Return of the Crimson Guard: A Novel of the Malazan Empire

by Ian C. Esslemont

  From the wharf-walk Hurl saw that things were finally getting ugly. Some kind of summoning stepped out of a Warren. She imagined you'd call it a demon, or monster, all scales and jagged horns. In any case, it sure wasn't one of theirs. It turned on the Captain and closed ground. Rell actually looked ready to take it on but Storo pulled him back, bellowing, ‘Silk!’

  Hurl held her breath, but nothing happened. Usually when the Captain called that loud for their cadre mage, smoke, flame and lightning and you name it came flying. But now nothing. A nagging thought surfaced; had the old gal and her buddy finally managed to corner him?

  A whistle brought Hurl's attention around: Sunny on the launch. He held up a cussor then tossed it. She practically fired her crossbow in her panic to empty her hands. She let the cussor strike her chest and closed her arms around it then lay down to take the weight from her sagging knees. Gods! Cussor tossing! No matter that it took more than a shock to set them off – the imagination did wonders.

  Shaky was looking down at her. ‘They're too close anyway.’ Arrows pattered around like rain. A bestial roar rattled the dock, echoing from the wharf-walk. Hurl peered over the piled cargo.

  The demon was sinking. At least that was how it looked. The beast was up to its scaled waist in dirt and flailing madly. Everyone had stopped to watch, fascinated, the way Hurl had seen the fighting on battlefields halt when a particularly impressive piece of magery was in the process of going horribly awry. It sank to its chest, its neck, then, roaring what sounded like panic, disappeared but for its spasming arms. Those arms remained standing from the streaming dirt like two malformed plants, jerking and clawing.

  ‘Hood's bones!’ Shaky breathed. ‘What a way to go.’

  ‘Shoot, dammit!’ Sunny called from the launch. ‘Shoot!’

  Hurl took aim and fired at the firmer parts of the warehouse roof where the archers had edged forward once more. Shaky dropped one into the closest knot of Orlat's men. That broke the spell. Men dived for cover. The rest of the squad made the dock. Hurl and Shaky fired last warning shots as the launch unmoored then everyone jumped for it. The archers peppered the boat as they drifted away into the dark. Rell and Sunny rowed while everyone else ducked for cover.

  Shaky relieved Sunny who eased himself down next to Jalor who lay, eyes shut, breathing wetly. He looked to have taken a beating. The launch rocked alarmingly, dipping at the bow, and there was Silk, his trademark dark silks smoking and tattered. His long blond hair plastered his head, soaked in sweat. He let himself slump on to a thwart and leaned back, breathing in deep lungfuls of the cool river air.

  So, they'd all made it. But what now? Hurl eyed the Captain. He was looking ahead, downriver, his gaze thoughtful. Would he send Silk by Warren to Fist Rheena? Surely now he had to let her know that a gang of pirates were in the city recruiting. She cleared her throat. The Captain nodded, grimacing. ‘Yes, Hurl … What now?’

  ‘Tell Rheena. She's been square.’

  He rubbed an unshaven cheek, wincing at Hurl's words. ‘Yeah. Well, that's the problem. That just makes this all the harder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She's dead,’ said Silk.

  Storo nodded sourly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He means,’ continued Silk, ‘that there's been a coup tonight in the city. Rheena is surely dead. We're all alone.’

  ‘C'mon, a coup? That's ridiculous. The Claws would crush it.’ But Sunny, Hurl noticed, wasn't sneering. Holding his leg, he looked personally affronted by the news. She bent to that wound, tore the trousers for a better look.

  ‘Not if they're too busy elsewhere,’ said Storo.

  ‘Where?’ Hurl took hold of the quarrel shaft, held Sunny's eyes. Rell eased over to take hold of his shoulders. He gave a sharp nod, gasped, ‘Do it.’

  Hurl leaned her weight on to the shaft, bore on to it until the head burst through the other side of the thigh. Sunny thrashed in Rell's grip, snarled through his teeth clamped in his permanent leer. She eased off. He lay limp, his face glistening in a cold sweat. She unrolled her kit and set to work.

