Ahead, sitting on the white marble altar stone beneath a broad shimmering starburst tapestry of gold and silver thread, waited a tiny figure. A child. A young girl with long black hair wearing a plain orphan’s smock.
She smiled, brightening, and slid off the altar. ‘Ipshank!’ she piped, delighted. ‘You’ve come!’
The priest gave a slight bow. ‘M’lady.’
Bakune stared at the man. Ipshank? Where had he heard that name before? Of course! Renegade! One of the highest of the Lady’s hierarchy to throw off her worship. That was during the first invasion. The animal tattooing … turned to one of the foreign gods then. Now I begin to understand.
Ipshank inclined his head to indicate the tossed bodies crumpled amid the broken stonework. ‘Still as impatient as ever, I see.’
The child stamped her foot and the entire edifice shuddered around them. Dust came sifting from the hidden ceiling and enormous blocks of stone grated and shifted. Candelabra hung on long chains from the darkness above swung overhead, moaning. ‘They would flee! Flee!’ Bakune clamped his hands to his ears in agony. He fell to his knees. Warmth made him pull his hands away – blood smeared his palms. A pink mist swam before his vision.
‘And this one?’ the child’s voice asked.
‘He had to see with his own eyes what no one could convince him of.’
‘Well, he has seen enough.’ A blow like the slap of a battering ram batted Bakune aside. He struck a fallen stone pew, heard bones crack. The agony blackened his vision for a time. But he fought to retain his consciousness: he had to see! Had to witness!
‘You have reconsidered my offer?’ the child was saying.
‘You know the answer to that,’ came the man’s coarse gravelly voice.
‘A pity. Now you are bereft. You betray me, and then that god you clove to … the one your grunting ancestors squirmed before … the beast … you rejected him as well! Such an honour he offered you! Destriant! Arch-priest! And now he is cast down. Who could possibly be next for you? Truly, I am curious. Who will you run to next?’
‘None. I’ve made up my own.’
A very un-girlish laugh echoed through the chapel. ‘Your own? You cannot do that!’
‘I have done so. And I have sent it out into the world to make its own way.’
‘Enough foolishness, Ipshank. I renew my offer. Be my Destriant. The power you will wield will be unlimited. Join me! I have found my High Mage. And my Mortal Sword – or should I say Spear? He awaits my enemies on the Stormwall. Together we will sweep these invaders from our shores.’
‘I am sorry, m’lady, but it is too late for that. They are here now. Banith is defenceless. You must withdraw.’
‘Withdraw? Leave? This is mine!’
The building shook beneath another blow. The floor bounced, shifting the strewn wreckage, and glass shattered all along the walls. A candelabrum fell to explode in shards. Something wet struck Bakune and he turned his head, blinking and squinting. It was an arm. The arm led to the robed body of the Abbot Starvann Arl. The priest had been right: he would not see Bakune. For no legs emerged from beneath those wet stained robes, and upon his bearded face, frozen surprise. Stunned astonishment. You thought you could control her, didn’t you? And perhaps, over time, you came to think you were in charge. You came to think that she truly was just a child. You poor deluded fool.
‘No? You will not go? Very well.’ Sandals slapped the wet sticky floor. Gentle arms lifted Bakune. ‘Stay then, if you must. Those inhuman Moranth are coming. I leave you to them. Best of luck … I hear they have no blood within their armour.’
‘No! How dare you! I order you to stop!’
Bakune watched the chapel swing around him as he was carried to the doors. ‘Goodbye. I can’t imagine what they’ll do to you.’
‘Come back!’ the child shrieked. ‘I demand that you return! Do not leave me!’
Past the doors, they were halfway down the hall when a great scream tore the air around them. The almost inhuman noise was like a spike penetrating Bakune’s skull and he yelled his agony, bashing the heels of his hands to his forehead as if he could force the needle points from behind his eyes. The priest, Ipshank, paused, shaking his head to clear it, then set Bakune down. ‘Wait here.’
Bakune could not even speak to answer. He lay propped up against the wall, panting in agony.
Shortly, Ipshank returned; he carried the young girl slack in his arms.
‘Is she … dead?’ Bakune mumbled, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.
Ipshank shook a negative. ‘No. Unconscious. She will awaken remembering nothing.’ He extended an arm and pulled Bakune upright. The Assessor clutched hold of the man’s shoulder to take one limping step. ‘So … who is she?’
‘Just a vessel. A body used and cast aside. An avatar, some might say.’
‘Then … what of the Lady?’
They were approaching the entrance hall and the priest was peering ahead, frowning in puzzlement. ‘She is elsewhere, as I said.’
Bakune squinted as well: the outer doors were closed and barred. With Hyuke and Puller was Manask. But Bakune frowned, for it looked as if both ex-Watchmen were struggling to stab the giant with a spear. Then the scene reversed itself in Bakune’s rattled mind and it became clear that both men were struggling to yank out a spear stuck in the huge man’s chest. Hyuke had one foot up against Manask’s stomach and was heaving while Puller was jerking the haft up and down. Manask himself had his back to a wall, both fists on the haft, his face crimson with effort.
‘Ah ha!’ he called, noticing them. ‘The holy man comes descending from the mount! What wisdom for us mere mortals?’
‘Find anything, Manask?’
The giant’s eyes flicked left and right. ‘Why … no. Nothing. Nothing at all. Not a thing. No sacks of pretty gems set aside in secret hordes. No jewel-encrusted gold icons. Odd that, a cloister without icons! No stone chest of gold coins so large I could not move it hidden in the foundations. A shame that. In short, I come away empty-handed.’ And he let go the spear.
