The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  Yes, ran away.

  He was pleased that he had got over all that. Old history, and old history was old so it didn’t mean anything any more, because…well, because it was old. He had a new history, now. It had begun in the rubble beneath Y’Ghatan. Among these…animals. Still, there was Fiddler and Corabb knew he would follow his sergeant because the man was worth following. Not like some people.

  An army of fourteen seemed a little small, but it would have to do for now. He hoped, however, that somewhere ahead – further inland – they’d come to a desert. Too many trees in this wet, bad-smelling forest. And he’d like to get on a horse again, too. All this walking was, he was certain, unhealthy.

  As the squad left the glade, slipping into the deeper darkness beyond, he moved alongside Bottle, who glanced over and grimaced. ‘Here to protect me from bats, Corabb?’

  The warrior shrugged. ‘If they try attacking you I will kill them.’

  ‘Don’t you dare. I happen to like bats. I talk to them, in fact.’

  ‘The same as that rat and her pups you kept, right?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I was surprised, Bottle, that you left them to burn on the transports.’

  ‘I’d never do that. I shipped them onto the Froth Wolf. Some time ago, in fact—’

  ‘So you could spy on the Adjunct, yes.’

  ‘It was an act of mercy – the one ship I knew would be safe, you see—’

  ‘And so you could spy.’

  ‘All right, fine. So I could spy. Let’s move on to another subject. Did Leoman ever tell you about his bargain with the Queen of Dreams?’

  Corabb scowled. ‘I don’t like that subject. It’s old history, which means nobody talks about it any more.’

  ‘Fine, so why didn’t you go with him? I’m sure he offered.’

  ‘I will kill the next bat I see.’

  Someone hissed from up ahead: ‘Stop that jabbering, idiots!’

  Corabb wished he was riding a fine horse, across a sun-blistered desert – no-one could truly understand the magic wonder of water, unless they had spent time in a desert. Here, there was so much of it a man’s feet could rot off and that wasn’t right. ‘This land is mad,’ he muttered.

  Bottle grunted. ‘More like deathless. Layer on layer, ghosts tangled in every root, squirming restlessly under every stone. Owls can see them, you know. Poor things.’

  Another hiss from ahead of them.

  It started to rain.

  Even the sky holds water in contempt. Madness.

  Trantalo Kendar, youngest son among four brothers in a coastal clan of the Beneda Tiste Edur, rode with surprising grace, unmatched by any of his Edur companions, alas. He was the only one in his troop who actually liked horses. Trantalo had been a raw fifteen years of age at the conquest, unblooded, and the closest he had come to fighting had been as an apprentice to a distantly related aunt who had served as a healer in Hannan Mosag’s army.

  Under her bitter command, he had seen the terrible damage war did to otherwise healthy warriors. The ghastly wounds, the suppurating burns and limbs withered from Letherii sorcery. And, walking the fields of battle in search of the wounded, he had seen the same horrid destruction among dead and dying Letherii soldiers.

  Although young, something of the eagerness for battle had left him then, driving him apart from his friends. Too many spilled out intestines, too many crushed skulls, too many desperate pleas for help answered by naught but crows and gulls. He had bound countless wounds, had stared into the glazed eyes of warriors shocked by their own mortality, or, worse, despairing with the misery of lost limbs, scarred faces, lost futures.

  He did not count himself clever, nor in any other way exceptional – barring, perhaps, his talent for riding horses – but he now rode with eleven veteran Edur warriors, four of them Beneda, including the troop commander, Estav Kendar, Trantalo’s eldest brother. And he was proud to be at the column’s head, first down this coastal track that led to Boaral Keep, where, as he understood it, some sort of Letherii impropriety demanded Edur attention.

  This was as far south from Rennis as he had been since managing to flee his aunt’s clutches just inland of the city of Awl. Trantalo had not seen the walls of Letheras, nor the battlefields surrounding it, and for that he was glad, for he had heard that the sorcery in those final clashes had been the most horrifying of them all.

