The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen

by Steven Erikson

  ‘I will turn the Perish,’ pronounced Krughava. ‘I will pull them from their position and wheel them round, placing them to block the way east. We need only slow the enemy, sirs, not stop them.’

  ‘If you so succeed in regaining your command of the Grey Helms,’ said Brys, ‘will you welcome the company of the Teblor?’

  Krughava’s thinned eyes switched to the Teblor commander. ‘Sirs,’ she said, loud enough for all to hear, ‘to fight alongside the Teblor would be an honour unsurpassed on this day.’

  Grub sought to see the effect of these words, but from Gillimada there was no reaction at all.

  ‘Mortal Sword,’ said Queen Abrastal, ‘are you confident that you can resume command of the Grey Helms? And before you answer, this is not the time for unrealistic bravado.’

  Krughava stiffened at that. ‘Do you imagine that I do not understand the severity of this moment, Highness? I will speak plainly. I do not know if I will succeed. But I will give my life in the effort – would you ask more of me?’

  Abrastal shook her head.

  ‘We must, however,’ said Brys, ‘present ourselves to the enemy in such a manner as to deal with either eventuality.’

  A loud voice suddenly boomed, ‘They talk bad!’

  Gillimada was suddenly among them, her eyes level with the mounted men and women.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She fixed the prince with her gaze, her brow fiercely knotted. ‘The fish-faces. They use words that hurt. If this fight goes bad, the fish-face will speak, and make us kneel. Make us kill our own anger. You – you must be stubborn! You must say no and shake your heads no! You must see the fish-face in your head, and then you must push him or her to the ground, and then you must squat, and then you must shit on that fish-face! I have spoken!’

  A short time of awkward silence, and then Grub saw that Aranict was staring straight at him.

  He felt a strange shiver track up his spine. ‘I don’t know,’ he said in a small voice.

  All eyes fixed on him and he felt himself shrinking inside his peculiar half-armour.

  Aranict spoke. ‘Grub, we have heard what you achieved when you joined the battle between the K’Chain factions. The Teblor commander speaks of the power of Akhrast Korvalain – this sorcery of the voice – and we are uncertain if we will face that power today. Nor do we know how to oppose it if it should come.’

  ‘Shit!’ bellowed Gillimada. ‘I have spoken!’

  Grub shook his head. ‘At the battle of the Moons…that was Sinn. Most of it. She just used me. As if I was a knife in her left hand. I don’t know what I can do.’

  ‘We shall deal with that threat when it comes,’ announced Brys Beddict. ‘For now, I would welcome suggestions on the engagement. Queen Abrastal, what are your thoughts?’

  The Bolkando woman scowled. She unstrapped and drew off her helm, revealing a shaved head. ‘I think we should ignore the Perish – long may they sit in their holes, or’ – and she shot a glance at Krughava – ‘spin their standards round, should the Mortal Sword reassert her authority. Either way, we leave the centre alone.’

  Brys was nodding. ‘I was thinking much the same. I have no taste for spilling Perish blood, and in truth the Assail commander has done us a favour by so isolating them. This said, we must weight our right flank – the moment we see the enemy splitting to form up and fast-march towards the Spire, we need to contest that move, with as much ferocity as we can manage. Accordingly, I would the Teblor form the centre of that intercept.’

  ‘The rest will need only a handful to hold us off the trenches,’ Spax muttered.

  ‘So we engage with but a handful,’ Brys retorted, ‘and peel off rank on rank as fast as we are able to.’

  ‘That will have to do,’ said Abrastal. ‘No offence, Prince, but I will place the Evertine Legion on the right of centre.’

  ‘None taken, Highness. You are correct in assessing your legion as our elites. Once we start that wheeling of reserves, the enemy might well advance pressure on your side, to break through and cut off our motion eastward.’

  ‘I would do the same,’ Abrastal replied. ‘We shall be ready for that.’

  ‘Very well.’ Brys looked round. ‘That’s it, then? So be it. All of you, in the tasks awaiting you, fare well.’

  Krughava said, ‘Prince, I will ride with you to the ridge.’

  Brys nodded.

