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

by Ian C. Esslemont

  ‘What? How is this?’ Jhest gaped his disbelief.

  Kyle leapt to one of three soldiers Stalker had kept at bay, severing an arm at the elbow and crippling a leg on the backswing.

  ‘No!’ Jhest bellowed. ‘You are not of the Isturé!’

  Unhesitating, Kyle continued hacking the lumbering giants – none of whom uttered a sound or even flinched from their attack though it was obvious they were doomed. Once down, the brothers finished them off.

  After the last, Kyle spun on Jhest. He was exhausted, his arms numb and tingling from the jarring impacts of swings that he'd had to give every ounce of his strength. The Jacuruku mage eyed him in turn. ‘You should not have been able to do that,’ he said flatly. ‘It is therefore the blade. Allow me to examine it.’

  ‘Allow me to kill him,’ Stalker said to Kyle, panting his own weariness.

  ‘Not yet.’ He crouched beside Ereko who still knelt on his hands and knees, his arms sunk to his elbows. ‘What should we do?’ he asked, pleading.

  Ereko did not answer. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth clenched, lips drawn back in a rictus of effort. ‘Almost,’ he hissed on a breath. ‘Almost…’

  Jhest clapped his hands, barking an order. Stalker raised his sword. ‘Wait!’ Kyle yelled.

  ‘Why is this shit still alive?’ Stalker demanded.

  ‘Damn right,’ Badlands added.

  ‘Because we may need him.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To retrieve Traveller.’

  Hesitating, Stalker slammed home his blade. ‘Damn the Dark Hunter!’

  Jhest, however, appeared utterly unconcerned. His gaze was directed far off to the jungle-line beyond. A one-sided smile crooked up his thick lips. Kyle, a cold presentiment shivering his flesh, slowly turned following the mage's gaze.

  ‘Trouble,’ Coots said laconically, spitting.

  Movement shivered the treeline all up and down the beachfront for as far as Kyle could see in either direction. Armoured soldiers identical to those dismembered around them stepped forth. Tens, hundreds. ‘Ereko!’

  But still enmeshed in his efforts the giant did not answer.

  ‘You have no choice but to abandon him,’ Jhest observed blandly.

  Snarling, Stalker drew and thrust in one movement. The mage did not flinch. Instead, he looked down calmly at the sword impaling his abdomen and cocked one brow. ‘You will find me a great deal more difficult to kill than my servants.’

  Stalker stepped back. His blade sucked free, glistening with a clear, thick ichor. ‘Kyle …’

  ‘Wait!’

  Ereko, grunting his effort, was withdrawing his arms from the sands. His hands came free, clasped in a shared wristlock with another's arm – Traveller's. Up and down the shore, the beach shuddered, rippling beneath everyone. Even the mage, Jhest, was rocked. ‘No!’ he bellowed. ‘Impossible!’

  Beneath Ereko was revealed a gap, a wound into darkness. Sands disappeared, sucked in a growing vortex that appeared to lead to … dark nothingness. Kyle leaned forward to lend a hand.

  ‘No!’ Ereko gasped. ‘It will take you.’

  Traveller's other hand appeared, pushed down against the surface. Gasping, Ereko straightened his legs, drawing the man free. The gaping void disappeared with an explosion like the burst of a Moranth munition. The report of its closure echoed from the tree-line. Traveller lay supine while Ereko straightened, drawing in great bellowing breaths.

  ‘They're still comin’,’ Coots drawled into the silence.

  The swordsman pushed himself to his feet. Jhest watched, his face eager, almost avid, lustful. ‘You live,’ he breathed, awed.

  Traveller rolled his shoulders, wincing. ‘My life is now my own, magus. It can no longer be taken by anyone.’

  The statement seemed to transport the mage. His eyes lit up and open glee twisted his mouth into a frog-like leer. ‘Then it is true! It can be done!’

  Traveller seemed merely to gesture and the mage's head flew from his shoulders to roll to the sands. ‘Not by you.’ He sheathed his sword.

  ‘Time to run away,’ Coots suggested.

  Blinking, Kyle stared at the headless torso of the mage that remained standing, immobile. He had the unnerving impression that should he touch it a hand would leap up to grab him. Glancing away he saw the army of armoured soldiers almost within reach. ‘Run!’ They leaned their shoulders to the Kite, pushed it out into the surf. The Lost brothers pulled themselves in. Ereko, Kyle saw, glanced back and cursed, slogging away. Traveller had remained on the shore.

  Cursing as well, Kyle threw himself back into the surf. When he arrived Ereko was pleading with the swordsman. ‘It is of no use!’

  ‘Go,’ Traveller said. ‘I will deal with all of these and their masters as well.’

  ‘There is no need!’ Ereko was fairly weeping.

  ‘They came between myself and my vengeance.’

  ‘Traveller!’ Kyle called sharply.

  The dark-skinned swordsman pulled his gaze from the relentless advance of the soldiers. He glanced to Kyle, puzzled, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your vengeance is elsewhere, isn't it?’

  A hand rose from his sword grip to massage his brow. He clenched his eyes shut, pinching them.

  ‘Well?’