  Life in Rennis had been one of strange privilege. To be Tiste Edur alone seemed sufficient reason for both fear and respect among the subservient Letherii. He had exulted in the respect. The fear had dismayed him, but he was not so naive as not to understand that without that fear, there would be none of the respect that so pleased him. ‘The threat of reprisal,’ Estav had told him the first week of his arrival. ‘This is what keeps the pathetic creatures cowering. And there will be times, young brother, when we shall have to remind them – bloodily – of that threat.’

  Seeking to tug down his elation was the apprehension that this journey, down to this in-the-middle-of-nowhere keep, was just that – the delivery of reprisal. Blood-splashed adjudication. It was no wonder the Letherii strove to keep the Edur out of such disputes. We are not interested in niceties. Details bore us. And so swords will be drawn, probably this very night.

  Estav would make no special demands of him, he knew. It was enough that he rode point on the journey. Once at the keep, Trantalo suspected he would be stationed to guard the gate or some such thing. He was more than satisfied with that.

  The sun’s light was fast fading on the narrow track leading to the keep. They had a short time earlier left the main coastal road, and here on this lesser path the banks were steep, almost chest-high were one standing rather than riding, and braided with dangling roots. The trees pressed in close from both sides, branches almost entwining overhead. Rounding a twist in the trail, Trantalo caught first sight of the stockade, the rough boles – still bearing most of their bark – irregularly tilted and sunken. A half-dozen decrepit outbuildings crouched against a stand of alders and birch to the left and a flatbed wagon with a broken axle squatted in high grasses just to the right of the gate.

  Trantalo drew rein before the entrance. The gate was open. The single door, made of saplings and a Z-shaped frame of planks, had been pushed well to one side and left there, its base snarled with grasses. The warrior could see through to the compound beyond, oddly lifeless. Hearing his fellow Edur draw closer at the canter, he edged his horse forward until he made out the smoke-stained façade of the keep itself. No lights from any of the vertical slit windows. And the front door yawned wide.

  ‘Why do you hesitate, Trantalo?’ Estav inquired as he rode up.

  ‘Preda,’ Trantalo said, delighting, as ever, in these new Letherii titles, ‘the keep appears to be abandoned. Perhaps we have ridden to the wrong one—’

  ‘Boaral,’ affirmed a warrior behind Estav. ‘I’ve been here before.’

  ‘And is it always this quiet?’ Estav asked, one brow lifting in the way Trantalo knew so well.

  ‘Nearly,’ the warrior said, rising gingerly on the swivelling Letherii stirrups to look round. ‘There should be at least two torches, one planted above that wagon – then one in the courtyard itself.’

  ‘No guards?’

  ‘Should be at least one – could be he’s staggered off to the latrine trench—’

  ‘No,’ said Estav, ‘there’s no-one here.’ He worked his horse past Trantalo’s and rode through the gate.

  Trantalo followed.

  The two brothers approached the stepped front entrance to the keep.

  ‘Estav, something wet on those stairs.’

  ‘You’re right. Good eye, brother.’ The Beneda warrior dismounted with obvious relief, passing the reins over to Trantalo, then strode towards the steps. ‘Blood-trail.’

  ‘Perhaps a mutiny?’

  The other Edur had left their horses with one of their company and were now moving out across the courtyard to search the stables, smithy, coo
p and well-house.

  Estav stood at the base of the steps, eyes on the ground. ‘A body has been dragged outside,’ he said, tracking the blood-trail.

  Trantalo saw his brother’s head lift to face the stable. As it did Estav grunted suddenly, then abruptly sat down.

  ‘Estav?’

  Trantalo looked out to the courtyard, in time to see four warriors crumple. Sudden shouts from the three near the stables, as something like a rock sailed down into their midst.

  A flash of fire. A solid, cracking sound. The three were thrown onto their backs. As a small cloud bloomed, there was shrieking.

  Trantalo kicked his boots free of the stirrups, swung one leg over then dropped down into a crouch. His mouth was dry as tinder. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he felt half deafened by its drumbeat. Drawing his sword, he hurried over to his brother.

  ‘Estav?’

  Sitting, legs out before him in the careless manner of a child, hands resting on the muddy ground. Something was jutting from his chest. A hand’s length of a shaft, thicker than a normal arrow, the fletching curved fins of leather. Blood had poured down from Estav’s mouth, covering his chin and soaking into the front of his woollen cloak. His staring eyes did not blink.