  As the group dispersed, Grub allowed his Ve’Gath to fall in behind Krughava’s. He looked up at the sky. The Jade Strangers blazed directly overhead, the point of each talon as bright as the sun itself. The sky was too crowded, and, in a flash, he suddenly knew that it would get much more crowded before this day was done.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’

  ‘Careful,’ muttered Stormy. ‘Your language is offending our Destriant.’

  Growling under his breath, Gesler pulled his feet from the scale stirrups and clambered to stand balanced on the Ve’Gath’s back. ‘A Hood-damned army all right, but I see no camp, and they’re looking…rough.’

  ‘Gods below, Ges, sit back down before you fall and break your scrawny neck.’ Stormy turned to Kalyth. ‘Halt ’em all, lass, except for Sag’Churok – we’ll take the K’ell Hunter with us and check this out.’

  The woman nodded.

  As the vast K’Chain Che’Malle army ceased its advance, Gesler gestured and led Stormy and Sag’Churok forward at what passed for a canter.

  The mysterious army stood motionless on a treed hill at the edge of an abandoned village. Squinting, Gesler looked for the usual flash of armour and weapons, but there was none of that. ‘Maybe not an army at all,’ he muttered as Stormy rode up alongside him. ‘Maybe refugees.’

  ‘Your eyes are getting bad, Ges.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Old man, you’ve gone blind as Hood’s own arsehole. Those are T’lan Imass!’

  Aw, shit. ‘Who invited those hoary bastards?’ He shot Stormy a glare. ‘Was it you, O Carrier of Flint Fucking Swords?’

  ‘I know nothing about ’em, Gesler, I swear it!’

  ‘Right. Playing friendly on ships and now look! You never could just stay out of other people’s business, Stormy. A soul stuck in the sky – oh! Let me fix that!’

  ‘This ain’t them, Gesler. Can’t be. Besides, that debt was paid up. Back in Malaz City – you was there! I gave that sword back!’

  Off to one side, Sag’Churok suddenly clashed his massive swords, and both men looked over.

  Gesler snorted. ‘Think he just told us to shut up, Stormy.’

  They were fast closing on the hill with its grey, silent mass of undead warriors. That hill – that’s a cemetery. Well, where else would they be? Gesler saw one warrior setting off down the lumpy hillside, dragging its stone sword as a child would an oversized branch. ‘That one,’ he said. ‘Wants to talk to us.’

  ‘Better than rising up under our feet and cutting us to pieces.’

  ‘Aye, much better. What do you think, Stormy? We got ourselves unexpected allies?’

  ‘Pity the Assail if we have.’

  Gesler spat. ‘This ain’t the day for pity. Sag’Churok! Don’t do anything stupid like attacking it, all right?’

  They slowed to a walk thirty paces from the lone T’lan Imass. At fifteen the K’ell Hunter halted and planted the tips of his swords in the ground. Gesler and Stormy continued on, halting five paces from the undead warrior.

  Gesler called out, ‘What clan?’

  For a moment it seemed the T’lan Imass would ignore the question, but then, in a heavy, rasping voice, the warrior said, ‘Logros, Malazan. I am Onos T’oolan.’

  ‘Onos—’ Gesler began, then snapped his mouth shut.

  Stormy muttered a curse. ‘Can’t be. The First Sword? How many cronies of that long-dead rat-faced Emperor are involved in this?’

  More T’lan Imass were coming down from the hill, ragged and slow, like the grinding of stones, and Gesler sensed something wretched in this scene, somet
hing…appalling. What are they doing here?

  Onos T’oolan spoke. ‘Logros’s banishment of me was without meaning, Malazan. I knelt before a mortal human on the Throne of Bones, and there is none other whom I shall serve. This is what Olar Ethil did not comprehend. Bound once more to the Ritual of Tellann, I am returned to the shadow of the Emperor.’

  Gesler felt sick inside. He knew he was getting only a taste of what all this meant, but it was already breaking his heart. ‘He sent you, First Sword?’

  ‘I am invited to my own death, Malazan. The manner of it remains to be decided. If the One upon the Throne could see into my soul, he would know that I am broken.’

  ‘Broken, you say?’ Stormy interrupted. ‘Now that’s an interesting fact, Onos T’oolan.’

  The ancient warrior tilted his head. ‘I do not understand your meaning.’

  Stormy pointed north. ‘See that spire of rock, First Sword? Right up top of that, there’s something else – something just as broken as you are. The Forkrul Assail are guarding it – but we mean to take it from them. You say Kellanved ordered you here – so we got to know, First Sword, are you here to fight? And if you are, will it be against us or at our side?’

