The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  ‘You two!’ he said in a growl. ‘It’s time.’

  ‘Think I’ll sit beside the driver,’ Hedge said. ‘Captain, like the High Mage said, be sure you ride close. I knew how to get us here, but I ain’t got a clue what’s coming.’

  Nodding, Paran headed towards his horse, whilst Hedge clambered up the side of the carriage. The two Pardu women returned from their stations on the bridge and climbed up to take flanking positions on the roof, both checking their heavy crossbows and supply of broad-headed quarrels.

  Paran swung himself into the saddle.

  A shutter in the side door was opened and the captain could make out Karpolan’s round, shiny face. ‘We travel perilously fast, Ganoes Paran. If some transformation occurs on the horse you ride, consider abandoning it.’

  ‘And if some transformation besets me?’

  ‘Well, we shall do our best not to abandon you.’

  ‘That’s reassuring, Karpolan Demesand.’

  A brief smile, then the shutter snapped shut once more.

  Another weird cry from the driver and a snap of the traces. The horses lunged forward, carriage slewing straight behind them. Rolling forward. Onto the stone bridge.

  Paran rode up alongside it, opposite one of the shareholders. The man threw him a wild, half-mad grin, gloved hands gripping a massive Malazan-made crossbow.

  Climbing the slope, then into the mists.

  That closed like soft walls round them.

  A dozen heartbeats, then chaos. Ochre-skinned creatures swarmed in from both sides, as if they had been clinging beneath the bridge. Long arms, clawed at the ends, short, ape-like legs, small heads that seemed filled with fangs. They flung themselves at the carriage, seeking to drag off the shareholders.

  Screams, the thud of quarrels striking bodies, hissing pain from the creatures. Paran’s horse reared, forelegs kicking at a beast scrambling beneath it. Sword out, Paran slashed the blade into the back of the creature clinging and biting fierce chunks of meat from the nearest shareholder’s left thigh. He saw the flesh and muscle part, revealing ribs. Then blood sluiced out. Squealing, the beast fell away.

  More had reached the carriage, and Paran saw one shareholder torn from her perch, swearing as she was dragged down onto the stones, then vanishing beneath seething, smooth-skinned bodies.

  The captain swung his horse round and closed on the writhing mass.

  No skill involved – it was simply lean down and hack and slash, until the last bleeding body fell away.

  The woman lying on the bloody stones looked as though she had been chewed by a shark, then spat out. Yet she lived. Paran sheathed his sword, dismounted and threw the dazed, bleeding woman over a shoulder.

  Heavier than she’d looked. He managed to settle her down over the back of his horse, then vaulted once more into the saddle.

  The carriage already vanishing into the mists, ochre bodies tumbling from it. The back wheels both rose and thumped as they rolled over flopping corpses.

  And between Paran and the carriage, half a hundred or more of the creatures, now wheeling towards him, claws raised and clicking. He drew out his sword again, and drove his heels into the horse’s flanks. The animal voiced an indignant grunt, then charged forward. Legs and chest battering bodies aside, Paran slashing right and left, seeing limbs lopped off, skulls opened wide. Hands closed on the shareholder and sought to pull her off. Twisting round, Paran cut at them until they fell away.

  A beast landed in his lap.

  Hot breath, smelling distinctly of over-ripe peaches. Hinged fangs spreading wide – the damned thing was moments from biting off Paran’s face.

  He head-butted it, the rim of his helm smashing nose and teeth, blood gushing into Paran’s eyes, nose and mouth.

  The creature reeled back.

  Paran swung his weapon from above, hammering the sword’s pommel into the top of the creature’s skull. Punching through with twin sprays of blood from its tiny ears. Tugging his weapon free, he shoved the dead beast to the side.

  His horse was still pushing forward, squealing as talons and fangs slashed its neck and chest. Paran leant over his mount’s neck, flailing with his sword in its defence.

  Then they were through, the horse lunging into a canter, then a gallop. All at once, the carriage’s battered, swaying and pitching back reared up before them. Free of attackers. Paran dragged on his reins until the horse slowed, and came up alongside. He gestured at the nearest shareholder. ‘She’s still alive – take her—’

  ‘Is she now?’ the man replied, then turned his head and spat out a gleaming red stream.

