The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  A swift nod.

  Paran reached down, lifted the boy up behind him. ‘Hold tight, we’re going to canter. Maybe even gallop. You ready for this?’

  Another nod, but the thin arms closing about Paran were tight.

  ‘Let’s go see this pass, then.’ Kicking his horse forward, Paran glanced across at Mathok as the Warleader pulled up alongside him. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’ the warrior growled.

  ‘That’s hardly a happy expression you’re wearing.’

  ‘You got a sharp eye there, High Fist.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘There’s only a problem, sir, if you pull this off.’

  ‘Are you always this hungry for a fight, Mathok?’

  ‘Sharp eye, dumb mouth.’

  Paran grinned. ‘Can’t have everything, you know.’

  ‘So I’m learning, High Fist.’

  ‘Would’ve made us a decent captain,’ Kalam observed, as he walked with Quick Ben. They were watching Paran, flanked by a mob of Seven Cities horse-raiders, ride off towards the foot of the raw, worn range of mountains ahead. The assassin drew his cloak tighter over his broad shoulders. ‘Too bad he came to us too late.’

  ‘Did he?’ the wizard wondered. ‘If he’d arrived before Pale, he would’ve been down in the tunnels when they collapsed.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why are you walking with me, Kalam? Where’s Minala?’

  The assassin’s only answer was a low growl.

  ‘Well,’ Quick Ben said, ‘it’s just as well that you’re here. We need to work out our next moves.’

  ‘Our next what? We’re here to kill Forkrul Assail. There’s no other moves to talk about, and those ones don’t need talking about.’

  ‘Listen, that last Pure damn near killed me.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘Well, all right. It hurt, then.’

  ‘Get over it, wizard. We’re back fighting a real war. Old style. Ugly magic, toe to toe, the works. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to do this.’

  ‘I haven’t. But…where’s Fiddler? Hedge? Mallet, Trotts, Whiskeyjack? Where are all the ones we need to cover our backs? Paran’s sending us out into the enemy camp, Kalam. If we get in serious trouble, we’re finished.’

  ‘So fix it so that we can get back out if we have to.’

  ‘Easy for you to say.’

  Sighing, Kalam scratched at the stubble on his jaw, and then said, ‘Something happened, Quick, back in Malaz City. In Mock’s Hold. In that damned chamber with Laseen and the Adjunct. Well, just afterwards. Tavore and me…she asked me to make a choice. Laseen had already offered me whatever I wanted, pretty much. Just to turn away.’

  Quick Ben was studying him with narrowed eyes. ‘Everything?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Knocking Topper off his perch?’

  ‘Aye. She was giving me the Claw, even though I had a feeling it was rotten through and through, even then – and I found out the truth of that later that night.’

  ‘So something had the Empress desperate.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Fine. So…what did Tavore offer you instead?’

  Kalam shook his head. ‘Damned if I know – and I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. There was a look in her eyes – I don’t know. A need, maybe. She knew that Laseen was going to try to kill her on the way back to the ships. We all knew it.’

  ‘She wanted your help – is that so surprising? Who wants to die?’

  ‘As simple as that? Quick Ben, she was asking me to die in her place. That’s what she was asking.’

  ‘Just as desperate as Laseen, then. The two of them, they asked you to choose between two mirror reflections. Which one was real? Which one was worth serving? You still haven’t explained how Tavore did it.’

  ‘She did it the way she seems to get all of us to do what she needs us to do.’

  ‘Well now, that’s been the one mystery no one’s been able to answer, hasn’t it? But, just like you, we follow. Kalam, I wish I could have seen you on that night in Malaz City. You must have been the holiest of terrors. So, just like the rest of us, you gave her everything you had. How does she do it?’

  ‘She simply asks,’ Kalam said.

  Quick Ben snorted. ‘That’s it?’

  ‘I think so. No offers – no riches, no titles, nothing any of us can see as payment or reward. No, she just looks you straight in the eye, and she asks.’

  ‘You just sent a shiver up my spine, Kalam, and I don’t even know why.’

  ‘You don’t? More rubbish.’

