‘There is nothing more to them?’
The Adjunct’s shrug was careless. ‘They are foreigners, First Sword. Barbarians.’
Barbarians sailing the finest warships on the damned ocean, aye.
But Korbolo Dom, in all his percipience and razor-honed judgement, simply nodded.
Another moment of silence, in which so many things could have been said, in which the course of the Malazan Empire could have found firmer footing. Silence, and yet to Kalam it seemed he could hear the slamming of doors, the clatter and crunch of portcullis dropping, and he saw hallways, avenues, where the flickering light dimmed, then, vanished.
If the Empress were to speak then, with words for the Adjunct alone – anything, any overture that did not ring false—
Mallick Rel said, ‘Adjunct, there is the matter of two Wickans, a warlock and a witch.’
Tavore’s eyes remained on Laseen. ‘Of course. Fortunately, they are ineffectual, a consequence of the trauma they experienced with Coltaine’s death.’
‘Nonetheless, the Claw will effect their arrest.’
The Empress said, ‘It cannot be helped, Tavore. Even with a remnant of their old power, they could unleash slaughter upon the citizens of Malaz City, and that we cannot have.’
‘The blood this night belongs to the Wickans and the Khundryl.’ A statement from the Adjunct, devoid of all emotion.
‘It must be so,’ the Jhistal priest murmured, as if struck anew by grief.
‘Tavore,’ Laseen said, ‘will the Khundryl prove recalcitrant in yielding their arms and armour? Do they not number two thousand, or more?’
‘A word from me will suffice,’ the Adjunct said.
‘I am greatly relieved,’ the Empress said, with a faint smile, ‘that you now comprehend the necessity of what will occur this night. In the broader scheme of things, Tavore, the sacrifice is modest. It is also clear that the Wickans have outlived their usefulness – the old covenants with the tribes must be dispensed with, now that Seven Cities and its harvest have become so thoroughly disrupted. In other words, we need the Wickan Plains. The herds must be slaughtered and the earth broken, crops planted. Seven Cities has provided us a harsh lesson when it comes to relying upon distant lands for the resources the empire consumes.’
‘In this way,’ Mallick Rel said, spreading his hands, ‘necessity is an economic matter, yes? That an ignorant and backward people must be eradicated is sad, indeed, but alas, inevitable.’
‘You would well know of that,’ Tavore said to him. ‘The Gedorian Falari cult of the Jhistal was eradicated in a similar manner by Emperor Kellanved, after all. Presumably you are among the very few survivors from that time.’
Mallick Rel’s round, oiled face slowly drained of what little colour it had possessed.
The Adjunct continued, ‘A very minor note in the imperial histories, difficult to find. I believe, however, should you peruse the works of Duiker, you will find suitable references. Of course, “minor” is a relative term, just as, I suppose, this Wickan Pogrom will be seen in later histories. For the Wickans themselves, of course, it will be anything but minor.’
‘Your point, woman?’ Mallick Rel asked.
‘It is useful, on occasion, to halt upon a path, and to turn and walk back some distance.’
‘Achieving what?’
‘An understanding of motivations, Jhistal. It seems that this is a night of unravelling, after all. Covenants, treaties, and memories—’
‘This debate,’ the Empress cut in, ‘can be conducted another time. The mob in the city below will soon turn upon itself if the proper victims are not delivered. Are you ready, Adjunct?’
Kalam found he was holding his breath. He could not see Tavore’s eyes, but something in Laseen’s told him that the Adjunct had locked gazes with the Empress, and in that moment something passed between them, and slowly, in increments, the eyes of Laseen went flat, strangely colourless.
The Adjunct rose. ‘I am, Empress.’
T’amber also stood, and, before anyone could shift their attention to Kalam, the assassin climbed to his feet.
‘Adjunct,’ he said in a weary rumble, ‘I will see you out.’
‘When you are done that courtesy,’ the Empress said, ‘please return here. I have never accepted your resignation from the Claw, Kalam Mekhar, and indeed, it is in my mind that worthy promotions are long overdue. The apparent loss of Topper in the Imperial Warren has left vacant the command of the Claw. I can think of no-one more deserving of that position.’