  ‘You are Malazans.’

  ‘The army behind us ain’t.’

  Onos T’oolan was silent for a time, and then he said, ‘The K’Chain Che’Malle hunted Imass, from time to time.’

  ‘Just like you hunted bhederin, or elk, or whatever. What of it?’

  ‘When we were mortal, we had cause to fear them.’

  ‘And elk will run when it sees you. But then, you’re not mortal any more, are you?’

  ‘I am here, Malazans, seeking a war. And yet only now do I realize that I have walked in shadow, all this time, since I first rose from the dust outside the city of Pale. I thought I was abandoned. And each time I sought a new path, that shadow followed me. That shadow found me, as it must. I am the First Sword of the T’lan Imass, and from this there is no escape.’

  Gesler cleared his throat, blinked to work the water from his eyes. ‘First Sword, am I understanding you? Are you placing yourselves under our command – just because we happen to have come from the Malazan Empire? Before you answer, you’ve got to understand – Kellanved is long dead, and that empire has since outlawed us. We’re not here because of any damned throne, and we’re not at the beckoning of anyone who’s sitting in it either.’

  ‘Tell me, then, human, why are you here?’

  Gesler looked up, studied the hundreds of T’lan Imass crowding the hillside, spilling out into the streets and avenues of the village. Lifeless faces were turned to him, and their regard was a crushing weight. Gods below. ‘It sounds…stupid, you know,’ he said, now eyeing Stormy, ‘when you just out and say it.’

  ‘Go on,’ growled Stormy, his face reddening as emotions rose within the huge man – Gesler could see it, and he was experiencing the same thing. The air itself seemed to swirl with feelings of appalling force. ‘Go on, Gesler, and if it makes us fools…well, we can live with that, can’t we?’

  Sighing, he faced Onos T’oolan. ‘Why are we here? The truth is, we’re not even sure. But…we think we’re here to right an old wrong. Because it’s the thing to do, that’s all.’

  Silence, stretching.

  Gesler turned back to Stormy. ‘I knew it’d sound stupid.’

  Onos T’oolan spoke. ‘What do you seek on that spire, Gesler of the Malazans?’

  ‘The heart of the Crippled God.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because,’ Stormy replied, ‘we want to free him.’

  ‘He is chained.’

  ‘We know.’

  Onos T’oolan said nothing for a moment, and then: ‘You would defy the will of the gods?’

  ‘Fast as spit,’ Stormy said.

  ‘Why do you wish to free the Fallen One?’

  When Stormy hesitated, Gesler shifted in the scaled saddle and said, ‘Hood take us. We want to send him home.’

  Home. The word very nearly drove Onos T’oolan to his knees. Something was roaring in his skull. He had believed it to be the sound of his own rage – but now he could sense a multitude of voices in that cacophony. More than the unfettered thoughts of the T’lan Imass following him; more than the still distant conflagration that was the Otataral Dragon and the Eleint; no, what deafened him here was the unceasing echoes of terrible pain – this land, all the life that had once thrived here, only to falter and suffer and finally vanish. And there, upon that tower of rock, that cracked spire that was the core of a restless volcano – where the earth’s blood coursed so close to the surface, in serpentine tracks round its fissured, hollowed base – another broken piece of a broken, shattered god, a being that had been writhing in torment for thousands of years. No different from the T’lan Imass. No different from us.

  The shadow of a throne – is that not a cold, frightening place? And yet, Kellanved…do you truly offer succour? Dare you cast a shadow to shield us? To protect us? To humble us in the name of humanity?

  I once called you our children. Our inheritors. Forgive my irony. For all the venal among your kind…I had thought – I had thought…no matter.

  In his mind, he reached among his followers, found the one he sought. She was close – almost behind him. ‘Bonecaster Bitterspring, of the Second Ritual, do you hear me?’

  ‘I do, First Sword.’

  ‘You are named a seer. Can you see what awaits us?’

  ‘I have no true gift of prophecy, First Sword. My talent was in reading people. That and nothing more. I have been an impostor for so long I know no other way of being.’

  ‘Bitterspring, we are all impostors. What awaits us?’

