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

  Wings beating heavily, the demon swung next to the east where V’thell’s Gold were mauling the Guard phalanx. Sharpers burst beneath it among the ranks indiscriminately, revealing missed throws of munitions. Where was their blasted mage cadre! As the creature passed over a hillock something struck it and a flash of actinic light made Ullen wince and glance away. A grating shriek such as cracking stone echoed over the slope. When he looked back the thing was flailing, white flames engulfing it, pieces dropping away in fluid globules. It began to sink, limbs spasming as its outline changed, thinning, drooping. It struck the ground, bowled over irregulars and crashed into a shieldwall of Malazan regulars who hacked at its twitching flesh. A great cheer went up among the Imperial forces. Everyone on both sides had paused in horror and fascination to watch the spectacle. Gods, a melter. What an awful way to go. He marked that hillock, bare but ringed by a dark line, a trench. Something odd about the crest struck him. The grasses bowed, fluttering as if in a constant hard wind – fanning! Bala.

  ‘Name a strong reserve unit,’ he called out.

  ‘We have a detachment of Gold,’ someone answered from the mix of Ullen’s own personal guard and the command staff surrounding him.

  ‘Send it to defend that hillock on the east flank. Someone’s established a redoubt there on the field.’

  ‘A redoubt, sir? Isn’t our goal to advance?’

  ‘Push back the Avowed? Hardly. But we can break them up. Penetrate their lines. As to the redoubt,’ Ullen lifted his chin to the west, ‘night is coming.’

  His thoughts obviously returning to the horrors of last night, the officer paled and bowed. ‘Aye, sir.’

  A disgraced ex-High Mage and a saboteur squad dug in. A strong position. Should V’thell succeed they might be able to lever the Guard from the road. ‘What news from the bridge? What of the Kan forces?’

  A pause as staffers discussed things among themselves. ‘Latest intelligence is that they’ve yet to commit,’ the Imperial lieutenant said.

  Ullen stopped pacing the set cobbles of the road. ‘What?’

  Confusion, exchanged panicked glances. ‘Sorry, sir—’

  ‘You are all agreed on this?’

  Nods all around. Damn the tightfisted calculating bastards! ‘Send messages across the river. By arrow, if you must. The Empress demands they initiate an attack on that bridge! Further – any continued delay will be considered rebellion and we will march on Kan next!’

  ‘Sir!’ someone objected, shocked. ‘Ah, that is, do we have the authority…’

  Ullen pointed to the south. ‘We could lose any and all Hood-damned authority we may have thought we had. Now go!’

  ‘Aye.’ A man ran for the mounts.

  Movement on the road caught his eye. A pink mist had appeared, swelling, rolling towards them like a cloud. It engulfed screaming soldiers who disappeared before his eyes, their flesh, armour, even bone, flensed into a suspended mist that was heading straight for them. Soldiers jumped aside. Too long in the same spot, fool! ‘Magery!’ Ullen leapt from the road.

  Shimmer did not lose consciousness but after a moment’s reflection this did not surprise her. She was after all joining the Brethren. The dead Avowed chained to their living brothers and sisters. Enslaved by the Vow, by those awful impetuous terms – eternal opposition. Cheating Hood, yes, but unable to rest, ever agitating for the Vow. Remember, they had always come to whisper in her sleep, tormenting her.

  You swore! Remember your Vow…Remember…

  A hand turned her over. She blinked up at a pewter sky occluded by a skeletal, withered face. Hood himself? ‘You are dying,’ said the vision of death. ‘Despite your great vitality, it is draining away.’

  ‘Are you…Imass?’ she whispered, hoarse.

  The dried flesh of the face could not express emotion but Shimmer had the impression of surprise. ‘No. I am Edgewalker.’ Shimmer had nothing to say to that as the name meant nothing. ‘I am sending you back. Your engagement is spilling over into Shadow and that I cannot allow. I want all of you gone. You, that murderous trespasser – even the binder of your Vow – though he is being shielded.’

  Shimmer stared up at the bizzare entity. ‘Binder of my Vow? You mean K’azz?’

  ‘Whatever his name. He must go. I will send you now.’

  K’azz! Shimmer cast out her thoughts as she did when summoning the Brethren. Are you there? K’azz?

