The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  The Preda seemed to stagger, then he straightened, and screamed orders – the same phrase repeated, again and again, as he lurched drunkenly towards his warlocks.

  They collapsed, flung to the deck as if knocked down one after another by a giant’s blows, then they lay writhing, mouths foaming, liquids spilling from them—

  As the looming, roaring grey wall seemed to implode, tendrils whipping off to vanish in the air or strike the now churning surface of the sea, sending gouts skyward that shot into view from clouds of billowing steam. The roaring sound shattered, fell away.

  The sorcery collapsed, the chains linking wielders on each ship flickering out, or breaking explosively as if they were in truth links of iron.

  The deck pitched drunkenly beneath them, and all but Karsa Orlong staggered.

  Samar Dev dragged her eyes away from him and looked out once more upon that dark, earthen wall of magic – it too was subsiding – yes, maybe these Edur fools feel no compunction about unleashing such things when unopposed…but the same stupidity cannot be said of you, Malazan, whoever you are.

  Hanradi Khalag, ignoring the warlocks thrashing about in their own filth, was calling out commands, and Letherii sailors – white-faced and chanting prayers – scrambled to bring the ship about, eastward.

  We’re withdrawing. The Malazan called their bluff. He faced them down – oh, wizard, I could kiss you – I could do more than that. Gods, I’d—

  ‘What are the Edur saying?’ Karsa Orlong demanded.

  The Taxilian, frowning, shrugged, then said, ‘They’re disbelieving—’

  ‘Disbelieving?’ Samar Dev croaked. ‘They’re shaken, Taxilian. Badly.’

  The man nodded, glancing over at Feather Witch, who was watching all three of them. ‘Toblakai, the Edur are saying that these Malazans – they have a Ceda on board.’

  Karsa scowled. ‘I do not know that word.’

  ‘I do,’ Samar Dev said. She smiled as a sudden shaft of sunlight broke through the tumult overhead and bathed her face with unexpected warmth. ‘Tell them, Taxilian, that they are right. They do. A Ceda. The Malazans have a Ceda, and for all the Edur expected from this day, in their arrogance, these Malazans were not afraid. Tell them that, Taxilian. Tell them!’

  Kalam knelt beside Quick Ben, studied the man’s face for a moment, the slack expression, the closed eyes. Then he slapped the wizard. Hard.

  Quick Ben swore, then glared up at the assassin. ‘I should crush you like a bug, Kalam.’

  ‘Right now, I think,’ he rumbled in reply, ‘a bug’s fart might blow you right off this ship, Quick.’

  ‘Be quiet. Can’t I just lie here for a while longer?’

  ‘The Adjunct’s coming. Slowly, I’ll grant you. Idiot, you gave too much away—’

  ‘Enough, Kalam. I need to think, and think hard.’

  ‘Since when did you play with Elder magic?’

  Quick Ben met Kalam’s eyes. ‘When? Never, you idiot.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That was a Hood-damned illusion. Thank the gods cowering in their outhouses right now that the idiots swallowed the hook – but listen, it wasn’t just that. I had help. And then I had help!’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know! Let me think!’

  ‘No time for that,’ Kalam said, sitting back, ‘the Adjunct’s here.’

  Quick Ben’s hand snapped up and grasped Kalam’s shirt, tugged him close. ‘Gods, friend,’ he whispered, ‘I’ve never been so scared in my entire life! Don’t you see? It started out as an illusion. Yes, but then—’

  The Adjunct’s voice: ‘High Mage, you and I must talk.’

  ‘It wasn’t—’

  ‘Ben Adaephon Delat, you and I will talk. Now.’

  Straightening, Kalam backed away, then halted at a gesture from Tavore.

  ‘Oh no, assassin. You as well.’

  Kalam hesitated, then said, ‘Adjunct, this conversation you propose…it cannot be one-sided.’

  She frowned, then, slowly, nodded.

  Fiddler stood next to Bottle where he lay on the deck. ‘You, soldier.’

  The man’s eyes were closed, and at Fiddler’s words the eyes scrunched tight. ‘Not now, Sergeant. Please.’

  ‘Soldier,’ Fiddler repeated, ‘you have, uh, made something of a mess of yourself. You know, around your crotch.’

