A messenger presented papers for his inspection – objections regarding space for water requisition. Ullen scrawled ‘Maximum!’ and handed back the orders then returned to studying the foreigners. Forty more Gold warriors for Urko’s grand alliance of the disaffected. Some two thousand of them now. And the last wave of recruitment, too. Word had come from Quon; events were far ahead of schedule. The fleet had to move now or risk becoming a footnote.
Further out to sea, beyond the anchorage, swift scout vessels already scoured the sea-lanes southward, securing the route of the hundred-vessel convoy that would sail this very night.
‘Watching our Genabackan allies, aren’t you?’ came a woman’s rich contralto. Ullen turned. Dominating the mid-deck beneath a shading canopy sat Urko’s new mage cadre leader, the ample, midnight-hued Dal Honese witch, Bala Jesselt.
Ullen allowed himself a guarded nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Can we trust them, hmm? Why are they with us, yes? What are their goals?’
‘Yes? What are they? You are the mage.’
Bala shrugged her thick shoulders, fanned her face. ‘Well, who can say? Their minds work in strange ways.’
‘Strong allies for now though.’
‘Yes…for now.’
Ullen chose to overlook the opening – Bala was notorious for her innuendo and constant scheming for self-advancement. Her unbridled ambition had had her eliminated from the cadre long ago. No doubt Urko believed he could keep her in check, but Ullen wondered. Further messages arrived. Bala continued fanning her glistening sweaty face while Ullen answered each. ‘What of you?’ she asked as he struggled with the final order of sailing.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Once Adjutant to Choss, now a mere staff-chief. A demotion, yes?’
Ullen returned the orders. He gave the new mage cadre leader his best smile. ‘I think of it as more of a sideways move.’
She sighed her disappointment, flicked her fan. ‘I suppose one must make the best of what little one can manage.’
‘Speaking of what little one can manage – what word from Li Heng or Dal Hon?’
The fan snapped shut. ‘Do not mock me! All of you should be grateful for my presence! If it were not for me shielding this fleet Admiral Nok would have sunk the lot of you.’
‘Nok is wholly preoccupied by the Seven Cities pacification. He is wise enough to keep to one war at a time.’
Bala’s laugh shook her wide bosom. ‘What could you know of the mind of a commander as great as he?’
Ullen almost explained that he was Choss’s adjutant and that Choss had been Nok’s protégé, but he realized the effort would be lost on one such as this. He gratefully accepted the distraction of a Gold Moranth messenger arrived by launch. ‘Yes?’
‘Commander V’thell once again asks to be informed of our destination.’
‘Inform V’thell that for reasons of security no one but Urko knows our destination. Not even I know. Word will be given once the fleet is at sea.’
‘Very well. What of storms scattering the fleet?’
‘We will communicate by flag, lantern and,’ he nodded to Bala, ‘mage. What of your quorls?’
‘All the quorls will be returned. They hate the water.’
‘A shame that.’
The messenger bowed and climbed down the side to the waiting launch. Idly, Ullen wondered if a Moranth in all his armour would sink just as swiftly as any normal armoured man, and whether they were insane not to bow in any way to the altered circumstances of travel at sea.
A half-bell later he decided, reluctantly, that now was as good a time as any. He called to a flagman, ‘Signal for the larger vessels, the Blues, and the dromonds, to begin exiting the anchorage.’ The Dal Hon witch now had her sleepy-eyed attention on the captain’s cabin containing Urko. The man was probably staying in there solely to avoid her. ‘What can you do to speed our passage?’ he asked her. ‘Events are moving faster than we.’
‘I? I am no Chem priestess. And the Warren of Mael is a mystery to me, thank Thesorma.’
Ullen rubbed his eyes. Why have the Gods cursed him so? ‘Do you know anyone who can be of help? Any of our associates or sympathizers?’
The fan slid open and resumed fluttering. ‘I will make inquiries.’
‘Thank you.’
As the day’s light faded Ullen kept in communication with the fleet through the flag signalmen for as long as he could. Lanterns appeared more and more often, flashing their coded responses. All the while Bala’s fan fluttered as a blur. Sometimes she seemed to whisper into it while at other times she wafted its wind over the side of her face. Ullen shaded his gaze to take in the distant huge Blue transports far out to sea. Impatient, that Gold commander, V’thell.
