Orb Sceptre Throne

by Ian Cameron Esslemont

‘What?’

  ‘The marriage of Night and Light.’

  Antsy took a step backwards. Fener’s balls! That’s … terrifying.

  Further shudders shook the chamber. The reports of falling rock burst from nearby. The floor canted to a slightly sharper angle.

  An orange flame-like light burst to life. ‘Attend!’ Hesta yelled. She had raised an arm and her hand was aflame as a burning brand. ‘No more delay. We must escape now! Where is …’ Her voice dwindled away as she stared down.

  Antsy pushed forward through the ring of gathered mages. At their feet lay a rectangle flush with the floor at the centre of the pillars. While all the chamber was now lit this rectangle remained as utterly night black as a solid pool of pitch. Oddly enough, though the floor was angled, the surface of the darkness remained flush within its containment.

  ‘The Throne?’ Ogule offered.

  ‘Shut up!’ Hesta snapped.

  ‘Well, a throne,’ Seris murmured.

  ‘A gate,’ Bauchelain said.

  Giggling, the man’s companion, Korbal, Antsy assumed, knelt to thrust an arm in. His pudgy hand met some sort of barrier just beneath the surface of night. He snarled his frustration.

  The noise of battle at the door died away and everyone turned to look. ‘What is going on?’ the old mage, Hemper, yelled.

  ‘They’ve backed off,’ Girth shouted. ‘Someone’s coming. Someone … Sacred shit!’

  ‘I must open it,’ Orchid said, musing, as if dreaming.

  ‘Well – do so!’ Hesta screeched.

  She knelt and passed a hand over the rectangle. ‘I’m not sure …’ she began, just touching the rippling liquid-like barrier. Then she fell in. Or was grabbed. Or sucked. But she suddenly disappeared without a splash into the murk as if it were a pool of black water. Antsy stared, stunned. Was that supposed to happen?

  ‘The way appears open,’ Seris remarked.

  ‘Then now is the time,’ Ogule murmured, and he smiled, dimpling.

  A blazing pain lanced Antsy’s back. He clutched there and found the hilt of a dagger. Turning, he saw Jallin dancing away. ‘Gonna die!’ the youth sang as he backed off. Antsy took a step to follow him but something was wrong and he staggered, almost falling.

  Behind him chaos erupted. Flames burst to life. Someone shrieked. He heard the old man Hemper bellow: ‘You will not profane it!’

  Whadaya know, Antsy thought as the floor came up to hit him, the old guy’s a priest of darkness …

  He slid down the canted floor, leaving a slick of gleaming blood behind. He saw Seris, enveloped in black fire, writhing nearby; he saw the weeping servant of Bauchelain struggling to push a huge piece of luggage up the tilted floor to reach the Throne; he saw the Malazans retreating from the door as some half-dozen masked Seguleh pushed through. So that was what Girth had seen …

  Corien knelt before him. ‘Antsy! Who …?’ The lad tried to move him but the pain almost blacked him out.

  ‘No … Go,’ he managed through clenched teeth.

  Then Malakai was there. ‘I’m sorry for you, soldier. But Orchid has succeeded. We have our exit. The paths to the Warrens are open now through the Throne.’ He touched Antsy’s shoulder just briefly. ‘And I repay my debts. Farewell.’

  Gods take it! Even Malakai thinks I’m done for! How do you like that? Spend my whole life avoiding all the traps the world throws at me and now that death themselves tell me to live – I don’t last five minutes! Fucking comedy, that is. Sink the Spawn with my one munition then get back-stabbed by some skulking alley rat! Gods. Mallet’s gonna be so damned mad at me.

  He watched while Malakai helped up the very rat himself, Jallin. As he did so, he even slipped something into the lad’s pack that may have fallen out. Then he climbed lizard-like up the tilting floor to reach the Throne and pulled himself in to disappear without a ripple.

  Bastard! I’ll kill him, I swear.

  Together Hesta and Ogule managed to overpower Hemper. Some arcane magic from the fat Ogule made the fellow cough up his lungs in a bloody spray of tattered flesh. Seris gathered herself in one snarling feral leap to reach the lip of the Throne and heave herself in.

  ‘You!’ a Seguleh ordered, pointing at Jallin. ‘You will surrender it now!’

