The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  Silverfox had stopped laughing, her veiled eyes now on the scattered bones.

  Hood take me, that fur cloak becomes her indeed. Mentally shaking himself, Whiskeyjack glanced up to meet Korlat’s steady, faintly ironic gaze. But oh, she pales beside this Tiste Andii. Dammit, old man, think not of the nights past. Do not embrace this wonder so tightly you crush the life from it.

  ‘The scouts,’ he said to both women, ‘have come upon a scene of battle—’

  ‘K’Chain Che’Malle,’ Korlat nodded, eyeing the bones. ‘K’ell Hunters, fortunately undead rather than enlivened flesh. Likely not as fast as they would have been. Still, to have been torn apart in such fashion—’

  ‘T’lan Ay,’ Silverfox said. ‘They are why I have come.’

  Whiskeyjack studied her. ‘What do you mean?’

  She shrugged. ‘To see for myself, Commander. We are all drawing close. You to your besieged city, and I to the destiny to which I was born. Convergence, the plague of this world. Even so,’ she added as she swung down from the saddle and strode among the bones, ‘there are gifts. Dearest of such gifts … the T’lan Ay.’ She paused, the wind caressing the fox fur on her shoulders, then whispered the name once more. ‘T’lan Ay.’

  ‘Kruppe shivers when she so names them, ah … gods bless this grim beauty in its barrenland tableau, from which starry dreams so dimmed with time are as rainbow rivers in the sky!’ He paused, blinked at the others. ‘Sweet sleep, in which hidden poetry resides, the flow of the disconnected, so smooth as to seem entwined. Yes?’

  ‘I’m not the man,’ Whiskeyjack growled, ‘to appreciate your abstractions, Kruppe, alas.’

  ‘Of course, blunt soldier, as you say! But wait, does Kruppe see in your eyes a certain … charge? The air veritably crackles with imminence – do you deny your sensitivity to that, Malazan? No, say nothing, the truth resides in your hard gaze and your gauntleted hand where it edges closer to the grip of your sword.’

  Whiskeyjack could not deny the hairs rising on the back of his neck. He looked around, saw a similar alertness among the Rhivi, and in the pair of Malazan scouts who were scanning the hill-lines on all sides.

  ‘What comes?’ Korlat whispered.

  ‘The gift,’ Kruppe murmured with a beatific smile as he rested his eyes upon Silverfox.

  Whiskeyjack followed the Daru’s gaze.

  To see the woman, so much like Tattersail, standing with her back to them, arms raised high.

  Dust began swirling, rising in eddies on all sides.

  The T’lan Ay took form, in the basin, on the slopes and the crests of the surrounding hills.

  In their thousands …

  Grey dust into grey, matted fur, black shoulders, throats the hue of rain clouds, thick tails silver and black-tipped; while others were brown, the colour of rotted, powdered wood, faded to tan at throat and belly. Wolves, tall, gaunt, their eyes shadowed pits. Huge, long heads were turned, one and all, to Silverfox.

  She glanced over a shoulder, her heavy-lidded eyes fixing on Whiskeyjack. She smiled. ‘My escort.’

  The commander, struck silent, stared at her. So like Tattersail. Yet not. Escort, she says, but I see more – and her look tells me she is aware … so very aware, now.

  Escort … and bodyguard. Silverfox may no longer require us. And, now that her need for our protection has passed, she is free to do … whatever she pleases …

  A cold wind seemed to rattle through Whiskeyjack’s mind. Gods, what if Kallor was right all along? What if we’ve all missed our chance? With a soft grunt, he shook off the unworthy thoughts. No, we have shown our faith in her, when it mattered most – when she was at her weakest. Tattersail would not forget that …

  So like … yet not. Nightchill, dismembered by betrayal. Is it Tayschrenn her remnant soul hates? Or the Malazan Empire and every son and daughter of its blood? Or the one she had been called upon to battle: Anomander Rake, and by extension Caladan Brood? The Rhivi, the Barghast … does she seek vengeance against them?

  Kruppe cleared his throat. ‘And a lovely escort they are, my dear lass. Alarming to your enemies, reassuring to your loyal friends! We are charmed, for we can see that you are as well, so very deeply charmed by these silent, motionless T’lan Ay. Such well-behaved pups, Kruppe is impressed beyond words, beyond gestures, beyond suitable response entire!’

  ‘If only,’ Korlat murmured, ‘that were the case.’ She faced Whiskeyjack, her expression closed and professional. ‘Commander, I will take my leave now to report to our leaders—’

  ‘Korlat,’ Silverfox interrupted, ‘forgive me for not asking earlier, but when did you last look upon my mother?’

