The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  And Quick Ben means to stand in his path.

  Errant’s mangled nuts, I only joined because I’m lusting after Brys Beddict. Me and a thousand other women.

  Quick Ben said, ‘Atri-Ceda, your commander, Brys—’

  She started guiltily. Had he read her thoughts?

  ‘He died once, didn’t he?’

  ‘What? Yes, so it is said. I mean, yes, he did.’

  The High Mage nodded. ‘Best go see him, then—he may have need of you right now.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because Hood is gone,’ said Bottle.

  ‘What does that mean to Commander Beddict?’ she asked.

  She saw Bottle meet Quick Ben’s eyes, and then the soldier nodded and said, ‘The dead never quite come back all the way, Aranict. Not while there was a god of death. It may be that Brys is now . . . awakened. To everything he once was. He will have things to say to his Atri-Ceda.’

  ‘We’ll see you again,’ Quick Ben added. ‘Or not.’

  They dismiss me. Oh well. She turned and exited the tent. Paused in the sultry darkness of the camp. Drew deep on her smoker, and then set out for the distant Letherii encampment.

  Brys wants me. What a lovely thought.

  Smiles threw herself down by the fire. ‘Stupid patrols,’ she said. ‘There’s no one out there. Those Akryn traders—all creaking old or snot-nosed runts.’ She glanced at the others sitting round the hearth. ‘See that village we passed yesterday? Looked half empty.’

  ‘No warriors,’ said Cuttle. ‘All off fighting the White Faces. The Akryn can’t maintain control of this Kryn Free Trade right now, which also explains all those D’ras traders coming up from the south.’

  Tarr grunted. ‘Heard from some outriders about a Barghast camp they came on—site of a big battle, and looks like the White Faces got bloodied. Might be they’re on the run just like the Akryn are saying.’

  ‘Hard to believe that,’ Cuttle countered. ‘I’ve fought Barghast and it’s no fun at all, and the White Faces are said to be the toughest of the lot.’

  Smiles unstrapped her helm and pulled it off. ‘Where’s Koryk then?’ she asked.

  ‘Wandered off,’ Tarr answered, tossing another dung chip on to the fire. ‘Again,’ he added.

  Smiles hissed. ‘That fever, it marked him. In the head.’

  ‘Just needs a good scrap,’ Cuttle ventured. ‘That’ll settle him right enough.’

  ‘Could be a long wait,’ Tarr said. ‘We’ve got weeks and weeks of travel ahead of us, through mostly empty territory. Aye, we’re covering ground awfully fast, but once we’re done with the territories of these plains tribes, it’ll be the Wastelands. No one can even agree how far across it is, or what’s on the other end.’ He shrugged. ‘An army’s deadliest enemy is boredom, and we’re under siege these days.’

  ‘Corabb not back yet?’ Smiles shook her head. ‘He had two heavies with him on the round. They might’ve got lost.’

  ‘Someone will find ’em,’ Cuttle said, climbing to his feet. ‘I’ll check in on the sergeant again.’

  Smiles watched him step out of the firelight. She sighed. ‘Ain’t had me a knife fight in months. That stay in Letheras made us soft, and them barges was even worse.’ She stretched her boots closer to the fire. ‘I don’t mind the marching, now the blisters are gone. At least we’re squads again.’

  ‘We need us a new scam,’ Tarr said. ‘You see any scorpions?’

  ‘Sure, plenty,’ Smile replied, ‘but only two kinds. The little nasty ones and the big black ones. Besides, we try that again and people will get suspicious—even if we could find a good cheat.’ She mulled on the notion for a time, and then shook her head. ‘It’s no good, Tarr. The mood’s all wrong.’

  He squinted across at her. ‘Sharp. You’re right. It’s like we’re past all that, and it’ll never come again. Amazing, that I should feel nostalgic about Seven Cities and that miserable, useless march. We were raw, aye, but what we were trying to do, it made sense. That’s the difference. It made sense.’

  Smiles snorted. ‘Hood’s breath, Tarr.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cuttle’s right. None of it made sense. Never did, never will. Look at us. We march around and cut up other people, and they do the same to us—if they can. Look at Lether—aye, it’s now got a decent King and people can breathe easy and go about their lives—but what’s in those lives? Scraping for the next bag of coins, the next meal. Scrubbing bowls, praying to the damned gods for the next catch and calm seas. It ain’t for nothing, Tarr, and that’s the truth. It ain’t for nothing.’