  Distant shocked surprise. Shimmer? Is that you? In truth?

  K’azz! Where are you?

  Shimmer – I am close. I’m coming! Listen. It was Skinner and Cowl! They betrayed me!

  ‘You go now,’ Edgewalker intoned in a voice like dry dust falling. A dessicated hand, all sinew and bone, rested upon her chest.

  Shimmer tried to move – the effort blackened her vision. ‘Wait!’

  Pain made her gasp. Hot smoky air choked her and she coughed, wincing with the memory of the stab wound. ‘Here she is!’ Someone threw herself down next to her: Shell. ‘Back with us!’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Shh now.’ She nodded to someone out of Shimmer’s vision; she turned her head – Twisty – their best healer. He gave her an encouraging nod. Shell eased her up, handed her a gourd of water. The cacophony of battle assaulted her: closer now, much closer. The Imperials have been advancing. And it was dark, sunset. Twisty opened her armour, slid a hand in around her side. ‘The east flank’s collapsed,’ Shell explained. ‘Those Imperial allies, the Moranth, they’re pushing to the centre, trying to cut us off from the bridge. And we are hard pressed in the west. But reports are that Cowl and the Veils have a free hand. They say that the High Fist has fallen, the Sword has fallen, Urko has fallen—’

  ‘Who says!’ Shimmer cut in, wincing and gasping for breath.

  Shell wiped smeared dirt from her face and short blond hair, her brows wrinkled. ‘Why, the Veils, of course…’

  Shimmer stood, rolled her shoulder on the side Twisty had healed. ‘Yet the Claws found me.’

  Further puzzlement, the lines at the woman’s mouth deepening. ‘And others, yes…’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Sart, Betel, Ketch. Those I know of.’

  None friends of Skinner. ‘Summon Greymane and Smoky to me – now. And remain with me.’ Shell bowed. Who else could she count on? The majority of her command, she imagined – and hoped. How she wished Cal-Brinn’s company had come through! They’d understood each other. Bars and Jup Alat would make a great difference. And Blues’ Blade – what in the Mysteries of D’rek has happened to them? They seemed to have disappeared from the face of the world.

  She took hold of Twisty’s arm and gently pushed him away.

  ‘Not yet, Commander,’ he said, anxious.

  ‘It will have to do.’

  He shook his head, moved to speak, but stopped himself and nodded. ‘Very well.’ He helped her up. She studied the field. The current assault looked like a very strong effort to take command of the ground. The Guard could not fight the Empress and themselves at the same time. Should that happen she must consider how to withdraw – but to where? Skinner’s arrogant disposition had crippled them. The bridge was too narrow and the Kanese were waiting for them in any case. A fighting withdrawal, then, to a defensible position. And the only real possibility within reach lay to the east…

  Still, ought she not make one last effort? She faced a still puzzled Shell. ‘Stay here. Ask Greymane and Smoky to await me here as well. Will you do that?’

  ‘Of course. You’re not…’

  ‘Await my return. Tell Smoky – he was right all along.’

  The mage caught at the mail of Shimmer’s arm. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re going to him, aren’t you. Don’t.’

  Shimmer studied the nest of winkles at the woman’s entreating eyes, her mouth bracketed by furrows, wanting, perhaps, to say so much more. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  The hand tightened. ‘Shimm
er! You’re not the only one Smoky spoke to.’

  ‘He spoke out of place, then.’ She gently removed the hand.

  ‘Twins take it, woman! What are you hiding from?’

  ‘We are wasting time here, mage. See to your duty – as I must mine.’

  Shell urged her off with curt wave. ‘Go then, fool! He’ll not listen to you.’

  Shimmer turned and walked away. The Vow. Remember your Vow. She picked up a shield from some fallen soldier, held it between her and the skirmishers as she crossed the field of assembled Blades. Avowed called but she did not answer. Thrown sharpers burst, scattering shards and dirt, but she did not flinch. Bolts hissed, hammering the shield and plucking at her, but she did not pause.

  And we were so close…so close to finally, utterly, being rid of the Vow that has damned us all.

