The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  We cannot be what we want, either. And this, more than anything else, is what now crushes us. But still, I am not yet dead.

  He thought back to the moment when they’d found the children; the way his scouts – not much older themselves – moved so solemnly among the refugees, giving all the water they carried – their entire allotment for the night’s march given away, from one mouth to the next, until the last drops had been squeezed from the skins. And then the Khundryl youths could only stand, helpless, each surrounded by children who reached out – not to grasp or demand, but to touch, and in that touch give thanks. Not for the water – that was gone – but for the gesture.

  How far must one fall, to give thanks for nothing but desire? Empty intent?

  The ones who drove you away…

  But we have allies, and there is no barrier before them, nothing to slow their march on Kolanse. Gesler, show Stormy the truth of this, and then cut his leash. Leave him to voice a howl to make the Hounds themselves cower! Let him loose, Ges, I beg you.

  Because I don’t think we can make it.

  The bones of his neck grinding, Fiddler looked up, glared at the Jade Strangers. They filled the night sky now, blazing slashes across heaven’s face. Omens make me puke. I’m sick of the miserable things. But…what if you’re nothing like that, you up there? What if your journey belongs to you and you alone, no destination, no reason or purpose? What if, tomorrow or the next day, you finally descend – to wipe out all of us, to make pointless our every struggle, our every great, noble cause? What is it then, O glorious universe, that you are telling us?

  Destiny is a lie.

  But, then, do I even care? Look at these bones we step over. We go as far as we can go, and then we stop. And that is how it is. That is all it is. So…now what?

  ‘Snakes,’ said Banaschar, blinking against the hard clarity of sober vision. It was better when everything was blurred. Much better. ‘That might have been my first fear, the one that had me stumbling right into the pit of vipers we so blithely call the Temple of D’rek. Face what you fear, isn’t that the sage advice? Maybe that’s sobriety’s real curse, the recognition that being frightened is not character-building after all, and that the advice was shit and the world is full of liars.’

  The Adjunct was silent as she walked beside him. Not that he was expecting a reply, since he was no longer certain that his words were actually getting past his throat. It was possible, indeed, highly likely, that everything he’d been saying for the past two days had been entirely in his own mind. But then, it was easier that way.

  ‘Rebellion. Even the word itself makes me…envious. I’ve never felt it – here, in my soul. Never experienced a single moment of defiant fury, of the self demanding its right to be just the way it wants to be. Even when it doesn’t know what that being looks like. It just wants it.

  ‘Of course, drinking is the sweet surrender. The sanctum of cowards – and we’re all cowards, us drunks, and don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise. It’s the only thing we’re good at, mostly, because it’s both our reason and the means by which we run away. From everything. Which is why a drunk needs to stay drunk.’

  He glanced across at her. Was she listening? Was there anything to listen to?

  ‘Let’s move on – that subject makes me…cringe. Another grand notion awaits us, as soon as I can think of one. Snakes, you ask? Well, of course it was a grand notion – the girl giving us names like that. Theirs. Ours. Snakes in the desert. It’s bold, if you think about it. Snakes are damned hard to kill. They slide past underfoot. They hide in plain sight.

  ‘So…hmm, how about knowledge? When knowing becomes a fall from grace. When truth is seen to condemn rather than liberate. When enlightenment shows nothing but the dark pathos of our endless list of failures. All that. But these attitudes, well, they come from those who want to encourage ignorance – a vital tactic in their maintenance of power. Besides, real knowledge forces one to act –

  ‘Or does it?’

  He paused then, trying to think it through. Only to feel a spasm of fear. ‘You’re right, let’s move on yet again. If there’s one thing I know it’s that about some things I don’t want to know anything. So…ah, in keeping with unexpected guests, shall we speak of heroism?’

  Smiles staggered to one side and dropped to one knee. Bottle took up position behind her, guarding her back. The short sword in his hand seemed to be trembling all on its own.

  He watched Tarr bull his way back through the milling press. His visage was darker than Bottle had ever seen before. ‘Koryk!’ he snapped.