  ‘That fishing village you come from was a real hole, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Leave it.’

  ‘I didn’t bring it up, soldier. You did.’

  ‘It was no different from anywhere else, that’s my point. I bet you wasn’t sorry to get out from wherever you come from, either. If it was all you wanted, you wouldn’t be here, would you?’

  ‘Some people don’t go through their lives searching, Smiles. I’m not looking, because I’m not expecting to find anything. You want meaning? Make it up. You want truth? Invent it. Makes no difference, to anything. Sun comes up, sun goes down. We see one, maybe we don’t see the other, but the sun doesn’t care, does it?’

  ‘Right,’ she said, ‘so we’re in agreement.’

  ‘Not quite. I’m not saying it’s not worth it. I’m saying the opposite. You make worlds, worlds inside your head and worlds outside, but only the one inside counts for anything. It’s where you find peace, acceptance. Worth. You, you’re just talking about everything being useless. Starting with yourself. That’s a bad attitude, Smiles. Worse than Cuttle’s.’

  ‘Where are we marching to, then?’

  ‘Fate’s got a face, and we’re going to meet it eye to eye. The rest I don’t care about.’

  ‘So you’ll follow the Adjunct. Anywhere. Like a dog on a master’s heel.’

  ‘Why not? It’s all the same to me.’

  ‘I don’t get you.’

  ‘There’s nothing to get. I’m a soldier and so are you. What more do you want?’

  ‘I want a damned war!’

  ‘It’s coming.’

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘Because we’re an army on the march. If the Adjunct didn’t need an army, she’d have dissolved the whole thing in Lether.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘I mean, maybe she’s just selfish.’

  The dung burned down to layered glowing chips. Moths spun round the licking flames. Silence descended on the two soldiers, who had nothing more to say to each other. At least for this night.

  Cuttle found his sergeant lying on the floor. A jug of rum lay on its side close by. The confined space reeked of puke with the rum’s heady layer settling on it like sweet sap.

  ‘Dammit, Fid, that won’t help your gut.’

  ‘I ain’t got a gut no more,’ Fiddler replied in a slur. ‘I tossed it up a bell ago.’

  ‘Come the morning, your skull’s gonna crack open.’

  ‘Too late. Go ’way, Cu’ll.’

  The sapper drew one edge of the cot closer and settled down. ‘Who was it, then?’

  ‘Iz all changed, Cu’ll. Iz all goin’ bad.’

  ‘That’s news to me? Listen, this fast march—I’ve already worn out one pair of boots—but it’s got to tell you something. The Adjunct, she’s got a nose—she can sniff things out better than you, I think. Ever since the barges, we’ve been damned near on the run. And even before what happened tonight, you’ve been a haunted man.’ He rubbed at the bristle on his cheeks. ‘I’ll follow you, Fid, you know that. I’ve got your back, always.’

  ‘Don’ mind me, Cu’ll. It’s the young ones, y’got to guard their backs, not mine.’

  ‘You’re seeing a lot of dead faces, aren’t you?’

  ‘I ain’t no seer.’

  Cuttle grunted. ‘It’s a precious
day, you ain’t talking it up. Squad’s the thing, you keep tellin’ ’em. The soldier at your side, the one whose sweat stink you smell every damned day. We’re family, you say. Sergeant, you’re making us nervous.’

  Fiddler slowly sat up, clutched at his head. ‘Fishing,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s a demon in the deep. Sly eyes . . . watchin’ the bait, y’see? Jus’ watchin. Quick Ben, he’s got to show himself. Finally. We need ’em, we need ’em all.’

  ‘Fid, you’re drunk.’

  ‘Darkness’ got an edge. Sharp, the blackest ice—cold like you never imagined. You don’t get it. Here we was, all yippin’ and dancin’, but now the biggest wolf of all has returned. Games are over, Cuttle.’

  ‘What about the Adjunct? Fiddler?’

  He looked up with red, bleary eyes. ‘She don’t stand a chance. Gods below, not a chance.’

