The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  ‘Well enough,’ Whiskeyjack muttered.

  ‘As for Paran, there’s a certain logic there, as well. Tayschrenn was grooming Tattersail to the role of Mistress of the Deck, after all. And when that went wrong, well, there was a residual effect – straight to the man closest to her at the time. Not physically, but certainly spiritually. In all this, Whiskeyjack – if we look on things in retrospect – the only truly thick-witted player was Bellurdan Skullcrusher. We’ll never know what happened between him and Tattersail on that plain, but by the Abyss it ranks as one of the worst foul-ups in imperial history. That the role of Master of the Deck fell to a Malazan and not to some Gadrobi herder who’d happened to be nearby, well, Oponn’s luck played into our hands there, and that’s about all we can say of that, I think.’

  ‘Now I’m the one who’s worried,’ Whiskeyjack said. ‘We’ve been too clever by far, leaving me wondering who’s manipulating whom. We’re playing shadowgames with the Lord of Shadow, rattling the chains of the Crippled God, and now buying Brood more time without him even knowing it, whilst at the same time defying the T’lan Imass, or at least intending to…’

  ‘Opportunity, Whiskeyjack. Hesitation is fatal. When you find yourself in the middle of a wide, raging river, there’s only one direction to swim in. It’s up to us to keep Laseen’s head above water – and through her, the Malazan Empire. If Brood swings his hammer in Burn’s name – we drown, all of us. Law, order, peace – civilization, all gone.’

  ‘So, to keep Brood from doing that, we sacrifice ourselves by challenging the Crippled God. Us, one damned weary army already decimated by one of Laseen’s panics.’

  ‘Best forgive her her panics, Whiskeyjack. Shows she’s mortal, after all.’

  ‘Virtually wiping out the Bridgeburners at Pale—’

  ‘Was an accident and while you didn’t know it at the time, you know it now. Tayschrenn ordered them to remain in the tunnels because he thought it was the safest place. The safest.’

  ‘Seemed more like someone wanted us to be a collateral fatality,’ Whiskeyjack said. No, not us. Me. Damn you, Dujek, you lead me to suspect you knew more of that than I’d hoped. Beru fend, I hope I’m wrong … ‘And with what happened at Darujhistan—’

  ‘What happened at Darujhistan was a mess. Miscommunication on all sides. It was too soon after the Siege of Pale – too soon for all of us.’

  ‘So I wasn’t the only one rattled, then.’

  ‘At Pale? No. Hood take us, we all were. That battle didn’t go as planned. Tayschrenn really believed he could take down Moon’s Spawn – and force Rake into the open. And had he not been left virtually on his own in the attack, things might well have turned out differently. From what I learned later, Tayschrenn didn’t know at the time who Nightchill really was, but he knew she was closing in on Rake’s sword. Her and Bellurdan, who she was using to do her research for her. It looked like a play for power, a private one, and Laseen wasn’t prepared to permit that. And even then, Tayschrenn only hit her when she took out A’Karonys – the very High Mage who came to Tayschrenn with his suspicions about her. When I said Bellurdan killing Tattersail was the worst foul-up in Malazan history, that day at Pale runs a close second.’

  ‘There have been more than a few lately…’

  Dujek slowly nodded, his eyes glittering in the lantern light. ‘All starting, I’d say, with the T’lan Imass slaughtering the citizens of Aren. But, as even with that one, each disaster yields its truths. Laseen didn’t give that order, but someone did. Someone returned to sit down in that First Throne – and that someone was supposed to be dead – and he used the T’lan Imass to wreak vengeance on Laseen, to shake her grip on the Empire. Lo, the first hint that Emperor Kellanved wasn’t quite as dead as we would have liked.’

  ‘And still insane, aye. Dujek, I think we’re heading for another disaster.’

  ‘I hope you’re wrong. In any case, I was the one who needed his confidence boosted tonight, not you.’

  ‘Well, I guess that’s the price of inverted commands…’

  ‘For all that I’ve been saying, a new observation comes to me, Whiskeyjack, and it’s not a pleasant one.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘I’m beginning to think we’re not half as sure of what we’re up to as we think we are.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’

  ‘The empire. Laseen. Tayschrenn. As for you and I, well, we’re the least of the players and what little we know isn’t even close to what we need to know. We stepped up to the assault on Moon’s Spawn at Pale knowing virtually nothing of what was really going on. And if I hadn’t cornered Tayschrenn after, we still wouldn’t.’