  The wizard waved his hands, ‘Well, Hood knows it ain’t chivalry, is it? She won’t even nudge open that door. No fluttering eyelashes, no demure look or coy glance…’

  Kalam grunted a laugh at the image, but then he shook himself. ‘She asks, and something in your head tells you that what she’s doing is right – and that it’s the only reason she has to live. She asked me to die defending her – knowing I didn’t even like her much. Quick, for the rest of my life, I will never forget that moment.’

  ‘And you still can’t quite work out what happened.’

  The assassin nodded. ‘All at once, it’s as if she’s somehow laid bare your soul and there it is, exposed, trembling, vulnerable beyond all belief – and she could take it, grasp it tight until the blood starts dripping. She could even stab it right through. But she didn’t – she didn’t do any of that, Quick. She reached down, her finger hovered, and then…gone, as if that was all she needed.’

  ‘You can stop now,’ the wizard muttered. ‘What you’re talking about – between two people – it almost never happens. Maybe it’s what we all want, but Kalam, it almost never happens.’

  ‘There was no respect in what Laseen offered,’ the assassin said. ‘It was a raw bribe, reaching for the worst in me. But from Tavore…’

  ‘Nothing but respect. Now I see it, Kal. I see it.’

  ‘Quick?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Is she alive? Do you think…is Tavore still alive?’

  Quick Ben kicked a stone from his path. ‘Even her brother can’t answer that. I just don’t know.’

  ‘But do you – are you…’

  ‘Do I have faith? Is that what you’re asking?’ He waved about. ‘Look around! This whole damned army is marching on faith! We just have to get on with it, right?’

  ‘Fine then,’ Kalam growled. ‘Let me ask you this: can Paran pull it off on his own? If he has to?’

  Quick Ben rubbed at his face. Scowling, he spoke under his breath. ‘Listen. Have you been paying attention?’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Just…when he walks through camp. Or rides. Do you hear the soldiers – calling up to him as he passes? Jests flying back and forth, laughter and nods, all of it. They’re here because following him is what they need, what they want. The Host lost Dujek Onearm – that should’ve finished them, but it hasn’t, has it? Our old captain here is now leading the whole army. You say Tavore asks because for her that’s what’s needed. But her brother, he just expects.’

  Kalam slowly nodded. ‘Five coins to that, Quick. Still’ – and he shot the wizard a sharp look – ‘Shadowthrone sent you here, didn’t he?’

  Quick Ben made a face. ‘The Emperor’s drawing in all the old webs – frankly, I’m appalled how he can still do that, you know? What kind of knots did he tie on to us anyway? Gods below.’

  ‘Do you trust him?’

  ‘Shadowthrone? Are you mad?’

  The assassin paused, shook himself, and said, ‘That’s it, then. Kalam is done with his questions – you, wizard, you cover my back and I’ll do the same for yours. Let’s go and kill Forkrul Assail. Lots of them.’

  ‘It’s about time you regressed to your usual brainless bear-like self. So, there will be a camp up there, where the officers are all gathered. Well behind the entrenchments. Watered and Pures and whatever. We need to find the Pures first this time – take them out of
the way and the rest won’t be as bad.’

  ‘Right. So what’s all this about me not sheathing my Otataral knife? Why should that be a problem?’

  Quick Ben shrugged. ‘How does one make Otataral?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t!’ the wizard snapped. ‘You make it by pouring as much magic into one place at one time as you possibly can, and if you’re lucky a threshold is crossed – a firestorm that burns everything out, making—’

  ‘Otataral.’

  ‘Will you stop interrupting me? My point is, what happens when ten thousand dragons and a few hundred Elder Gods decide to get together and do the same thing?’

  ‘Otataral Island? Off Seven Cities? No wonder there’s so much—’

  ‘Be quiet! No. Not Otataral Island – that was just some localized scrap a million or so years ago. No. What you get, Kalam, is an Otataral Dragon.’

  ‘Hood take me – wait, don’t tell me they went and did that?’

  ‘Fine, I won’t. But that’s still not the point, Kalam.’

  ‘So what is the point, Quick Ben?’

  ‘Only that the dragon’s free and it’s headed this way and, most important, it can smell Otataral. So, every time you use it— Aack!’

