‘It's not over,’ Su had called to him from where she sat gently cradled by a rider astride a mount, enigmatic and true to form. He'd just waved goodbye.
The saboteurs, including sergeants Jumpy and Urfa, seemed content to sit sprawled in the shade of their trenches, helmets and armour shed, re-dressing wounds and cadging water and food from the many Kanese and Cawn cavalry wandering the battlefield, collecting wounded and souvenirs.
This left him and the priest-mage, Heuk. The impromptu honour guard forming up surrounding the wagon had set out north. Ho invited Heuk to join the wake. ‘I'm curious to have a look at this Mallick creature the Cawn officers are so puffed up about.’
Heuk walked with him. He gestured to the wagon. ‘I still can't believe it.’ He wiped a dirty sleeve across his equally dirty face, winced at the glaring sun.
‘Neither can I. It seems impossible.’
Ho saw his feelings echoed in the stunned, numb faces of the regular soldiers all assembling without fanfare, without orders, all gathering together to follow the wagon as it made its slow way north to the trader road. Only now, it seemed to Ho, were they becoming aware of what they had had in their Empress. Unflinching. A presence so solid they need not even have considered it. For all her faults it may be that it was she who held them all together. Now, with her gone, the break with the past was complete. Who was left to take the throne? Who could possibly fill that cold, hard, perilous seat – or would possibly dare? No one that he could think of. But then, he'd been away for a very long time, and even a day can be a lifetime in Imperial politics.
Heuk had been eyeing him edgewise, an unwelcome calculating look in his eyes. ‘The Empire has a need of a High Mage …’
‘I'd rather have my skin flayed from my body. What about you?’
‘Me? I'm just a squad mage.’
Certainly. A squad mage who terrifies all other mages. But he let it lie – they each had their secrets and preferred anonymity.
The cortége eventually reached the encampment of the Cawn command near the crossroads. Here it stopped and the Cawnese provincial nobles gathered to pay their respects. Also present were many assembled Imperial officers. Beneath his breath Heuk pointed out each to Ho: ‘The tall pale one is High Fist Anand. Next to him is Fist D'Ebbin. Don't know the names of the Kanese and Cawn officers and mages here.’ A palanquin pushed its way among the gathered officers, a bald, armoured, giant Dal Hon at its head. Ho exchanged knowing glances with Heuk. Bala. Quick to sidle up, she was.
Searching among everyone Ho saw no one dominating figure. Rather, it was the way they all stood in an uneasy semicircle slightly apart from one particular figure that directed his gaze to the man: the seemingly harmless short, rotund, figure who must be this Mallick Rel. The man's pale moon face held an expression of deep remorse and sadness, but beneath this Ho read rigidly contained triumph.
‘A poignant day for the Empire’, Mallick said softly to High Fist Anand next to him. Though in pain from his wounds, Anand looked down at the man with obvious disgust. ‘A day to be remembered.’ He clasped his hands across his stomach. ‘Yes. And for more than this one compelling reason. For while we mourn the loss of our Empress we must also rejoice in the surmounting of this misguided secessionist movement. And for the crushing of our old enemies, the mercenary Crimson Guard.’ The man glanced to the ground as if in humility. ‘Such is Laseen's legacy of peace and security to us.’
Gods, he really slathers it on. Ho looked to Heuk, who rolled his eyes to the sky. Yet what can one do hut stand in awe of such breathtaking, hare-faced audaciousness?
‘Mallick!’ a great deep voice bellowed. Heads turned. Puffing, battered and limping, Korbolo Dom, Sword of the Empire, pushed his way forward supported by two of his officers. ‘What is this, Mallick?’ The Sword glared about the assembly. ‘What is this delay? Why are we not marshalling for attack? Now is the time!’ Panting, he glanced about from face to face. ‘We have them surrounded. Outnumbered. We must strike! Behead every last one of them! I will take overall command—’
‘Sword,’ Mallick interrupted softly, ‘we rejoice that you are still with us, but we are pained by reports that have come to us from the engagement with the Talian League.’