  Whiskeyjack studied the dregs of ale in the tankard in his hands. ‘Quick Ben’s smart,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t really say how much he’s worked out. He can get pretty cagey at times.’

  ‘He’s still willing, surely?’

  ‘Oh yes. And he’s made it plain that he has acquired a powerful faith in Ganoes Paran. In this new Master of the Deck.’

  ‘Does that strike you as odd, then?’

  ‘A little. Paran has been used by a god. He’s walked within the sword, Dragnipur. He has the blood of a Hound of Shadow in his veins. And none of us know what changes such things have wrought in him, or even what they portend. He’s been anything but predictable, and he’s almost impossible to manage – oh, he’ll follow orders I give him, but I think if Laseen believes she can use him, she might be in for a surprise.’

  ‘You like the man, don’t you?’

  ‘I admire him, Dujek. For his resilience, for his ability to examine himself with a courage that is ruthless, and, most of all, for his inherent humanity.’

  ‘Sufficient to warrant faith, I’d say.’

  Whiskeyjack grimaced. ‘Stabbed by my own sword.’

  ‘Better that than someone else’s.’

  ‘I’m thinking of retiring, Dujek. When this war is finished.’

  ‘I’d guessed as much, friend.’

  Whiskeyjack looked up. ‘You think she’ll let me?’

  ‘I don’t think we should give her the choice.’

  ‘Shall I drown like Crust and Urko did? Shall I be seen to be slain then have my body vanish like Dassem did?’

  ‘Assuming none of those really happened—’

  ‘Dujek—’

  ‘All right, but some doubt still remains, you have to admit.’

  ‘I don’t share it, and one day I’ll track down Duiker and force the truth from him – if anyone knows, it’s that cranky historian.’

  ‘Has Quick Ben heard from Kalam yet?’

  ‘He’s not told me so if he has.’

  ‘Where’s your wizard right now?’

  ‘I last saw him jawing with those Trygalle traders.’

  ‘The man should be getting some sleep, with what’s coming.’

  Whiskeyjack set down the tankard and rose. ‘So should we, old friend,’ he said, wincing as he settled too much weight on his bad leg. ‘When are the Black Moranth arriving?’

  ‘Two nights hence.’

  Whiskeyjack grunted, then swung towards the tent’s exit. ‘Good night, Dujek.’

  ‘And to you, Whiskeyjack. Oh, one last thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Tayschrenn. He’s been wanting to apologize to you. For what happened to the Bridgeburners.’

  ‘He knows where to find me, Dujek.’

  ‘He wants a proper moment.’

  ‘What’s proper?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it hasn’t happened yet.’

  Whiskeyjack said nothing for a half-dozen heartbeats, then he reached for the tent flap. ‘See you in the morning, Dujek.’

  ‘Aye,’ the High Fist replied.

  * * *

  As Whiskeyjack made his way towards his own tent he saw a tall, dark-robed figure standing before it.

  He smiled as he approached. ‘I’d missed you.’

  ‘And I you,’ Korlat responded.

  ‘Brood’
s been keeping you busy. Come inside, it’ll only be a moment before I get the lantern lit.’

  He heard her sighing behind him as they entered the tent. ‘I’d rather you didn’t bother.’

  ‘Well, you can see in the dark, but—’

  She drew him round and settled against him, murmured, ‘If there is to be a conversation, keep it short, please. What I desire is not answered by words.’

  He closed his arms around her. ‘I’d only wondered if you’d found Silverfox.’

  ‘No. It seems she is able to travel paths I did not think still existed. Instead, two of her undead wolves arrived … to escort me home. They are … unusual.’

  Whiskeyjack thought back to when he’d first seen the T’lan Ay, rising as dust from the yellow grasses, finding their bestial shapes until the hills on all sides were covered. ‘I know. There’s something strangely disproportionate about them—’

  ‘Yes, you are right. They jar the eye. Too long limbs, too large shoulders, yet short-necked and wide-jawed. But there is more than just their physical appearance that I found … alarming.’