  The youth’s eyes grew as huge as saucers and he scrambled to hide behind Hesta and Ogule. The two mages struggled to push him from them. The Seguleh drew their swords in one single hiss, following. The lad dodged behind all the mages to squeeze between the Malazans and disappear. Two Seguleh gave chase.

  Antsy watched, hardly able to breathe, while the pale grinning companion of Bauchelain, Korbal, actually approached one of the remaining Seguleh. He laid a hand on his arm and whispered something. A sword flashed and Korbal disappeared with a yelp that transformed into a squawk. A large black crow flew off through the doors.

  Having reached the Throne, Bauchelain sighed and allowed himself to slide down the floor. He dusted himself, straightening. ‘Come, Emancipor,’ he called, and set off after his companion. The Malazans parted to allow them to pass.

  The mercenary Heels now scrambled to Antsy. The two younger ones tried to lift him but he cried out in agony. He could feel the blade scraping his spine. He fought to hang on to consciousness.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ someone said, the lad, Corien. A squeeze of his shoulder, then nothing. His last sight was of the Malazans lying flat on the polished floor, which was angled now as steep as a wall, climbing up one another for the Throne. Behind them water now swirled past the doors in a churning gyre of bodies and debris.

  Then all was dark and cold.

  A hand touched his cheek. He opened his eyes – or regained consciousness. His mage-vision allowed him to see the sideways chamber glowing in a blue so dark as to be almost indistinguishable from black.

  Someone was with him. A shape in the night – or a shape of night itself. Her face was black, as were her eyes. Black on black, as if carved from jet.

  ‘Just you and I, soldier,’ she said.

  Good, he said. Or thought he said. They got out.

  ‘Yes.’

  And me?

  The shape slid away into the dark as if dissolving. ‘You spoke with a shade,’ the voice said.

  Yes.

  ‘How – how was he?’

  How?

  ‘Yes. He has been … away … for some time. Now he has returned. How did he seem?’

  He seemed … sad.

  ‘Sad?’

  Yes. He gave his name as Morn.

  ‘Morn? He did? Thank you, soldier. For that I bless you. Now, it is time for you to go.’

  Go? Right. Face my squad.

  ‘No. Not to them. Do not be hurt or angry. They were harsh because they feared you might long to join them. They love you, Antsy. They want you to live. For that reason I am here speaking to you. That, and for the child, Orchid.’

  Orchid?

  ‘Yes. You brought her to me. And for that you have my gratitude. Farewell, soldier.’

  Frigid waters as dark as night churned round him. Movement then. A hand pushed against the chest of his hauberk. A glimpse of a masked face in the dark swirling waters, then blackness.

  CHAPTER XVII

  The more laws a land has, the more corrupt it is.

  Message scratched in stones of a fallen

  prison wall, Darujhistan

  SCORCH’S AND LEFF’S boot heels echoed in the empty night-time streets of Darujhistan. They walked the Daru district, not far from the Third Tier Wall that demarked the estate district containing Majesty Hill. Scorch peered about at the closed doors and the empty walks where crowds usually discussed the latest shows, a new dancer, or a troupe of entertainers newly arrived in the city. He nervously licked his lips and peered sidelong to his partner.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ he murmured, suspicious.

  Leff squinted his disbelief. ‘It’s the curfew, you idiot. No one’s allowed out after the tenth bell. We was there when the Legate signed the la
w.’

  Scorch shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Not my business. I must’ve been busy looking for threats.’

  ‘Threats, right,’ Leff murmured, looking skyward.

  ‘Well,’ Scorch went on, ‘it’s not like we’re gettin’ out much these days.’

  Leff put a touch harder stamp into his step and thrust out his chest even further. ‘That’s right. Got us important work. Guardin’ the Legate and such. Busy. Can’t be loafing about.’

  ‘Not like the old days.’

  ‘Nope. No more drinking or chasing skirts for us.’

  ‘Can’t be doin’ none o’ that,’ Scorch sighed, and he pulled on his lower lip. ‘Leff …’ he said, tentative.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What say you we sign on any trader leavin’ tonight? Head down south. Rich pickin’s down there. Everyone says so. Heard me stories of buckets of coin.’

  Leff stopped. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and regarded his partner, head lowered. ‘You see – there’s our problem. Consistency. Stick-to-it-ness.’ He drove a hand through the air before him. ‘Have to hoe a straight row. See things through to the ugly bitter sticky end no matter how many tell us for gods’ sakes would you just drop it! No more o’ that listening to other people. Not for us, right?’

