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)

by Ian C. Esslemont

  Roots now writhed through the moss and heaps of steaming fallen leaves. Nether’s mount stumbled, legs stamping, snorting its alarm. Pulling up, she pointed. ‘There! His horse was taken. He is afoot.’ She urged her mount onward but it baulked, dancing aside. ‘What?’

  A yell of outrage reached them from ahead, then the ground erupted, sending their mounts rearing. Rillish shielded his face from a driven spray of dirt and smoke. Blinking, arm raised over his eyes, he made out Nether standing tall in her saddle, peering ahead. ‘What was that!’ he yelled through the roaring in his ears.

  ‘I thought I saw…’

  Bellowing as loud as a bull’s snapped their heads around. Something huge thrashed in the forest back along their trail. Wood cracked sounding like explosions. He and Nether shared a grin of terrified amusement – the forest, it seemed, wasn’t too particular. ‘We have to go!’

  Nether was nodding, but her gaze was captured by what lay ahead. ‘He has escaped again. But I believe I know…’ She snapped a gesture and the surroundings wavered, lightening to a grey dusk. At that instant her mount shrieked a death-cry.

  The transition felt like the worst hangover Rillish had ever experienced. He held his blazing forehead, blinked away tears. As his eyes refocused, he found he was still mounted, but Nether lay on the ground at his horse’s hooves, her mount splayed dead in a pool of its own viscera. Half the animal had not made the shift. ‘Nether!’

  An arm wrapped around her side, she pointed, snarling, ‘Get him!’

  Rillish kicked his mount into motion. He had a blurred impression of a dirt plain scattered with boulders, a flat dull sky, then his mount carried him over the lip of a ridge to slide dancing and side-stepping down a long scree slope to a narrow, dry valley floor. Coughing, he waved at the dust cloud while dirt and rocks skittered down around him. Nearby, someone else was coughing.

  As the dust thinned Rillish saw Dol lying among the rocks, both hands clenching the empty rags of one trouser leg. He was looking up at him, anger and a touch of bitter amusement twisting his face. ‘Damned trees took my leg,’ he said, his teeth flashing behind his beard. Rillish allowed himself to relax, massaged his thigh.

  ‘You know,’ Dol said conversationally, ‘in the songs, the hero jumps from Warren to Warren always landing on his feet. He never appears on a Hood-be-damned hillside and falls on his arse.’

  Rillish nodded his tired agreement. ‘I don’t think the minstrels have been there.’

  A fierce grin of suppressed agony, then the man squinted up at him. ‘The Keth family, right? Rillish?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gone over to the barbarians, hey?’

  ‘Let’s say I disagree with the Empress’s policies.’

  Dol stared, then laughed ending with a snarl of pain. ‘The Empress? Oh yes, her.’

  Rillish eyed the man uncertainly and opened his mouth to ask the obvious question when the man glanced aside and gaped his surprise. Someone else was walking up, picking his way between the rocks of the valley: slim, wild grey hair, the tattered rags of what once must have been expensive finery hanging from him. ‘What in Hood’s paths is that?’ Dol said, speaking Rillish’s own thoughts.

  The bizarre figure closed on Dol to peer down with an antic grin that seemed about to break into laughter. Dol gaped up doubtfully at him. Rillish clasped his sword grip. ‘Who—’

  A foot lashed out, taking Dol in the throat. The mage’s blood-splashed hands leapt from the ruins of his thigh to his neck. His eyes bulged his disbelief.

  ‘Damn you!’ Rillish drew, but his numb leg couldn’t restore his balance and he slid sideways off his horse. He lay on his back like an upturned turtle, his leg twisted in the stirrup.

  The man came around the horse. He rubbed a hand over the animal’s quivering sweaty flanks and studied it with open approval. ‘Falling off your horse like that…was that some sort of fiendishly cunning manoeuvre meant to confuse me?’ Rillish had no idea what to say or do; his leg was useless and he lay helpless before this insane murderous beggar.

  ‘No, I just fell off my horse.’

  A barked laugh. ‘I like you,’ a sudden frown, ‘a pity.’

  Closer now, the man’s wild filthy hair was perhaps very light beneath the dirt and the hue of his flesh underneath the caked grime was quite dark. Rillish wondered if the fellow were part Napan. But the eyes were wrong; the eyes were…almost inhuman. ‘Who are you?’