  Paran now saw that blood was spurting from the ragged holes in the man’s left leg, and those spurts were slowing down. ‘You need a healer and fast—’

  ‘Too late,’ the man replied, leaning out to drag the unconscious woman from the back of Paran’s horse. More hands reached down from above and took her weight, then pulled her upwards. The dying shareholder sagged back against the carriage, then gave Paran a red-stained smile. ‘The spike,’ he said. ‘Doubles my worth – hope the damned wife’s grateful.’ As he spoke he fumbled with the harness buckle, then finally pulled it loose. With a final nod at Paran, he let go, and fell.

  A tumble and a roll, then…nothing.

  Paran looked back, stared at the motionless body on the bridge. Beasts were swarming towards it. Gods, these people have all lost their minds.

  ‘Stebar’s earned the spike!’ someone said from the carriage roof. ‘Who’s got one of his chips?’

  Another voice said, ‘Here, down the slot – how bad is Thyrss?’

  ‘She’ll make it, poor girl, ain’t gonna be pretty no more.’

  ‘Knowing her, she’d have been happier with the spike—’

  ‘Not a chance, got no kin, Ephras. What’s the point of a spike with no kin?’

  ‘Funny man, Yorad, and I bet you don’t even know it.’

  ‘What did I say now?’

  The carriage’s wild careening had slowed as more and more detritus appeared on the bridge’s road. Pieces of corroding armour, broken weapons, bundles of nondescript clothing.

  Looking down, Paran saw a slab of wood that looked to have once been a Troughs game-board, now splintered and gnawed down one side as if some creature had tried to eat it. So, here in this deathly underworld, there are things that still need food. Meaning, they’re alive. Meaning, I suppose, they don’t belong. Intruders, like us. He wondered at all those other visitors to this realm, those who’d fallen to the horde of ochre-hued beast-men. How had they come to be here? An accident, or, like Paran, seeking to cross this damned bridge for a reason?

  ‘Hedge!’

  The ghost, perched beside the driver, leaned forward. ‘Captain?’

  ‘This realm – how did you know of it?’

  ‘Well, you came to us, didn’t you? Figured you was the one who knew about it.’

  ‘That makes no sense. You led, I followed, remember?’

  ‘You wanted to go where the ancient things went, so here we are.’

  ‘But where is here?’

  Shrugging, the sapper leaned back.

  It was the one bad thing about following gut-feelings, Paran reflected. Where they came from and what fed them was anybody’s guess.

  After perhaps a third of a league, the slope still perceptibly climbing, the road’s surface cleared, and although the mists remained thick, they seemed to have lightened around them, as if some hidden sun of white fire had lifted clear of the horizon. Assuming there was such a horizon. Not every warren played by the same rules, Paran knew.

  The driver cursed suddenly and sawed back on the traces, one foot pushing the brake lever. Paran reined in alongside as the train lurched to a halt.

  Wreckage ahead, a single, large heap surrounded by scattered pieces.

  A carriage.

  Everyone was silent for a moment, then Karpolan Demesand’s voice emerged from a speak-tube near the roof. ‘Nisstar, Artara, if you will, examine yon barri
cade.’

  Paran dismounted, his sword still out, and joined the two Pardu women as they crept cautiously towards the destroyed carriage.

  ‘That’s Trygalle Trade Guild,’ Paran said in low tones, ‘isn’t it?’

  ‘Shhh.’

  They reached the scene. Paran held back as the shareholders, exchanging gestures, each went to one side, crossbows held at the ready. In moments, they moved out of his line of sight.

  The carriage was lying on its side, the roof facing Paran. One back wheel was missing. The copper sheets of the roof looked battered, peeled away in places, cut and gouged in others. On two of the visible iron attachment loops, strips of leather remained.

  One of the Pardu women appeared on top, perching on the frame of the side door, then crouching to look straight down, inside the carriage. A moment later, she disappeared inside. The other shareholder came from around the wreck. Paran studied her. Her nose had been shattered, not long ago, he judged, as the remnant of bruises marred the area beneath her eyes with faint crescents. The eyes above those bruises were now filled with fear.