  ‘This morning,’ the Tiste Andii replied. ‘She can no longer walk, and this has been her condition for almost a week now. She weakens by the day, Silverfox. Perhaps if you were to come and see her…’

  ‘There is no need for that,’ the fur-cloaked woman said. ‘Who attends her at this moment?’

  ‘Councillor Coll and the Daru man, Murillio.’

  ‘Kruppe’s most loyal friends, Kruppe assures you all. She is safe enough.’

  ‘Circumstances,’ Silverfox said, her expression tight, ‘are about to grow … tense.’

  And what has it been till now, woman? Kallor haunts your shadow like a vulture – I’m surprised he let you get away just now … unless he’s lurking about on the other side of the nearest hill …

  ‘Do you ask something of me, Silverfox?’ Korlat enquired.

  She visibly gathered herself. ‘Aye, some of your kin, to guard my mother.’

  The Tiste Andii frowned. ‘It would seem, with your new guardians in such number, that you have some to spare—’

  ‘She would not let them approach her, I’m afraid. She has … nightmares. I am sorry, but I must ensure my T’lan Ay are kept out of her sight, and senses. She may look frail and seem powerless, but there is that within her that is capable of driving the T’lan Ay away. Will you do as I ask?’

  ‘Of course, Silverfox.’

  The woman nodded, attention shifting once more back to Whiskeyjack as Korlat wheeled her mount and rode back up the slope. She studied him in silence for a moment, then looked to Kruppe. ‘Well, Daru? Are you satisfied thus far?’

  ‘I am, dearest one.’ Not Kruppe’s usual tone, but spoken low, measured.

  Satisfied. With what?

  ‘Will she hold on, do you think?’

  Kruppe shrugged. ‘We shall see, yes? Kruppe has faith.’

  ‘Enough for both of us?’

  The Daru smiled. ‘Naturally.’

  Silverfox sighed. ‘Very well. I lean heavily on you in this, you know.’

  ‘Kruppe’s legs are as pillars of stone. Your touch is so light as to pass unnoticed by worthy self. My dear, the sound of additional riders urges upon you a decision – what will you permit to be seen by those who now approach?’

  ‘Nothing untoward,’ the woman replied. She raised her arms again.

  The T’lan Ay returned to the dust from which they had arisen.

  With a soft grunt, Whiskeyjack strode back to his horse. There were too many mysteries roiling through the company of the two armies, secrets that seemed to hold promises of explosive revelation. Probably violent ones at that. He felt uneasy. I wish Quick Ben was here … Hood knows, I wish I knew what was happening with him, and Paran and the Bridgeburners. Did they succeed? Or are they all now dead, their skulls surmounting poles around the Barghast camps?

  A substantial part of the column’s vanguard reached the hill’s crest, where they halted in a ragged line.

  Whiskeyjack swung himself into the saddle and made his way towards the group.

  Kallor, riding a gaunt, grey horse, had deliberately drawn rein apart from the others. His faded grey cloak was tight about his broad, armoured shoulders. Shadows deepened the lines of his ancient, weathered face. Long strands of his grey hair drifted to one side in the wind.

  Whiskeyjack’s gaze held on the man a moment longer, gauging
, then shifted to the others lining the ridge. Brood and Dujek were side by side. On the warlord’s right was the outrider, Hurlochel; on the Malazan’s left, the standard-bearer, Artanthos. The Trygalle Trade Guild’s merchant-mage, Haradas, was also present, and, of course, Korlat.

  None were speaking as Whiskeyjack’s horse reached the crest. Then Dujek nodded and growled, ‘Korlat’s described what the scouts found. Anything else to add?’

  Whiskeyjack glanced at the Tiste Andii, but her expression was closed. He shook his head. ‘No, High Fist. Korlat and her kin seem to know more about these K’Chain Che’Malle than the rest of us – what lies below are a jumble of shattered bones, some weapons and armour. I could not have identified them myself. The Rhivi scouts believe they were undead—’

  ‘Fortunate for us all,’ muttered Kallor. ‘I am not so ignorant of these creatures as the rest of you, barring Korlat. Further, I am feeling unusually … loquacious. Thus. Remnants of the K’Chain Che’Malle civilization can be found on virtually every continent on this world. Indeed, in the place of my old empire, Jacuruku, their strange mechanisms filled pits and holes in the earth – whenever my people had to cut below the surface, they discovered such constructs. More, barrows were found Scholars conducted careful examination of their contents. Do you wish to hear an account of their conclusions or am I boring you?’