  ‘Estav?’

  In the courtyard, the sharp clash of blades.

  Disbelieving, Trantalo dragged his eyes from his brother’s corpse. Two Edur warriors were attempting a fighting withdrawal, backing towards the uneasy horses that still stood five or so paces in from the gate. The Edur who had been left with them was on his hands and knees, crawling for the opening. There was something jutting from the side of his head.

  Difficult to make out who the attackers were in the darkness, but they were well armed and armoured, four in all, maintaining close contact with the last two Edur.

  Smudged movement behind them – Trantalo leapt to his feet, about to cry out a warning, when sudden fire filled his throat. Gagging, he lurched away and felt something cold slide out from the side of his neck. Blood gushed down, inside and out. Coughing, drowning, he fell to one knee, almost within reach of his brother. Blindness closing in, he lunged towards Estav, arms outstretched.

  Estav?

  He never made it.

  Managing a straight line, Hellian walked out from the stable. She was slightly shivering, now that the time of serious sweating had passed. Fighting always evened her out. She didn’t know why that was the case, but it was and all in all probably a good thing, too. ‘Someone light a damned lantern,’ she growled. ‘You, Maybe, put that sharper away – we got ’em all.’ She let out a loud sigh. ‘The big nasty enemy.’

  Drawing nearer the two Edur down in front of the keep, she waved her sword. ‘Tavos, check those two. It ain’t enough to stab ’im then just stand there looking down. Might be one last bite in ’im, you know.’

  ‘Both dead as my sex-life,’ Tavos Pond said. ‘Who sniped the first one, Sergeant? Damned fine shot.’

  ‘Lutes,’ she replied, now watching Urb lead the others on a walk-past of the Edur bodies in the courtyard. ‘Leaned the weapon on my back.’

  ‘Your back?’

  ‘I was throwing up, if it’s any of your business. Between heaves, he let go. Got him dead centre, didn’t he?’

  ‘Aye, Sergeant.’

  ‘And you didn’t want t’bring the rum. Well, that’s why I’m in charge and you’re not. Where’s my corporal?’

  ‘Here.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Gather up them horses – I don’t care what the Fist ordered, we’re going to ride.’

  At that Urb glanced over, then approached. ‘Hellian—’

  ‘Don’t even try to sweet-talk me. I almost remember what you did.’ She drew out her flask and drank down a mouthful. ‘So be careful, Urb. Now, everybody who loosed quarrels go find them and that means all of them!’ She looked back down at the two dead Edur by the entrance.

  ‘Think we’re the first to draw blood?’ Tavos Pond asked, crouching to clean the blade of his sword on the cloak of the older Edur.

  ‘Big fat war, Tavos Pond. That’s what we got ourselves here.’

  ‘They weren’t so hard, Sergeant.’

  ‘Wasn’t expecting nothing either, were they? You think we can just ambush our way all the way to Letheras? Think again.’ She drank a couple more mouthfuls, then sighed and glowered over at Urb. ‘How soon before they’re the ones doing the ambushin’? That’s why I mean for us to ride – we’re gonna stay ahead of the bad news ’s long as we can. That way we can be the bad news, right? The way it’s s’posed t’be.’

  Corporal Reem walked up to Urb. ‘Sergeant, we got us twelve horses.’

  ‘So we get one each,’ Hellian said. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘By my count,’ said Reem with narrowed eyes, ‘someone’s going to have to ride double.’

  ‘If you say so. Now, let’s get these bodies dragged away – they got any coin? Anybody checked?’

  ‘Some,’ said Maybe. ‘But mostly just polished stones.’

  ‘Polished stones?’

  ‘First I thought slingstones, but none of them’s carrying slings. So, aye, Sergeant. Polished stones.’

  Hellian turned away as the soldiers set off to dispose of the Edur corpses. Oponn’s pull, finding this keep, and finding nobody in it but one freshly dead Letherii in the hallway. Place had been cleaned out, although there’d been some foodstocks in the cold-rooms. Not a drop of wine or ale, the final proof, as far as she was concerned, that this foreign empire was a mess and useless besides and pretty much worth destroying down to its very last brick.