  Kalam had his hands round the wizard’s throat. He dragged his friend close. ‘Hedge was right about you,’ he whispered, as Quick Ben’s eyes bulged and his face darkened. ‘You’re insane, and worse, you think it’s funny!’ Feeble hands clawed at Kalam’s wrists. Snarling, the assassin flung Quick Ben away.

  Staggering, the wizard fell to his knees, coughing, gasping to draw breath.

  Three soldiers came running up, but Kalam held out a hand to halt them. ‘Return to your ranks. He’ll live, and if I kick him while he’s down, it’ll only be once or twice.’ Seeing the look in their eyes, the assassin snorted. ‘Aye, he’s the High Mage. My point exactly. Now,’ his expression hardened, ‘get lost.’

  The soldiers retreated.

  Kalam turned to glare at Quick Ben. ‘Hedge always kept a sharper back, you know. Had your face painted on it. He used to tell us, if you went and killed him with one of your schemes, with his last act he was going to wing it at the back of your head. You know, I used to think that was a bit extreme.’

  Leaving the gagging man on his hands and knees, Kalam resumed his walk.

  My brother could not have planned for this. To see so much of his work…unravelled. He understood the necessity of balance, but he also understood the wonder that is life itself. No, he could not have meant this to happen. Silchas Ruin glanced over to where Tulas Shorn stood on the bluff’s edge. Escape from death is never the escape you think it is. ‘Would we have done it?’ he called over.

  The undead warrior’s head turned, tilted slightly. ‘We were young. Anything was possible.’

  ‘Then…one of us would have knelt before the body of the other, weeping.’

  ‘That is likely.’

  ‘But now…Tulas, it seems we shall fight side by side, and there will be none to kneel by our bodies, none to weep for us.’

  ‘My Hounds are wandering – I can feel them. Hunting interlopers, dreaming of the chase. They wander the broken fragments of Kurald Emurlahn.’

  Silchas Ruin was silent, wondering where his friend’s thoughts were taking him.

  Tulas Shorn sighed, the breath a long, dry rattle. ‘Do you know what I envy most about my Hounds? Their freedom. Nothing complicated in their lives. No…difficult choices.’

  Nodding, Silchas looked away. ‘We face one now, don’t we?’

  ‘The Eleint will be driven to frenzy. Their entire being will be consumed with the need to kill Korabas – can you not feel it in your own blood, Silchas?’

  Yes.

  Tulas continued, ‘We are left to a matter of faith. I doubt even Anomander could have anticipated that the Elder Gods would be so desperate, so vengeful.’

  ‘And this is what is troubling me,’ Silchas Ruin admitted. ‘We cannot assume that all the Elder Gods acceded to the unchaining of the Otataral Dragon.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  Tulas Shorn walked back from the edge. ‘Will any of them regret the annihilation of the gods? I doubt it. Once their children are gone, their resurrection is assured.’

  ‘To inherit what, Tulas?’

  ‘Ah, yes, but they do expect the Eleint to kill Korabas. They require it, in fact.’

  ‘Must we satisfy them?’ Silchas asked.

  Tulas Shorn was for a while silent, and his face taken into death could give no expression, and the eyes were closed doors. ‘My friend, what choice have we? If Korabas survives, this realm will die, and it will be the first of many.’

  ‘Leaving in its wake a land without magic. But even in such places life will return.’

  ‘We cannot be certain of that. For all that we have explored the secrets of sorcery, we still know so little. We have flown over lifeless flesh – we have seen what happens when everything is truly stripped away.’

  Silchas Ruin studied his friend for a moment, then lowered himself into a squat and stared out over the valley to the south. ‘Am I fooling myself?’

  ‘About what?’

  Silchas started, unaware that he had spoken out loud. ‘My brother knew well the Elder Gods. He’d clashed with them often enough.’

  ‘It may be that his answer to the threat posed by the Elder Gods was to free Draconus.’

  Draconus. ‘Then what will Draconus do?’

