The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  ‘Of course I am, you fool.’ She ran a hand through her short hair, and caught Masan’s gaze. The Dal Honese could not help but see the faint gleam in those unremarkable – and clearly tired – eyes. ‘Very well, Ruthan Gudd. You have lost your command. Your rank, however, shall remain unchanged, but from this day forward you are attached to my staff. And if you imagine this to be some sort of promotion, well, I suggest you sit down with Lostara Yil some time soon.’ She paused, eyes narrowing on Ruthan Gudd. ‘Why, Captain, you seem displeased. Good. Now, as to other matters that we should discuss, perhaps they can wait. There is one woman in this camp, however, who cannot. Dismissed.’

  His salute was somewhat shaky.

  When he was gone, the Adjunct sighed and sat down by her map table. ‘Forgive me, marine, for my improper state. It has been a long day.’

  ‘No need to apologize, Adjunct.’

  Tavore’s eyes travelled up and down Masan, sending a faint tremor through her spine – oh, I know that kind of look. ‘You look surprisingly hale, soldier.’

  ‘Modest gifts from our new allies, Adjunct.’

  Brows lifted. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Alas, there’re only five of them.’

  ‘Five?’

  ‘T’lan Imass, Adjunct. I don’t know if they were the allies you sought. In fact, they found me, not the other way round, and it is their opinion that my bringing them here was the right thing to do.’

  The Adjunct continued studying her. Masan felt trickles of sweat wending down the small of her back. I don’t know. She’s a damned skinny one…

  ‘Summon them.’

  The figures rose from the dirt floor. Dust to bones, dust to withered flesh, dust to chipped weapons of stone. The T’lan Imass bowed to the Adjunct.

  The one named Beroke then spoke. ‘Adjunct Tavore Paran, we are the Unbound. We bring you greeting, Adjunct, from the Crippled God.’

  And at that something seemed to crumple inside Tavore, for she leaned forward, set her hands to her face, and said, ‘Thank you. I thought…out of time…too late. Oh gods, thank you.’

  He’d stood unnoticed for some time, just one more marine, there on the edge of the crowd. Holding back, unsure of what he was witnessing here. Fiddler wasn’t saying anything. In fact, the bastard might well be sleeping, with his head sunk down like that. As for the soldiers in the basin, some muttered back and forth, a few tried to sleep but were kicked awake by their companions.

  When Fiddler lifted his gaze, the marines and heavies fell silent, suddenly attentive. The sergeant was rummaging in his kit bag. He drew something out but it was impossible to see what. Peered at it for a long moment, and then returned it to his satchel. ‘Cuttle!’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘He’s here. Go find him.’

  The sapper rose and slowly turned. ‘All right, then,’ he growled, ‘I ain’t got the eyes of a rat. So show yourself, damn you.’

  A slow heat prickled through Bottle. He looked round.

  Fiddler said, ‘Aye, Bottle. You. Don’t be so thick.’

  ‘Here,’ Bottle said.

  Figures close to him swung round then. A few muffled curses, and all at once a space opened around him. Cuttle was making his way over, and even in the gloom his expression was severe.

  ‘I think Smiles sold off your kit, Bottle,’ he said as he arrived to stand before him. ‘At least you scrounged up some weapons, which is saying something.’

  ‘You all knew?’

  ‘Knew what? That you survived? Gods no. We all figured you dead and gone. You think Smiles would’ve sold off your stuff if we didn’t?’

  He could see the rest of the squad drawing up behind Cuttle. ‘Well, yes.’

  The sapper grunted. ‘Got a point there, soldier. Anyway, we didn’t know a damned thing. He just made us sit here and wait, is what he did—’

  ‘I thought this was Faradan Sort’s meeting—’

  ‘Fid’s cap’n now, Bottle.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And since he’s now a captain, official and everything, he’s got decorum t’follow.’

  ‘Right. Of course. I mean—’

  ‘So instead of him doing this, it’s me.’ And with that the veteran stepped close and embraced him, hard enough to make Bottle’s bones ache. Cuttle’s breath was harsh in his ear. ‘Kept looking at a card, y’see? Kept looking at it. Welcome back, Bottle. Gods below, welcome home.’