  ‘Is that the camp? It’s got to be.’ Corabb looked at his companions. Three blank faces stared back at him. ‘It’s all lit up, too big for a caravanserai. Let’s go.’

  He led the way down the grassy slope, waving as a cloud of midges rose to engulf them. ‘We should never have followed that rabbit—this is no place to get lost in, didn’t I say that? The land rolls too much. You could hide whole armies in these valleys.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what they did,’ Saltlick said. ‘Hey, Corabb, did you think of that? They’s playing a trick on us.’

  ‘The whole Bonehunter army? That’s stupid.’

  ‘It was a big rabbit,’ said Drawfirst.

  ‘It wasn’t a rabbit at all,’ Saltlick insisted. ‘It was a wolf. Rabbits ain’t got glowing eyes and a bloody muzzle and they don’t snarl neither.’

  ‘It got a bloody muzzle biting you,’ Drawfirst pointed out.

  ‘Passed right by me—who wouldn’t jump on it being so close? It’s dark out here, you know. But I jumped on rabbits before, and that was no rabbit.’

  ‘Beasts are different here,’ Drawfirst said. ‘We keep hearing howling, but that could be rabbits, how do we know? Did you see those lizard hides them D’ras was selling? Those lizards was even bigger than the ones we saw from the barge. Those lizards could eat a horse.’

  ‘That’s how they catch ’em down south, that’s what the trader said. They stick a big hook through a horse and throw it in the river—’

  ‘That won’t work unless you tie a rope to the hook.’

  ‘He didn’t mention that, but it makes sense.’

  They were drawing closer to the sea of campfires—well, Corabb amended, maybe not a sea. More like a big lake. But an awfully big lake. He glanced over at Flashwit, who wasn’t saying much, but then she rarely did. All she did was smile and wasn’t it a lovely smile? It was.

  ‘If we hooked a rabbit,’ said Saltlick, ‘we could catch wolves.’

  ‘Hook a horse and we’d get an even bigger wolf, I bet.’

  ‘We got horses, too. That’s an idea, Drawfirst, it surely is. Hey, Corabb, we’re gonna jump the next big lizard we see. For its skin. You want in?’

  ‘No.’

  A distant howl sounded, drifting mournfully through the night.

  ‘Hear that?’ Saltlick asked. ‘More rabbits—keep an eye out, Drawfirst. You too, Flashwit.’

  ‘That sounded more like a hooked horse,’ Drawfirst muttered.

  Corabb halted. ‘Cut it out, all of you. I’m Fid’s heavy, right? I stand just like you do.’ He pointed at Flashwit. ‘Don’t even think of winking. I spent half my life making mistakes about people, and I vowed I’d never do that again. So I keep my peace, but I pay attention, right? I’m a heavy, too. So stop it.’

  ‘We was jus’ havin’ fun, Corabb,’ Saltlick said. ‘You could always join in.’

  ‘I don’t believe in funny things. Now, come on, we done enough walking.’

  They walked a further twenty paces before a sentry in the gloom ahead barked something—in Letherii. ‘Hood’s breath,’ hissed Corabb. ‘We done found the other army.’

  ‘Nobody can hide from the Bonehunters,’ intoned Drawfirst.

  Koryk stood in darkness, a hundred paces out from the nearest picket. He had a memory that might be real or invented—he could not be certain. A dozen youths commandeered to dig a latrine trench for some garrison troop out on manoeuvres. Seti and Seti half-bloods, back when they were young enough to see no difference between the two, no reason yet for contempt, envy and all the rest.

  He’d been one of the runts, and so his friends set him against a boulder at the far end of the pit, where he could strain and sweat and fail. Blistered hands struggling with the oversized pick, he had worked the whole morning trying to dislodge that damned boulder—with the others looking over every now and then with jeers and laughter.

  Failure wasn’t a pleasant notion. It stung. It burned like acid. On that day, he now believed, young Koryk had decided he would never again accept failure. He’d dislodged that boulder in the end, with dusk fast coming on, the other boys long gone and that troop of riders—their little exercise in independence done—riding off in a cloud that hung like a god’s mocking breath of gold dust.