  The quick rictus of a smile, gone just as suddenly as it appeared. ‘A lie. A lost letter. A message whispered to the wind. A dart tossed into a cyclone.’

  A madman. Rillish wet his lips. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing you—’ the man stopped himself, glanced up the valley slope. His brows rose. ‘Not who I was expecting,’ he said. He may not even have been aware he was speaking aloud. ‘No, not yet, I think.’ He backed away, pointed to Rillish. ‘The Lady is with you today. Do not imagine she will be tomorrow.’

  ‘Who…?’ But the harlequin figure disappeared among the boulders.

  Moments later Nether came hobbling around the horse, still clenching her side. She nodded to Rillish then returned her stare to where the apparition had gone. ‘You saw him?’ he demanded, as if doubting his own sanity.

  ‘Yes. You spoke with him?’

  ‘Yes – you know who he is?’

  A long slow affirmation. ‘Oh yes. And I will tell you in all honesty, Jal Keth. I seriously debated whether or not to come down here.’

  ‘Well, who is he?’

  A shake of the head. ‘No. It is safer for you not to know – for now. Someone who was supposed to be out of the game.’

  Rillish allowed himself to lie limp on the ground. ‘Gods, woman! Well, at least help me up.’

  ‘Who, me?’ Together, each aiding the other, with much trial and error, they mounted with Nether behind holding Rillish steady. She nickered to start his mount walking; it picked a path between the boulders.

  ‘Just where in all the Realms are we anyway?’ Rillish asked.

  ‘The Imperial Warren.’

  ‘Oh. I thought no one was supposed to come here any more.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Did we perhaps just meet the reason behind that prohibition?’

  She whispered in his ear, ‘How could we when we’ve never been here?’

  While Nether gently weaved their transition from the Warren Rillish tried to fight his sudden keen awareness of the warmth of the young warlock’s embrace. It did not help later that night, close to dawn, as Nether and he and their exhausted mount were walking the road north through a cold drizzle, when soldiers straightened from hedgerows alongside the road and Rillish pulled up suddenly to see Talia watching him from over the stock of a levelled crossbow. She did lower the weapon, but the look she gave him there on the horse in Nether’s arms was a caution for when they next met.

  To Kyle the coast of this land seemed to consist of nothing more than league after league of empty sand beaches leading up to dense jungle. Ereko skilfully wove the Kite through gaps in reefs as they skirted north-west. White and black seabirds hovered and dived in their wake. Peering over the gunwale was like staring down from a great height – undersea mountains of coral passed majestically beneath them. The sun glared with a ferocity Kyle had never known. It seemed to bake the top of his head. The brothers had used leather strips to tie rags over their heads and Stalker had even removed his armour and now sat in his leathers, a sash around his head and face like a scarf. Only Traveller and Ereko seemed unmoved by the oppressive heat. Kyle itched with sweat and rashes seemed to be creeping over his entire body.

  ‘Won’t we land now?’ he asked Ereko yet again, rubbing a finger over his cracked lips. ‘We’re low on water.’ Blood smeared his fingers.

  ‘This is a dangerous land, Kyle,’ the Thel Akai giant answered, as patiently as the first time Kyle had asked. ‘We have to be careful.’

  Careful! Kyle almost pointed to the bow where Traveller reclined
in the shade of a sailcloth. With an obvious master swordsman like him on board? And you, a giant nearly twice the height of a man? And these three veterans from Assail who quit the Crimson Guard because they found it boring? Gods and Spirits, what kind of a land was this?

  Still, they did not pull in – even when the last of the water was shaken from the last keg. The afternoon golden light faded to the red sunsets that came with disorienting suddenness. He almost asked again why Ereko made no effort at landing and would they simply career along like this until they all died of exposure when he realized that no one else was asking. Everyone else, even fiercely independent Stalker, seemed content to defer to the giant’s experience. Clenching his teeth, Kyle sat back against the warm, damp and now mouldy planking of the Kite.

  As the evening deepened Kyle dozed in the deadening heat and humidity. A grunt from one of the Lost brothers woke him. Everyone was staring ahead. Kyle sat up straighter. Distant torches lit the edge of a long low spit of sand. Behind the torches stood a large tent, the thin cloth of its sides billowing lightly in the weak night wind. Ereko turned the bow to shore.