  Stormy halted the Ve’Gath. Grainy-eyed, aching, he stared at the massed army seething in motion on the flats below as the dawn sliced open the eastern horizon. Bonehunter standards to the left, companies jostling to form up for the march – far too few companies for Stormy’s liking. Already assembled and facing southeast, the Letherii legions, and with them Perish ranks, and the gilt standards of some other army. Scowling, he swung his gaze back to the Bonehunters. Positioned to march due east. ‘Gods below.’

  A scattering of Khundryl outriders had spotted him, two setting off back to the vanguard while a half-dozen, bows drawn and arrows nocked, rode swiftly in his direction. Seeing their growing confusion as they approached, Stormy grinned. He lifted one hand in greeting. They pulled up thirty paces away.

  The ranks of the Bonehunters were all halted now, facing in his direction. He saw the Adjunct and a handful of officers emerging from the swirling dust near the column’s head to ride towards him.

  He considered meeting them halfway, decided not to. Twisting round, he looked back at his K’ell Hunter escort and the drones. Weapon points were buried in the hard ground. The drones had settled on their tails, tiny birds dancing on their hides and feeding on ticks and mites. From them all, a scent of calm repose. ‘Good. Stay there, all of you. And don’t do anything…unnerving.’

  Horses shied on the approach, and it was quickly apparent that none of the mounts would draw within twenty long strides of the Ve’Gath. Across the gap, Stormy met the Adjunct’s eyes. ‘I’d dismount,’ he said, ‘but I think my legs died some time in the night. Adjunct, I bring greetings from Mortal Sword Gesler, Destriant Kalyth, and the Gunthan K’Chain Che’Malle.’

  She slipped down from her mount and walked towards him, slowly drawing off her leather gloves. ‘The Nah’ruk, Corporal, were seeking their kin, correct?’

  ‘Aye. Estranged kin, I’d say. Saw no hugs when we all met.’

  ‘If Sergeant Gesler is now Mortal Sword, Corporal, what does that make you?’

  ‘Shield Anvil.’

  ‘I see. And the god you serve?’

  ‘Damned if I know, Adjunct.’

  Tucking the gloves in her belt, she drew off her helm and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Your battle with the Nah’ruk…’

  ‘Malazan tactics, Adjunct, along with these beasts, gave us the upper hand. We annihilated the bastards.’

  Something changed in her face, but nothing he could work out. She glanced back at her officers, or perhaps the army waiting beyond, and then once more fixed her gaze upon him. ‘Shield Anvil Stormy, this creature you ride—’

  ‘Ve’Gath Soldier, Adjunct. Only three bear these…saddles.’

  ‘And your K’Chain Che’Malle army – I see Hunters behind you as well. There are more of these Ve’Gath?’

  My K’Chain Che’Malle army. ‘Aye, lots. We got a bit mauled, to be sure. Those sky keeps gave us trouble, but some unexpected allies arrived to take ’em down. That’s what I’m here to tell you, Adjunct. Sinn and Grub found us. There was someone else, too. Never figured out who, but no matter, nobody climbed down out of the Azath when it was all done with, so I doubt they made it.’

  He’d just thrown enough at her to confuse a damned ascendant. Instead, she simply studied him, and then asked, ‘Shield Anvil, you now command an army of K’Chain Che’Malle?’

  ‘Aye, and our two runts are saying they have to stay with us, unless you order ’em back to you—’

  ‘No.’

  Stormy cursed under his breath. ‘You sure? They’re handy, don’t eat much, clean up after themselves
…mostly – well, occasionally – but with plenty of back-of-the-hand training, why, they’d shape up—’

  ‘Fist Keneb is dead,’ she cut in. ‘We have also lost Quick Ben, and most of the marines and the heavies.’

  He winced. ‘Them Short-Tails was bleeding when they found us. But what you’re saying tells me you could do with the runts—’

  ‘No. You will need them more than we will.’

  ‘We will? Adjunct, where do you think we’re going?’

  ‘To war.’

  ‘Against who?’

  ‘“Whom”, Shield Anvil. You intend to wage war against the Forkrul Assail.’