  ‘Here, Sergeant.’

  ‘You’ll live?’

  ‘Caught a look in an eye,’ the man replied, edging into view. One side of his face was sheathed in blood, but it wasn’t his own. ‘Seen hyenas looking saner.’ He pointed with a bloodied long knife. ‘That corporal there gave ’im a nudge…’

  The man Koryk indicated was on his knees. A regular. Burly, broad-shouldered, with a knife handle jutting from the right side of his chest. Blood was streaming from his mouth and nostrils, filled with bubbles.

  Tarr glared round, his eyes catching Bottle. He walked over. ‘Smiles – look at me, soldier.’

  She lifted her head. ‘Like Koryk said, Sergeant – we ain’t blind and we ain’t stupid. Caught the same nudge, so I gave him my knife.’

  Tarr met Bottle’s eyes.

  Bottle nodded. ‘Twelve paces between ’em, in the dark, in a crowd.’

  The dying corporal had dropped his bearded chin to his chest and seemed to be staring at his knees. Corabb edged closer and gave the man a push. He fell over. The thudding impact, as he landed on the ground, spurted one last mass of foam from his mouth and nose.

  ‘Two down?’ Tarr asked.

  Bottle could feel the hatred in the eyes of the regulars crowding the scene, and he flinched when Corabb said, ‘Three, Sergeant. The first two were the distraction – two more came in low from behind, making for the wagon. I got the first one, then Cuttle chased the last one away – still after him, I guess.’

  ‘He’s out there?’ Tarr demanded. ‘Hood’s breath!’

  Smiles straightened and, moving drunkenly, made her way to the dead corporal, where she retrieved her knife. ‘It ain’t right,’ she muttered. She faced the crowd. ‘We’re guarding empty casks, you damned fools!’

  Someone called out, ‘Wasn’t us, marine. That was the Fist’s gang.’

  Bottle scowled. Blistig. Gods below.

  ‘Just leave us alone,’ Smiles said, turning away.

  Cuttle returned, caught Tarr’s eye and with one hand casually brushed the crossbow slung down behind his left arm.

  The sergeant faced the haulers. ‘Pull up the ropes, soldiers – let’s get this moving again.’

  Smiles came up to Bottle. ‘Killing our own – it ain’t right.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You had my back – thanks.’

  He nodded.

  The crowd of regulars was melting away. The wagon started rolling, the squad falling in alongside it, and the bodies were left behind.

  ‘It’s the madness,’ said Corabb a short time later. ‘In Seven Cities—’

  ‘You don’t need to tell us,’ Cuttle interrupted. ‘We was there, remember?’

  ‘Aye. Just saying, that’s all. The madness of thirst—’

  ‘That was planned out.’

  ‘The corporal, aye,’ Corabb said, ‘but not that fool going for Koryk.’

  ‘And the ones coming in from behind? Planned, Corabb. Someone’s orders. That ain’t madness. That ain’t anything of the sort.’

  ‘Mostly, I was talking about the rest of them regulars – the ones closing in on the smell of blood.’

  No one had any response to that. Bottle found that he was still holding his short sword. Sighing, he sheathed it.

  Shortnose took the blood-stained shirt and pushed it beneath the collar of the leather yoke, stuffing it across the width of his collar bones
where his skin had been worn away and things were looking raw. Someone had brought him the shirt, sopping wet and warm, but all that blood didn’t bother him much – he was already adding to it.

  The wagon was heavy. Heavier now with children riding atop all the bundles of food. But for all their numbers, not as heavy as it should have been. That was because they were mostly starved down to bones. He didn’t like thinking about that. Back when he’d been a child he remembered hungry times, but every one of those times his da would come in with something for the runts, Shortnose the runtiest of them all. A scrap. Something to chew. And his ma, she’d go out with other mas and they’d be busy for a few days and nights and then she’d come back in, sometimes bruised, sometimes weeping, but she’d have money for the table, and that money turned into food. His da used to swear a lot those times she did that.