At one point Bala jerked as if pinched, biting back a gasp, and Ullen swung on her. ‘Yes?’
The fan resumed its blurred flashing. The puffed lazy eyes slid to the darkening horizon. ‘Strange scents from Stratem. Something there. Something very powerful. I smell it; even this far across the world.’
Stratem? Who gave a damn about Stratem? ‘Any word on who could help us with the crossing?’
She nodded. ‘A hint. A sympathizer in Unta. His representatives are open to the possibility. I think they want gold or political influence in return.’
‘Tell them that if they speed our passage they will get whatever they ask for.’
The Dal Hon witch appeared doubtful; she pursed her full lips. ‘I shall. But a dangerous promise. Who knows what they might ask for?’
‘I don’t care if they ask for Hood himself. We’ve dawdled here assembling long enough. We must move.’
‘Very well. I will negotiate with this mage of Ruse.’
The refugees came streaming into Heng like drips of blood leaking down from the Seti plains. Atop the wall next to the Northern Plains Gate, the Gate of Doleful Regards, Captain Storo Matash, now Interim-Fist of the Malazan Garrison, watched the dusty knots of men, women and families while a sour ulcerous pain ate at his stomach. More mouths to feed. More souls to house. More voices to complain. And more potential traitors to watch. How many among this latest train of displaced settlers and traders were Seti agents and spies? Too many, no doubt. As if that new tribal warlord they’ve got out there needed any more spies in this leaking tub of a city.
A scrape of boots on stone and Silk stood next to him. ‘You should still be in bed recuperating,’ the mage told him.
‘I have no reason to complain. How’s Rell doing?’
Silk grimaced in sympathetic pain. ‘Recovering. It’s a miracle he’s alive at all, let alone healing. I’ve requisitioned and pressed every skilled healer in the city into helping out. But even if he does recover completely there’s nothing to be done for the scarring. The man lost most of the skin of his arms and face. High Denul can do only so much. For all that, though, he actually doesn’t seem to mind. He’s even practising to keep limber as he heals.’ Silk raised his hands in wonderment. ‘Simply amazing.’
‘Well, you move my bed up here and I’ll lie down in it. In any case,’ Storo eyed the pale, sunken-eyed mage, ‘you look worse off than me.’
Silk shrugged, leant his weight against the stone crenellations. ‘Up all night with the saboteurs, helping to hide their work. They’re making miracles all up and down the walls. Shaky’s actually working. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him work before.’
‘You too. Back in Genabackis, I always had the feeling you had one hand behind your back. That you weren’t committed.’
A dry wind off the prairie tousled the mage’s long blond hair. He pushed it back from his face. ‘Not my battle. This is.’
‘You proved that last week. Going to finally tell me what you did? I was out of it by then. Sunny claims the sun shone out of your arse and you farted everyone away.’
Silk could not keep a grin away. ‘Colourful. And not too inaccurate. No, all I did was summon the power of the old city temple and it responded with one last glow of its old re
flected glory. That’s all.’
‘And I’m Dessembrae the Lord of Tragedy.’
The mage shaded his gaze and studied the plain and distant dun-brown hills along the horizon. Storo shifted his own hard stare to share the view. ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘There’s the real worry.’ He rubbed his chest beneath his shirts, grimaced his pain. ‘Truth is I’m blind, Silk. I’ve no idea what’s going on out there. Don’t know how many men they have. Even where they are. There might be fifty thousand Seti tribesmen just over those damned hills and I haven’t the faintest idea of it. Or at Unta. What’s going on at the capital? Are reinforcements on their way? How much support can I expect?’ He spat over the wall. ‘It’s a mess. A Hood-spawned bitch’s-whelp of a mess.’
The mage gave a slow shrug of commiseration. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I could be more of a help. But that sort of scrying and communication over great distances is not my forte.’
‘Well, who in Utter Night can help? Isn’t there another battle mage in the city? Have they found the garrison cadre mages yet?’