Kalam’s brows lifted. ‘And do you imagine, Empress, that I would assume that mantle and just settle back in Unta’s West Tower, surrounding myself with whores and sycophants? Do you expect another Topper?’
Now it was Laseen’s turn to speak without inflection. ‘Most certainly not, Kalam Mekhar.’
The entire Claw, under my control. Gods, who would fall first? Mallick Rel. Korboto Dom…
And she knows that. She offers that. I can cut the cancers out of the flesh… but first, some Wickans need to die. And… not just Wickans.
Not trusting himself to speak, and not knowing what he might say if he did, Kalam simply bowed to the Empress, then followed Tavore and T’amber as they strode from the chamber.
Into the corridor.
Twenty-three paces to the antechamber – no Red Blades remained – where Tavore paused, gesturing to T’amber who moved past and positioned herself at the far door. The Adjunct then shut the one behind them.
And faced Kalam.
But it was T’amber who spoke. ‘Kalam Mekhar. How many Hands await us?’
He looked away. ‘Each Hand is trained to work as a unit. Both a strength and a flaw.’
‘How many?’
‘Four ships moored below. Could be as many as eighty.’
‘Eighty?’
The assassin nodded. You are dead, Adjunct. So are you, T’amber. ‘She will not let you get back to the ships,’ he said, still not meeting their gazes. ‘To do so invites a civil war—’
‘No,’ Tavore said.
Kalam frowned, glanced at her.
‘We are leaving the Malazan Empire. And in all likelihood, we will never return.’
He walked to a wall, leaned his back against it, and closed his eyes. Sweat streamed down his face. ‘Don’t you understand what she just offered me? I can walk right back into that room and do precisely what she wants me to do – what she needs me to do. She and I will then walk out of there, leaving two corpses their heads sawed off and planted on that damned table. Damn this, Tavore. Eighty Hands!’
‘I understand,’ the Adjunct said. ‘Go then. I will not think less of you, Kalam Mekhar. You are of the Malazan Empire. Now serve it.’
Still he did not move, nor open his eyes. ‘So it means nothing to you, now, Tavore?’
‘I have other concerns.’
‘Explain them.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
T’amber said, ‘There is a convergence this night, Kalam, here in Malaz City. The game is in a frenzy of move and countermove, and yes, Mallick Rel is a participant, although the hand that guides him remains remote, unseen. Removing him, as you intend to do, will prove a deadly blow and may well shift the entire balance. It may well save not just the Malazan Empire, but the world itself. How can we object to your desire?’
‘And yet…’
‘Yes,’ T’amber said. ‘We are asking you. Kalam, without you we stand no chance at all—’
‘Six hundred assassins, damn you!’ He set his head against the wall, unwilling, unable to look upon these two women, to see the need in their eyes. ‘I’m not enough. You have to see that. We all go down, and Mallick Rel lives.’
‘As you say,’ Tavore replied.
He waited for her to add something more, a final plea. He waited for a new tack from T’amber. But there was only silence.
‘Is it worth it, Adjunct?’
‘Win this battle, Kalam, or win the war.’
‘Yes.’
With a shaved knuckle in the hole.
His palms itched against the damp leather of his gloves. ‘That Jhistal priest holds a grudge.’
‘A prolonged one, yes,’ said T’amber. ‘That, and a lust for power.’
‘Laseen is desperate.’
‘Yes, Kalam, she is.’
‘Why not stay right here, the both of you? Wait for me to kill them. Wait, and I will convince the Empress that this pogrom needs to be stopped. Right now. No more blood spilled. There’s six hundred assassins in the city below – we can crush this madness, scour away this fever—’
‘No more blood, Kalam Mekhar?’
T’amber’s question stung him, then he shook his head. ‘Ringleaders, nothing more will be required.’
‘It is clear that something has not occurred to you,’ T’amber said.
‘What hasn’t?’
‘The Claw. They are infiltrated. Extensively. The Jhistal priest has not been idle.’
‘How do you know this?’
Silence once more.
Kalam rubbed at his face with both hands. ‘Gods below…’
‘May I ask you a question?’