  But it was all down to feeding the runts. ‘My beautiful runts,’ his da liked saying. And then, years later, when the garrison had up and left town, suddenly Ma couldn’t get the money the way she used to, but she and Da were happier for all of that anyway. Shortnose’s older brothers had all gone off by then, two of ’em to war and the other one to marry Widow Karas, who was ten years older than him and who Shortnose secretly loved with all his might, so it was probably a good thing he ran away when he did, since his brother wouldn’t have taken kindly to that trouble behind the barn with Karas drunk, or maybe not, and anyway it was all in good fun –

  He noticed a boy walking beside him. Carrying a sack. His hands were bloody and he was licking them clean.

  Brought me that shirt, did you? ‘Ain’t good, runt,’ he said. ‘Drinking blood.’

  The boy frowned up at him, and went on with his licking until his hands were clean.

  –and he’d heard later how one of his brothers got killed outside Nathilog and the other one came back with only one leg, and then the pensions came through and Ma and Da stopped having to struggle so, especially when Shortnose joined up himself and sent two-thirds of his pay back home; half of that went home to Da and Ma; the other third went to his brother and his wife, because he felt guilty about the baby and all.

  Still, it wasn’t good being hungry so young, and starving was worst of all. His da used to say, ‘If ya can’t feed ’em, don’t have ’em. Hood’s proud pole, it don’t take a genius to see that!’ It sure don’t, and that was why Shortnose kept paying for his runt, and he’d still be paying for it if it wasn’t for them being fired and made outlaws and deserters and all the other names the military came up with for not doing what they told you to do. By now, though, that runt would be old enough to work all on its own, so maybe his brother would have called off the bounty on his head. Maybe everything was all right by now, the dust settled and all.

  It was nice to think so. But now he’d gone and fallen in love with Flashwit and Mayfly and wasn’t that silly, since there were two of them and only one of him. Not that he saw that as a problem. But women could get funny about things like that. And lots of other things too, which was why they were so much trouble.

  The hauler on his right stumbled. Shortnose reached down one-handed and lifted the woman back on to her feet. She gasped her thanks.

  Now women. He could think about women all—

  ‘You’re Shortnose, aren’t ya?’

  He glanced down at her. She was short, with big, strong-looking legs – now that was bad luck for her, wasn’t it? The one thing that made proper men drool turned out getting her yoked like a – like a – ‘Yah, that’s me.’

  ‘Been tryin to look, y’see?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I heard you got the same ear bitten off twice.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, er, how’s that possible?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. It was all Bredd’s fault.’

  ‘Bredd? Nefarias Bredd? You were fighting him?’

  ‘Might have been. Save your breath, soldier. See this runt here? He ain’t saying a thing, cause he’s smart.’

  ‘It’s because he doesn’t understand Malazan.’

  ‘As good an excuse as any, I always say. Anyway, just keep pulling, and think about things you like to think about. To distract ya from all the bad stuff.’

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Me? Women.’

  ‘Right,’ she said in a strangely cold tone. ‘So I guess I’ll think about handsome, clever men.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘You don’t have to do that, lass – you got one walking right beside you.’

  The boy went away and came back a short time later with some more cloth, which he gave to Shortnose so that he could stop his bleeding nose.

  Like his da used to say, ‘There ain’t no figurin’ the ways of women.’ Too bad too. She was kinda pretty and, even better, she could swear the hide off a bhederin. Could there be a sexier combination? He didn’t think so.

  ‘You’d think I was some kind of leper. It ain’t my fault I been dead once, and maybe being dead once means things like getting thirsty don’t hurt as much – I don’t know.’

  ‘I have been condensing everything in sight,’ Bavedict said. ‘That’s what’s been keeping me going.’

  Hedge eyed the alchemist quizzically, and then he shrugged. ‘Beats talking all day, I suppose.’

  Bavedict opened his mouth and then shut it again.

  ‘How are the kittens?’

  ‘The kittens are just fine, Commander.’

  ‘We got enough of ’em?’