  ‘Orlat and I had a chat,’ continued Storo. ‘From what he hinted at I got the idea that the Seti were rising, as was Tali, and others of the old kingdoms. An organized insurrection. Laseen's been bleeding the garrisons dry for years now to fuel those overseas wars of hers. There's hardly more than a division between here and Unta. And most of those probably turned.’

  ‘Turned to who?’ Hurl glanced to the Captain. He was looking away, over the river to the torches and golden lanterns gleaming over the domes of the city.

  ‘Did you recognize the name Orlat?’ he asked.

  ‘Sounded familiar.’ Everyone, Hurl noted, was watching the Captain now. Even Sunny, who'd come to.

  ‘Orlat Kepten. Was captain of the Spear long ago. I was his first mate.’

  Kepten! Yes, Fat Kepten. How could she have not made the connection? But he'd been a captain in Urko's fleet. That meant … ‘You served with Urko?’

  Looking embarrassed, Storo rubbed again at his jowls. ‘Yeah. There at the end. My father served much longer. He was one of the first Falarans to join up – even before the invasions.’

  While Storo was speaking, Silk had taken the stern and now directed them to the north shore. Storo turned to him. ‘What's this?’

  ‘My arrangements,’ Silk answered. He studied the maze of docks and jetties cluttering the shore like a mess of snaggled teeth. They slid under one sagging dock and Silk grabbed hold of a timber and they waited, silent. Waves licked at the glistening slimed wood of the old posts. Rell cleaned his blades in the water then ran an oiled cloth over them and sheathed them. Once again, Hurl saw, the youth had escaped any injury. In all the years campaigning together she'd yet to see him cut. There was something unnatural about that. She turned to Jalor's wounds.

  ‘That's all right, Hurl. Help should be coming,’ Silk told her gently.

  ‘You're just full of arrangements this night, ain't ya?’ Sunny challenged, watching the mage through slit eyes. Silk answered with an enigmatic smile of his own – one that Hurl had seen turn many a girl's head.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Shaky.

  ‘I mean Silk here showed a lot more tricks tonight than ever before. Those two mages must've been damn good but he kept both busy. How does a plain squad mage manage that? And these arrangements … he knew something was up for tonight.’

  Shaky was watching Sunny; Hurl saw his eyes bugging out the way they did when he was scared. ‘What're you sayin?’

  Sunny's smile was a death's-head. ‘I'm sayin’ maybe we don't need to tell Rheena anything because maybe Laseen already knows. What say you, Silk? Gonna fess up?’

  Shaky gaped at Silk. ‘You a Claw, Silk?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Storo said. ‘We've enough to worry about.’

  Silk raised a hand. ‘It's all right, Captain. I'll talk. Truth is, I happen to be from Heng. I grew up here. This is home turf for me. I pull more out of myself here than anywhere.’

  An old woman's crow of a laugh sounded from above. ‘Bicker, bicker. I smell sour defeat!’

  Silk pushed his fingers through his hair, sighing. ‘Down here, Liss.’

  Hard heels clacked and clattered above. Rell and Storo eased the launch to a floating dock. Two youths, no more than ragged street urchins, helped an old woman down the short ladder to the dock. She took hold of the gunwales of the launch with hands all gnarled and disfigured with arthritis and in a very unladylike manner swung a leg over the side. Grinning a dark wide mouth full of rotten stumps she squatted over Jalor, cackling at what she saw. Hurl backed away because the old hag stank of rotting fish.

  ‘Greetings, Loyalists,’ she said, laughing.

  Loyalists? Hurl wondered. What did the old crow mean by that?

  ‘Morning,’ answered Storo.

  ‘Ah, the great Slayer of Avowed. Captain Matash himself!’ She squinted at him, snorted. ‘You don't look like much.’

  �
�Liss …’ Silk whispered, warning.

