She was silent for a moment, and then she faced Diligence. ‘It must be understood, Brother, that the Heart shall be secured above all else. We well know that the gods are gathering, and that they will through force or deceit seek to wrest that organ from us. Failing that, they will attempt to destroy it.’

  ‘None can hope to come close, Sister. The power of Akhrast Korvalain denies them and shall continue to do so. Their only possible path to the Heart is through their mortal servants.’

  She feared she was missing something, however. Something…vital. ‘I shall attend the Heart,’ she said. ‘I shall not leave its side.’

  ‘Understood, Sister Reverence. You will then be accorded a fine view of the battle here, and may well realize our victory before do we on the field.’