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

  Ho, following, squeezed past, nodding to inmates he knew who glared, holding shins and sides. ‘Sorry.’

  Broaching the front he found the two newcomers, Treat and Grief, surrounded by a gang of the more hale men armed with spears. Both looked healthy and, if anything, bored by the proceedings. Grief especially radiated contempt, standing with arms crossed and mouth crooked as if ready to laugh. Yath and Sessin stood nearby. Catching sight of Ho, Yath pointed his staff. ‘Here he is! Of course he has come. Their Malazan confederate. We’ll deal with you next, Ho.’

  ‘Confederate?’

  ‘You have been seen on many occasions secretly meeting with these two spies. Do you deny it?’

  Ho scratched his scalp, shrugging. ‘Well, we’ve talked, yes. I’ve talked with everyone here at one time or another.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Su muttered under her breath. ‘What are you doing here, Yath?’ she barked. ‘Is this a court? What are the charges? Under whose authority are you empowered?’

  Yath stamped his staff on the soft ground. ‘Quiet, witch!’

  ‘Or you will deal with me later also? When will it end? How many will you kill?’

  Behind his full beard Yath smiled and Ho realized that Su had overplayed her hand. He opened his arms, gesturing broadly. ‘No one here is going to die. What do you think I am? We are all civilized people down here – a description I extend even to you, Su. I am merely planning a small demonstration. A little show for our new friends meant to impress upon them the importance of our work.’ Yath glanced about the crowd entreatingly. ‘It is, after all, what they have come for. Is it not?’

  From the nods and shouts of agreement, Ho understood that, as Su said, he had been withdrawn from the community for far too long now. How could their small brotherhood of scholars and mages have come to this? Singling out ‘spies’ for punishment; arming themselves; sowing fear? Those who would speak against Yath were obviously too disgusted to even bother coming down. Like himself. ‘We don’t know what might happen, Yath. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Silence! You have discredited yourself, Ho. Plotting with your fellow Malazans.’

  ‘Malazan? I’m from Li Heng, Yath.’

  ‘Exactly. From the very centre of the Malazan Empire.’ Yath waved the spearmen to move the prisoners forward. Sessin stepped up between Yath and the two, his hands twitching at his sides. Ho could only stare; the ignorance the man’s statement revealed was stunning. How can one possibly reason one’s way across such a gap?

  ‘Yath,’ Ho called, following with the crowd, ‘you know about as much about Malaz and Quon Tali as I know about Seven Cities! Many on the continent consider the Malazans occupiers just as you do!’ But the tall Seven Cities priest was no longer listening.

  Amid the spearmen, Grief peered back to Ho. ‘What’s gonna happen?’

  ‘Quiet,’ warned a number of the guards. Grief ignored them.

  ‘They’re just going to…show you something. It’s nothing physically threatening.’

  The man’s mouth pulled down as he glanced away, considering. ‘I’m kinda curious myself.’

  Su, Ho noted, was watching the two with keen interest, her sharp eyes probing. After a moment she let out a cawing laugh. She edged her head up to Ho and smiled as before, touched the side of her hooked nose, winked.

  ‘What is it?’ he murmured.

  ‘Something else I smell. Took me a while to place it. Was a long time ago at the Council of All Clans.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll see. You and Yath, I think. Ha!’

  Ho snorted. ‘More of your games.’

  ‘Ha!’

  The path led away to a crack in the stone wall of the cavern. Beaten earth steps led down through the narrow gap to another cavern, this one excavated from the layered, seared sedimentary stone that carried the Otataral ore. The spearmen pushed Treat and Grief to the fore where yath and Sessin waited. Beyond them, a walkway of earth climbed the far wall that appeared made of some smooth and glassy rock.

  Grief glanced around. ‘This is it?’

  Yath had at his mouth a grin of hungry triumph. He urged, ‘Look more closely. Raise the lights!’

  Poles were taken down, lamps affixed, and re-straightened. The light blossomed, revealing a wall of dark green stone that held hidden depths where reflections glimmered. Ho watched as, stage by stage, slow realization took hold of Grief. ‘No – it can’t be…’ the fellow murmured. His gaze went to the bulge excavated at the base, the slope up to a gaping cave opening, the jutting cliff above this cut off by the roof of the cavern. ‘Of all the forgotten Gods,’ he said. He looked to Yath, open unguarded wonder upon his dark Napan face. ‘A jade giant…I’d read of them, of course. But this…’ He shook his head, staggered beyond words.