  ‘Go on,’ Caladan drawled.

  ‘Very well. Perhaps there is more wisdom present here than I had previously credited. The beasts appear to be reptilian, capable of breeding their own kind to specific talents. Those the Tiste Andii called K’ell Hunters, for example, were born as warriors. Undead versions are in the valley below, yes? They had no hands, but swords in their stead, somehow melded to the very bones of their forearms. The K’Chain Che’Malle were matriarchal, matrilineal. As a population of bees have their queen, so too these beasts. She is the breeder, the mother of every child. And within this Matron resided the sorcerous capacity of her entire family. Power to beggar the gods of today. Power to keep the Elder Gods from coming to this world, and were it not for the self-destruction of the K’Chain Che’Malle, they would rule unchallenged to this day.’

  ‘Self-destruction,’ Korlat said, a sharpness in her eyes as she studied Kallor. ‘An interesting detail. Can you explain?’

  ‘Of course. Among the records found, once the language was deciphered – and that effort alone is worthy of lengthy monologue, but seeing how you all shift about in your saddles like impatient children, I’ll spare the telling. Among the records found, then, it was learned that the Matrons, each commanding the equivalent of a modern city, had gathered to meld their disparate ambitions. What they sought, beyond the vast power they already possessed, is not entirely clear. Then again, what need there be for reasons when ambition rules? Suffice to say, an ancient breed was … resurrected, returned from extinction by the Matrons; a more primitive version of the K’Chain Che’Malle themselves. For lack of a better name, my scholars at the time called them Short-Tails.’

  Whiskeyjack, his eyes on Korlat, was the only one to see her stiffen at that. Behind him, he could hear Silverfox and Kruppe making their way back up the slope.

  ‘For the singular reason,’ Kallor went on in his dry monotone, ‘that they physically deviated from the other K’Chain Che’Malle in having short, stubby tails rather than the normal, long, tapered ones. This made them not as swift – more upright, suited to whatever world and civilization they had originally belonged to. Alas, these new children were not as tractable as the Matrons were conditioned to expect among their brood – more explicitly, the Short-Tails would not surrender or merge their magical talents with their mothers’. The result was a civil war, and the sorceries unleashed were apocalyptic. To gauge something of the desperation among the Matrons, one need only travel south on this continent, to a place called Morn.’

  ‘The Rent,’ Korlat murmured, nodding.

  Kallor’s smile was wintry. ‘She sought to harness the power of a gate itself, but not simply a common warren’s gate. Oh no, she elected to open the portal that led to the Realm of Chaos. Such hubris, to think she could control – could assert order – upon such a thing.’ He paused, as if reconsidering his own words, then laughed. ‘Oh, a bitter lesson or two in that tale, don’t you think?’

  Caladan Brood grunted. ‘Let’s bring this back to the present, shall we? In the valley below, undead K’ell Hunters. The question to address is: what are they doing here?’

  ‘They are being used.’

  Everyone’s eyes fixed on Silverfox, who stood before her horse, reins in hand.

  ‘I like not the sound of that,’ Dujek growled.

  ‘Used,’ Silverfox repeated, ‘by the Pannion Seer.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Kallor snapped. ‘Only a K’Chain Che’Malle Matron could command a Ke’ll Hunter – even when undead.’

  ‘Then it would appear,’ Korlat said, ‘that we have more than one enemy.’

  ‘The Pannion Seer has an ally?’ Dujek leaned on his saddle and spat. ‘There’s not been even so much as a hint—’

  ‘None the less,’ Silverfox cut in. ‘Proof lies before us, in the valley below.’

  ‘A Matron cannot breed more of her kind without the seed of living males,’ Kallor said. ‘Therefore, with each K’ell Hunter destroyed, there is one less for us to deal with.’

  Brood turned at that, eyes thinning to slits. ‘Easily swallowed, this revelation.’

  Kallor shrugged.

  ‘There is also before us,’ the warlord continued, ‘another truth. Regarding the destruction of the K’ell Hunters, someone is doing it for us, it seems.’

  Silence; then, slowly, attention focused on Silverfox.

  She smiled. ‘I did say, some time ago, that you would all need help.’

  Kallor snarled. ‘T’lan Imass! So tell us, bitch, why would they concern themselves with K’Chain Che’Malle? Are not the Jaghut their avowed enemies? Why task your undead followers with a new one? Why have you and the T’lan Imass joined this war, woman?’