  ‘I do not know, but even thinking about it fills me with fear. We know well what comes when Draconus is awakened to true anger – his solution may prove worse than the problem. Abyss knows, friend, we have seen that for ourselves. Still, since you have asked, I will give the matter some thought. Draconus…freed. Who can oppose him, now that your brother is dead? I don’t know – this world has moved on. What would he do first? He would hunt down and kill the ones who freed Korabas. He always took retribution seriously.’

  Silchas Ruin was nodding. ‘And then?’

  The undead warrior shrugged. ‘Kill Korabas?’

  ‘Leaving a realm filled with Eleint?’

  ‘Then…perhaps he would stand back and watch the two elemental forces collide and maul each other, until one emerged victorious – but so weakened, so destroyed, that he need only act expeditiously, without rage. It may be that this is what your brother demanded of Draconus, in exchange for his freedom.’

  Silchas Ruin held his hands up to his face. After a moment he shook his head. ‘Knowing my brother, there was no demand. There was only giving.’

  ‘Friend,’ said Tulas Shorn, ‘what is it that is in your mind?’

  ‘That there is more to the unchaining of Korabas than we know. That, in some manner we have yet to fathom, the Otataral Dragon’s freedom serves a higher purpose. Korabas is here because she needs to be.’

  ‘Silchas – your living senses are sharper than my dead ones. How many Eleint have come into this world?’

  The white-skinned Tiste Andii lowered his hands from his face and looked over at Tulas Shorn. ‘All of them.’

  Tulas Shorn staggered back a step, and then turned away – almost as if his every instinct was demanding that he flee, that he get away. Where? Anywhere. And then he faced Silchas again. ‘Korabas does not stand a chance.’

  ‘No, she does not.’

  ‘The Eleint will conquer this world – who is there to stop them? My friend – we have been made irrelevant. All purpose…gone. I will not surrender to T’iam!’

  The sudden anger in Tulas made Silchas straighten. ‘Nor will I.’

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘We can hope.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You say you sense the Hounds of Shadow—’

  ‘Not close—’

  ‘And you tell me that they possess a new master, the usurper of Kurald Emurlahn—’

  ‘Who commands nothing.’

 
; ‘No. Not yet. There is a game being played here – beyond all that we think we understand of this situation. You say the Hounds are wandering. The question that needs to be asked is: why? What has Shadow to do with any of this?’

  Tulas Shorn shook his head.

  Silchas Ruin drew out his Hust sword. ‘That usurper gave this weapon to me, as I told you. See the blade? Watermarked and etched with dragons. But there is more – there is my brother’s sacrifice. There is the return of Mother Dark.’

  ‘And now Draconus. Silchas – your brother, he cannot have meant to—’

  ‘But I think he did, Tulas. We children were as responsible for what happened between Mother Dark and her consort as anyone was – even Osserc. My friend – they set something into play. Anomander, this Shadowthrone, even Hood, and perhaps many other gods hidden from our view, for ever veiled.’

  ‘Draconus will never return to Mother Dark – do you truly believe those wounds could ever heal?’

  ‘Tulas, the Eleint must be faced down – they must be driven back. They are the Children of Chaos, and who has always stood against Chaos? What was Dragnipur, Tulas, if not a broken man’s attempt to save the woman he had lost? It failed – Abyss knows how it failed – but now, at last, Draconus has been freed – his own chains for ever cut away from him. Don’t you see? My brother ended Mother Dark’s vow of isolation – once again she faces her children. But why should it stop there? Tulas! My brother also freed Draconus.’

  ‘Anomander would force the wounds to heal? The arrogance of the man!’

  ‘He forces nothing, Tulas. He but opens the door. He makes possible…anything.’

  ‘Does Draconus understand?’

  Now that is the question, isn’t it? ‘When he is done killing the Elder Gods he feels should be killed, he will pause. He will ask himself the question, what now? And then, perhaps, it will come to him. The fullest recognition of Anomander’s gift.’

  ‘My friend, if I truly had breath, you would have taken it from me. But…how can you be certain? Of any of this?’

  Silchas Ruin studied the sword in his hand. ‘I think I know who crouches at the centre of this mad web. Tulas, when I veer, what happens to this Hust sword?’

  ‘It becomes one with the fibre of your flesh and bone – as you well know, Silchas.’