Bonehunters

by Steven Erikson

  Lostara glanced over at the captain, then back at the soldiers in their wake for a moment before saying, ‘You are Korelri?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘And you stood the Wall?’

  A tight smile, there for an instant then gone. ‘None are permitted to leave that service.’

  ‘It’s said the Stormriders wield terrible sorcery in their eternal assault upon the Wall.’

  ‘All sorcery is terrible – to kill indiscriminately, often from a great distance, there is nothing more damaging to the mortal who wields such power, whether it is human or something else.’

  ‘Is it better to look your foe in the eye as you take his life?’

  ‘At the very least,’ Faradan replied, ‘you gave them the chance to defend themselves. And Oponn decides in the end, decides in which set of eyes the light shall fade.’

  ‘Oponn – I thought it was skill.’

  ‘You’re still young, Captain Lostara Yil.’

  ‘I am?’

  Faradan Sort smiled. ‘With each battle I find myself in, my faith in skill diminishes. No, it is the Lord’s push or the Lady’s pull, each time, every time.’

  Lostara said nothing. She could not agree with that assessment, even disregarding the irritation of the other woman’s condescension. A clever, skilled soldier lived where dim-witted, clumsy soldiers died. Skill was a currency that purchased Oponn’s favour – how could it be otherwise?

  ‘You survived Y’Ghatan,’ Faradan Sort said. ‘How much of that was the Lady’s pull?’

  Lostara considered for a moment, then replied, ‘None.’

  Once, years ago, a few score soldiers had stumbled clear of a vast swamp. Bloodied, half-mad, their very skin hanging in discoloured strips from weeks slogging through mud and black water. Kalam Mekhar had been among them, along with the three he now walked beside, and it seemed that, in the end, only the details had changed.

  Black Dog had brutally culled the Bridgeburners, a protracted nightmare war conducted in black spruce stands, in lagoons and bogs, clashing with the Mott Irregulars, the Nathii First Army and the Crimson Guard. The survivors were numbed – to step free of the horror was to cast aside despair, yet whatever came to replace it was slow in awakening. Leaving… very little. Look at us, he remembered Hedge saying, we’re nothing but hollowed-out logs. We done rotted from the inside out, just like every other damned thing in that swamp. Well, Hedge had never been one for optimism.

  ‘You’re looking thoughtful,’ Quick Ben observed at his side.

  Kalam grunted, then glanced over. ‘Was wondering, Quick. You ever get tired of your own memories?’

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ the wizard replied.

  ‘No, I suppose it isn’t. I’m not just getting old, I’m feeling old. I look at all those soldiers behind us – gods below, they’re young. Except in their eyes. I suppose we were like that, once. Only… from then till now, Quick, what have we done? Damned little that meant anything.’

  ‘I admit I’ve been wondering a few things about you myself,’ Quick Ben said. ‘That Claw, Pearl, for example.’

  ‘The one that stabbed me in the back? What about him?’

  ‘Why you ain’t killed him already, Kalam. I mean, it’s not something you’d normally set aside, is it? Unless, of course, you’re not sure you can take him.’

  From behind the two men, Fiddler spoke: ‘It was Pearl that night in Malaz City? Hood’s breath, Kalam, the bastard’s been strutting round in the Fourteenth since Raraku, no wonder he’s wearing a sly smile every time he sees you.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn about Pearl, not about killing him, anyway,’ Kalam said in a low voice. ‘We got bigger things to worry about. What’s our Adjunct got in mind? What’s she planning?’

  ‘Who says she’s planning anything?’ Fiddler retorted. He was carrying one of the children in his arms, a girl, fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth. ‘She went after Leoman, and now she’s fleeing a plague and trying to link up with the transport fleet. And then? My guess is, we’re on our way back to Genabackis, or maybe the Korel Peninsula. It’s more of the same ’cause that’s what soldiers do, that’s how soldiers live.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong,’ Kalam said. ‘It’s all snarled, now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Pearl’s the key, sapper,’ the assassin said. ‘Why is he still around? What’s the point of spying on the Adjunct? What’s the point of dogging the Fourteenth’s heels? I’m telling you, Fid, what the Adjunct does next depends on Empress Laseen, her and nobody else.’