  Traveller stood, rearranged the simple padded mail hauberk he wore beneath his dark leathers, and belted his long, slim black-hilted sword at his side. Kyle found he could not take his eyes from that weapon. As the bow scraped up into sand Traveller leapt down into the wash to steady the vessel. Stalker and the brothers joined him. They pulled the Kite as far up the strand as they could. Kyle belted on his own tulwar and jumped into the wet sand. Ereko stepped down unarmed. When his feet touched ground the giant stood still for a time, head lowered. Kyle thought he heard him whispering something that may have been a prayer. Straightening, his usually smiling lips were set, his brow lined. He had the air of a man facing a trial. Traveller led the way to the tent.

  As they neared, a man stepped from the open flap. He was a large fellow, tall and well-padded in fat. The torchlight glimmered on his bright silk robes and his round head was shaved. His flesh held the hue of oiled ironwood. He bowed. ‘Welcome to you all,’ he said in accented Talian. ‘Welcome to the lands you call Jacuruku.’

  Within, carpets covered the sand. Lamps on tall iron tripods lit the large interior. Pillows lay scattered, as were silver platters containing covered bowls, cups and carafes. Traveller eased himself down to sit cross-legged. Their host sat opposite. Stalker, Coots and Badlands sat together uneasily, glancing about. The tent was tall enough to accommodate Ereko who sat near the entrance. Kyle sat with him.

  ‘Greetings all,’ their host continued. ‘Please…eat, drink. My name is Jhest Golanjar. How it is I know your language you are wondering. That is simplicity. It is the language spoken by an invading army that conquered a neighbouring kingdom decades ago. They rule as a caste of warrior-aristocrats who enforce their will with sword and magery. All in the name of that kingdom’s ancient Goddess – the Queen Ardata. Know you them?’

  Their host seemed to be addressing everyone, but his dark glittering eyes remained fixed upon Traveller. Coots, his mouth stuffed full of bread and meat sauce, slurred, ‘No.’

  Untroubled, Jhest continued. ‘In our language we call them the Isturé Forlan Edegash. In your language,’ he lifted a meaty hand to Kyle, ‘the Crimson Guard.’

  Kyle stared, speechless, then he remembered the sigil still pinned to his chest and he felt his face redden in embarrassment. Fool, to have kept it!

  ‘Are we enemies, then?’ Traveller asked, his voice low, yet Kyle now felt attuned to the man’s moods and he heard the coiled warning behind the question.

  Jhest’s smile was broad and easy, yet oddly flat. He raised both hands. ‘Not at all. We admire the Isturé for what they have accomplished.’

  ‘Which is?’ Ereko asked.

  Jhest answered without so much as a glance to the Thel Akai; it was as if the giant did not exist. ‘They have advanced far in the path that is our…how shall I put it?…our passion – my brothers and sisters’ speciality of interest and research.’

  ‘That being?’ Stalker prompted.

  Again, the broad yet oddly empty smile. The man’s black eyes unmoving on Traveller. ‘Why, the Paths of Ascension, of course.’

  No one spoke for a time. Badlands and Coots ate noisily; Stalker picked up a flatbread and tore off a bite. Kyle poured himself a drink that proved to be some sort of sweetened water. Traveller pressed a hand to his brow, sighing. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Jhest, but we are tired and should sleep. Perhaps tomorrow we could trouble you for water and supplies?’

  ‘Of course.’ The man stood, brushed at the folds of his robes. ‘Until tomorrow, then. Goodnight.’ Bowing, he left the tent.

  Chewing a mouthful, Stalker caught Badland’s eye and cocked his head to the flap. Badlands crossed to the opening. ‘Gone.’

  ‘Anyone around?’ Stalker asked.

  ‘Hard to say. It’s damned dark. Probably someone.’

  Grunting his assent, Stalker gestured Coots out. ‘You two, first watch.’

  Glowering, Coots picked up the tray and carried it out the door. ‘Figures. First decent meal in months…’

  Stalker now turned his attention to Ereko. ‘What do you think?’

  During all of this, Traveller merely ate, eyes downcast. It was as if the man had given up on everything and was willing to accept whatever might come to him; it was either the worst sort of pathetic fatalism, or a kind of enlightened understanding that expectations, plans, ambitions, were no more than deluding vapours that, in the end, could not change anything. It was maddening to Kyle that he couldn’t decide which.