  He grimaced, glanced at the Fist and captains positioned behind the Adjunct. Blistig, Lostara Yil, Ruthan Gudd. That miserable ex-priest, half slumped over his saddle. His attention returned to the Adjunct. ‘Now, why would we declare war on the Forkrul Assail?’

  ‘Ask the runts.’

  Stormy sagged. ‘We did that. They ain’t good on explanations, those two. Grub’s the only one between ’em who’ll say anything to us at all. Oh, Sinn talks just fine, when it suits her. Me and Ges, we was hoping you’d be more…uh, forthcoming.’

  A snort from Blistig.

  Tavore said, ‘Shield Anvil, inform Mortal Sword Gesler of the following. The Perish, Letherii and Bolkando armies are marching on the Spire. It is my fear that even such a formidable force…will not be enough. The sorcery of the Assail is powerful and insidious, especially on the field of battle—’

  ‘Is it now, Adjunct?’

  She blinked, and then said, ‘I have spent three years amidst the archives of Unta, Stormy. Reading the oldest and obscurest histories drawn to the capital from the further reaches of the Malazan Empire. I have interviewed the finest scholars I could find, including Heboric Light-Touch, on matters of fragmented references to the Forkrul Assail.’ She hesitated, and then continued. ‘I know what awaits us all, Shield Anvil. The three human armies you now see marching into the southeast are…vulnerable.’

  ‘Where the K’Chain Che’Malle are not.’

  She shrugged. ‘Could we conjure before us, here and now, a Forkrul Assail, do you imagine it could command your Ve’Gath to surrender its weapons? To kneel?’

  Stormy grunted. ‘I’d like to see it try. But what of the runts?’

  ‘Safer in your company than in ours.’

  He narrowed his gaze on her. ‘What is it you mean to do with your Bonehunters, Adjunct?’

  ‘Split the enemy forces, Shield Anvil.’

  ‘You have taken a savaging, Adjunct—’

  ‘And have been avenged by you and your Che’Malle.’ She took a step closer, dropping her voice. ‘Stormy, when news of your victory spreads through my army, much that haunts it now will fall silent. There will be no cheers – I am not such a fool as to expect anything like that. But, at the very least, there will be satisfaction. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Is Fiddler—’

  ‘He lives.’

  ‘Good.’ He squinted at her. ‘You’ve a way of gathering allies, haven’t you, Adjunct?’

  ‘It is not me, Stormy, it is the cause itself.’

  ‘I’d agree if I could figure out what that cause is all about.’

  ‘You mentioned a Destriant—’

  ‘Aye, I did.’

  ‘Then ask that one.’

  ‘We did, but she knows even less than we do.’

  Tavore cocked her head. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, she gets little sleep. Nightmares every night.’ He clawed fingers through his beard, ‘Aw, Hood take me…’

  ‘She sees the fate awaiting us all should we fail, Shield Anvil.’

  He was silent, thinking back, crossing a thousand leagues of memory and time. Days in Aren, ranks milling, recalcitrant faces, a desperate need for cohesion. Armies are unruly beasts. You took us, you made us into something, but none of us knows what, or even what for. And now here she stood, a thin, plain woman. Not tall. Not imposing in any way at all. Except for the cold iron in her bones. ‘Why did you take this on, Adjunct?’

  She settled the helm back on her head and fixed the clasps. ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘This path of yours,’ he asked, resisting her dismissal, ‘where did it start? That first step, when was it? You can answer me that one, at least.’

  She regarded him. ‘Can I?’

  ‘I’m about to ride back to Gesler, Adjunct. And I got to make a report. I got to tell him what I think about all this. So…give me something.’

  She looked away, studied the formed-up ranks of her army. ‘My first step? Very well.’

  He waited.

  She stood as if carved from flawed marble, a thing in profile weeping dust – but no, that sense was emerging from deep inside his own soul, as if he’d found a mirror’s reflection of the nondescript woman standing before him, and in that reflection a thousand hidden truths.

  She faced him again, her eyes swallowed by the shadow of the helm’s rim. ‘The day, Adjunct, the Paran family lost its only son.’

  The answer was so unexpected, so jarring, that Stormy could say nothing. Gods below, Tavore. He struggled to find words, any words. ‘I – I did not know your brother had died, Adjunct—’

  ‘He hasn’t,’ she snapped, turning away.