  ‘She won’t cut us all loose,’ Fiddler said. ‘Not the Adjunct, not the Fourteenth. We’re her only mobile army worthy of the name. There ain’t no more commanders out there – well, there are, but the only salute I’d give ’em is point first. Bloody or not, Tavore’s put an end to the rebellion here, and that’s got to count for something.’

  ‘Fid,’ Quick Ben said, ‘the war’s a lot bigger than you might think, and it’s just starting. There’s no telling which side the Empress is on.’

  ‘What in Hood’s name are you talking about?’

  Apsalar spoke. ‘A war among the gods, Sergeant. Captain Paran talked of such a war, at length—’

  Both Kalam and Quick Ben turned at this.

  ‘Ganoes Paran?’ the assassin asked. ‘Quick said he left him in Darujhistan. What’s he to do with all of this? And when did you speak with him?’

  She was leading her horse by the reins three paces behind Fiddler; in the saddle sat three children, dull-eyed in the heat. At Kalam’s questions she shrugged, then said, ‘He is Master of the Deck of Dragons. In that capacity, he has come here, to Seven Cities. We were north of Raraku when we parted ways. Kalam Mekhar, I have no doubt that you and Quick Ben are in the midst of yet another scheme. For what it is worth, I would advise caution. Too many unknown forces are in this game, and among them will be found Elder Gods and, indeed, Elder Races. Perhaps you believe you comprehend the ultimate stakes, but I suggest that you do not—’

  ‘And you do?’ Quick Ben demanded.

  ‘Not entirely, but then, I have constrained my… goals… seeking only what is achievable.’

  ‘Now you got me curious,’ Fiddler said. ‘Here you are, marching with us once again, Apsalar, when I’d figured you’d be settled in some coastal village back in Itko Kan, knitting greasy sweaters for your da. Maybe you left Crokus behind, but it seems to me you ain’t left nothing else behind.’

  ‘We travel this same road,’ she said, ‘for the moment. Sergeant, you need fear nothing from me.’

  ‘And what about the rest of us?’ Quick Ben asked.

  She did not reply.

  Sudden unease whispered through Kalam. He met Quick’s eyes for a brief moment, then faced forward once more. ‘Let’s just catch up with that damned army first.’

  ‘I’d like to see Pearl disposed of,’ Quick Ben said.

  No-one spoke for a long moment. It wasn’t often that the wizard voiced his desire so… brazenly, and Kalam realized, with a chill, that things were getting bad. Maybe even desperate. But it wasn’t that easy. Like that rooftop in Darujhistan – invisible enemies on all sides – you look and look but see nothing.

  Pearl, who was once Salk Elan. Mockra warren… and a blade sliding like fire into my back. Everyone thinks Topper’s the master in the Claw, but I wonder… can you take him, Kalam? Quick’s got his doubts – he’s just offered to help. Gods below, maybe I am getting old. ‘You never answered me, friend,’ the assassin said to Quick Ben.

  ‘What was the question again?’

  ‘Ever get tired of your own memories?’

  ‘Oh, that one.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Kalam, you have no idea.’

  Fiddler didn’t like this conversation. In fact, he hated it, and was relieved as everyone fell silent once more, walking the dusty track, every step pushing that damned ruin of a city further behind them. He knew he should be back in the column, with his squad, o
r maybe up ahead, trying to pry stuff loose from Faradan Sort – that captain was full of surprises, wasn’t she just. She’d saved all their lives – there was no doubting that – but that didn’t mean that he had to trust her. Not yet, despite the truth that he wanted to, for some arcane reason he’d yet to comprehend.

  The little girl with the runny nose sniffled in her sleep, one small hand clutching his left shoulder. Her other hand was at her mouth, and her sucking on her thumb made tiny squeaking sounds. In his arms, she weighed next to nothing.

  His squad had come through intact. Only Balm, and maybe Hellian, could say the same. So, three squads out of what, ten? Eleven? Thirty? Moak’s soldiers had been entirely wiped out – the Eleventh Squad was gone, and that was a number that would never be resurrected in the future history of the Fourteenth. The captain had settled on the numbers, adding the Thirteenth for Sergeant Urb, and it turned out that Fiddler’s own, the Fourth, was the lowest number on the rung. This part of Ninth Company had taken a beating, and Fiddler had few hopes for the rest, the ones that hadn’t made it to the Grand Temple. Worse yet, they’d lost too many sergeants. Borduke, Mosel, Moak, Sobelone, Tugg.