  Bottle groaned.

  Fiddler glanced over at the others of the squad. Still busy with themselves for the moment. Good. He crouched down. ‘Dammit, Bottle, crawl off and get yourself cleaned up – if the others see this – but hold on, I need to know something. I need to know what you found so exciting about all that?’

  Bottle rolled onto his side. ‘You don’t understand,’ he mumbled. ‘She likes doing that. When she gets the chance. I don’t know why. I don’t know.’

  ‘She? Who? Nobody’s been near you, Bottle!’

  ‘She plays with me. With…it.’

  ‘Somebody sure does,’ Fiddler said. ‘Now get below and clean yourself up. Smiles sees this and you’re looking at a life of torment.’

  The sergeant watched the man crawl away. Excited. Here we were, about to get annihilated. Every damned one of us. And he fantasizes about some old sweetheart.

  Hood’s breath.

  Taralack Veed studied the confusion on the deck for a time, frowning as he watched the commander, Tomad Sengar, pacing back and forth whilst Edur warriors came and went with messages somehow signalled across from the seemingly countless other Edur ships. Something had struck Tomad Sengar an almost physical blow – not the ritual sorcery that had challenged their own, but some news that arrived a short time later, as the Malazan fleet worked to extricate itself from the encirclement. Ships were passing within a quarrel’s flight of each other, faces turned and staring across the gap, something like relief connecting that regard – Taralack had even seen a Malazan soldier wave. Before a fellow soldier had batted the man in the side of the head with a fist.

  Meanwhile, the two Edur fleets were conjoining into one – no simple task, given the unsettled waters and the vast number of craft involved, and the fading light as the day waned.

  And, there in the face of Tomad Sengar, the admiral of this massive floating army, the haunting that could only come with news of a very personal tragedy. A loss, a terrible loss. Curious indeed.

  The air hung close about the ship, still befouled with Elder sorcery. These Edur were abominations, to so flagrantly unleash such power. Thinking they would wield it as if it were a weapon of cold, indifferent iron. But with Elder powers – with chaos – it was those powers that did the wielding.

  And the Malazans had answered in kind. A stunning revelation, a most unexpected unveiling of arcane knowledge. Yet, if anything, the power of the Malazan ritual surpassed that of the scores of Edur warlocks. Extraordinary. Had not Taralack Veed witnessed it with his own eyes, he would have considered such ability in the hands of the Malazan Empire simply unbelievable. Else, why had they never before exploited it?

  Ah, a moment’s thought and he had the answer to that. The Malazans might be bloodthirsty tyrants, but they are not insane. They understand caution. Restraint.

  These Tiste Edur, unfortunately, do not.

  Unfortunate, that is, for them.

  He saw Twilight, the Atri-Preda, moving among her Letherii soldiers, voicing a calming word or two, the occasional low-toned command, and it seemed the distraught eddies calmed in her wake.

  The Gral headed over.

  She met his eyes and greeted him with a faint nod.

  ‘How fares your companion below?’ she asked, and Taralack was impressed by her growing facility with the language.

  ‘He eats. His fortitude returns, Atri-Preda. But, as to this day and its strange events, he is indifferent.’

  ‘He will be tested soon.’

  Taralack shrugged. ‘This does not concern him. What assails Tomad Sengar?’ he asked under his breath, stepping closer as he did so.

>   She hesitated for a long moment, then said, ‘Word has come that among the Malazan fleet was a craft that had been captured, some time back and an ocean away, by the Edur. And that ship was gifted to one of Tomad’s sons to command – a journey into the Nascent, a mission the nature of which Emperor Rhulad would not be told.’

  ‘Tomad now believes that son is dead.’

  ‘There can be no other possibility. And in losing one son, he in truth has lost two.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She glanced at him, then shook her head. ‘It is no matter. But what has been born in Tomad Sengar this day, Taralack Veed, is a consuming hatred. For these Malazans.’

  The Gral shrugged. ‘They have faced many enemies in their day, Atri-Preda. Caladan Brood, Sorrel Tawrith, K’azz D’Avore, Anomander Rake—’

  At the last name Twilight’s eyes widened, and as she was about to speak her gaze shifted fractionally, to just past Taralack Veed’s left shoulder. A male voice spoke from behind him.