Korbolo stared, mouth gaping his utter consternation. ‘What?’
‘It has been reported from many sources that when your phalanx broke you withdrew to the rear. Do you deny these reports?’
‘To take command of another unit to lead it into battle – yes. Mallick, what is this foolishness? We are losing time—’
But the Falaran native was shaking his head, his thick lips down-turned as if forced into an unwilling duty. ‘I am sorry, Korbolo, but the Sword – once committed to the field – does not retreat. To do so is to announce capitulation to the entire Imperial force.’ Mallick raised his gaze to study the assembled officers. ‘And I take it as a powerful testimony to the resilience and temper of these forces that they did not break then and there.
‘Therefore, as Imperial Councillor, Spokesman of the Assembly, it is my regretful duty to order you imprisoned until a court of inquiry into these events may be convened.’
‘What!’ The Sword stared, his mouth working, then suddenly he lunged at Mallick. The officers who had formerly been supporting him now restrained him. ‘You … creature! You cannot do this to me! I am the Sword! Victorious! I won this battle!’ The man struggled, arms wrenching. He glared with bulging eyes at the assembled officers, his Napan face darkening, foam at his lips. ‘I am your commander! I led you to victory!’
‘The prisoner will be silenced,’ Mallick ordered.
A rag was jammed into Korbolo's mouth. He was led away kicking, fighting, gurgling and screaming behind the rag.
Mallick shook his head in sad regret.
‘Your wisdom and forbearance are an inspiration to us all, Councillor,’ an old woman called out.
Mallick's gaze sharpened, searched the crowd, settled on one face and narrowed to glittering slits. ‘Let that one come forth,’ he called.
The Wickan twins advanced, supporting Su between them. Ho tensed to advance but Heuk held him back.
‘So, you Wickans. Before me once again. Yet I hear accounts from all sides that your charge smashed the Guard and opened the way to Imperial victory. For that we are all in your debt. And we thank you …’
Su bowed shallowly. ‘We ask only for what is by rights ours.’
‘Ah, yes … of course.’ Mallick reclasped his hands across his stomach. ‘This most recent distressing policy regarding your lands. Ill-conceived and inhumane. I was always against it, of course.’
Now the twins lurched forward, faces twisting, but Su's clawed hands clutching at their shoulders held them back. ‘Perhaps these new Imperial holdings could be granted twenty-year leases from us,’ Su suggested, ‘thereby avoiding further violence and upheaval.’
Mallick's lips pursed. His fingertips tapped one another across his stomach. ‘Details to be negotiated in treaty, of course.’
Su inclined her head. ‘Of course.’
Mallick waved negligently. ‘Very well. We are done. You may withdraw.’
‘Your honesty and compassion are a lesson to us all,’ Su crooned, bowing. Ho sent the old witch a wink as the twins helped her away.
‘M'Lord Councillor,’ Bala called from her palanquin.
‘Yes, High Mage?’
High Mage. Ho shot Heuk a sharp glance – the old mage looked skyward once more.
‘Multiple Warrens have been accessed on the hilltop.’
Nodding thoughtfully, Mallick faced the assembled officers. ‘Send word to the Guard that it is our belief that enough of our good honest soldiers have died today. Enough blood has been shed in this useless vendetta. Speaking – unofficially – for the Empire, our leave is given them to withdraw.’
‘Convenient, that,’ Heuk muttered aside, ‘since they're already withdrawing.’
Ho bent down to answer, ‘It'll look good in the histories.’<
br />
Heuk motioned aside. ‘C'mon. I've had a bellyful of this. One more pronouncement from him and I'll puke. Let's have a drink with those good honest soldiers.’
‘I can just see those history books, too,’ Ho said as they walked along. ‘Kellanved the Terrible. Laseen the Bloody. And Mallick the Benevolent.’