  Ho shared the man’s astonishment; no matter how often he came down to look it stupefied, and humbled, every time. The oval cave, taller than two men, now transformed itself in his mind’s eye to a mouth, yawning – or screaming. The bulge below, the chin. One then scaled this lower half of the face to the upper, then face to head, head to neck, and…and that was as far as Ho’s imagination could carry the exercise. It became absurd. Unimaginable. How could such a thing possibly be constructed? Would it not collapse under its own colossal weight?

  But of course, they come from elsewhere. Yet would not such a Realm, no matter how alien, possess its own properties, its own set of physical laws which could not be contravened? It was too much for Ho – as it had proved for this entire battalion of professional mages, scholars and theurgical researchers who had made the mystery their primary fixation for the last three decades.

  All these revelations were lost on Treat who nudged Grief. ‘What is it?’

  Grief just shrugged. ‘A fucking big statue.’

  ‘Come, come,’ urged Yath, starting up the walkway. ‘Come for a better look.’ He waved Grief to follow. The man’s eyes were narrow in open distrust, but he clearly could not turn down such an opportunity. One of us after all, Ho decided.

  Grief followed the Seven Cities priest up the walkway of beaten dirt. It ended at the edge of the dark cave, the open gaping mouth. Yath gestured within and backed away. Keeping a wary eye on the priest, Grief leant forward, cast a quick glance in and flinched back, stunned. ‘A throat!’ he called down. ‘They carved a throat!’

  Ho, his eyes closed, nodded, almost despairing. Yes, a throat. And none of our sounding stones have yet to reach bottom. There is not enough rope in all the island to descend the innards of this statue. And so the mystery only confounds us further: as there is a throat, what of a stomach? Intestines? Ought one continue deeper into this route of inquiry? Perhaps not. What would a giant statue of jade eat? More reasonably, it would have no need for sustenance. Why then a throat?

  ‘And what do you hear?’ Yath urged, a hand clutched at his own throat, his eyes feverishly bright.

  Grief cocked his head, crouched, silent for a time. Everyone below stilled as well. ‘I hear a breeze…sighing, or whispering…like the wind through a forest in the fall.’

  ‘He’s a strong one,’ Su whispered to Ho. Edging her head sideways, she glanced up. ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘Screams of the insane. You?’

  She dropped her head. ‘Inconsolable weeping.’

  Yath now spread both his hands over the carved jade face, his long fingers splayed. He pressed the side of his own face to it, his mouth moving silently.

  ‘What in Oponn’s name is the fool doing now?’ Ho murmured in wonder.

  Sensing something, Grief peered up. ‘What?’ He shifted to the lip of the walkway, glanced down to them uncertainly. ‘I am amazed, I’ll grant you that. And if we had—’

  ‘Wait,’ Yath interrupted, moving away from the opening.

  Something drew Grief around. Ho felt it as well, in the stirring of his own thin hair, the pressing of the cloth of his shirt against his chest. A hiss of alarm escaped Su’s lips.

  Roaring burst from the mout
h in a rushing torrent. Grief ducked but an explosion of air erupted from the mouth like the giant’s own exhalation of breath. It plucked the man from the landing and threw him flying across the cavern. Everyone clapped hands to their heads as their ears popped. Several fell, screaming excruciating pain. A storm of dust roiled about the cavern blocking all vision, while above them Yath laughed and howled like a madman possessed.

  As the dust settled Ho found the knot of inmates who had gathered around the fallen Malazan. He pushed his way through; Treat was there, kneeling at the side of his friend, who lay motionless.

  ‘Bring the next one!’ Yath ordered from the walkway, but no one listened. Everyone was shouting at him at once: when did he discover this capability? Why hadn’t he shared his knowledge? How had he come to it? Was it conscious, or merely reflexive? What of the qualities of the air?

  Ho stood silent, looking down at the dead man. The fellow had been difficult, brusque, highhanded even, but he had liked him. And none of them had even suspected what Yath had intended. That is, none except Su.