  ‘More so than the T’lan Imass?’

  She nodded. ‘There is, within the T’lan Imass, an emptiness, as of a smoke-blackened cavity. But not with the T’lan Ay. Within these wolves … I see sorrow. Eternal sorrow…’

  She shivered in his arms. Whiskeyjack said nothing. You see in their eyes, dear lover, what I see in yours. And it is the reflection – the recognition – that has shaken you so.

  ‘At the camp’s edge,’ Korlat went on, ‘they fell to dust. One moment trotting on either side, then … gone. I don’t know why, but that disturbed me more than anything else.’

  Because it is what awaits all of us. Even you, Korlat. ‘This conversation was supposed to be short. It ends now. Come to bed, lass.’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘And after tonight?’

  He grimaced. ‘It may be a while, aye.’

  ‘Crone has returned.’

  ‘Has she now?’

  Korlat nodded. She was about to say more, then hesitated, searching his eyes, and said nothing.

  Setta, Lest, Maurik. The cities were empty. Yet the armies were dividing none the less. And neither would speak of why. Both sides of the alliance had things to hide, secrets to maintain, and the closer they got to Coral the more problematic it became maintaining those secrets.

  Most of the Tiste Andii have vanished. Gone with Rake, probably to Moon’s Spawn. But where is Moon’s Spawn? And what in Hood’s name are they planning? Will we arrive at Coral only to find the city already fallen, the Pannion Seer dead – his soul taken by Dragnipur – and that massive mountain hanging overhead?

  The Black Moranth have searched for that damned floating rock … to no avail.

  And then there are our secrets. We’re sending Paran and the Bridgeburners ahead; Hood take us, we ‘re doing a lot more than that.

  This is an unwelcome play for power, now imminent – we all knew it was coming. Setta, Lest, Maurik The subtle game is no longer subtle.

  ‘My heart is yours, Korlat,’ Whiskeyjack said to the woman in his arms. ‘Nothing else matters to me. Nothing – no-one.’

  ‘Please – do not apologize for what has not even happened yet. Don’t talk about it at all.’

  ‘I didn’t think I was, lass.’ Liar. You were. In your own way. You were apologizing.

  She accepted the lie with a wry smile. ‘Very well.’

  Later, Whiskeyjack would think back on his words, and wish that they had been cleaner – devoid of hidden intent.

  * * *

  Eyes grainy from lack of sleep, Paran watched Quick Ben close his conversation with Haradas then leave the company of the Trygalle trader to rejoin the captain.

  ‘The sappers will howl,’ Paran said as the two of them resumed their walk towards the Malazan encampment, newly established on the south shore of Catlin River.

  Quick Ben shrugged. ‘I’ll take Hedge to one side for a word or two. After all, Fiddler’s closer than a brother to him, and with the mess that Fid’s got into he needs all the help he can get. The only issue is whether the Trygalle can deliver the package in time.’

  ‘They’re an extraordinary lot, those traders.’

  ‘They’re insane. Doing what they’re doing. Sheer audacity is the only thing that keeps them alive.’

  ‘I’d add a certain skill for travelling inimical warrens, Quick.’

  ‘Let us hope it’s sufficient,’ the wizard responded.

  ‘It wasn’t just Moranth munitions, was it?’

  ‘No. The situation in Seven Cities couldn’t be more desperate. Anyway, I’ve done what I could. As to its effectiveness, we’ll see.’

  ‘You’re a remarkable man, Quick Ben.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Now, best keep all this as private an affair as possible. Hedge will keep his trap shut, and so will Whiskeyjack—’

  ‘Gentlemen! Such a lovely evening!’

  Both swung at the voice booming directly behind them.

  ‘Kruppe!’ Quick Ben hissed. ‘You slippery—’

  ‘Now now, Kruppe begs your indulgence. ’Twas mere happy accident that Kruppe heard your admirable words whilst almost stumbling ever so quietly on your heels, and indeed, now desires nothing else than to partake, ever so humbly, in courageous enterprise!’

  ‘If you speak a word of this to anyone,’ Quick Ben growled, ‘I will slit your throat.’