‘Mallick the Just,’ Heuk offered.
A voice bellowed after them. ‘Cadre mage!’
They turned. Bala's palanquin was following, led by the bald, sweating, giant Dal Hon. ‘The High Mage requires your attendance,’ he commanded.
‘This is enough to drive me to an early retirement,’ Heuk murmured.
They waited while the palanquin closed. ‘Groten,’ Bala called through the flimsy white cloth hangings, ‘allow them to approach.’
The guard, Groten, bowed. ‘Yes, mistress.’ He curtly waved them closer.
Sighing, Heuk stepped up, followed by Ho. ‘Yes, Bala.’
‘That's High Mage – please remember henceforth.’ The High Mage, Bala, lay reclined upon pillows, sheer silks arranged decorously. She was a voluptuous Dal Hon woman; Ho noted her six sturdy bearers were sweating furiously. She slowly fanned her face. ‘Since I am now High Mage to all the Empire, I cannot deal with the trivialities of the mage cadre in any one army. Therefore you are now in charge of the cadre for the Fourth. You report to me. And you …’ the fan pointed to Ho. ‘You are not welcome in the cadre. We do not want the likes of you.’
Ho bit down on laughter. He waved his assent.
‘Too much a threat, hey, Bala?’ Heuk said.
‘Do not bore me with your meaningless talk, Heuk. Good day. Our audience is over. Groten!’
The bodyguard loomed over them. ‘Out of the way!’
Ho allowed himself to be edged aside. He watched the palanquin lumber away.
‘I know a soldier,’ Heuk said musingly, ‘who, if he'd seen her just now, would've fainted dead away.’ Gesturing, he invited Ho on.
‘What of Laseen?’ Ho asked.
‘Mallick will probably spare no expense on her mausoleum in Unta. How it would gall her.’
‘All the more reason from his point of view, I suppose.’
‘And what of you?’ Heuk asked.
‘Retirement in Heng. I have a lot of catching up to do there. A lot.’
Heuk eyed him sidelong, scratched at his scraggly stained beard. ‘Really …’
‘Yes, really … Yes!’
Heuk straightened the earthenware jug he held under one arm. ‘Un-huh.’
* * *
Kyle and the Lost brothers had waited while the Guard filed through the opened gates to march away through the Imperial Warren. The last to leave were K'azz, Shimmer, Shell and two very battered and bruised Avowed mages named Blues and Fingers.
Throughout the withdrawal, the lines of Malazan infantry and assembled cavalry from Kan and Cawn had watched, shields readied but swords sheathed and lances raised. K'azz approached Kyle who motioned to the surrounding ranks of Imperial soldiery. ‘They let you go.’
The old man nodded. ‘Yes. This Mallick no doubt intends to blame all this bloodshed on Laseen's policies, so he could hardly add to it. But what of you? You're sure you won't come along? You are very welcome.’
‘No, thank you. But if you could move us a touch, though, we'd appreciate it.’
‘I see. Where will you go?’
Kyle shrugged. ‘Not sure. We have to talk it over.’
‘Very well. I'll leave things to Shell here. In any case,’ he held Kyle's shoulders, ‘I owe you more than I can say. You can always call on the Guard. Yes?’
Embarrassed, Kyle just waved all that aside, but nodded his thanks.
K'azz went to the portal, turned and waved. Kyle and the Lost brothers raised their hands in farewell. Shimmer waved then also, bowing, and stepped through. Blues and Fingers followed and that gate snapped shut with a whoosh of displaced air. Shell waited next to hers. She waved them over. ‘I have instructions on where to take you.’
Kyle exchanged looks with Stalker, Badlands and Coots, cocked a brow. Coots stepped up, rubbing his hands together. ‘Where're we off to, lass? Darujhistan? Korel? Aren?’
She just smiled, the lines around her mouth tight. ‘After you.’