  ‘We have joined nothing,’ she replied, her eyes heavy-lidded, standing as Tattersail would stand, hands clasped and resting on the folds of her belly, her body solid yet curvaceous beneath her deer-hide tunic.

  Ah, I know that look. Sleight of hand. Careful, now …

  ‘Do you deny, then,’ Brood began slowly, his expression clouded, uncertain, ‘that your T’lan Imass were responsible for destroying these K’ell Hunters?’

  ‘Have none of you ever wondered,’ Silverfox said, looking at each of them, ‘why the T’lan Imass warred with the Jaghut?’

  ‘Perhaps an explanation,’ Dujek said, ‘will assist us in understanding.’

  Silverfox gave a sharp nod. ‘When the first Imass emerged, they were forced to live in the shadow of the Jaghut. Tolerated, ignored, but only in small, manageable numbers. Pushed to the poorest of lands. Then Tyrants arose among the Jaghut, who found pleasure in enslaving them, in forcing upon them a nightmarish existence – that successive generations were born into and so knew of no other life, knew nothing of freedom itself.

  ‘The lesson was hard, not easily swallowed, for the truth was this: there were intelligent beings in the world who exploited the virtues of others, their compassion, their love, their faith in kin. Exploited, and mocked. How many Imass tribes discovered that their gods were in fact Jaghut Tyrants? Hidden behind friendly masks. Tyrants, who manipulated them with the weapon of faith.

  ‘The rebellion was inevitable, and it was devastating for the Imass. Weaker, uncertain even of what it was they sought, or what freedom would show them should they find it … But we would not relent. We could not.’

  Kallor sneered. ‘There were never more than but a handful of Tyrants among the Jaghut, woman.’

  ‘A handful was too many, and aye, we found allies among the Jaghut – those for whom the activities of the Tyrants was reprehensible. But we now carried scars. Scars born of mistrust, of betrayal. We could trust only in
our own kind. In the name of our generations to come, all Jaghut would have to die. None could be left, to produce more children, to permit among those children the rise of new Tyrants.’

  ‘And how,’ Korlat asked, ‘does this relate to the K’Chain Che’Malle?’

  ‘Before the Jaghut ruled this world, the K’Chain Che’Malle ruled. The first Jaghut were to the K’Chain Che’Malle as the first Imass were to the Jaghut.’ She paused, her heavy gaze moving among them all. ‘In each species is born the seeds of domination. Our wars with the Jaghut destroyed us, as a living people, as a vibrant, evolving culture. That was the price we paid, to ensure the freedom you now possess. Our eternal sacrifice.’ She fell silent once more, then continued in a harder tone, ‘So, now, I ask you – all of you, who have taken upon yourselves the task of waging war against a tyrannical, all-devouring empire, of possibly sacrificing your own lives to the benefit of peoples who know nothing of you, of lands you have never and will never set foot upon – I ask you, what is there about us, about the T’lan Imass, that still escapes your understanding? Destroy the Pannion Domin. It must be done. For me, for my T’lan Imass, awaits the task of destroying the threat hiding behind the Pannion Seer, the threat that is the K’Chain Che’Malle.’

  She slowly studied their faces. ‘A Matron lives. Flesh and blood. Should she find a male of her kind, a flesh and blood male … the tyranny of the Jaghut will be as nothing to that of the K’Chain Che’Malle. This, then, will be our sacrifice.’

  Only the wind filled the silence following her words.

  Then Caladan Brood turned to Kallor. ‘And you find in this woman an abomination?’

  ‘She lies,’ he rasped in reply. ‘This entire war is meaningless. Nothing more than a feint.’

  ‘A feint?’ Dujek repeated in disbelief. ‘By whom?’

  Kallor snapped his mouth shut, made no reply.

  The Trygalle Trade Guild merchant-mage, Haradas, cleared her throat. ‘There may be some truth in that. Not that the woman Silverfox is lying – I believe she speaks true, as far as she is willing to tell us. No, I meant the feint. Consider the infection of the warrens. Granted, its focus seems to emanate from the Pannion Domin, and granted, as well, that the poison’s taint is that of the Warren of Chaos. Granted all of that, one must then ask: why would a K’Chain Che’Malle Matron, who is the repository of a vast wellspring of sorcery, seek to destroy the very conduits of her power? If she was present when Morn was destroyed – when the Rent was created – why would she then try to harness chaos again? Ambitious, perhaps, but a fool? That is hard to countenance.’