  Treat raised a hand and slapped it hard across his dead friend’s face. Inmates took hold of the man to pull him away, but Grief coughed, wincing, and covered his face with both hands. He groaned. ‘Hood take me, that hurt.’

  Ho gaped – this was impossible! The man flew right over their heads! How…without magic…how? Treat pulled Grief upright and he stood swaying, brushed the dust from his leathers. He cupped his neck in both hands, twisted his head side to side. ‘Well, now that that’s out of the way maybe we can get out of here.’

  ‘What!’ came a bellow of consternation from above.

  The inmates flinched away leaving a broad empty circle around the three Malazans. Su burst out laughing her contempt. ‘Difficult to kill, these two.’ She cocked her head, addressed Grief. ‘Come recruiting?’

  Grief examined her up and down. ‘Wickan? Definitely.’

  Yath arrived, his eyes wild. ‘What is this? Still alive?’ He gestured to the spearmen. ‘What are you waiting for? They are obviously a threat! Kill them now.’

  Treat snatched a spear from the nearest, levelled it against Yath. Sessin was suddenly there to slap his hands on the haft just short of the knapped stone point. The two men yanked back and forth, spear between them, sandalled feet shifting in the dry dirt. ‘Stop this now!’ Ho shouted. Yath waved everyone back. The tug of war continued, Sessin grinning, his back hunched, Treat’s mouth tight, eyes gauging. They strained, motionless, as if engaged in a pantomime of effort, until with an explosive report the spear burst in half between them. Each staggered backwards.

  Yath raised a hand, shouted something in the Seven Cities dialect. He addressed Grief: ‘Who are you?’

  ‘An ally.’ Grief raised his voice to address everyone. ‘We’ve come to bring you all back to Quon to fight the Empire. What say you? Revenge against those who imprisoned you?’

  Yath stared, eyes bulging, then he laughed his madman’s laugh. ‘You idiot! What use can any of these old men and women be? What of the Otataral?’

  Grief shrugged. ‘The Pit has long since been mined out. It’s just a prison now. The little ore that remains that you have been digging out contains the barest trace element. And that raw, unrefined. It can be cleaned off.’

  ‘It’s in the food!’ someone called out.

  Again the shrug. ‘A change of diet. It will pass.’

  Yath smoothed his beard, thinking. ‘If its presence is as mild as you say – then why can none of us draw upon the Warrens? Why is all theurgy closed to us?’

  ‘Proximity. It’s our location here on the island. Once we get away it will come back.’

  ‘But we’ve been breathing it in!’ a voice objected.

  ‘There are many alchemical treatments, expectorants.’

  ‘That’s true,’ someone said. ‘D’bayang powder inhaled with sufficient force can—’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ Yath snarled. He clasped his staff in both hands across his middle. ‘Believe me, Mezla, I want revenge upon your Empire more than you can possibly imagine. But we are down here in this – prison – as you name it and I do not see how you propose to get us out!’

  Grief was rubbing and rolling a shoulder, grimacing. ‘Fair enough.’ He glanced around. ‘What time of day is it above?’

  ‘Before dawn,’ someone answered, nods all around.

  ‘OK. Let’s go up to the mine-head and we’ll have you lot out by dawn.’

  Yath sneered. ‘Lies! Once there you’ll call for the guards to rescue you.’

  ‘So stick us with your spears.’

  Yath subsided, glowering, his mouth working. Su laughed her scorn. The two headed to the tunnel; everyone moved from their path.

  Ho brought up the rear, waiting for Su. Once the rest of the inmates were sufficiently ahead he asked, ‘So, who are they then?’

  The witch cast him a creamy self-satisfied look. ‘Have you not guessed by now?’

  ‘No. So, they’re not Malazan.’

  Her stick lashed him across his shin and he danced away, wincing. ‘Please! Of course they are Malazan. But then there are Malazans and then there are Malazans.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  They walked along in silence for a time. ‘So they’re with this secessionist movement we’ve been hearing of.’

  Su waved him away like an annoying insect and headed off. At the long ascending tunnel he waited while she caught her breath. ‘I am old,’ she said suddenly. ‘Strange how those of us who have benefited from manipulating the Warrens, or by ritual, to linger on – continue to do so here in the mines?’ Ho did not answer; what was there to say? That it was a mystery? ‘For a time I feared I would spend eternity here. Or until the wind eroded the island down around me and I could simply walk away. Do you have no such fears?’