Kyle had only the briefest sensation of disorientation then his moccasins touched down on a dusty dirt floor in an empty, long-abandoned room. He spun, taking in the dusty quarters – what was this? Stalker and the brothers joined him, stepping out of nowhere, to flinch as well, hands going to weapons.
‘Where are we?’ Stalker breathed the question aloud for all of them.
Badlands crouched at a gaping window. ‘Eternal Ice take it! We're still here!’
‘What?’ Everyone joined him.
There's the battlefield!’
‘I see Cawn pennants.’
Stalker stepped away from the window. ‘What is this …’
‘The Sanctuary …’ Kyle murmured, peering around. ‘In the east – the butte. What did Shimmer call it?’
‘The Sanctuary of Burn,’ Coots supplied.
‘So why here?’ Stalker asked.
‘’Cause someone else is here,’ said a new voice.
They spun, weapons hissing from sheaths, to see one of the Crimson Guard Brethren. ‘Stoop!’ Kyle exclaimed.
‘Aye, lad.’
‘What in the Wind King's name are you doing here?’
The shade walked up, grinning, dressed in his vest, ragged hanging shirt and tattered trousers as he had been in life. ‘I'm with you, lad.’
Everyone shoved their weapons away. ‘With me?’
‘I'll be taggin’ along with you for a time. K'azz's dispensation.’
‘Really? Just as those other Brethren come to K'azz?’
‘Yeah – for a while. Till the Vow pulls me back, I s'pose.’
‘Just like back home,’ Badlands said aside to Coots, who glared for silence.
‘So, why can we see and hear you then?’ Stalker demanded, ever sceptical.
A translucent shrug. ‘I guess because you was Guardsmen for a time.’
‘So no one else would see or hear you?’ Badlands asked.
‘I dunno. I ain't no mage. Unless they're priests o’ Hood or mages, I s'pose.’
‘Too much like back home,’ Badlands commented behind a raised hand.
‘Shut it Coots answered, and he shook himself, brushing dust from his thick mane of hair.
Kyle went to the window, leaned against the ledge. Out on the plain fires glowed in the gathering twilight. So many. Where had they all come from? ‘Are we here because you are here?’
Stoop scratched his temple with his shortened arm just as he used to in life. ‘Naw. I go wherever you go. There's someone else here. C'mon, I'll take you to him.’
Kyle and the Lost brothers exchanged looks as the shade walked out of the room through one of the open portals. A moment later he reappeared, waved them on. ‘C'mon. This way.’ Stalker motioned Kyle to lead. Kyle opened his hands as if to deny any part in this but he went out first.
Stoop led them through a jumbled labyrinth of tumbled, fallen-down rooms and halls. Some were no more than canted walls open to the sky, others as dark as collapsed mines. The dust and litter of years lay thick upon everything.
After a time Kyle smelled wood smoke and cooking animal fat. Pausing, he turned back to the brothers and touched the side of his nose. They nodded, carefully eased weapons from sheaths. Crouched, he slowly advanced through the thick shadows of a nest of small chambers. The crackling and snapping of a wood fire led him on until he saw the glow ahead. He paused, waited for the brothers to catch up. The shade of Stoop had gone on ahead. Once they were all together Stalker signed for Kyle and himself to take the right and the left while Coots and Badlands would cover the centre. Everyone nodded.
On a silent count, they crashed into the room, weapons raised. A big man sat against the wall of a littered chamber, a small cookfire burning.
/> ‘Is that you, Kyle?’ the man exclaimed, surprised. ‘What're you doing here?’
Kyle straightened, his weapon falling. ‘Greymane!’
One of his eyes was swollen shut. His upper lip split and swollen. The entire side of his face was blossoming dark purple while his hair was clotted with dried blood. His armour lay piled in a corner. He gestured to Stoop's grinning shade. ‘I knew it would be a Guardsman, but I wasn't expecting you.’
Kyle crouched at the fire. ‘What're you doing hiding here?’
Return of the Crimson Guard: A Novel of the Malazan Empire Page 92