  The front ranks of soldiers met and trampled the body of Jhest. They drew their weapons in a clash of iron that echoed all up and down the treeline. Traveller allowed Ereko to drag him backwards into the surf. ‘Yes. Elsewhere …’ he murmured, sounding confused.

  The waves buoyed them, darkening Traveller's leathers. Ereko continued pulling the man backwards. Kyle forced himself out against the waves. Glancing back, his chest clenched at the sight of the statue-like soldiers marching on, not even hesitating, to push into the surf. ‘Don't stop!’

  The cousins reached for them over the side of the Kite, Ereko slapped their hands aside. ‘Trim the sail!’

  Springing up, Kyle grasped hold of a rope. Ereko had an arm around Traveller who still held his head, his eyes closed. The sail snapped, filling. The Kite pulled on Kyle. Behind them the soldiers marched on, disappearing beneath the waves rank after rank. Hanging from the side, Kyle could not help but raise his legs as tightly as he could from the water.

  * * *

  Impatient strikes on the tunnel wall next to his alcove brought Ho from his meal of stewed vegetables and unleavened bread. He swept aside the rag hanging across the opening, a retort on his lips, to meet no one. Peering down he found the bent double shape of Su, an aged Wickan witch whom gossip in the tunnels had as once member of the highest circles of tribal councils. ‘What is it, Su?’

  She closed her dark knotted hands on a walking stick no longer than his foreleg. Her fingers were twisted by the swelling of the joints that afflicts the aged – those who cannot afford the Denul treatments or have access to them – and she cocked her head to examine him with one eye black and beady like the proverbial crow's. ‘Just thought you might want to know. They caught those two newcomers. The Malazan spies. Caught them poking around down at the excavation. I do believe Yath intends to kill them.’

  Ho started, shocked. ‘Kill them? How in Togg's teats is he to manage that? Talk them to death?’

  A cackle. ‘Ha! That's a good one. I don't know how. But he does intend to introduce them to our guest down below.’

  Introduce them? Sweet Soliel, no. Who knows what might become of that? ‘I'll get my things. Many thanks, Su.’

  ‘Oh, I'm coming with you.’

  At the tunnel he paused, pulled on his jerkin and sandals. ‘I'm rather in a hurry.’

  The Wickan witch was tapping her way along the uneven tunnel. She waved a hand contemptuously. ‘Faugh! There's no rush. You know how these things go. Everyone has a stick to throw on to the fire. They'll be talking through the night watch.’

  They came to the broad main gallery and Ho was surprised to find it nearly deserted. ‘Where is everyone?’

  Su jabbed her stick to the beaten earth
floor. ‘Didn't I just tell you, fool? They're down below!’

  Slowly walking along, down a side gallery, Ho tucked his hands into the sash he used to hold up his old worn pantaloons, so loose after he'd lost so much weight. ‘And no one came to tell me …’

  ‘I came! Thank you very much!’

  ‘Other than you, Su.’

  She leaned heavily on her stick, a bit out of breath. ‘Poor Ho. You really didn't think that you could simply stand aside, did you? Yath has been whispering against you for years! Undermining you constantly! Haven't you noticed?’

  A shrug. ‘No …’

  ‘Bah! You blind idiot! Not much of an infighter, are you …’ She sighed. ‘Ah well, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. I suppose I'll just have to work with the material the Gods have mockingly cursed me with.’

  Ho stopped short. ‘Your innuendo and vague pronouncements might impress the others, Su, but I have no time for them.’ The witch caught up with him, peered aside.

  ‘Oho! Some spirit! There's one segment of spine left in there after all!’

  Ho refrained from commenting that she, of all people, should not talk about spines. He collected a full lamp from a nearby alcove and lit it from another, then crossed to a steeply sloped side tunnel complete with guide-rope. He led while Su huffed and puffed her way down behind. Small stones they kicked loose bounced and rattled down the slope until so distant their noise was lost in the dark. Hot, humid air wafted up the tunnel in a steady stream, licking at the lamp flame. ‘All right,’ Ho finally announced, ‘what did you mean by that comment?’

  A cackle from the dark above. ‘Ha! Takes you longer than anyone to admit you're human just like the rest of us, doesn't it? Makes perfect sense! Ha!’

  Ho slowed his descent. Was the hag merely casting darts into the dark? Yet every one falls just that degree of uncomfortably close … ‘I've no idea what you're talking about.’

  The stick echoed from the dirt behind. ‘Oh, come, come! The ore inhibits any new castings but the old remain! I… smell… you, Ho.’

  Queen, no. He froze. ‘Unkind, Su. Precious little water down here, after all.’

  The crone's long face loomed into the guttering lamplight. The flame danced in her black eyes; she leered conspiratorially. ‘I smell the old ritual on you, magus. The forbidden one. How did you manage it? Everyone thinks it lost.’

  And so it must remain. He pulled away, descending. ‘I've no idea what you're talking about.’

  ‘Very well! Be that way. It seems trust is in as short a supply down here as initiative. I don't begrudge you your caution. But you could end the farce below should you wish. Just bring forth a fraction of what sleeps within, magus. I believe it is possible despite the ore.’