  Stormy silently cursed. He’d said the wrong thing. He’d shown his own stupidity, his own lack of understanding. Fine! Maybe I’m not Gesler! Maybe I don’t get it— A gelid breath seemed to flow through him then. ‘Adjunct!’ His shout drew her round.

  ‘What is it?’

  He drew a deep breath, and then said, ‘When we join up with the Perish and the others, who’s in overall command?’

  She studied him briefly before replying, ‘There will be a Prince of Lether. A Mortal Sword of the Grey Helms, and the queen of Bolkando.’

  ‘Hood’s breath! I don’t—’

  ‘Who will be in command, Shield Anvil? You and Gesler.’

  He stared at her, aghast, and then bellowed, ‘Don’t you think his head’s swelled big enough yet? You ain’t had to live with him!’

  Her tone was hard and cold. ‘Bear in mind what I said about vulnerability, Shield Anvil, and be sure to guard your own back.’

  ‘Guard – what?’

  ‘One last thing, Stormy. Extend my condolences to Grub. Inform him, if you think it will help, that Fist Keneb’s death was one of…singular heroism.’

  He thought he heard a careful choosing of words in that statement. No matter. Might help, as much as such shit can, with that stuff. Worth a try, I suppose. ‘Adjunct?’

  She had gathered the reins of her horse and had one foot in the stirrup. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Shall we meet again?’

  Tavore Paran hesitated, and what might have been a faint smile curved her thin lips. She swung astride her horse. ‘Fare you well, Shield Anvil.’ A pause, and then, ‘Stormy, should you one day meet my brother…no, never mind.’ With that she drew her horse round and set off for the head of the column.

  Blistig wheeled in behind her, as did Ruthan Gudd and then the ex-priest – although perhaps with him it was more a matter of a mount content to follow the others. Leaving only Lostara Yil.

  ‘Stormy.’

  ‘Lostara.’

  ‘Quick Ben was sure you and Gesler lived.’

  ‘Was he now?’

  ‘But now we’ve lost him.’

  He thought about that, and then grinned. ‘Take this for what it’s worth, Lostara Yil. He figured we were alive and well. He was right. Now, I’ve got this feeling he ain’t so lost as you might think. He’s a snake. Always was, always will be.’

  The smile she flashed him almost made him hesitate, but before he could call out something inviting and possibly improper she was riding after the others.

  Damn! Smiles like that don’t land on me every day.

  Scowling, he ordered his Ve’Gath round and then set off on the back trail.

  The Hunters and drones fell into his w
ake.

  One of the tiny birds tried landing in Stormy’s beard. His curse sent it screeching away.

  Book Three

  To Charge The Spear

  And now the bold historian

  Wields into play that tome

  Of blistering worth

  Where the stern monks

  Cower under the lash

  And through the high window

  The ashes of heretics drift

  Down in purity’s rain

  See the truths stitched in thread

  Of gold across hapless skin

  I am the arbiter of lies

  Who will cleanse his hand

  In copper bowls and white sand

  But the spittle on his lips

  Gathers the host to another tale

  I was never so blind

  To not feel the deep tremble

  Of hidden rivers in churning torrent Or the prickly tear of quill’s jab

  I will tell you the manner

  Of all things in sure proof

  This order’d stone row –

  Oh spare me now the speckled fists This princeps’ purge and prattle

  I live in mists and seething cloud

  And the breaths of the unseen

  Give warmth and comfort to better The bleakest days to come

  And I will carry on in my

  Uncertainty, cowl’d in a peace

  Such as you could not imagine

  A Life in Mists

  Gothos (?)

  Chapter Eight

  Whatever we’re left with

  can only be enough,

  if in the measure of things

  nothing is cast off,

  discarded on the wayside

  in the strides that take us clear

  beyond the smoke and grief

  into a world of shocked birth

  opening eyes upon a sudden light.

  And to whirl then in a breath

  to see all that we have done,

  where the tombs on the trail

  lie sealed like jewelled memories

  in the dusk of a good life’s end,

  and not one footprint beckons

  upon the soft snow ahead,