  Behind them, Karpolan Demesand emerged and, the Jaghut at his side and Hedge trailing, they slowly approached.

  Paran turned, studied the pale, expressionless visage of the High Mage. ‘Do you recognize this particular carriage, Karpolan?’

  A nod. ‘Trade Mistress Darpareth Vayd. Missing, with all her shareholders, for two years. Ganoes Paran, I must think on this, for she was my superior in the sorcerous arts. I am deeply saddened by this discovery, for she was my friend. Saddened, and alarmed.’

  ‘Do you recall the details of her last mission?’

  ‘Ah, a prescient question. Generally,’ he paused, folding his hands on his lap, ‘such details remain the property of the Trygalle Trade Guild, for as you must realize, confidentiality is a quality our clients pay for, in fullest trust that we reveal nothing. In this instance, however, two things are clear that mitigate such secrecy. One: it seems, if we continue on, we shall face what Darpareth faced. Two: in this, her last mission, she failed. And presumably, we do not wish to share her fate. Accordingly, we shall here and now pool our talents, first, to determine what destroyed her mission, and secondly, to effect a reasonable defence against the enemy responsible.’

  The other Pardu clambered once more into view. Seeing Karpolan she paused, then shook her head.

  ‘No bodies,’ Paran said. ‘Of course, those hungry beasts we ran into may well have cleaned up afterwards—’

  ‘I think not,’ said Ganath. ‘I suspect they too fear what lies ahead, and would not venture this far along the bridge. In any case, the damage on that carriage came from something far larger, stronger. If this bridge has a true guardian, then I suspect these poor travellers met it.’

  Paran frowned. ‘Guardian. Why would there be a guardian? That kind of stuff belongs to fairy tales. How often does someone or something try to cross this bridge? It’s got to be rare, meaning there’s some guardian with a lot of spare time on its hands. Why not just wander off? Unless the thing has no brain at all, such a geas would drive it mad—’

  ‘Mad enough to tear apart whatever shows up,’ Hedge said.

  ‘More like desperate for a scratch behind the ear,’ Paran retorted. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Creatures need to eat, need company—’

  ‘And if the guardian has a master?’ Ganath asked.

  ‘This isn’t a Hold,’ Paran said. ‘It has no ruler, no master.’

  Karpolan grunted, then said, ‘You are sure of this, Ganoes Paran?’

  ‘I am. More or less. This realm is buried, forgotten.’

  ‘It may be, then,’ Karpolan mused, ‘that someone needs to inform the guardian that such is the case – that its task is no longer relevant. In other words, we must release it from its geas.’

  ‘Assuming such a guardian exists,’ Paran said, ‘rather than some chance meeting of two forces, both heading the same way.’

  The Trygalle master’s small eyes narrowed. ‘You know more of this, Ganoes Paran?’

  ‘What was Darpareth Vayd’s mission here?’

  ‘Ah, we are to exchange secrets, then. Very well. As I recall, the client was from Darujhistan. Specifically, the House of Orr. The contact was a woman, niece of the late Turban Orr. Lady Sedara.’

  ‘And the mission?’

  ‘It seems this realm is home to numerous entities, powers long forgotten, buried in antiquity. The mission involved an assay of such creatures. Since Lady Sedara was accompanying the mission, no other details were available. Presumably, she knew what she was looking for. Now, Ganoes Paran, it is your turn.’

  His frown deepening, Paran walked closer to the destroyed carriage. He studied the tears and gouges in the copper sheathing on the roof. ‘I’d always wondered where they went,’ he said, ‘and, eventually, I realized where they were going.’ He faced Karpolan Demesand. ‘I don’t think there’s a guardian here. I think the travellers met on this bridge, all headed the same way, and the misfortune was with Darpareth and Sedara Orr. This carriage was destroyed by two Hounds of Shadow.’

  ‘You are certain?’

  I am. I can smell them. My…kin. ‘We’ll need to get this moved to one side, over the edge, I suppose.’

  ‘One question,’ Karpolan Demesand said. ‘What happened to the bodies?’

  ‘Hounds are in the habit of dragging and throwing their victims. Occasionally, they feed, but for the most part they take pleasure in the killing – and they would, at that time, have been both enraged and exuberant. For they had just been freed from Dragnipur, the sword of Anomander Rake.’