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She took hold of Jalor's head, twisted it side to side while he grunted his pain. ‘Ah! Courage and resilience here. Good. He will live.’ She turned on Sunny who flinched from her swollen hands. Those hands darted out to his leg. ‘Ah! Stubbornness here. Good. He will walk again.’ One of those hands then snapped to Hurl's upper arm and clenched there, squeezing the bone; Hurl winced at the woman's strength. The fetid stink of a muddy river bank at low-water assaulted her and she turned her head away. Seeing that, the old woman cackled. Hurl didn't find it funny at all. ‘Greetings, Builder. I am pleased to meet you.’ Builder? She must mean engineer.

  The old woman faced Rell next. He sat motionless, his limbs tense, almost quivering, looking up through his long tangled hair. She pulled her hands from him at the last moment and a long breath hissed from her. Turning away she inclined her head, mouthing something beneath her breath. It seemed to Hurl there was certainly significance to the woman's actions but for the life of her she had no idea what it might be.

  The youths helped the old woman out of the launch. From the dock she reached down to flick a tear in Silk's shirt. ‘All faded now,’ she chuckled. ‘What's become of us, hmm?’

  ‘The Twins turn, Liss,’ Silk murmured with an affectionate smile.

  ‘Hunh! They do, do they? Well, they're taking their own sweet time about it.’

  ‘Many thanks,’ Silk said softly and he pushed off.

  As they drifted away Hurl heard her call after them, ‘Protectress Bless you!’

  They drifted downriver, east with the sluggish current. Soon the next broad curve of the Idryn would bring them to the first of the River Gates, the huge iron grills sunk from bridges that served as extensions of the curtain walls surrounding the city. Jalor suddenly lurched upright, nearly swamping them. He glared about as if still in the fight then eased back under Shaky and Rell's grip.

  ‘How's the leg?’ Storo asked Sunny.

  ‘Fine,’ he grunted, sour.

  ‘Good. ‘Cause you're going to need it.’

  Sunny's smile slid back to its usual sneer. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we're headed to the Palace.’

  Everyone gabbled at once. The Captain raised a hand for silence. ‘We've no choice. We have to act now before they firm up control. Before everyone salutes them tomorrow.’

  Shaky goggled at Storo. ‘What? Us against the whole garrison?’

  Storo waved that aside. ‘There's only a handful of officers behind any coup. Them plus some outside muscle. Can't be more than that. The soldiers are just waiting it out. They'll take their orders from whoever's around tomorrow at the dawn mustering.’

  ‘What about Orlat and his crew?’ asked Sunny.

  ‘They have to stay behind the scenes for now. Can't show themselves. But we'll have to keep an eye out.’

  Hurl caught Sunny's gaze. ‘For sure Smiley's one of ‘em.’

  Sunny showed even more teeth. Then he frowned. ‘Don't matter, do it? We'll never make it to the Palace. There's two River Gates ‘tween us ‘n’ them.’

  ‘No, there isn't,’ said Silk from the bow. He gestured ahead.

  Sure enough, as they'd drifted along, helped by Rell and Shaky's rowing, the bend of the Idryn brought the hulking barrier into view and in the faint light of torches and lanterns Hurl saw that the centre river portcullis was raised. She skewered Silk with a glare. ‘How did you know?’

  He smiled back. ‘Don't you see, Hurl? They raised it themselves to bring in their own men. Now it's our way in too.’

  She wouldn't let go of Silk's gaze. ‘Too convenient, Silk.’

  He gave his most charming smile – the one that she'd seen never fail on any female. Any except her. ‘As you've seen, Hurl. I still have a few old friends here. They jammed the gates for me.’

  Sunny snorted his scorn. Hurl sat back, now convinced. Sunny had it half right: more than he seems, yes. But no Claw. No, maybe more than that. Yet the Captain trusted him as his second in command, and that was good enough for her.

  ‘What's the plan?’ asked Shaky while he sorted through his remaining crossbow quarrels.

  Storo was watching the dark shore, his gaze tight. ‘Silk here will get us into the Palace. We have to establish control of what used to be the old Protectress's Throne room, the City Temple. From there, we work our way out to the garrison's marshalling grounds. We want to be there when the sergeants come out to test which way the wind's blowing.’

