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

by Ian C. Esslemont

  ‘Stand aside, Ancient One,’ she called.

  The war leader glanced to her. ‘Perhaps we should invite this one to accompany us.’

  ‘Not him. He is no warrior.’

  A clash of weapons carried over the heaving of the surf. The dark eyes of the warriors now fixed glittering upon the far vessel.

  ‘Slay him and go,’ the war leader commanded.

  ‘Hold!’ This from the girl. ‘Strike him not! He is sacrosanct.’

  The leader spun to the girl. ‘Claims who?’

  ‘I!’

  ‘Warleader …’ This from one of the Edur.

  ‘Yes!’

  A nod in the direction of the other vessel. He turned to where all the warriors stared and Ereko watched a sickly paling of this Edur's grey hue. The sounds of battle, Ereko noted, had ended some moments ago. A wave and the warriors charged past. Their leader called up to the girl, ‘That one I hope you will allow us to slay.’

  But the young witch woman was deaf to his jibe. She too had seen Traveller, and so too had she seen all that moves inexorably with him. Her body was frozen, yet a war had broken out upon her face as it twisted, appalled, stunned, fascinated and horrified. The war leader had run to engage Traveller. Ereko, however, chose to watch the battle betrayed on this young girl's face as one faith held as immutable truth met the incarnation of another.

  Which would win?

  So far, of all the spiritual crises he'd witnessed in those open to them, Traveller – or rather that which travels with him – had won.

  A slight wash in the surf and Traveller stood beside him. His shirt was slashed and dappled in lashes of blood. Rising in clouds from his stained chamois trousers blood stained the water around him. The girl stared down at them, her face frozen in a rictus that pained Ereko to see, then, with a howl, she threw herself backwards from sight.

  ‘What of the ships?’ Ereko asked. They both knew they could not use them; they hadn't the crew.

  ‘We'll have to burn them.’

  ‘A shame, that. They are of interesting construction. We can salvage some of the wood, I hope? It would speed our efforts considerably.’

  ‘Very well. But nothing distinctive.’

  He turned away and Ereko followed him up out of the surf. So many questions pressed themselves upon him but their peculiar partnership did not permit anything approaching explanations. For his own reasons Traveller wished it that way. But then, so too did Ereko.

  A shrill call from the water, ‘Revealed One!’

  It was the girl. She stood in the surf, supporting herself against the ship's bow. The tatters of cloths and scarves she wore hung from her like draped seaweed. While they watched she dragged herself up the black gravel of the shingle.

  ‘Please! I beg your guidance!’

  ‘What is she saying?’ Traveller asked.

  ‘Ahh, you do not know Edur. I will translate. She wishes guidance.’ Ereko lowered his voice. ‘Should she be allowed to live? She is a witness. There may be reprisals.’

  ‘Some things must be witnessed.’

  Traveller's response staggered Ereko. Even he, of another kind and immortal, glimpsed in those words the faintest hint of what this man might be bringing forth upon the world and he was awestruck by its implications. After a time he indicated the girl now prone on the wet stones before them. ‘What should I tell her?’

  ‘If it is guidance she wishes tell her that I cannot give her anything she does not already have.’

  Ereko translated, ‘What you seek lies within.’

  She howled, disconsolate. Her fingers clawed through the stones. ‘I have nothing. Everything was a lie! I – my life – all is bereft of meaning! I am empty!’

  ‘Tell her to spread the word of what she has seen.’

  Ereko thought about Traveller's words. ‘What is your name, child?’

  She wiped her eyes savagely. ‘Sorrow.’

  Ancient Mother! Now it was Ereko's turn to stare until, misunderstanding his silence, the girl hung her head. He had to clear his throat before he could find his voice. ‘Sorrow, go forth into the world. Bring word of what has been revealed.’

  At his words the length of her body convulsed as if struck. She raised her face and deep within her dark eyes Ereko saw flames kindled. Those flames rose to a shining that brought tears streaming down her cheeks. She climbed to her feet. Her mouth tightened to a bloodless slash and she knelt on one knee. ‘I will return to my people and all the ancient lies will be cast down. I will bring this new truth to them.’

  Ereko translated for Traveller.

  He was staggered. ‘No. They'd just kill her out of hand. Tell her to go north. She might have a chance up there.’

  Ereko translated, ‘Your people are not yet ready for the truth, Sorrow. It would destroy them as it nearly did you. Their time will yet come. He bids you travel north as a pilgrim. There you may find fertile ground.’

  She straightened, though her eyes now remained downcast. He studied her: such a young malnourished thing! Is this part of the foundation upon which Traveller would set his message? And there were marks upon her, invisible to others, but which he could sense. Monstrous cruelties were there burnt upon her spirit. This one has spilt much blood. But then, who else would possibly dare to carry such a burden as the one Traveller lays upon these converts?

  ‘Tell her to go – I cannot stand to see her trembling.’