  ‘What has always awaited us,’ she replied. ‘Blood and tears.’

  In truth, he’d had no reason to expect anything else. Onos T’oolan drew his flint sword round, dragging a jagged furrow through dirt and stones. He lifted his gaze to the Malazans. ‘Even the power of Tellann cannot penetrate the wards raised by the Forkrul Assail. We cannot, therefore, rise in the midst of the enemy in their trenches. This will have to be a direct assault.’

  ‘We know that,’ the one named Gesler said.

  ‘We shall fight for you,’ Onos T’oolan said, and then he was silent, confused at seeing the effect of his words on these two men. ‘Have I distressed you?’

  Gesler shook his head. ‘No, you greatly relieve us, First Sword. It is not that. It’s just…’ and he shook his head. ‘Now it’s my turn to ask. Why?’

  ‘If by our sacrifice – yours and mine,’ said Onos T’oolan, ‘the pain of one life can be ended; if, by our deaths, this one can be guided home…we will judge this a worthy cause.’

  ‘This Crippled God – he is a stranger to us all.’

  ‘It is enough that in the place he calls home, he is no stranger.’

  Why should these words force tears from these two hardened soldiers? I do not understand. Onos T’oolan opened his mind to his followers. ‘You have heard. You have shared. This is the path your First Sword chooses – but I will not compel you, and so I ask, will you fight at my side this day?’

  Bitterspring replied. ‘First Sword, I am chosen to speak for all. We have seen the sun rise. It may be that we shall not see it set. Thus, we have us this one day, to find the measure of our worth. It is, perhaps, less time than many might possess; but so too is it more than many others are privileged to know. One day, to see who and what we are. One day, to find meaning in our existence.

  ‘First Sword, we welcome the opportunity you have given us. Today, we shall be your kin. Today, we shall be your sisters and brothers.’

  To this, Onos T’oolan could find no words. He floundered for what seemed a long, long time. And then, from the depths of his being, there arose a strange feeling, a sense of…of recognition. ‘Then you shall be my kin on this day. And among my kin, am I not, at last, home?’ He had spoken these words out loud, and turning, he saw surprise on the faces of the two Ma
lazans. Onos T’oolan stepped forward. ‘Malazans, make it known to your K’Chain Che’Malle. Each in our time, we two peoples have warred against the Forkrul Assail. On this day, for the very first time, we shall do so as allies.’

  Fifteen paces back the K’ell Hunter straightened then, and lifted high both swords, and Onos T’oolan felt its reptilian eyes fixed solely upon him. And he raised his own weapon.

  One more gift, then, on this final day. I see you, K’Chain Che’Malle, and I call you brother.

  Gesler wiped at his eyes – he could not fathom the rawness of his emotions. ‘First Sword,’ he called out in a roughened voice, ‘how many of your warriors are here?’

  Onos T’oolan hesitated, and then said, ‘I do not know.’

  Another T’lan Imass, who had been standing behind Onos T’oolan, then spoke, ‘Mortals, we are eight thousand six hundred and eighty-four.’

  ‘Hood’s black breath!’ Stormy swore. ‘Gesler – T’lan Imass in the centre? With Ve’Gath to either side, and K’ell screening our flanks?’

  ‘Aye,’ Gesler nodded. ‘First Sword, do you know the Jagged Teeth—’

  ‘Gesler,’ Onos T’oolan cut in, ‘like you, I am a veteran of the Seven Cities campaigns.’

  ‘Guess you are, aren’t you?’ Gesler grinned. ‘Stormy, suck some oil and get our lizards back up and moving. I don’t see any point in wasting any time on this.’

  ‘Fine – but what about you?’

  ‘Me and Sag’Churok – we’re riding ahead. I want to see the lay of the land, especially at the base of the Spire. You catch us up, right?’

  Stormy nodded. ‘Good enough. How come that winged snake’s not around again?’

  ‘How should I know? Get going – I’ll see you on whatever high ground I find. Make sure we draw up in formation – I don’t plan on posing for the bastards.’

  Kalyth stood close to Matron Gunth Mach. The Destriant had crossed her arms and knew the gesture to be protective, though it did little good – not in the face of what was coming. Wars were not part of the Elan heritage – skirmishes, yes, and feuds, and raids. But not wars. But already she had been in the midst of one, and now here she was, about to join another.