  She found him at the standard, arms crossed, helm lowered as always. Crossbow bolts slashed the air. One struck him full on, glancing away, unable to penetrate the strange night-black glittering mailed armour. His company Avowed were gathered around him – though what Claws would marshal an attempt upon him she could not imagine. Dancer, of course; Topper, perhaps, if he was still competent – their intelligence told them he’d let himself go completely. Who, then, was left? No one. For an instant she wondered if the man was fully justified in his almost magisterial self-assurance. Who was there to face him? Save – and the thought came with a gut-tightening shock – herself.

  ‘Shimmer,’ he called. ‘You have left your post.’

  ‘A full Hand has taken out my guard. The Gold have broken through. We need reinforcements.’

  He inclined his helmed head. ‘A timely request. I am collecting blades to meet the threat. I will go with fifteen of my Avowed to break them.’

  A wave of tossed munitions suddenly blasted earth and sod skyward over everyone – all ducked save the Avowed. ‘And after that?’ Shimmer shouted, her ears ringing.

  ‘Then we march north on the Empress’s position.’

  ‘She’ll hardly remain to meet you,’ Shimmer said with far more scorn than she intended to reveal.

  The man’s arms uncoiled, an iron gauntleted hand going to the black stone – polished jet? – that served as his blade’s pommel while the other reached to her, clenching. ‘Then Cowl will hunt her down and slay her like vermin!’

  Shimmer flinched away. I see. ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then? Why, then our ambitions will have been fulfilled.’

  ‘The Vow will be fulfilled, you mean.’ Two bolts struck her shield, momentarily pushing her weight over on to one foot. She hefted the massive rectangle to straighten it.

  A pause. The man gestured forward his guard of Avowed mages: Mara, the Dal Hon, her wild matted hair like a lion’s mane; Gwynn, in his severe black tunic, sash and trousers; and Petal, grey-haired, crippled Petal leaning on his staff. ‘Do your thoughts not cast beyond the Vow, Shimmer? Have you not considered – what then?’

  ‘We return to Avore.’

  ‘Avore has been wiped from the map! There is no more such entity. Kellanved was quite thorough.’ Skinner waved the possibility aside. ‘So, the question remains…what then?’ The helm edged aside to look beyond her and he backed up a step. Shimmer turned. Avowed approached through the dusk and smoke: Halfdan, Bower, Lucky, Shell, Smoky, as well as the broad hulking Greymane who had yet to draw his sword.

  No, not now! Now while we dance with the Imperials. Shimmer bowed to Skinner. ‘My command from the east flank. You say you march on these foreign allies from across the sea. Very well. We will master the west. What say you?’

  Skinner’s mail-backed fingers flexed upon the grip of his sword. The helm swung to the west. ‘Very well, Shimmer. Take control of that flank and I will do so in the east. Between the two of us we should hold the field by midnight. Done?’

  ‘Done.’

  The two bowed slightly – the Avowed, all equal in theory, held to no salute. Waving to his gathered Avowed, Skinner marched away. Shimmer watched after him, slowly let out a long oh-so-taut breath that sent agony through her side. She regarded Smoky – the man was scorched and sweaty, robes torn, his nose bleeding – so far of all the Avowed mages he had been pressing the assault, and receiving the brunt of the mage cadre counter-attacks. ‘I told you to remain on post.’

  He jabbed a finger after Skinner. ‘Who knows what he might have done…’

  ‘Now is not the time.’

  ‘Then when?’

  Dare she tell them? But what if it were no more than delirious wish-fulfillment? K’azz indeed? So close? Gods, let it be true! Yet…No…it would be too cruel. ‘After the night is won. Agreed?’

  A sour scowl. ‘Agreed.’

  Shimmer twisted aside as a crossbow bolt shot across her front, plucking at her crimson surcoat. She gestured close Smoky, Bower and Shell. ‘Gather all those you can. Bring them to me on the western flank. There will be a choosing of sides come the dawn!’

  They bowed, hurried off. She turned to the Malazan renegade, studied him, hands on hips. He too had picked up a large Malazan infantryman’s shield. ‘And what of you? Will you kill Malazan soldiers?’

  The man glanced away, his bright sky-blue eyes clearly troubled. ‘I will fight to defend myself,’ he rumbled.