  Well, all right, we’re beaten up, but we’re alive.

  He dropped back a few paces, resumed his march alongside Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas. The last survivor of Leoman’s rebel army – barring Leoman himself – had said little, although the scowl knotting his expression suggested his thoughts were anything but calm. A scrawny boy was riding his shoulders, head bobbing and dipping as he dozed.

  ‘I was thinking,’ Fiddler said, ‘of attaching you to my squad. We were always one short.’

  ‘Is it that simple, Sergeant?’ Corabb asked. ‘You Malazans are strange. I cannot yet be a soldier in your army, for I have not yet impaled a babe on a spear.’

  ‘Corabb, the sliding bed is a Seven Cities invention, not a Malazan one.’

  ‘What has that to do with it?’

  ‘I mean, Malazans don’t stick babes on spears.’

  ‘Is it not your rite of passage?’

  ‘Who has been telling you this rubbish? Leoman?’

  The man frowned. ‘No. But such beliefs were held to among the followers of the Apocalypse.’

  ‘Isn’t Leoman one such follower?’

  ‘I think not. No, never. I was blind to that. Leoman believed in himself and no other. Until that Mezla bitch he found in Y’Ghatan.’

  ‘He found himself a woman, did he? No wonder he went south.’

  ‘He did not go south, Sergeant. He fled into a warren.’

  ‘A figure of speech.’

  ‘He went with his woman. She will destroy him, I am sure of that, and now I say that is only what Leoman deserves. Let Dunsparrow ruin him, utterly—’

  ‘Hold on,’ Fiddler cut in, as an uncanny shiver rose through him, ‘did you call her Dunsparrow?’

  ‘Yes, for such she named herself.’

  ‘A Malazan?’

  ‘Yes, tall and miserable. She would mock me. Me, Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas, Leoman’s Second, until I became his Third, the one he was content to leave behind. To die with all the others.’

  Fiddler barely heard him. ‘Dunsparrow,’ he repeated.

  ‘Do you know the hag? The witch? The seductress and corrupter?’

  Gods, I once tossed her on my knee. He realized of a sudden that he was clawing a hand through the remnants of his singed, snarled hair, unmindful of the snags, indifferent to the tears that started from his eyes. The girl squirmed. He stared over at Corabb, unseeing, then hurried ahead, feeling dizzy, feeling… appalled. Dunsparrow… she’d be in her twenties now. Middle twenties, I suppose. What was she doing in Y’Ghatan?

  He pushed between Kalam and Quick Ben, startling both men.

  ‘Fid?’

  ‘Tug Hood’s snake till he shrieks,’ the sapper said. ‘Drown the damned Queen of Dreams in her own damned pool. Friends, you won’t believe who went with Leoman into that warren. You won’t believe who shared Leoman’s bed in Y’Ghatan. No, you won’t believe anything I say.’

  ‘Abyss take you, Fid,’ Kalam said in exasperation, ‘what are you talking about?’

  ‘Dunsparrow. That’s who’s at Leoman’s side right now. Dunsparrow. Whiskeyjack’s little sister and I don’t know – I don’t know anything – what to think, only I want to scream and I don’t know why even there, no, I don’t know anything any more. Gods, Quick – Kalam – what does it mean? What does any of it mean?’

  ‘Calm down,’ Quick Ben said, but his voice was strangely high, tight. ‘For us, for us, I mean, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s a damned coincidence and even if it isn’t, it’s not like it means anything, not really. It’s just… peculiar, that’s all. We knew she was a stubborn, wild little demon, we knew that, even then – and you knew her better than us, me and Kalam, we only met her once, in Malaz City. But you, you were like her uncle, which means you got some explaining to do!’

  Fiddler stared at the man, at his wide eyes. ‘Me? You’ve lost your mind, Quick. Listen to you! Blaming me, for her! Wasn’t nothing to do with me!’

  ‘Stop it, both of you,’ Kalam said. ‘You’re frightening the soldiers behind us. Look, we’re all too nervous right now, about all sorts of things, to be able to make sense of any of this, assuming there’s any sense to be made. People choose their own lives, what they do, where they end up, it don’t mean some god’s playing around. So, Whiskeyjack’s little sister is now Leoman’s lover, and they’re both hiding out in the Queen of Dreams’ warren. All right, better that than crumbling bones in the ashes of Y’Ghatan, right? Well?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Fiddler said.