  ‘The one who has given up his name, his past, all that he once was, to bring his message to the world, blesses you, and bids you go.’

  ‘My Lord!

  The girl's gaze was averted as if from a glaring light. She could not see how her actions, her words, tormented Traveller. ‘Go,’ Ereko repeated. ‘Go.’

  She backed away, weeping, a hand at her mouth, the other wiping her eyes. She was beyond words, stricken. Transformed. Annealed by the flames that burn within these mortals’ spirits that so erupt in Traveller's presence. Like handfuls of mineral powders tossed upon a fire.

  They watched her retreat until she clambered up a cliff of tumbled rocks and disappeared from sight.

  ‘Perhaps we should burn these ships before the villagers loot them,’ Traveller said into the long silence.

  ‘I want the wood.’

  He let out a long sigh. ‘Very well. I'll forbid any looting.’

  Ereko turned to him. ‘Forgive me, Traveller, but I must ask. What is it they sense? The ones like this.’ He was startled to see that Traveller too was trembling. Perhaps it was the chill wind. The man had swung his gaze out to sea, squinting now into the shards of sunlight flashing there among the waves.

  ‘I really do not know. They see what they must see. I didn't lie when I said it was already there within them. It was always there. I believe that I merely show them the Path. They must choose to walk it.’

  ‘And where does this new Path of yours lead?’

  His answering smile was full of self-mockery. ‘I do not know. I am still walking it. Though I will say this one thing – it leads to a meeting and a choice. A confrontation that I cannot see beyond.’

  He left Ereko standing motionless in thought upon the wave-washed shingle. More had been revealed than Ereko had ever expected, or dared ask. Yet it all remained a closed mystery to him. Among his kind they were born of Mother Earth, their flesh remained of the Earth, and when they faltered so they returned to Her embrace. Things, it seemed, were far simpler back then.

  * * *

  Stalker, Grere and Kyle scouted the settlement the next dawn. Empty rotting huts and grass-choked lanes. The hulks of sunken boats in the weeds of the shore. Long abandoned it was. Yet Kyle could not shake a feeling of unease. The gaping doorways seemed to mock him. Unseen figures seemed to watch from among fallen rafters. His back prickled as if hidden bows were trained upon him. After a quick search they returned to the blade waiting in the woods. ‘Abandoned,’ Stalker announced. Kyle nodded his agreement.

  ‘Visited now and then,’ added Grere. ‘Fishermen, h
unters, ‘n’ such.’

  ‘Did you enter the fortress?’ Trench asked.

  They shook their heads.

  ‘Good. Don't for now.’ He stood. ‘Let's move in. Stalker, Grere, point. Stoop, with me. Kyle, Twisty, rear.’

  The blade spent the day kicking through the falling-down huts and storehouses. Trench appropriated the least collapsed house as the base. He dragged the only usable chair into the shade just inside the gaping front opening and sat facing the bay.

  Kyle looked to the hamlet's rear where an overgrown path led into dense brush and on, presumably, to the cliff and fortress above.

  ‘Why not camp down in the woods, out of sight?’ Stalker asked.

  Sitting on the steps. Stoop answered, ‘’Cause we want to make contact.’

  Trench pulled a pouch from his waist, pushed a pinch of leaf and white powder into one cheek. ‘That's right. Keep watch. Someone comes, grab ‘em.’

  ‘Aye.’

  That night Kyle stood watch with Twisty. They kept no fires. Kyle stood in the dark close to shore, watching the moonlight shimmer from the bay's calm water. It was cool and he wondered how hard a winter this region drew. While he tried to make himself as still as the night he heard someone approaching slowly and stealthily from his rear; listening, he believed he identified the man making the noise. ‘You're supposed to be watching the woods.’

  Twisty pulled up short, surprised. ‘Damn. How'd you know it was me?’

  ‘You told me you were from a city – no woodsman would make that much noise.’

  Twisty grimaced his disbelief. ‘Is that really true?’

  ‘No. I've never even been in a city. Seen one from a distance though.’

  Twisty unrolled a wool cloak he carried over a shoulder and pulled it tight about himself. ‘You're down here at the shore, I've come down from the woods. I think we both felt it last night and this night too.’

  ‘Felt what?’

  ‘The spirits.’

  ‘Spirits?’

  ‘Yes.’ Twisty's bony shoulders shook as he shivered. ‘The land's lousy with them.’

  Kyle squinted up to the dark tree line. ‘It feels empty to me.’

  ‘Maybe they're the reason why it's empty.’

  ‘Maybe. I'm not sure what I feel.’

  ‘No? Really? They're interested in you.’

  Kyle couldn't suppress a flinch of recognition. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘My Warren is Denul. I sense these things.’