He snorted. ‘Go ahead, T’amber.’
‘You once railed at the purging of the Old Guard. In fact, you came to this very city not so long ago, intending to assassinate the Empress.’
How does she know this? How could she know any of this? Who is she? ‘Go on.’
‘You were driven by outrage, by indignation. Your own memories had been proclaimed nothing but lies, and you wanted to defy those revisionists who so sullied all that you valued. You wanted to look into the eyes of the one who decided the Bridgeburners had to die – you needed to see the truth there, and, if you found it, you would act. But she talked you out of it—’
‘She wasn’t even here.’
‘Ah, you knew that, then. Well, no matter. Would that alone have stopped you from crossing to Unta? From chasing her down?’
He shook his head.
‘In any case, where now is your indignation, Kalam Mekhar? Coltaine of the Crow Clan. The Imperial Historian Duiker. The Seventh Army. And now, the Wickans of the Fourteenth. Fist Temul. Nil, Nether. Gall of the Khundryl Burned Tears, who threw back Korbolo Dom at Sanimon – cheating Korbolo’s victory long before Aren. The betrayers are in the throne room—’
‘I can make that stay shortlived.’
‘You can. And if you so choose, the Adjunct and I will die possessing at least that measure of satisfaction. But in dying, so too will many, many others. More than any of us can comprehend.’
‘You ask where is my indignation, but you have the answer before you. It lives. Within me. And it is ready to kill. Right now.’
‘Killing Mallick Rel and Korbolo Dom this night,’ T’amber said, ‘will not save the Wickans, nor the Khundryl. Will not prevent war with the Perish. Or the destruction of the Wickan Plains. The Empress is indeed desperate, so desperate that she will sacrifice her Adjunct in exchange for the slaying of the two betrayers in her midst. But tell me, do you not think Mallick Rel understood the essence of Laseen’s offer to you?’
‘Is that your question?’
‘Yes.’
‘Korbolo Dom is a fool. Likely he comprehends nothing. The Jhistal priest is, unfortunately, not a fool. So, he is prepared.’ Kalam fell silent, although his thoughts continued, following countless tracks. Potentials, possibilities. ‘He may not know I possess an otataral weapon—’
‘The power he can draw upon is Elder,’ T’amber said.
‘So, after all we’ve said here, I may fail.’
‘You may.’
‘And if I do, then we all lose.’
‘Yes.’
Kalam opened his eyes, and found that the Adjunct had turned away. T’amber alone faced him, her gold-hued eyes unwavering in their uncanny regard.
Six hundred. ‘Tell me this, T’amber: between you and the Adjunct, whose life matters more?’
The reply was immediate. ‘The Adjunct’s.’
It seemed that Tavore flinched then, but would not face them.
‘And,’ Kalam asked, ‘between you and me?’
‘Yours.’
Ah. ‘Adjunct. Choose, if you will, between yourself and the Fourteenth.’
‘What is the purpose of all this?’ Tavore demanded, her voice ragged.
‘Choose.’
‘Fist Keneb has his orders,’ she said.
Kalam slowly closed his eyes once more. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, a faint, ever faint sound. Music. Filled with sorrow. ‘Warrens in the city,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Many, seething with power – Quick Ben will be hard-pressed even if I can get through to him, and there’s no chance of using gates. Adjunct, you will need your sword. Otataral out front… and to the rear.’
Strange music, the tune unfamiliar and yet… he knew it.
Kalam opened his eyes, even as the Adjunct slowly turned.
The pain in her gaze was like a blow against his heart.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
The assassin drew a deep breath, then rolled his shoulders. All right, no point in keeping them waiting.’
Pearl stepped into the chamber. Mallick Rel was pacing, and Korbolo Dom had uncorked a bottle of wine and was pouring himself a goblet. The Empress remained in her chair.
She wasted no time on small talk. ‘The three are nearing the Gate.’
‘I see. So, Kalam Mekhar made his choice, then,’ A flicker of something like disappointment. ‘Yes, he is out of your way now, Pearl.’
You bitch. Offered him the Claw, did you? And where would that have left me? ‘He and I have unfinished business, Empress.’