  The Daru withdrew his decrepit handkerchief and mopped his forehead, three quick dabs that seemed to leave the silk cloth sodden with sweat. ‘Kruppe assures deadly wizard that silence is as Kruppe’s closest mistress, lover unseen and unseeable, unsuspected and unmitigable. Whilst at the same time, Kruppe proclaims that the fair citizens of Darujhistan will hark to such a noble cause – Baruk himself so assures and would do so in person were he able. Alas, he has naught but this to offer.’ With that Kruppe withdrew with a flourish a small glass ball from the handkerchief, then dropped it to the ground. It broke with a soft tinkle. Mists rose, gathered knee-high between the Daru and the two Malazans, and slowly assumed the form of a bhokaral.

  ‘Aai,’ Kruppe muttered, ‘such ugly, indeed visually offensive, creatures.’

  ‘Only because you resemble them all too closely,’ Quick Ben pointed out, his eyes on the apparition.

  The bhokaral twisted its neck to look up at the wizard, glittering black eyes in a black, grapefruit-sized head. The creature bared its needle teeth. ‘Greet! Baruk! Master! Would! Help!’

  ‘Sadly terse effort on dear, no doubt overworked Baruk’s part,’ Kruppe said. ‘His best conjurations display linguistic grace, if not amiable fluidity, whilst this … thing, alas, evinces—’

  ‘Quiet, Kruppe,’ Quick Ben said. He spoke to the bhokaral. ‘Uncharacteristic as it sounds, I would welcome Baruk’s help, but I must wonder at the alchemist’s interest. This is a rebellion in Seven Cities, after all. A Malazan matter.’

  The bhokaral’s head bobbed. ‘Yes! Baruk! Master! Raraku! Azath! Great!’ The head jumped up and down again.

  ‘Great?’ Paran echoed.

  ‘Great! Danger! Azath! Icarium! More! Coltaine! Admire! Honour! Allies! Yes! Yes?’

  ‘Something tells me this won’t be easy,’ Quick Ben muttered. ‘All right, let’s get down to details…’

  Paran turned at the sound of an approaching rider. The figure appeared, indistinct in the starlight. The first detail the captain noted was the horse, a powerful destrier, proud and clearly short-tempered. The woman astride the animal was by contrast unprepossessing, her armour plain and old, the face beneath the rim of the helm apparently undistinguished, middle-aged.

  Her gaze flicked to Kruppe, the bhokaral and Quick Ben. Her expression unchanged, she said to Paran, ‘Captain, I would a word with you in private, sir.’

  ‘As you wish,’ he replied, and led her off fifteen paces from the others. ‘Private enough?’

  ‘This will suffice,’ the woman replied, reining in and dismoun
ting. She stepped up to him. ‘Sir, I am the Destriant of the Grey Swords. Your soldiers hold a prisoner and I have come to formally request that he be taken into our care.’

  Paran blinked, then nodded. ‘Ah, that would be Anaster, who once commanded the Tenescowri.’

  ‘It would, sir. We are not yet done with him.’

  ‘I see…’ He hesitated.

  ‘Has he recovered from his wounds?’

  ‘The lost eye? He has been treated by our healers.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ the Destriant said, ‘I should deliver my request to High Fist Dujek.’

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary. I can speak on behalf of the Malazans. In that capacity, however, it’s incumbent that I ask a few questions first.’

  ‘As you wish, sir. Proceed.’

  ‘What do you intend to do with the prisoner?’

  She frowned. ‘Sir?’

  ‘We do not countenance torture, no matter what his crime. If it is required, we would be forced to extend protection over Anaster, and so deny your request.’

  She glanced away briefly, then fixed her level gaze on him once more, and Paran realized she was much younger than he had at first assumed. ‘Torture, sir, is a relative term.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Please, sir, permit me to continue.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘The man, Anaster, might well view what we seek for him as torture, but that is a fear born of ignorance. He will not be harmed. Indeed, my Shield Anvil seeks the very opposite for the unfortunate man.’

  ‘She would take the pain from him.’

  The Destriant nodded.

  ‘That spiritual embrace – such as Itkovian did to Rath’Fener.’

  ‘Even so, sir.’

  Paran was silent a moment, then he said, ‘The notion terrifies Anaster?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he knows of nothing else within him. He has equated his entire identity with the pain of his soul. And so fears its end.’