  ‘That is impossible.’

  The Gral stepped to one side to take in the newcomer.

  An Edur.

  ‘This one is named Ahlrada Ahn,’ Twilight said, and he sensed some hidden knowledge between the two in her voicing of the Edur’s name. ‘Like me, he has learned your language – swifter than I.’

  ‘Anomander Rake,’ the Edur said, ‘the Black Winged Lord, dwells at the Gates of Darkness.’

  ‘The last I heard,’ Taralack Veed said, ‘he dwelt in a floating fortress called Moon’s Spawn. He fought a sorcerous battle with the Malazans on a distant continent, above a city named Pale. And Anomander Rake was defeated. But not killed.’

  Shock and disbelief warred on the Edur warrior’s weathered, lined visage. ‘You must tell me more of this. The one you call Anomander Rake, how is he described?’

  ‘I know little of that. Tall, black-skinned, silver hair. He carries a cursed two-handed sword. Are these details accurate? I know not…but I see by the look in your eyes, Ahlrada Ahn, that they must be.’ Taralack paused, considering how much he should reveal – his next statement would involve arcane knowledge – information not known by many. Still…let us see how this plays out. His shifted his language, to that of the Letherii, and said, ‘Anomander Rake is Tiste Andii. Not Edur. Yet, by your reaction, warrior, I might think that, as with Tomad Sengar, you are wounded by some manner of unwelcome revelation.’

  A sudden skittish look in the warrior’s eyes. He glanced at Twilight, then pivoted about and strode away.

  ‘There are matters,’ the Atri-Preda said to Taralack Veed, ‘that you are unaware of, and it is best that it remain so. Ignorance protects you. It was not wise,’ she added, ‘that you revealed your facility with the Letherii language.’

  ‘I believe,’ the Gral replied, ‘that Ahlrada Ahn will prove disinclined to report our conversation to anyone.’ He met her eyes then, and smiled. ‘As will you, Atri-Preda.’

  ‘You are careless, Taralack Veed.’

  He spat on his hands and swept them through his hair, wondering again at her sudden look of distaste. ‘Tell Tomad Sengar this, Atri-Preda. It is he who risks much, with his demand that Icarium’s prowess be tested.’

  ‘You seem so certain,’ she said.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘That your companion represents the most formidable threat Emperor Rhulad has ever faced. Alas, as has invariably proved the case, all others who believed the same are now dead. And, Taralack Veed, there have been so many. Tomad Sengar must know for certain. He must be made to believe, before he will guide your friend to stand before his son.’

  ‘His son?’

  ‘Yes. Emperor Rhulad is Tomad Sengar’s youngest son. Indeed, now, the only son he has left. The other three are gone, or dead. Likely they are all dead.’

  ‘Then it strikes me,’ the Gral said, ‘that what Tomad seeks to measure is not Icarium’s prowess, but his lack thereof. After all, what father would wish death upon his last surviving son?’

  In answer, Twilight simply stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned away.

  Leaving Taralack Veed alone, a frown growing ever more troubled on his face.

  Sergeant Hellian had found a supply of sailor’s rum and now walked round the decks, a benign smile on her face. Not half a bell earlier, she’d been singing some Kartoolian death dirge as the very Abyss was being unleashed in the skies overhead.

  Masan Gilani, her armour off once more and a heavy woollen cloak wrapped about her against the chill wind, sat among a handful of other soldiers, more or less out of the way of the sailors. The enemy fleet was somewhere to the south now, lost in the deepening dusk, and good riddance to them.

  We’ve got us a High Mage now. A real one. That Quick Ben, he was a Bridgeburner, after all. A real High Mage, who just saved all our skins. That’s good.

  A new badge adorned her cloak, in silver, crimson and gold thread – she was quite proud of her handiwork. The Bonehunters. Yes, I can live with that name. True, it wasn’t as poignant as Bridgeburners. In fact, its meaning was a little bit obscure, but that was fine, since, thus far, the Fourteenth’s history was equally obscure. Or at least muddied up enough to make things confused and uncertain.

  Like where we’re going. What’s next? Why has the Empress recalled us? It’s not as if Seven Cities don’t need rebuilding, or Malazans filling all those empty garrisons. Then again, the plague now held the land by the throat and was still choking the life from it.