‘No. One was thought to have joined Orlat. The other disappeared that night, fled or killed by them. That leaves me.’ Silk paused; his gaze flicked to Storo. ‘There is one other who could be of help – if you’d accept.’
‘Who? Gods, I hope you don’t mean that hag you got to help us before.’
‘Her name is Liss, Captain.’
‘Ah. Sorry, Silk.’ Wincing, Storo squeezed his side, drew an experimental breath. ‘How can she help?’
Silk raised his chin to the distant undulations of the Seti prairie. ‘She knows them, Fist. Knows them well. She was once one of their shamanesses – a Seer. I gather that they’re actually rather frightened of her.’
‘So am I.’
A voice called from far along the wall, ‘Sergeant Storo!’ Silk and Storo turned. Magistrate Ehrlann approached, the servant at his side struggling to keep him within the shade of a wide umbrella.
‘Sergeant?’ Silk replied. ‘This man is senior officer of this Malazan command—’
Storo raised a hand to quiet Silk.
‘Yes, yes. All very well,’ allowed Ehrlann, waving negligently. ‘However, a ruling body recognized by the Throne really cannot afford to acknowledge a field-promotion until it is approved by military high command.’
‘And just when might that be?’ Silk asked, not even bothering to lighten his tone.
‘Why, when the paperwork comes through, of course,’ Ehrlann smiled.
Silk pointed to the prairie. ‘You do understand that the Imperial Warren is now closed to all. That no mage dare risk travelling any of the Warrens now that civil war is upon us. That the Kingdom of Cawn lies between us and Unta and that it has arisen in rebellion against the Imperial Throne!’
Magistrate Ehrlann frowned. ‘Well, then, it may take some time for the paperwork to reach us here.’
Storo clamped a hand on Silk’s shoulder and squeezed hard. ‘Quite right, magistrate. The City High Court should call an emergency meeting to discuss its course of action. You must settle the positioning of troops, the strategy of the defences, the organization of the civilian population. You must commission a detailed inventory of all logistical necessities and the requisition of the funds to purchase them. And all that is just a beginning.’
Magistrate Ehrlann blinked at Storo, quite stunned. ‘Of course…well…the process has already begun in special committee—’
‘Then you’d best get back in case they decide on some idiotic course of action in your absence.’
Ehrlann smiled thinly. ‘Thank you. Yes.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Come, Jamaer.’ The magistrate swung to the stairs.
Storo watched them go then turned away to rest his forearms on the battlements once more. ‘Gods, they’ll be talking until the Last Night is upon us.’ He addressed Silk. ‘Until that time comes, what do you suggest?’
‘I intend to find us some allies.’
‘Good. Please do. As many as possible.’
‘And Liss?’
Storo nodded his assent. ‘Tell her to keep those Seti shamans as far away as she can.’
Silk’s smile was tight with suppressed pleasure. ‘Oh, she’ll enjoy that a great deal, I’m sure.’ He bowed and went to the stairs. At the top he paused. ‘Fist, may I ask, just what is our defence strategy in any case?’
‘Our defence strategy? An odd one. Kill as many of the Seti bastards as is humanly possible.’
Ho was relieved to find that the newcomers to the Pit intended to keep a low profile. Thinking it over for a time, however, he realized that this worried him just as much. The two were acting less like the potential tyrants he feared, but more like the suspected spies he feared even more. Yet it all seemed too preposterous; an insignificant detail no doubt buried among the chaos and smoke of the uprising: why did Pit not rise in rebellion? Even after guards were pulled away to help pacify Skullcap, Pit remained a model of quiet. Why should this be? What could over a hundred mages, warlocks, seers, thaumaturgs and assorted talents possibly be up to? Not a thing, certainly, sir. No, nothing at all.
A council meeting would have been called to settle upon a course of action but the problem was the two would be sure to hear every word of the screaming matches yammering down the tunnels. And so Yath and his people kept watch; especially that eerie shadow of his, Sessin.
