The Malazan Empire

by Steven Erikson

  ‘And what’s her reward?’ Shurq demanded.

  Hood looked away, and then shook his head. ‘For her, there is none.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Shurq said in a rasp, ‘tell me she did not agree to this.’

  ‘To that, Captain, I shall say nothing.’ He stepped past her then and raised his hands. ‘We cannot survive the violence your thoughts have conjured, Captain. Thus, I have no recourse but to intervene. Fortunately,’ he turned to eye her briefly, ‘Mael concurs.’

  ‘Push it away, then,’ Shurq Elalle snapped. ‘But I will bring it back, I swear it. To so use an innocent woman…’

  ‘You begin to try me, Captain Elalle. If you intend to fight me for the rest of this voyage, I must find us another captain.’

  ‘Please do, Hood. I barely knew the Adjunct, but—’

  He twisted round. ‘Indeed, you barely know her. I will tell you this, then. I looked out through her sister’s eyes, through a helm’s visor – in the moment that she died – and I stared up at my slayer, the Adjunct Tavore Paran. And the blood dripping from her sword was mine. You will speak to me of innocence? There is no such thing.’

  Shurq Elalle stared at Hood. ‘So, in using her now…is this punishment?’

  ‘Consider it so, if it eases your conscience.’

  ‘She murdered her sister?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is it guilt that drives her now, Hood? Does she seek redemption?’

  ‘I imagine she does.’

  ‘Will she find it?’

  Hood shrugged.

  What is it you’re not telling me? I can sense…something. The sister…a helm’s visor. ‘Hood, that murder – was it an accident?’

  The Jaghut did not reply.

  Shurq stepped closer. ‘Does Tavore even know she killed her own sister?’

  ‘Irrelevant, Captain Elalle. It is the ignorant who yearn most for redemption.’

  After a moment, she stepped back, went to the side rail, stared out over the rolling grey swells, what Skorgen called swollen waters. ‘If we had met in your realm, Hood,’ she said, ‘I would not have refused my state. I would not have sought to escape. Instead, I would have tried to kill you.’

  ‘Many have, Captain.’

  ‘Good for them.’ Swollen waters. ‘Hood, if she never discovers the truth – if she is made to carry that ignorance for the rest of her days…do you even care?’

  ‘Do you imagine that knowledge would be a gift?’

  ‘I…don’t know.’

  ‘The truth may hide at your feet. The truth may lie coiled in high grasses. But it still has claws, it still has fangs. Be careful, Captain, where you step.’

  ‘Food reserves are dwindling,’ Felash said, and then sighed and looked up at her handmaiden. ‘Straits are dire for dear Mother.’ She sat straighter, arched her back and groaned. ‘Do you advise rest? These journeys through troubled realms, by Jaghut’s cold breath or not, do take their toll upon my delicate self. But I must refuse your concerns, my dear. Necessity demands – is that wine you’re pouring? Excellent. I’d thought that long gone.’

  ‘I made a request, Highness.’

  ‘Indeed? Of whom?’

  ‘It seems,’ the woman said, passing over a cup, ‘libations in the name of death continue unabated, and if the once-god of that dread underworld is not above trespassing in his old…er, haunts, well, far be it from us to complain.’

  ‘Just so. Nonetheless, sweetie, I dislike the notion of you consorting with that hoary creature. Best keep a respectful distance, matching my own wise caution in this matter.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘But I must say, superb wine, given its provenance – I trust you have acquired a decent supply.’

  ‘Luckily, yes, Highness.’

  ‘The other news is almost as dire, I’m afraid. We have cause now to mistrust the motivations of the Perish Grey Helms. Most disturbing.’

  The handmaid’s eyes narrowed as she set to filling a bowl of rustleaf. ‘Are we not at this moment sailing to a rendezvous with the Perish fleet, Highness?’

  ‘Assuming no calamity had struck, yes. But what is their disposition? The answer to that question is now paramount.’

  ‘Perhaps I could scry—’

  ‘No, we cannot risk that. The warren of the Forkrul Assail waxes full – hmm, was I being poetic there, or succumbing to cliché?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ murmured the handmaiden, concentrating on lighting the pipe.