  No. Not good enough. Not good enough by far. ‘Then stand in the way and defend yourself, Hood take you!’ She snapped a wave, calling loudly to all, ‘Come! We march to take the west! Smash every unit! Break all organized resistance!’

  A great roaring shout answered her, swelling through the ranks. ‘For the Duke!’

  Aye – for the Duke. May he return and not prove a mere spectre of all my hopes and fears.

  Chapter II

  And in that year, at that conflagration, there was revealed once again upon the world that presence that had been withdrawn for so long. All else must be disregarded as mere commentary. That new old lurking presence asserted itself and the Night acquired the taste of blood and iron.

  Street Prophet, Kan

  THE BREATH OF RILLISH’S MOUNT FOGGED IN THE COOL NIGHT AIR. He stroked her muzzle, waiting in the courtyard alongside his readied troop. Prepare for travel and battle, Nil’s message had said and so he’d had Sergeant Chord fall everyone out. Though where within riding distance could any battle be found? Negotiations were still proceeding with the envoy along predictable lines – the same phrasings as in earlier treaties signed decade after decade and similarly broken one after the other. Were the twins so fed up they planned an attack on Unta?

  ‘Riders,’ Chord said aside though Rillish could hear them just as well.

  Shortly afterwards the twins followed by a guard of some twenty veterans thundered into the courtyard. They reined in close to Rillish. The brother and sister wore thick dark-blue tunics sashed with trousers and leather boots. Nether’s long hair was pulled back and tied in leather strips. Horn-handled long-knives thrust forward from under their arms. Nil looked down at him and the severe set of his mouth tightened further. ‘Just you, Captain.’

  He glanced between them – something had changed. They looked…intent upon something neither were happy about. Talia appeared at his side, took his hand while disguising the gesture between their bodies. ‘Just me?’

  Nether motioned to the road. ‘Come. We must hurry.’

  ‘Very well.’ He mounted, caught Sergeant Chord’s eye. ‘Take care of things for me here, Sergeant.’ Chord tilted his head in assent, spat on to the ground.

  Talia had a hand on his boot. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, her voice low.

  ‘I don’t know. Listen to Chord.’ He adjusted the weight of his new hauberk of banded iron, the hang of his swords. ‘Take care of yourself. I’ll…I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Come back to me,’ she said, her voice so tight as to be almost breathless.

  ‘Yes.’

  The twins urged their mounts onward and the troop exploded forward, hooves hammering the beaten earth of the court. Rillish noted
that almost all the guard accompanying Nil and Nether were old veterans of the Seven Cities campaigns – a hard-bitten if ancient lot. They drove hard, taking the road south, and as they went they passed contingent after contingent waiting strung out along the darkened road. Sweet Fanderay! Must be a thousand! All waiting in the night. He urged his mount forward and room was made for him next to Nil at the van.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted.

  He was relieved when Nil offered him a familiar smile. ‘You remember our conversations some days ago? We are setting out to seal our agreement with the throne. And in such a way that cannot be denied! We, above all, have reason to detest Laseen but here we are riding to her deliverance.’ He shook his head. ‘Such is politics.’

  ‘Is this what the envoy—’

  A negative wave. Nil pushed his wind-tossed hair from his face. ‘No. This is nothing to do with him. We and the witches have been sensing the west. All are agreed a confrontation is gathering such as Quon has not seen in a century. We go to tip the balance and our price of Laseen will be sovereignty!’

  Sovereignty? Oh, Nil, Nether, I hope so for your sake. A high goal for your people. Worthy of…Rillish craned his neck, scanning the riders within sight…all the oldest of the lot, many bearing what would otherwise count as incapacitating wounds: crippled arms, missing hands, eyes. So. They ride to give their all in this one last throw to win the highest goal for their children and grandchildren. Self-rule.

  And he rode with them. He leant to Nil once more. ‘I am honoured, Nil. But why me? Why am I here?’

  A fey, easy laugh. ‘Should we win through, Captain, someone must negotiate. You know your own court’s ways. You must study every word, every statute. Make sure the terms are binding!’

  ‘I shall, Nil.’

  ‘Good! I know you will,’ and he laughed in a completely unrestrained boyish manner. ‘That’s why I’m so relieved – I won’t have to do any of that!’