  Too bad they weren’t going to get a chance to do so.

  But then, it does a body good to misunderstand orders on occasion. So, let’s go hunting Edur heads. Hellian faced the courtyard again. Damn this darkness. Easy enough for the mages, maybe. And these grey-skins. ‘Urb,’ she said in a low voice.

  He edged closer, warily. ‘Hellian?’

  ‘We need us to arrange our ambushes for dusk and dawn.’

  ‘Aye. You’re right. You know, I’m glad our squads were paired up.’

  ‘Of course you are. You unnerstand me, Urb. You’re the only one who does, you know.’ She wiped her nose with the back of one hand. ‘It’s a sad thing, Urb. A sad thing.’

  ‘What? Killing these Tiste Edur?’

  She blinked at him. ‘No, you oaf. The fact that nobody else unnerstands me.’

  ‘Aye, Hellian. Tragic.’

  ‘That’s what Banaschar always said to me, no matter what I was talking about. He’d just look at me, like you did there, and say tragic. So what’s all that about?’ She shook the flask – still half full, but another mouthful means I’m running it down, so’s I’ll need to top it up. Gotta be measured about these things, in case something terrible happens and I can’t get a fast refill. ‘Come on, it’s time to ride.’

  ‘And if we run into a troop of Letherii?’

  Hellian frowned. ‘Then we do as Keneb told us. We talk to ’em.’

  ‘And if they don’t like what we say?’

  ‘Then we kill ’em, of course.’

  ‘And we’re riding for Letheras?’

  She smiled at Urb. Then tapped the side of her slightly numb head with one finger. ‘I memmored th’map – ized, memmized the map. There’s towns, Urb. An’ the closer we get t’Letheras, the more of them. Wha’s in towns, Urb? Taverns. Bars. So, we’re not takin’ a straight, pre-dic-table route.’

  ‘We’re invading Lether from tavern to tavern?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Hellian, I hate to say this, but that’s kind of clever.’

  ‘Aye. And that way we can eat real cooked food, too. It’s the civilized way of conductin’ war. Hellian’s way.’

  The bodies joined the lone Letherii in the latrine pit. Half naked, stripped of valuables, they were dumped down into the thick, turgid slop, which proved deeper than anyone had expected, as it swallowed up those corpses, leaving not a trace.

 
The Malazans threw the polished stones after them.

  Then rode off down the dark road.

  ‘That has the look of a way station,’ the captain said under her breath.

  Beak squinted, then said, ‘I smell horses, sir. That long building over there.’

  ‘Stables,’ Faradan Sort said, nodding. ‘Any Tiste Edur here?’

  Beak shook his head. ‘Deepest blue of Rashan – that’s their candle, mostly. Not as deep as Kurald Galain. They call it Kurald Emurlahn, but these ones here, well, there’s skuzzy foam on that blue, like what sits on waves outside a harbour. That’s chaotic power. Sick power. Power like pain if pain was good, maybe even strong. I don’t know. I don’t like these Edur here.’

  ‘They’re here?’

  ‘No. I meant this continent, sir. There’s just Letherii in there. Four. In that small house beside the road.’

  ‘No magic?’

  ‘Just some charms.’

  ‘I want to steal four horses, Beak. Can you cast a glamour on those Letherii?’

  ‘The Grey Candle, yes. But they’ll find out after we’ve gone.’

  ‘True. Any suggestions?’

  Beak was happy. He had never been so happy. This captain was asking him things. Asking for suggestions. Advice. And it wasn’t just for show neither. I’m in love with her. To her question he nodded, then tilted up his skullcap helm to scratch in his hair, and said, ‘Not the usual glamour, sir. Something lots more complicated. Finishing with the Orange Candle—’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Tellann.’

  ‘Is this going to be messy?’

  ‘Not if we take all the horses, Captain.’

  He watched her studying him, wondered what she saw. She wasn’t much for expressions on that hard but beautiful face. Not even her eyes showed much. He loved her, true, but he was also a little frightened of Faradan Sort.