  That rock had been firmly lodged in place. It had hidden a cache of coins. As twilight crept in, he found himself on his knees at one end of the trench, with a vast treasure cupped in his hands. Mostly silver, a few tiny gold clips, not one recognizable to Koryk’s pathetically limited experience—this was a spirit hoard, straight out from Seti legends. ‘Under any stone, lad . . . ’ Yes, the whores who’d raised him had plenty of tales. Could be the whole memory was just one of those tales. A pathetic story, but . . .

  He’d found a treasure, that was the meaning of it. Something precious, wonderful, rare.

  And what did he do with his spirit hoard?

  Squandered it. Every last fucking coin. Gone, and what was left to show for it?

  Whores are warm to the touch, but they hide their souls inside a cold keep. It’s when you surrender to that world that you know you are truly lost, you are finally . . . alone.

  It’s all cold to the touch these days. Everything. And now I spend the rest of my years blaming every damned coin.

  But nobody’s fooled. Except me. Always me. Forever me.

  He longed to draw his sword, to vanish into the mad mayhem of battle. He could then cut in two every face on every coin, howling that it made a difference, that a life wasn’t empty if it was filled with detritus. He could scream and curse and see not a single friend—only enemies. Justifying every slice, every lash of blood. At the very least, he vowed, he’d be the last one standing.

  Smiles said the fever had scarred him. Perhaps it had. Perhaps it would from now on. It had done one thing for certain: it had shown him the truth of solitude. And that truth was seared into his soul. He listened to Fiddler going on and on about this so-called family of companions, and he believed none of it. Betrayals stalked the future—he felt it in his bones. There was coming a time when everything would cut clear, and he could stand before them all and speak aloud the fullest measure of his distrust. We are each of us alone. We always were. I am done with all your lies. Now, save yourselves. As I intend to do for myself.

  He wasn’t interested in any last stands. The Adjunct asked for faith, loyalty. She asked for honesty, no matter how brutal, how incriminating. She asked for too much. Besides, she gave them nothing in return, did she?

  Koryk stood, facing the empty land in the empty night, and contemplated deserting.

  Everything they gave me was a lie, a betrayal. It was the spirit hoard, you see. Those coins. Someone put them there to lure me in, to trap me. They poisoned me—not my fault, how could it be?

  ‘Look at him under that boulder! Careful, Koryk, playing under there will get you crushed!’

  Too late. It was all those fucking coins that did me in. You can’t fill a boy’s hands like that. You just can’t.

  It was a memory. Maybe real, maybe not.

  The whores, they just wink.

>   Skanarow’s lithe form rippled with shadows as someone outside the tent walked past bearing a lantern. The light coming through the canvas was cool, giving her sleeping form a deathly hue. Chilled by the vision, Ruthan Gudd looked away. He sat up, moving slowly to keep her from waking.

  The sweat that had sheathed him earlier was drying on his skin.

  He had no interest in revisiting the cause of his extremity—it wasn’t the love-making, Hood knew. As pleasing as she was—with that sudden smile of hers that could melt mountains of ice—Skanarow didn’t have it in her to send his heart thundering the way it had not long ago. She could delight, she could steal him away from his thoughts, his memories of a grim and eventful life; she could, in bright, stunning flashes, give him back his life.

  But this night darkness had opened its flower, with a scent that could freeze a god’s soul. Still alive, Greymane? Did you feel it? I think, your bones could be rotting in the ground right now, old friend, and still you’d have felt it.

  Draconus.

  Fuck.

  He combed through the damp snarl of his beard.

  The world shook. Balls of fire descending, the terrible light filling the sky. Fists hammering the world.

  Wish I’d seen it.

  But he remembered the Azath’s deathcry. He remembered the gnarled trees engulfed in pillars of flames, the bitter heat of the soil he’d clawed through. He remembered staggering free beneath a crazed sky of lurid smoke, lightning and a deluge of ashes. He remembered his first thought, riding that breath of impossible freedom.

  Jacuruku, you’ve changed.

  One found loyalty under the strangest circumstances. Penitence and gratitude, arms entwined, a moment’s lustful exultation mistaken for worship. His gaze flicked back to Skanarow. The shadows and ill hue were gone. She slept, beauty in repose. Innocence was so precious. But do not think of me with love, woman. Do not force upon me a moment of confession, the truth of foolish vows uttered a lifetime ago.