  Brows cramped together, mouth open, Scorch nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘Hey, you two!’ a new voice called out.

  Both turned. A detachment of the city Wardens approached. They carried lanterns and were armed with truncheons. ‘It’s curfew, you know,’ their sergeant continued.

  Leff threw out his hands, aggrieved. ‘Yeah! It’s curfew – an’ if we see anyone out we’ll arrest them, won’t we!’ The sergeant’s unshaven face screwed up as he tried to work his way through that. ‘We’re Majesty Hill guards, I’ll have you know,’ Leff continued, and he made a show of resting his hand on the grip of his shortsword.

  The sergeant’s gaze followed the motion and it seemed to Leff that the man was suitably impressed. He waved them on, murmuring something that might have been: ‘Say hello to the Seguleh.’

  Leff stamped off, chest thrown out. Scorch followed. ‘Imagine,’ Leff complained loudly. ‘The nerve of some.’

  Scorch spotted a faded sign of a bird rising from flames, a warm yellow glow from glazed windows, a door a sliver ajar, and the noise of laughter and tankards banging tables.

  ‘Phoenix’s open,’ he commented.

  Leff abruptly stopped again. ‘After curfew?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Leff set his hand once more on his weapon grip. ‘Have to ’vestigate. Might be curfew-breakers.’

  Scorch’s wide mouth drew up in a wet grin. ‘Just doin’ our duty.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Inside, the noise seemed a solid barrier. Scorch and Leff peered about, blinking at the crowd. Leff scanned for a table but the floor was jammed. An older tough-looking woman glowered at them from behind the bar. ‘What do you two want?’ she demanded.

  ‘Friends!’ a familiar voice piped.

  Leff looked round to see Kruppe gesturing them over. ‘It’s all right,’ he told the woman, ‘we’re expected.’

  Kruppe was at his usual small round table hidden away near the back. He invited them to sit then clapped his hands, calling: ‘Jess! Summer ale for my friends here. They thirst!’

  The two exchanged suspicious glances. ‘What’s this?’ Scorch asked.

  The little man appeared offended. He pressed a hand to his stained shirt. ‘What is this? Why, nothing more than drinks among friends. Mere hospitality! Why should there be anything more to this than that? Why, there is none of this or that, I assure you.’

  The heavy bulk of Jess pressed up to the table. ‘You again,’ she accused, glaring at Kruppe.

  ‘Yes? Me?’ Kruppe blinked winningly up at her, hands pressed together under his chin.

  ‘Nothing more for you until you pay your tab.’

  Scorch and Leff shared knowing looks and pushed back their chairs, preparing to leave.

  Kruppe clutched at them. ‘No, no! Said tab is as good as covered. I assure you I have every intention of taking care of that trivial detail. There you have it, Jess. A promissory promise. I, ah, promise. So, until such time … would you be so good as to put these drinks on the tab?’

  Jess heaved a sigh and pushed back hair stuck to her sweaty face. ‘I’ll ask Meese,’ she allowed, and lumbered off, hips swaying.

  Leff sat again. ‘Gotta admire your way with women there, friend.’

  Sitting back, Kruppe slipped his hands under his tight crimson waistcoat looking quite satisfied with himself. ‘It’s a blessing and a curse I struggle to live with.’ He eyed them up and down. ‘And you two? How goes the search for gainful employment?’

  ‘Oh, we got—’ began Scorch only to break off and curse as Leff kicked him under the table.

  Kruppe’s oily black brows rose. ‘Oh-ho! What is this? You have secured positions? You have an income? Ergo, you are able now to honour certain past debts that have heretofore been graciously allowed to languish, unpursued, by certain friends?’

  ‘We ain’t been paid yet,’ Leff said, glaring at Scorch.

  Kruppe slapped a hand to the cluttered table. ‘As good as, I should say! This calls for celebration! Let us honour this coming plentitude with a drink now – for that is exactly what you will do once it arrives, yes? The difference being only one of inconsequential timing. Then, after that, then we can discuss your debt.’

  Scorch sat with his typical expression of surprise compounded by incomprehension. ‘I don’t get it,’ he confessed to Leff.

  ‘Never mind,’ Leff sighed as tall tankards arrived with a glass of white wine, all set down by Jess.