  Possible! Aye, it may well be possible – bringing madness with it! And I have a strong aversion to madness, witch. Very strong.

  *

  After a long gentle curve and another long descent the narrow tunnel met a natural cavern, its floor levelled by dirt that Ho knew had been excavated from elsewhere further within. Its walls rose serried like the teeth of a comb, climbing in teardrop shape to an apex lost in the dark. A knot of men and women, a selection of the Pit's inmates, filled the floor. Lamps on tall poles lit the gathering in a dim gold light. Without slowing down Su pushed her way through the crowd, elbows jabbing and stick poking. ‘Out of the way, fools!’ she hissed.

  Ho, following, squeezed past, nodding to inmates he knew who glared, holding shins and sides. ‘Sorry.’

  Broaching the front he found the two newcomers, Treat and Grief, surrounded by a gang of the more hale men armed with spears. Both looked healthy and, if anything, bored by the proceedings. Grief especially radiated contempt, standing with arms crossed and mouth crooked as if ready to laugh. Yath and Sessin stood nearby. Catching sight of Ho, Yath pointed his staff. ‘Here he is! Of course he has come. Their Malazan confederate. We'll deal with you next, Ho.’

  ‘Confederate?’

  ‘You have been seen on many occasions secretly meeting with these two spies. Do you deny it?’

  Ho scratched his scalp, shrugging. ‘Well, we've talked, yes. I've talked with everyone here at one time or another.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Su muttered under her breath. ‘What are you doing here, Yath?’ she barked. ‘Is this a court? What are the charges? Under whose authority are you empowered?’

  Yath stamped his staff on the soft ground. ‘Quiet, witch!’

  ‘Or you will deal with me later also? When will it end? How many will you kill?’

  Behind his full beard Yath smiled and Ho realized that Su had overplayed her hand. He opened his arms, gesturing broadly. ‘No one here is going to die. What do you think I am? We are all civilized people down here – a description I extend even to you, Su. I am merely planning a small demonstration. A little show for our new friends meant to impress upon them the importance of our work.’ Yath glanced about the crowd entreatingly. ‘It is, after all, what they have come for. Is it not?’

  From the nods and shouts of agreement, Ho understood that, as Su said, he had been withdrawn from the community for far too long now. How could their small brotherhood of scholars and mages have come to this? Singling out ‘spies’ for punishment; arming themselves; sowing fear? Those who would speak against Yath were obviously too disgusted to even bother coming down. Like himself.

  ‘We don't know what might happen, Yath. It's too dangerous.’

  ‘Silence! You have discredited yourself, Ho. Plotting with your fellow Malazans.’

  ‘Malazan? I'm from Li Heng, Yath.’

  ‘Exactly. From the very centre of the Malazan Empire.’ Yath waved the spearmen to move the prisoners forward. Sessin stepped up between Yath and the two, his hands twitching at his sides. Ho could only stare; the ignorance the man's statement revealed was stunning. How can one possibly reason one's way across such a gap?

  ‘Yath,’ Ho called, following with the crowd, ‘you know about as much about Malaz and Quon Tali as I know about Seven Cities! Many on the continent consider the Malazans occupiers just as you do!’ But the tall Seven Cities priest was no longer listening.

  Amid the spearmen, Grief peered back to Ho. ‘What's gonna happen?’

  ‘Quiet,’ warned a number of the guards. Grief ignored them.

  ‘They're just going to … show you something. It's nothing physically threatening.’

  The man's mouth pulled down as he glanced away, considering. ‘I'm kinda curious myself.’

  Su, Ho noted, was watching the two with keen interest, her sharp eyes probing. After a moment she let out a cawing laugh. She edged her head up to Ho and smiled as before, touched the side of her hooked nose, winked.

  ‘What is it?’ he murmured.

  ‘Something else I smell. Took me a while to place it. Was a long time ago at the Council of All Clans.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You'll see. You and Yath, I think. Ha!’

  Ho snorted. ‘More of your games.’

  ‘Ha!’

  The path led away to a crack in the stone wall of the cavern. Beaten earth steps led down through the narrow gap to another cavern, this one excavated from the layered, seared sedimentary stone that carried the Otataral ore. The spearmen pushed Treat and Grief to the fore where yath and Sessin waited. Beyond them, a walkway of earth climbed the far wall that appeared made of some smooth and glassy rock.

  Grief glanced around. ‘This is it?’

  Yath had at his mouth a grin of hungry triumph. He urged, ‘Look more closely. Raise the lights!’

  Poles were taken down, lamps affixed, and re-straightened. The light blossomed, revealing a wall of dark green stone that held hidden depths where reflections glimmered. Ho watched as, stage by stage, slow realization took hold of Grief. ‘No – it can't be …’ the fellow murmured. His gaze went to the bulge excavated at the base, the slope up to a gaping cave opening, the jutting cliff above this cut off by the roof of the cavern. Of all the forgotten Gods,‘
he said. He looked to Yath, open unguarded wonder upon his dark Napan face. ‘A jade giant … I'd read of them, of course. But this …’ He shook his head, staggered beyond words.