  ‘For more than one engagement? Hard to say, sir. I’m comfortable with one battle, using what we need and not holding back.’ He glanced back at the carriage, and then said, ‘I have given some thought to strategies, sir, with respect to alchemical…er…kittens. I don’t think being misers with them works. You want to go the opposite way, in fact. Flood the field of battle, hit them so hard the shock overwhelms them—’

  ‘I thought you wasn’t going to talk all night? Listen, we worked that out years ago. Walls and waves, we called it. Walls when you was holding a line or position. Waves when you was on the advance. And there ain’t no point in holding back – except the one with your own name on it, of course. Because every sapper will tell you, if you’re gonna kill ’em they’re gonna kill you at the same time, guaranteed. We call it disincentive.’

  Bavedict glanced back a second time, frowned at the troop stumping along beside the carriage. The captains weren’t doing well. Thinning out, but not in a good way. They’d not said much in days. Behind them walked the Khundryl, still leading their horses – so I wasn’t quite telling Hedge the truth. I didn’t just dose the oxen but you’d think they’d see—

  ‘Still nervous?’ Hedge asked him. ‘I’d be, if I was you. Khundryl like their horses. A lot. Between a warrior’s horse and his mother, it’s even odds which one he’d save, if it came down to choosing. Then you just went and killed ’em.’

  ‘They were dying anyway, sir. In a single day, a horse needs more water than four soldiers, and those Khundryl were running out. Try bleeding a dehydrated animal, sir – it isn’t easy.’

  ‘Right, so now they got undead horses and still no water, meaning if you’d done that a week ago, why, all that sacrifice wouldn’t have been necessary. They want to kill you, alchemist – it took me half a day to talk ’em out of it.’

  Bavedict glared at Hedge. ‘You just said, between horses and their mothers—’

  ‘They’d save their mothers, of course. What are you, an idiot?’

  The alchemist sighed.

  ‘Anyway,’ Hedge continued after a moment, ‘we’re all Bridgeburners now. Now it’s true, we killed a few officers every now and then, if they was bad enough. Who wouldn’t? Get a fool in charge and they’re likely to get you all killed, so better top ’em first, right? But you ain’t done nothing to earn that. Besides, I need you and so do they. So it’s simple and all – nobody’s gonna cut your throat.’

  ‘I am most relieved, Commander.’

  Hedge moved closer, dro
pping his voice. ‘But listen. It’s all about to fall apart – can you see that? The Bonehunters – those regulars – they’re losing it.’

  ‘Sir, we’re not much better off.’

  ‘So we don’t want to get caught up in the slaughter, right? I already told my captains. We’re gonna pull out hard as soon as it starts up – I want a hundred paces between us before they start looking for somebody new to kill.’

  ‘Sir, do you think it will get that bad?’

  Hedge shrugged. ‘Hard to say. So far, the marines are holding ’em all in check. But there’s gonna come a scrap, any time now, when a marine gets taken down. And the smell of blood will do it, mark my words.’

  ‘How would the Bridgeburners have handled this, sir? Back in the day?’

  ‘Simple. Sniff out the yappers and kill ’em. It’s the ones who can’t stop bitching, talking it up, egging on the stupider ones to do something stupid. Hoping it all busts out. Me’ – he nodded to the column walking beside them – ‘I’d jump Blistig and drag him off into the desert – and for a whole damned day nobody’d be sleeping, ’cause of all the screaming.’

  ‘No wonder you all got outlawed,’ Bavedict muttered.

  The sky to the east was lightening, the sun rising to wage war with the Jade Strangers before they plunged beneath the north horizon. The column broke down in sections, clumps of soldiers spilling away on to the sides of the trail. Sinking down, heads lowered, weapons and armour clashing as packs dropped to the ground. The haulers stopped, struggled out of the heavy yokes. Wailing from the Khundryl as yet another horse stumbled and fell on to its side – and out flashed the knives, and this day there would be plenty of blood to drink, but no one rejoiced among the Burned Tears.