  ‘We have been careless in your education. Never mind. Too late now, for it is well known that a person’s brain ossifies at a certain age, becoming incapable of new acquisition, barring simple matters such as languages, martial skills and so on. There is a moment when true genius is within the reach of any and every child, and the gauge of that moment’s duration is in fact the only means of defining intelligence. Thus, while you are naturally bright, and therefore it is probable that the time of your receptivity could have been measured in months, if not years, we have done all we thought to do at that juncture, and the time for regrets is past – my dear, what was in this wine? My mouth seems to be running all by itself. For most people, of course, that moment of receptivity was sadly brief. A day? Half a day? And alas, once gone, it can never return.’

  ‘Excuse me, Highness, your pipe is lit.’

  ‘Good. Give it over. About this wine—’

  There was a knock upon the cabin door, and a moment later the latch lifted and First Mate Skorgen Kaban the Pretty loomed in the doorway, knuckling his brow. ‘Princess, Highest of Highs, beg yer pardon. Got urgent happenings up top, if you please. Cap’n requests yer presence.’

  Felash sighed. ‘Very well, assuming I am able to, uh, stand. Umph, some assistance—’

  The handmaid reached out to steady her.

  ‘Lead on, Skorgen,’ Felash said with a careless wave of one hand. ‘And if you must ogle my tits, try being subtle about it, will you?’

  ‘Sorry, Highness. Only got the one good eye, y’know.’

  They paused and waited while the handmaid got over a sudden fit of coughing.

  Shurq Elalle turned as her first mate clumped up to her.

  ‘Captain! The Squall Witch – she’s drunk!’

  ‘Pretty, was that meant to be a whisper? Greetings, Highness.’

  ‘Drunkenness lies in the purview of the lowborn. Captain, allow me to assure you that I am neither drunk nor lowborn. But, I must ask, where is our Jaghut guest?’

  Shurq grunted. ‘Thought you’d have passed him on the way up. There is the matter of keeping at least one knife well hidden, you see.’

  ‘No, Captain. I am afraid I do not.’

  ‘Ah, of course.’ Shurq pointed ahead. ‘We have been sighted by that ship and it now bears down on us. Not a Throne of War. Kolansian, one presumes.’

  Somewhat unsteadily, the princess made her way to the captain’s side. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘that is an Assail ship. At the very least, a Lesser Watered will be commanding. Most distressing, of course, are the implications.’

  ‘As in,’ ventured Shurq Elalle, ‘where is the Perish fleet?’

  ‘Precisely. And if that is not sufficiently alarming, I am afraid that I have been engaged in exhausting rituals this day. If we must fight, I will be of little use. We have already experienced the danger posed by Forkrul Assail, by both their physical prowess and the sorcery of their voice.’

  ‘I need no reminders, Highness. And while I proved immune to such magics, the same cannot be said for my crew. And now you tell me that you are unable to defend us. So much for hiding one knife, Highness.’

  ‘We shall see. We have, after all, my handmaid.’

  Shurq glanced over at the woman, recalling her attacks upon Sister Equity. ‘She did not fare so well against a Pure, Highness.’

  ‘Well, a Higher Watered’s – Assail blood is, er, watered down, and is not quite as powerful. In any case, it remains to be seen how this will play out. After all, this could be one of the bet
rayers among the Assail. In the meantime, Captain, may I suggest your first mate gather your crew and make for the hold.’

  ‘Skorgen, take ’em down and keep ’em quiet.’

  ‘Aye, Captain.’

  There was something skeletal about the Assail ship. Two types of wood were visible, one bone white and the other dull black. The hull was narrow of beam and high-castled, and with the two masts offering minimal canvas, Shurq suspected that it had been built to ply sheltered waters. An open sea gale could well swamp such a ship. At twice the mass of her old raider, the Undying Gratitude, Shurq judged it to have a complement of seventy or so sailors on board, along with twenty or more marines, and as the craft came around and fell off before the wind on the port side of the Death Ship she stepped to the rail and looked across. A tall, spectral figure was staring down on her, flanked by two helmed guards cloaked in chain surcoats.

  A few paces behind the captain, Princess Felash said, ‘Dearie, those marines.’