  ‘Impossible,’ the High Mage snapped.

  ‘No, just exceedingly difficult.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Karpolan demanded.

  ‘Because I freed them.’

  ‘Then…you are responsible for this.’

  Paran faced the huge man, his now hard, dangerous eyes. ‘Much to my regret. You see, they should never have been there in the first place. In Dragnipur. I shouldn’t have been, either. And, at the time, I didn’t know where they would escape to, or even that they would escape at all. It looked, in fact, as though I’d sent them to oblivion – to the Abyss itself. As it turned out,’ he added as he faced the wreckage once more, ‘I needed them to do precisely this – I needed them to blaze the trail. Of course, it would have been better if they’d met no-one on the way. It’s easy to forget just how nasty they are…

  Karpolan Demesand turned to his shareholders. ‘Down, all of you! We must clear the road!’

  ‘Captain,’ Hedge muttered, ‘you’re really starting to make me nervous.’

  The wreckage groaned, then slid over the edge, vanishing into the mists. The shareholders, gathered at the side of the bridge, all waited for a sound from below, but there was none. At a command from Karpolan, they returned to their positions on the Trygalle carriage.

  It seemed the High Mage was in no mood to conduct idle conversation with Paran, and he caught the Jaghut sorceress eyeing him sidelong a moment before she climbed into the carriage. He sighed. Delivering unpleasant news usually did this – he suspected if trouble arrived there wouldn’t be many helping hands reaching down for him. He climbed into the saddle once more and gathered the reins.

  They resumed their journey. Eventually, they began on the downslope – the bridge was at least a league long. There was no way to tell, unless one sought to climb beneath the span, whether pillars or buttressing held up this massive edifice; or if it simply hung, suspended and unanchored, above a vast expanse of nothing.

  Ahead, something took shape in the mists, and as they drew closer, they could make out a vast gateway that marked the bridge’s end, the flanking uprights thick at the base and tapering as they angled inward to take – precariously, it seemed – the weight of a huge lintel stone. The entire structure was covered with moss.

  Karpolan halted the carriage in front of it and, as was his custom, sent the two Pardu shareholders through th
at gateway. When nothing untoward happened to them and they returned to report that the way beyond was clear – as much as they could make out, anyway – the carriage was driven through.

  Only to halt just beyond, as the lead horses splashed into the silty water of a lake or sea.

  Paran rode his horse down to the water’s edge. Frowning, he looked right, then left, eyes tracking the shoreline.

  From the carriage, Hedge spoke: ‘Something wrong, Captain?’

  ‘Yes. This lake is what’s wrong.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s not supposed to be here.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Dismounting, Paran crouched by the water. No waves – perfect calm. He cupped his hand and dipped it into the cool, silty liquid. Raised it up, sniffed. ‘Smells like rot. This is flood water—’

  He was interrupted by an eerie, wailing cry, coming from somewhere downshore.

  ‘Hood’s breath!’ Hedge hissed. ‘The lungs that punched that out are huge.’

  Straightening, Paran squinted into the vague mists where it seemed the sound had come from. Then he pulled himself into the saddle once more. ‘I think I was wrong about there being no guardian,’ he said.

  Dull thunder, rising up from the ground beneath them. Whatever it was was on its way. ‘Let’s get going,’ Paran said. ‘Up the shoreline, and fast.’

  Chapter Eleven

  My faith in the gods is this: they are indifferent to my suffering.

  Tomlos, Destriant of Fener

  ?827 Burn’s Sleep

  His hands reached into another world. In, then out, in, then out again. Taking, giving – Heboric could not tell which, if either. Perhaps nothing more than the way a tongue worried a loose tooth, the unceasing probing that triggered stabs of confirmation that things still weren’t quite right. He reached in, and touched something, the impulsive gesture bitter as benediction, as if he could not help but repeat, endlessly, a mocking healer’s touch.

  To the souls lost in the shattered pieces of jade giants, Heboric offered only lies. Oh, his touch told them of his presence, his attention, and they in turn were reminded of the true lives they once possessed, but what sort of gift could such knowledge provide? He voiced no promises, yet they believed in him nonetheless, and this was worse than torture, for both him and them.