  Ereko lifted a pot of a thick yellow cream that Kyle thought might be yogurt. He sniffed it, set it down. ‘I have been away for a very long time, of course. But I have heard rumours. It seems they may be true. This portion of the continent is ruled by a magiocracy, an oligarchy of powerful mages who bend all their resources and research to unravelling the mysteries of Ascendancy. It is said they are masters of the Paths of Denul, and even conduct rather horrifying surgeries and experiments upon the bodies of their people to that end. No doubt they see Ascendancy as their way to power and immortality, and so on.’

  ‘Yet he ignored you,’ Kyle said.

  Ereko laughed, smiling. ‘Ascendancy holds no interest for me, Kyle. To them, I am probably just some sort of wretched failure. Nothing more than that.’

  ‘You are the Eldest of all living things here of the world, Ereko,’ Traveller suddenly announced. ‘Father to us all.’

  ‘Father?’ Kyle echoed, his wonder and amazement obvious.

  Ereko waved the words aside. ‘Our friend is speaking poetically, Kyle. When one considers such ancient times one’s only recourse is the language of poetry. Thus legends, myths, creation accounts, history. All are no more than stories shaped to justify the present appearance of things.’

  Rolling his eyes, Stalker tossed back a drink. ‘I was hoping for rather more practical information.’

  Ereko laughed, smiling self-consciously. ‘Sorry, yes. To the point then. They are torn. They want to move against us – but they are of course anxious as to our capabilities. The question for us is which faction will prevail. The voices for caution or the voices for action.’

  ‘They will act.’ This from Traveller as he sat, head lowered, studying one of the land’s unfamiliar yellow fruits. ‘When it becomes clear that we will perhaps get away, a small faction will take matters into their own hands and will move. Once they do so the rest will have no choice but to commit themselves.’

  Kyle stared, unable to breathe. ‘You have seen it?’

  The eyes rose, met his. The intensity of that gaze drove Kyle’s gaze aside, but not before he glimpsed a well of terrifying emotion kept locked under an almost inhuman control. ‘I have seen it all before, Kyle.’

  Ereko gestured to the cushions. ‘Sleep for now, lad. You can have the last watch.’

  Having eaten and now sitting comfortably on soft cloth Kyle already felt his eyelids drooping. He lay
back and curled up without argument – Ereko would wake him if anything happened. Sleep took him almost instantly.

  A tap of his foot woke Kyle. Stalker stood looking down at him; the scout gestured him out and left. Kyle grabbed up his armour, helmet and weapon belt and followed. Outside, a false dawn of diffuse light made the sea look strangely flat, the beach lifeless and the jungle a dark mystery. Stalker unbuckled his tall conical helmet. ‘Been quiet.’

  Over his linen shirt and padded aketon, Kyle pulled on his hauberk of iron rings laced to leather, adjusted the leather wrappings at his legs. ‘No one at all?’

  ‘Only if you count the soldiers surrounding us.’

  ‘What? When?’

  An indifferent shrug. ‘Who knows? Right away maybe. Coots has been watching them all night. Says it ain’t right the way none of them have moved. Not even to take a piss, apparently. Coots thinks that’s downright unnatural for any soldiers.’ Stalker gestured around. ‘You can maybe make them out on the dunes and the forest edge.’ His watch done, the scout ducked inside. Kyle adjusted the weight of his tulwar on his left hip, pulled on his helmet. For the thousandth time he wished he had a shield, a bow or even a fistful of javelins. Squinting, he could just distinguish the tall dark shapes standing still as tree trunks in the mist and pre-dawn gloom. Big bastards, with good discipline, sounds like. He didn’t relish having to tangle with them.

  Nothing stirred during Kyle’s watch. The day brightened and the sun rose like a ball of fire over the jungle. Kyle thought it a wondrous sight, quite unlike anything he’d seen on the prairie. It was as if the entire east jungle was aflame. Traveller eventually emerged behind him. The tall swordsman was tying back his long, kinked black hair. He gestured Kyle in with a nod. ‘Break your fast.’

  Over the remains of the platters Badlands and Coots worked the edges of their weapons with the small sharpening stones they carried with their gear; Badlands his two long-knives and Coots his single-edged longsword with an extended two-handed grip. Out of their rolls also came helmets – iron and bronze, with faceguards that curved down to nasal shields. ‘Haven’t seen those recently,’ Kyle observed.