  Now that it had been named, Kyle shook off the feeling he'd sensed since setting foot in this land – the feeling of being watched. He turned to the bay. ‘Warrens,’ he ground out. ‘I don't understand your Warrens. How do they work? On the steppes we just worshipped the land and the rain and—’ Kyle stopped.

  ‘Yes?’ Twisty prompted.

  ‘And the wind. We worshipped Father Wind.’

  Twisty blew out a long thoughtful breath. ‘The Warrens … Good question. Hardly anyone actually knows. They're not ours after all. In your lands, do you have brotherhoods, groups of men or women?’

  ‘Yes. We have warrior societies. Most young men join if they can. The Tall Grass, The Red Earth. The women have theirs.’

  ‘Well, you might think of the Warrens that way. Each one has its own way of doing things. Its own secret words, symbols, and rituals. That's all there is to it. Sadly puerile, really.’

  Still facing away, Kyle whispered, ‘But gods?’

  Kyle snorted. ‘Just powerful spirits to my mind. Beings who have more power than others – nothing more. But you don't have to believe me. I'm something of a cynic on the matter.’

  Kyle turned to eye the mage. ‘Just power – is that the only difference?’

  ‘Yes. There should be more but it's not something any of them seem willing to accept.’

  ‘What's that?’

  ‘The connection.’

  The next day a small boat entered the bay. An old man rowed it. He tied it up at the least decrepit dock. The men of the blade watched from cover. ‘Alive,’ Trench whispered, raising a warning finger to Grere who bared his teeth in answer. Stalker, Kyle and Grere spread out among the empty huts.

  Kyle allowed the old man to walk past his hiding place then stepped out on to the overgrown lane behind. The man had been whistling but stopped now that Grere suddenly faced him. He shot a glimpse to his rear, saw Kyle and his shoulders slumped. He drew a long-knife from his waist and dropped it. Grere waved him up the hill with a flick of his hand.

  ‘Thought you were ghosts,’ the man said to Trench in what Kyle heard as oddly accented Talian.

  ‘Ghosts?’ Grere answered, sneering. ‘We're flesh and blood.’

  ‘Funny that.’

  ‘Why's that funny?’

  ‘That's what they say too.’

  Grere clouted the man across his face and Kyle fought down an urge to do the same to the Barghast tribesman. ‘What settlement is north of here, old man?’ Trench asked.

  ‘Thikton.’

  ‘How many men and women there?’

  ‘A lot. Many hundreds.’

  ‘How long have the Malazans run the place?’

  The old man peered at them all. ‘Malazans? Ain't no Malazans here. Just traders, if that's what you mean.’

  ‘No? Then who runs the place?’

  The old man scratched his head. ‘Well, no one, I s'pose. We just mind our own business.’

  Trench's mouth hardened. ‘You sayin’ there's no ruler? No authority?’

  ‘Oh, well. There's the factor upriver at Quillon. I s'pose you could say he runs things.’

  ‘The factor? A trader?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What if you were attacked? Pirates or raiders?’

  The old man nodded eagerly. ‘Oh, yes. That used to happen all the time. Korelan raiders from up north. Even invaders from Mare landed south of here.’

  ‘And? What happened?’

  The old man swallowed, hunched his shoulders. ‘Ah. Well. The ghosts, y'see. They run them all off.’

  Trench raised a gauntleted hand to cuff the man but turned away in disgust. ‘This is useless.’

  ‘Kill him?’ Grere asked.

  ‘Kill him? You Genabackan recruits are a bloodthirsty lot.’

  ‘I think we can manage one fisherman,’ Stoop drawled.

  ‘I'll keep watch on him,’ said Kyle.

  ‘So will I,’ Twisty added.

  Trench waved to take the old man away. ‘Fine. He goes missing, I'll take the skin off your backs.’

  That night Kyle sat on the steps with Stoop who smoked his pipe. High broken clouds moved raggedly across the face of the moon. A weak wind stirred the limbs of the birch and spruce. ‘What of the ship?’ Kyle asked.

  ‘They'll wait while we scout out this town upriver.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Well, we'll see, won't we? If there's no Malazan garrisons like the man says, then we'll just move right in.’

  ‘But this isn't Quon Tali.’

  ‘No.’ Stoop took the pipe from his mouth, knocked the embers in a shower of sparks to the wet ground and gave Kyle a wink. ‘But we're real close now, lad. We just have to reach out, and it's ours.’

  Somehow Kyle didn't think it would be so easy.

  Stoop slipped the pipe into a pocket. ‘I'm off for sleep. These old bones don't take to cold bivouacs no more. Did you know that not one of these roofs don't leak?’

  ‘Try the one across the way.’

  The old saboteur eyed the canted, sunken-roofed ruin. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  Kyle sat for a time in the dark. These last few nights he'd hardly slept at all. That feeling of being watched that Twisty blamed on spirits wouldn't leave him. Sometimes he thought he'd heard voices whispering in the night. He even felt as if he'd heard his name called once or twice.