‘Do not let that interfere with what must be done, Kalam is the least relevant target, do you understand me? Get him out of the way, of course, but then complete what is commanded of you.’
‘Of course, Empress.’
‘When you return,’ Laseen said, with a small smile on her plain features, ‘I have a surprise for you. A pleasant one.’
‘I doubt I shall be gone long—’
‘It is that overconfidence that I find most irritating in you, Pearl.’
‘Empress, he is one man!’
‘Do you imagine the Adjunct helpless? She wields an otataral sword, Pearl – the sorcery by which the Claw conduct their ambushes will not work. This will be brutal. Furthermore, there is T’amber, and she remains – to all of us – a mystery. I do not want you to return to me at dawn to inform me that success has left two hundred dead Claws in the streets and alleys below.’
Pearl bowed.
‘Go, then.’
Mallick Rel turned at that moment, ‘Clawmaster,’ he said, ‘when the task is done, be sure to dispatch two Hands to the ship, Froth Wolf, with instructions to kill Nil and Nether. If opportunity arrives thereafter, they are to kill Fist Keneb as well.’
Pearl frowned. ‘Quick Ben is on that ship.’
‘Leave him be,’ the Empress said.
‘He will not act to defend the targets?’
‘His power is an illusion,’ Mallik Rel said dismissively. ‘His title as High Mage is unearned, yet I suspect he enjoys the status, and so will do nothing to reveal the paucity of his talents.’
Pearl slowly cocked his head. Really, Mallick Rel?
‘Send out the commands,’ Laseen said.
The Clawmaster bowed again, then left the chamber.
Kalam Mekhar. Finally, we can end this. For that, Empress, thank you.
They entered the gatehouse at the top of Rampart Way. Lubben was a shadow hunched over a small table off to one side. The keeper glanced up, then down again. A large bronze tankard was nestled in his huge, battered hands.
Kalam paused. ‘Tilt that back once for us, will you?’
A nod. ‘Count on it.’
They moved to the opposite gate.
Behind them, Lubben said, ‘Mind that
last step down there.’
‘We will.’
And thanks for that, Lubben.
They stepped out onto the landing.
Below, buildings were burning here and there across the city. Torches scurried back and forth like glow-worms in rotted flesh. Faint shouts, screams. Centre Docks was a mass of humanity.
‘Marines on the jetty,’ the Adjunct said.
‘They’re holding,’ T’amber noted, as if to reassure Tavore.
Gods below, there must be a thousand or more in that mob. ‘There’s barely three squads there, Adjunct.’
She said nothing, and began the descent. T’amber followed, and finally, with a last glance at the seething battle at Centre Docks, Kalam set off in their wake.
Tene Baralta strode into the well-furnished room, paused to look around for a moment, then made his way to a plush high-backed chair. ‘By the Seven,’ he said with a loud sigh, ‘at last we are done with the cold-eyed bitch.’ He sat down, stretched out his legs. ‘Pour us some wine, Captain.’
Lostara Yil approached her commander. ‘That can wait. Allow me to help you out of your armour, sir.’
‘Good idea. The ghost of my arm pains me so – my neck muscles are like twisted bars of iron.’
She drew the lone gauntlet off his remaining hand and set it on the table. Then moved – to behind the chair, reached over and unclasped the man’s cloak. He half-rose, allowing her to pull it away. She folded it carefully and set it on top of a wooden chest near the large, cushion-piled bed. Returning to Tene Baralta she said, ‘Stand for a moment, sir, if you will. We will remove the chain.’
Nodding, he straightened. It was awkward, but they finally managed to draw the heavy armour away. She placed it in a heap at the foot of the bed. Baralta’s under-quilting was damp with sweat, pungent and stained under the arms. She pulled it away, leaving the man bare above the hips. The scars of old burns were livid weals. His muscles had softened with disuse beneath a layer of fat.
‘High Denul,’ Lostara said, ‘the Empress will not hesitate in seeing you properly mended.’
‘That she will,’ he said, settling back into the chair. ‘And then, Lostara Yil, you will not flinch when looking upon me. I have had many thoughts, of you and me.’
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