  ‘Yes, Highness,’ the handmaid replied.

  ‘Captain?’

  ‘Highness?’

  ‘Why not ask them what they want?’

  Shurq turned to eye the princess. Before she could say anything, however, there were shouts from the Assail ship, and she swung back to see the handmaid scrambling up the side. Shit, wish I’d seen that leap. The craft was wallowing at least six paces away. ‘Princess, what is that woman doing?’

  The handmaid drew herself up and over the rail. The deck was an eye-hurting maze of black and white wood, like a shattered mosaic. Six more helmed, chain-clad marines stood near the main mast, now drawing heavy cutlasses.

  The Assail half-blood commander wore a heavy, jewelled cloak, the thick oiled wool dyed a deep blue. Torcs of gold collared her long neck, and her head was shaved, emphasizing the angled planes of her skull. She was unarmed, and she now faced the handmaid with a look of amused surprise, lifting a hand to stay her soldiers.

  Looking round, the handmaid saw recent storm damage – much of the rigging had been torn away, and mounds of cordage and shattered stays littered the deck. There seemed to be less than a score of hands working on repairs.

  ‘Inform your captain,’ said the Assail half-blood, ‘that having entered territorial waters, she must abide by the laws of High Kolanse. I am Lesser Watered Intransigent, Inquisitor of the Southern Fleet.’

  ‘Not much of a fleet,’ the handmaid observed.

  The Inquisitor blinked. ‘A sudden storm has temporarily scattered us. To resume my message to your captain, she and her crew – including all passengers – must accept adjudication.’

  ‘By “adjudication” do you mean killing?’

  The pale-skinned woman smiled, the expression seeming to fold the two sides of her face slightly inward. ‘The Proclamation of Restitution has been sanctioned. We continue the task.’

  ‘And did this fate befall the Perish?’

  ‘Yours is not a Perish ship.’ She frowned. ‘I sense enmity from your vessel – and that fat little girl with the pipe, she is a mage, is she not? We shall adjudicate her first.’

  The handmaid walked back to the rail and leaned over. ‘Highness,’ she called down, ‘they’re being a little cagey regarding the Perish. Might be you were right.’

  ‘Anything else that might be important?’ Felash asked.

  ‘No, Highness. Only that they want to kill us.’

  ‘Very well. Carry on.’

  The handmaid turned round.

  The Lesser Watered spoke, ‘Reach not for your weapons. Kneel. For each and every one of you, the healing of the world begins with your death. Among all the reasons to die, is there one more worthy than this? Be thankful that we give meaning to your end. Kneel.’

  The handmaid shook her head. ‘A Pure already tried all that. Caught me off guard…for a moment or two. My will is not yours to command.’

  She moved then, rather faster than they’d expected, her hands thrusting outward, striking the bodyguards in the chest. Both warriors were lifted from their feet. Over the rail, plummeting to the waters below. She ducked at that instant, evading the Lesser’s lashing attack, and kicked at the second joint on the woman’s left leg, folding it halfway between the knee and the ankle. Her attacker stumbled, and the handmaid slipped past her, spinning round and out to one side to meet the six marines.

  Behind them others were coming up from below, she saw.

  She drew her fighting knives. She needed bigger weapons. The marine closest to her wielded a nice pair of cutlasses. She would take those.

  Shurq Elalle loosed a startled oath and then leaned forward to watch the two armoured guards plunge into the choppy waters between the ships. Both men vanished in a froth of bubbles. Turning to Felash, she asked, ‘Does she need help over there?’

  Plucked brows lifted. ‘I certainly hope not!’

  The sounds of fighting – blades clashing, shouts and then screams – came from the deck of the other ship. ‘Princess, this handmaid of yours, where did she come from?’

  ‘Ah, now that is a mystery.’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Do we have the time? Well, I suppose we do.’ She puffed on her pipe, her face disappearing briefly behind a plume of smoke, and then said, ‘My mother’s account, this. There were seven of them. Six remain – the seventh, well, there was some kind of private challenge that, um, failed. No matter. Now, I will grant you, they appear young, but do not let that deceive you. My mother concluded that alchemies constituted a worthwhile investment in maintaining the vigour of her six eldest daughters’ handmaids. And we daughters are of course sworn to secrecy in all such matters, perpetuating the illusion that we have simply grown up with our loyal companions, and so on…’

  She paused then when another chain-clad marine spun head first over the rail, trailing blood over the side. A loud splash followed.