  ‘Meese said it was okay.’

  ‘My dear,’ beamed Kruppe, ‘you are fitting in nicely here.’

  She went away rolling her eyes.

  ‘To advances, advantage, and profitable positions,’ said Kruppe, lifting his glass.

  Leff and Scorch knocked their tankards together. ‘Aye. Twins look away.’

  The upper waters of the River Maiten flowed thick and heavy with silt, almost sluggish, like old blood. The wet silts even gave it a reddish hue. For a time they paced its course, heading north for Darujhistan. Eventually, they came to a nameless hamlet that hugged the river. Here the water allowed farming and animal husbandry. And the river offered some fishing, if only small bottom-dwellers.

  Since neither the Seventh nor Lo appeared inclined to approach the villagers regarding hiring a boat, Yusek and Sall headed in to do the honours. Part of Yusek wondered why they were bothering with paying at all when they could just take one of the wretched battered old punts drawn up on the muddy shore. But another part of her understood that Lo and the Seventh had these conceits of honesty and honour that had to be observed.

  ‘They want coin,’ she told Sall. ‘You have any coin?’

  The Seguleh lad drew a small pouch from beneath his cloak. ‘I have these. Our old currency.’

  A clinking heap of shiny yellow bars, or wafers, fell into her cupped hands. ‘Osserc’s mercy!’ she exclaimed, pressing the pile to her chest. ‘Where did you get all this?’

  The lad seemed unconcerned. ‘As I said, it is our old currency. We don’t use it any more. I keep these as mementos.’

  Yusek shuffled them back into the pouch, which she then kept in her fist. ‘They’re gold,’ she hissed.

  ‘Yes. I know.’

  ‘Are we going to pay gold for a crappy old boat that can barely hold all of us?’

  ‘I see no alternative.’

  ‘Gods. The price of boats is about to go way up.’

  ‘Pay them – it is of no matter.’

  No matter! By the Enchantress! This is part of my fortune I’m throwing away here. ‘Sall – can’t we just threaten them? Just a little?’

  The mask faced her squarely. The hazel and brown eyes grew stern. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘All right, al
l right!’ Yusek stalked away. ‘Can’t fucking believe I’m handing gold to these stinking hamlet-dwellers,’ she muttered. ‘They won’t even know what they’ve got in their hands …’

  A short time later the Seventh pushed off one of the larger of the river boats and took the stern. Lo had the bow while Sall and Yusek sat in the middle. The boat was of hide ribbed with wood. It was without seats; one merely knelt in the fetid water that sloshed within. At first Yusek held on to a thwart, refusing to let her hide trousers touch the filth. Finally Sall reached up to yank her down.

  ‘And what do I do?’ she asked, wincing as the cold water clasped her knees.

  Sall handed her a cup carved from wood. ‘You bail – or we sink.’

  Kiska walked with Tayschrenn over the featureless dunes of black sands. Soon clouds swept in from ahead, which struck her as odd, since no clouds had ever before marred the sky here at the Shores. The shadows of the clouds glided over them, obscuring her vision, and in their wake she found herself walking a night-time landscape of blasted broken rock. Suddenly it was hard going, as the ground was uneven and the sharp stones turned under her feet. She missed the smooth sands, even if they did make walking a chore.

  ‘Where are we?’

  Tayschrenn did not answer. He was peering into the sky. Suddenly he knelt behind a larger boulder, motioning her down. ‘Trespassing,’ he murmured. She huddled under the cover of the boulder then hissed, jerking away; it was hot to the touch.

  ‘What is this …’ Then she saw them wheeling in the sky and she stared, astounded and terrified. Winged long-necked beasts flying off in the distance. ‘Are those …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Enchantress protect us. What’s going on?’

  ‘A gathering. A marshalling. Call it what you will.’

  ‘Is that where we’re …’

  ‘No. All this regards the past. I prefer to look to the future.’

  ‘Then what are we doing here?’

  The mage struck off at right-angles. ‘As I said, trespassing. This is a short cut.’

  A short cut? This? Hate to see the long way round.

  Not long after that – at least if you counted time in paces, as she was doing – the landscape changed to a forested verge. The ground became swampy as they entered the woods, and thick vine-laden trunks and ferns blocked all view. Tayschrenn slowed, then came to an uncertain halt.