  Sunny sneered at Silk. ‘What'ya going to do, Silk? Bring us in by Warren? The Imperial Warren maybe?’

  The mage brushed dirt from his torn vest of dark green silk. He needn't have bothered, it was long past salvaging. Tor your information, Sunny, no one can enter or exit the City Temple by Warren.’ He gave the condescending smile that Hurl knew drove Sunny insane. ‘We'll take the secret entrance.’

  Silk's secret entrance turned out to be a fetid sewer tunnel hardly above the sullen waves of the Idryn. Shaky took one whiff of the damp fumes limping from the brick archway and rocked the boat in his effort to flinch away. ‘Aw, Gods! Give us a break, Silk! You can't mean it…’

  ‘Don't be so dainty,’ Silk purred. ‘Remember, you're a sapper, right?’

  ‘Don't rub it in,’ Hurl grumbled beneath her breath.

  ‘Let's just go,’ Sunny announced, and he nearly swamped the boat as he set one boot on to the slimed bricks. One by one, they carefully stepped out on to the ledge. Hurl hissed her disgust as to steady herself she couldn't help but touch the soft wet walls. Storo ordered Jalor to let the boat slip away. Great, Hurl thought. Now there was no going back. The stench was a physical thing jabbing its furry fingers down her throat, gagging her. Silk lit a hooded lantern and moved to lead the way but Rell stepped in front of him, both swords out, to take point.

  ‘What're we goin’ to do?’ Sunny said, ‘Pull ourselves up through a privy hole and say, Hello!’

  ‘A reverse birth for you, eh, Sunny?’ called Shaky – from the rear.

  Sunny just smiled, his teeth bright in the gloom.

  ‘For your information, yes, something just like that,’ said Silk from up front with Rell.

  ‘You just had to ask,’ Hurl whispered to Sunny.

  ‘Quiet.’ This from the Captain behind.

  Stooped, wincing at the stench, they sloshed along, slipping and skidding on the centuries’ accumulation of the city's ruling elite's excrement. How fitting! Hurl imagined floors above, in a dark alcove, some magistrate extending his withered arse out over her head and wrinkling up his monkey face in effort to deposit … suddenly dizzy she almost heaved and had to lean against the slimy wall. Storo steadied her. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I can't do this.’

  ‘Just a bit further. Bear down on it.’

  ‘Please! Cap'n!’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Ahead, a yell of mingled anger and disgust from Sunny echoed through the tunnel. They groped into a broad underground chamber, dome-roofed, lit by the lantern carried by Silk. Sunny stood knee deep in the pool of filth filling its floor. Everyone else kept to the shallows at its edges. ‘Poliel's rotting tits!’ he snarled. ‘I can't believe the mage led us to this!’ He pointed a long-knife to the far side. There, the flow of excrement dribbled from a sculpture twice Hurl's height – that of a closed snouted dog's maw. As Hurl's vision adjusted she could make out more detail: long pointed ears, slanted canine eyes. An entire carved hound's head, down here! In the dark! What could be the reason for that?

  But the nose was too long, the head too narrow. All of a sudden she recognized it: a jackal. Ryllandaras. The White Jackal of Winter. Quon's Curse. The man-jackal First Hero who rampaged for centuries across these central plains rendering them all but impassable but for the intercession of the tribes who worshipped him – the Old Seti.

  Silk pushed his way forward through the sluggish wash until he touched the gigantic head. He turned to them. ‘Who recognizes this?’

  ‘Ryllandaras,�
� Hurl supplied.

  He nodded, pleased. ‘Yes, I thought you might know, Hurl. Though none of you has ever seen him. Gone from these plains for near a century now. Great was the hatred of this city for their ancient enemy, the man-jackal of the grasslands. As you can see.’

  ‘We all know the stories,’ Sunny sneered. ‘Until the emperor, or Dancer, slew him. Get on with it.’

  ‘That's one version of things … in any case, this is an entrance. A very old one. One dating back far before the current Empire when Heng was an independent city state, and the third most powerful one on the continent. Back then Ryllandaras and the Seti tribes were the eternal enemy, ever washing up against its walls …’