  ‘They were most recalcitrant about divesting themselves of their horrid masks, but in the end my mother’s will prevailed.’

  Shurq Elalle frowned. Masks?

  The sailors made a mess of things as the Lesser Watered, in her pain and panic, used the sorcery of her voice to command them, and it was some time before the handmaid worked her way through the howling mob. Frenzied rage had shock value, and the crew’s utter lack of the instinct for self-preservation made things rather frantic for a few moments, but there was nothing tactical in their efforts to bring her down. When at last the handmaid stepped over a sprawl of bleeding bodies and approached the Inquisitor, she was breathing hard and sweat stung her eyes.

  The woman facing her cradled a broken arm, stood hunched over a dislocated shoulder, and glared across at the handmaid. ‘What manner of demon are you?’ she demanded in a ragged hiss.

  ‘For an answer to that,’ the handmaid replied with a half-smile, ‘best look elsewhere.’

  The Inquisitor scythed out one leg. The handmaid leapt high, swung down, and severed the limb just above the knee. As she came down, her other cutlass cut into the vertical hinge of the woman’s face, splitting it in two. A back-swing with the pommel of the first cutlass slammed into the side of the Inquisitor’s skull, punching through.

  Pouring out blood, the corpse crumpled at her feet. The handmaid looked round. No movement among any of the other bodies. Just as Mother taught. She glanced down at the cutlasses in her hands, and then let them fall with a clatter. Pieces of shit. She went looking for her knives.

  Hood returned to the deck once they were under way. The once-god of death looked back, frowned at the burning ship in their wake.

  ‘Would’ve stopped her firing it,’ Shurq Elalle muttered, following the Jaghut’s gaze, ‘if I’d had the chance.’

  ‘Oh? Why is that, Captain?’

  ‘Well, that column of smoke can be seen from a long way off.’

  ‘Indeed.’ And Hood turned to her then, and smiled.

  ‘I must leave you now.’

  Ublala grunted. ‘I knew you weren’t my friend.’

  ‘
I assure you,’ Draconus said, ‘that I am, Ublala Pung. But events have occurred that now force my hand. As for you, a different destiny awaits.’

  ‘I hate destiny.’

  ‘Do you understand the meaning of the word?’

  Ublala looked across at Ralata and scowled. ‘Of course I do. It’s the place where you end up. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, perhaps. I fear you have mistaken it for “destination”. Ublala, destiny is the fate you find for yourself. Many hold to the belief that it is preordained, as if the future was already decided and there is nothing you can do to escape it. I do not. Each of us is free to decide.’

  ‘Then I’m going with you. My wife can go somewhere else. She keeps talking about babies but I don’t want babies – they get in the way of having fun, and people who end up having them spend all day talking about how great it is, but they look miserable even when they’re smiling. Or worse, there’re those ones who think their baby is the God of Genius reborn and even its poo smells like flowers, and all they do is talk about them for ever and ever and it’s so boring I want to run away, or break their necks, or drown them all in the slop bucket.’

  ‘A rather uncharitable view, Ublala.’

  ‘I don’t give nothing for free, that’s for sure. Whole people disappear when a baby arrives. Poof! Where’d they go? Oh, I know, they’re crawling around making baby noises. It makes me sick.’ He ducked the rock Ralata threw at him and continued, ‘So I’m going with you and if you were a real friend you’d take me because if I make a baby my life is over. Over!’

  ‘Can you fly, Ublala?’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘Nevertheless, and no, I will not carry you. Now, listen to me. We have gone as far west as needed – now you must strike northward.’

  ‘Why?’

  Draconus glanced away, eyes narrowing, and then he sighed and said, ‘Your innocence is a gift, Ublala Pung. A rare gift. It must endure. It must be protected, but that I can no longer do. Walk northward, that is all I ask.’

  ‘Where am I going?’

  ‘I cannot say for certain,’ Draconus admitted. ‘Nothing is certain, especially now.’