On his way to the minehead, Ho scratched the patches of dry raw skin on his arms and legs that so cursed all inhabitants of the Pit. They all had more than enough to keep themselves busy in any case. There was the question of what to do with Iffin; just two weeks ago the fellow was walking down a tunnel when he meets Sulp ’Ul – a man he’d worked beside peaceably enough for nearly ten years – when suddenly Iffin reaches over and jabs a sharpened stick through Sulp’s throat. Sulp dies choking on his own blood. We confine Iffin to a barred cave and question him. Turns out it was a family vendetta from the old Cawn-Itko Kan border wars from before the Empire. And Iffin wasn’t even old enough to remember those days!
Hopping to scratch one ankle, Ho had to shake his head. He’d thought those old rivalries and hatreds had all gone the way of the Jaghut. But now, with rumours arriving of nations seceding from the Empire – Quon, Dal Hon, Gris – and every week the list seeming to grow longer, old, long-quiescent hatreds and rivalries were now raising their noses and sniffing the wind. All the old festering slights that only the heel of the emperor manged to quell. Ho could only dread what was to come if the continent returned to its old destructive ways of shifting alliances and the never-ending feud for dominance.
At the great round of the mine-head he spotted the two newcomers silently staring upwards at the circle of clear blue sky overhead. Or so it seemed to any casual observer – to Ho it looked more like they were studying the crumbling, rotten stone of the walls searching for a way up. He came up behind them. ‘Those walls won’t support the weight of a man.’
The one who gave his name as Grief slowly turned his head to give Ho a long hard stare. ‘Looks that way.’
‘If I were you I wouldn’t waste my time trying to scare up an escape plan. Escape attempts only bring reprisals for the rest of us.’
The one named Treat turned around fully. ‘You warnin’ us? Gonna turn us in?’
The Napan, Grief, briefly rested a hand on the arm of Treat who eased back a step. So, not equals. This Grief – what a ridiculous name to give! – seemed to outrank his companion. Ho shook his head. ‘No. You’ll notice there’s no one to turn you in to. I’m just asking that you try to keep the welfare of everyone here in mind.’
A broad secretive smile lifted Grief’s lips and he bowed his assent to Ho. ‘Good idea. We’ll try to do just that.’ He patted his companion on the arm and they walked off leaving Ho to watch them go, wondering, what did the fellow mean by that – if anything?
Turning away, Ho walked straight into the lean but dense form of Sessin. The tanned Seven Cities native glowered down at him. ‘What did he say?’ he
demanded in thickly accented Talian.
‘Nothing significant.’ Ho scratched at his scalp. Gods, here he was answering to the man as if he were an Official Inquisitor. ‘Listen, do you do this all day? Just follow them around? Aren’t they suspicious?’
The scowl edged into a sneer. ‘Where would they go?’
OK. The man had a point there. So, they know, he knows, and they know he knows.
‘Yath has judged. If they find out anything we will kill them.’
Yath has judged that, has he? Well, he’d have to have a word with the man about that. As for killing those two, something told Ho they could take a whole lot of killing.
While Traveller slept inside the hut Ereko sat cross-legged in the doorway watching the Moon, strangely mottled as of late, reflecting from the surf. The violent predations of these Edur and Traveller’s extreme response had stirred dusty memories in him; ones he’d hoped were buried for ever. Memories that still wrenched after millennia. Memories of ancient vows and the violence of further extreme solutions. Vows of absolute extermination levelled against a people, and answering vows of vengeance. Could a similar cycle of destruction be born out of this new exchange? How similar the ages remain despite the passage of aeons. How disheartening!
Brooding upon what had he worked so hard to put behind him for ever, Ereko saw ghosts. For an instant he thought them his own – phantom memories of friends and family long gone – but these were human. Since descending the mountains he’d glimpsed them some nights in the woods. Pallid shadows. Always they lingered nearby, drawn to them – to Traveller certainly – but unwilling or unable to approach. Perhaps Traveller could not see them; he’d yet to remark upon them.
Perhaps it was the blood still wet upon the sands and the presence of alien spirits now wandering these shores, but this night they assembled out among the sighing grasses beyond the glow of the driftwood fire in numbers far greater than any Ereko had yet glimpsed. A troop of opalescent shades. Soldiers in damaged armour revealing ghastly death-wounds. One held a ragged banner that hung limp from a cross-piece: the snake-like twisting of a shimmering bright dragon against a dark field.
The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire) Page 51