  Ho shook his head. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’

  She studied him keenly once more, frowning. ‘You have no imagination, Ho. In fact, you lack many things that would make a man whole.’

  ‘Is that an insult?’

  ‘A temper, for example. I don’t recall ever seeing you angry. Where did your temper walk off to, magus? Your ambition? Your drive?’

  ‘That subject’s closed, Su,’ he growled and headed off.

  He waited for her where the sloping tunnel met the side gallery. From here they walked along side by side, though quiet. They met no one. Coming to the main gallery they found this deserted as well. Ho wondered if Grief and Treat had already whisked everyone off – perhaps they’d dug a tunnel climbing all the way to the surface, with toothpicks.

  The murmur of many voices, however, reached them from the round mine-head. A milling mass of what appeared to be the entire Pit’s population, all talking, mixing, exchanging opinions and rumours. Ho caught the eye of the nearest. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Two of the newcomers climbed the wall.’

  Ho’s brows rose. ‘Really.’ Just as they’d said. ‘But everyone’s tried that.’

  A helpless wave. ‘Apparently one had two short sticks that he jabbed into the wall, climbing like that, one then the other. The second followed along his path, punching and kicking the holes deeper.’ Ho thought of the short batons he’d seen Grief whittling. So not weapons after all.

  ‘Since then?’ Su asked.

  ‘Nothing. Silence. Yath says they’ve run off.’

  ‘He would say that.’ There was something pathological about that man’s hatred. If they did get out he’d have to keep an eye on him. Who knew what he might try; he’d already attempted murder.

  Grating and ratcheting above announced the hanging platform moving. All talking stopped. A number of inmates fled the mine-head, perhaps afraid it was the guards on their way to bash heads. Ho thought it possible, but unlikely. Why come down here to dirty their hands when they could just withhold food?

  As the platform descended it became obvious that it held only one occupant, Grief. Af
ter it touched down, rather clumsily, he unclipped a safety rope and waved an invitation. ‘Five at a time, please.’

  No one spoke, or moved. Faces turned to examine one another in wonderment as if searching for some clue as to what next to do. Grief frowned his disappointment. ‘Well, aren’t you all an eager lot. Don’t trample anyone.’

  Taking a steadying breath, Ho stepped forward. ‘What happened up there, Grief?’

  ‘C’mon up. Take a look around.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ said a female inmate, stepping up. Ho recognized her as another of the latest newcomers who had arrived with Grief and Treat. Three other inmates joined them. On the platform, Ho asked the woman, ‘You know each other?’

  She looked Grief up and down. ‘No.’

  Grief pulled a cord strung among the fat hemp rope suspending the platform and shortly afterwards the mechanism jerked upwards, climbing. Ho saw that two mismatched swords now hung at the man’s belt.

  The grey, yellow and gold sedimentary layers of the excavated rock edged past as they rose. The rope creaked alarmingly. Ho glanced down, thinking, how many decades kicking through that dust? Six? Seven? Had he simply lost count? Somehow the future now alarmed him. What would he do? Where would he go? He’d gone too long now without even having to consider such questions. He eyed Grief; not a mark on the man and how many guards? Twenty-five, or thereabouts. How had the two accomplished this? All without any Warren magics either. The achievement irked Ho in a way – he felt as if he’d been rendered obsolete. What need for mages if they can manage this?

  The platform bumped to a stop, swinging. With a screeching of wood on wood, the cantilevered solid tree-trunk supporting them began turning aside, carrying the platform over to rest on the dirt beside the opening. Grief unhitched the safety rope. Ho blinked in the unaccustomed dawn light, shaded his eyes. The Pit’s infrastructure had not changed much since he’d last seen it. A long clapboard house looking like a guard barracks stood where, when Ho had been processed, had only been a tent. A lean-to blacksmith’s shop, a corral for donkeys, a dusty heap of open piled barrels and a squat officer’s house completed the penal station. Broken barrels and rusted pieces of metal littered the landscape. Beyond, dunes tufted by brittle grasses led off in all directions. Curtains of wind-blown dust obscured the distances. Treat was busy watering the four donkeys hooked to the spokes of the broad, circular lifting mechanism. ‘Where is everyone?’