  But we got us a High Mage.

  The young girl, Sinn, crawled near, shivering in the chill, and Masan Gilani opened one side of her cloak. Sinn slipped within that enveloping embrace, snuggled closer then settled her head on Masan’s chest.

  Nearby, Sergeant Cord was still cursing at Crump, who had stupidly waved at one of the passing enemy ships, just after the battle that wasn’t. Crump had been the one who’d messed things badly at the wall of Y’Ghatan, she recalled. The one who ran with his knees up to either side of his big ears. And who was now listening to his sergeant with a broad, mindless smile, his expression twitching to sheer delight every time Cord’s tirade reached new heights of imagination.

  If all of that went on much longer, Masan Gilani suspected, the sergeant might well launch himself at Crump, hands closing on that long, scrawny neck with its bobbing fist-sized apple. Just to strangle that smile from the fool’s horsey face.

  Sinn’s small hand began playing with one of Masan’s breasts, the index finger circling the nipple.

  What kind of company has this imp been keeping? She gently pushed the hand away, but it came back. Fine. What of it, but damn, that’s one cold hand she’s got there.

  ‘All dead,’ Sinn murmured.

  ‘What? Who’s all dead, girl?’

  ‘They’re all dead – you like this? I think you like this.’

  ‘Your finger is cold. Who is all dead?’

  ‘Big.’

  The finger went away, was replaced by a warm, wet mouth. A dancing tongue.

  Hood’s breath! Well, I can think of worse ways to end this terrifying day.

  ‘Is that my sister hiding in there?’

  Masan Gilani looked up at Corporal Shard. ‘Yes.’

  A slightly pained expression on his face. ‘She won’t tell me…what happened at the estate. What happened…to her.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Yours isn’t the first cloak of the night she’s crawled under, Masan Gilani. Though you’re the first woman.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘I want to know what happened. You understand that? I need to know.’

  Masan Gilani nodded.

  ‘I can see how it is,’ Shard went on, looking away and rubbing at his face. ‘We all cope in our own ways…’

  ‘But you’re her brother,’ she said, still nodding. ‘And you’ve been following her around. To make sure nobody does anything with her they shouldn’t do.’

  His sigh was heavy. ‘Thanks, Masan Gilani. I wasn’t really worried about you—’ />
  ‘I doubt you’d need worry about any of us,’ she replied. ‘Not the squads here.’

  ‘You know,’ he said, and she saw tears trickle down his cheeks, ‘that’s what’s surprised me. Here, with these people – all of us, who came out from under the city – they’ve all said the same thing as you just did.’

  ‘Shard,’ she said gently, ‘you still Ashok Regiment? You and the rest?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. We’re Bonehunters now.’

  That’s good. ‘I got some extra thread,’ she noted. ‘Might be I could borrow your cloaks…on a warm day…’

  ‘You’ve got a good hand, Masan Gilani. I’ll tell the others, if that’s okay.’

  ‘It is. Not much else for us to do now anyway, on these bloated hippos.’

  ‘Still, I appreciate it. I mean, everything, that is.’

  ‘Go get some sleep, Corporal. From your sister’s breathing, that’s what she’s doing right now.’

  Nodding, he moved away.

  And if some soldier who doesn’t get it tries to take advantage of this broken thing, all forty-odd of us will skin him or her alive. Add one more. Faradan Sort.

  Four children scrambled across the deck, one squealing with laughter. Tucked in Masan Gilani’s arms, Sinn stirred slightly, then settled in once more, her mouth planted firm on the woman’s nipple. The Dal Honese woman stared after the children, pleased to see that they’d recovered from the march, that they’d begun their own healing. We all cope in our own ways, aye.

  So who was Sinn seeing, when she said that they were all dead?

  Gods below, I don’t think I want to know. Not tonight, anyway. Let her sleep. Let those others play, then curl up beneath blankets somewhere below. Let us all sleep to this beast’s swaying. Quick Ben’s gift to us, all of this.

  Brother and sister stood at the prow, wrapped against the chill, and watched as stars filled the darkness of the north sky. Creaking cordage, the strain of sails canted over as the ship made yet another tack. Westward, a ridge of mountains blacker than the heavens marked the Olphara Peninsula.