  ‘What in Hood’s name does that mean?’ Kalam demanded.

  Fiddler drew a deep, shaky breath. ‘We must have told you, it’s not like it was secret or anything, and we always used it as an excuse, to explain her, the way she was and all that. Never so she could hear, of course, and we said it to take its power away—’

  ‘Fiddler!’

  The sapper winced at Kalam’s outburst. ‘Now who’s frightening everyone—’

  ‘You are! And never mind everyone else – you’re frightening me, damn you!’

  ‘All right. She was born to a dead woman – Whiskeyjack’s stepmother, she died that morning, and the baby – Dunsparrow – well, she was long in coming out, she should have died inside, if you know what I mean. That’s why the town elders gave her up to the temple, to Hood’s own. The father was already dead, killed outside Quon, and Whiskeyjack, well, he was finishing his prenticeship. We was young then. So me and him, we had to break in and steal her back, but she’d already been consecrated, blessed in Hood’s name – so we took its power away by talking about it, ha ha, making light and all that, and she grew up normal enough. More or less. Sort of…’ He trailed away, refused to meet the two sets of staring eyes, then scratched at his singed face. ‘We need us a Deck of Dragons, I think…’

  Apsalar, four paces behind the trio, smiled as the wizard and assassin both simultaneously cuffed Sergeant Fiddler. A shortlived smile. Such revelations were troubling. Whiskeyjack had always been more than a little reticent about where he’d come from, about the life before he became a soldier. Mysteries as locked away as the ruins beneath the sands. He’d been a mason, once, a worker in stone. She knew that much. A fraught profession among the arcana of divination and symbolism. Builder of barrows, the one who could make solid all of history, every monument to grandeur, every dolmen raised in eternal gestures of surrender. There were masons among many of the Houses in the Deck of Dragons, a signifier of both permanence and its illusion. Whiskeyjack, a mason who set his tools down, to embrace slaughter. Was it Hood’s own hand that guided him?

  It was believed by many that Laseen had arranged Dassem Ultor’s death, and Dassem had been the Mortal Sword of Hood – in reality if not in name – and the centre of a growing cult among the ranks of the Malazan armies. The empire sought no patron from among the god
s, no matter how seductive the invitation, and in that Laseen had acted with singular wisdom, and quite possibly at the command of the Emperor. Had Whiskeyjack belonged to Dassem’s cult? Possibly – still, she had seen nothing to suggest that was so. If anything, he had been a man entirely devoid of faith.

  Nor did it seem likely that the Queen of Dreams would knowingly accept the presence of an avatar of Hood within her realm. Unless the two gods are now allies in this war. The very notion of war depressed her, for gods were as cruel and merciless as mortals. Whiskeyjack’s sister may be as much an unwitting player in all this as the rest of us. She was not prepared to condemn the woman, and not yet ready to consider her an ally, either.

  She wondered again at what Kalam and Quick Ben were planning. Both were formidable in their own right, yet intrinsic in their methods was staying low, beneath notice. What was obvious – all that lay on the surface – was invariably an illusion, a deceit. When the time came to choose sides, out in the open, they were likely to surprise everyone.

  Two men, then, whom no-one could truly trust. Two men whom not even the gods could trust, for that matter.

  She realized that, in joining this column, in coming among these soldiers, she had become ensnared in yet another web, and there was no guarantee she would be able to cut herself free. Not in time.

  The entanglement worried her. She could not be certain that she’d walk away from a fight with Kalam. Not a fight that was face to face, that is. And now his guard was up. In fact, she’d invited it. Partly from bravado, and partly to gauge his reaction. And just a little… misdirection.

  Well, there was plenty of that going round.

  The two undead lizards, Curdle and Telorast, were maintaining some distance from the party of soldiers, although Apsalar sensed that they were keeping pace, somewhere out in the scrubland south of the raised road. Whatever their hidden motives in accompanying her, they were for the moment content to simply follow. That they possessed secrets and a hidden purpose was obvious to her, as was the possibility that that purpose involved, on some level, betrayal. And that too is something that we all share.