‘And this?’ Ipshank flicked the end of the spear haft.
‘A mere token of affection from the thousands of devout surrounding us.’
Ipshank’s brows rose. ‘Ah. I see.’
Hyuke peered at the girl. ‘Who’s this?’
‘A survivor,’ Bakune quickly said. ‘Everyone else is dead.’
Ipshank eyed him for a moment, saying nothing. He looked to Hyuke. ‘Find me somewhere she can sleep.’
‘Sure. There’s lots of rooms.’
Bakune eased himself down one wall. His left arm ached ferociously and he couldn’t move it. He suspected it was broken. At last Manask managed to pull the spear from his thick armour; he eyed its bright razor tip, impressed. ‘This one almost tickled me.’
Bakune had been studying the man’s face – one quite thin and long for someone supposedly fat. ‘You’re Boneyman, aren’t you?’
The man grabbed at his great mane of bushy hair, patting it. ‘What’s that? Boneyman? Ridiculous!’ He cleared his throat and peered around. Lowering his voice, he asked, ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a hammer and chisel, would you?’
‘No. Why?’
‘No reason! None at all.’ He examined the long spear, its wide thick blade, and rubbed his chin. ‘Hmm. Well, while no one is looking, I shall sneak away unnoticed! Here I go, stealthily, like a very shadow.’ And the man clumped off down the hall.
Farewell, Manask. Best of luck with whatever mad plan it is you’ve concocted.
Bakune gathered a handful of sleeve and wiped at the blood drying on his face. ‘What are they doing out there?’ he asked Puller.
The man frowned, thinking about that. ‘Sitting. Praying.’
Bakune slowly nodded at the news. ‘Right.’ No more challenging questions for that one …
Ipshank returned. Bakune raised a questioning brow.
‘She’s sleeping.’
‘What now?’
&
nbsp; The priest looked off towards the front, his wide mouth turned down. ‘Wait till dawn then get you out of here.’
Bakune paused in wiping the flakes of blood from inside his ears. ‘I’m sorry? I can’t hear so well right now. Did you say … me?’
‘Yes. You.’
‘Whatever for?’
The priest found a carved stone fount in which he splashed his face. ‘What for? Hasn’t it occurred to you, Assessor, that you are now the senior authority here in Banith? Who else must negotiate with the Moranth?’
Bakune stared. ‘Me? Negotiate?’
‘Yes, and soon.’
‘Soon? … Why?’
Ipshank pressed his fingers to his brow, sighed. ‘Before someone else does.’
‘Someone else? But whoever would do that?’
The priest peered down at him as if to see whether he was serious. ‘Boneyman, for example. He just might decide to take himself down to the wharf.’
Bakune lurched to his feet. ‘No! All the gods – not him! We must go.’
Ipshank was nodding steadily.
From the doors Hyuke spoke up: ‘If you’re in charge now can I be captain? I mean … you have to have more’n a sergeant guarding you. Gotta impress these backwoods Moranth, an’ all.’
Smiling evilly at Bakune’s discomfort, the priest gestured up the hall.
CHAPTER VIII
The Holies of the Lady’s worship are a triumvirate: the Three Gems. The first is the Lady Herself, She Who Protects. The second is the Chest, That Which Abides Within. The third is the Priesthood, Those Who Serve.
Thus are we protected, sustained, and guided. It is a perfect system and the envy of all.
School Primer
Damos, Jourilan
AT FIRST USSÜ WAS MERELY IRRITATED BY THE LATE NIGHT summons from the Envoy, Enesh-jer. Hands at his back, he tramped up the shallow hillside of the Ancy river valley. A servant preceded him, lantern raised, while two Moranth Black guards followed.
The bodyguard was a recent precaution Borun had forced upon him since the assassination attempt a week ago. Only his sudden recourse to the Warrens, a reflex action, had saved his life that night. The unleashing of power that came with that summons had surprised even him. The assassin had been pulverized instantly, organs burst, fluid gushing from all orifices. The man’s slim keen blade had only brushed the surface of his neck – no more than a shaving cut. Later, he and Borun kicked through the wreckage of his tent. Neither spoke; Ussü imagined both their thoughts ran to suspecting a Claw. How many, he wondered, had Greymane arrived with … the openly self-declared plus the covert, salted away to remain hidden, watchful.
And the Lady had not intervened. She’d allowed him this – teasing? – access to his Warren. Perhaps even abetted his effort. Never had such raw puissance come at his call. It was, to be frank … seductive.
Pausing, he turned to peer back over the valley. Numerous fires glittered here on this west side of the Ancy while on the eastern shore hardly a one lit the pure dark of the night. False and true gods: they’ve even run out of firewood. The stories they’d been hearing of the privations endured on that far shore almost moved him to pity. Almost. Starvation, boiling leather to gnaw upon. Sickness. Countless soldiers cut down by bow-fire as they desperately attempted to fish the river. A number had even been caught here on this side having swum across. And were they spying? No – they carried panniers crammed with stolen food.
Ussü drew his thick winter cloak tighter about himself and continued on. A childish display, this summons. An attempt by the Envoy to remind everyone he was still in command, while succeeding only in demonstrating his pettiness.
Guardians posted at the iron-bound door allowed Ussü entrance to the keep proper. Within, he hung up his thick wool cloak. His Moranth guards bowed, halting, knowing they were not allowed in the private quarters. At the inner chamber doors two more Guardians of the Faith stood watch. These pulled open the heavy oaken leaves. Within, Ussü was surprised to see quite a crowd. Most of Enesh-jer’s coterie of minor Roolian aristocrats and army officers stood jammed almost shoulder to shoulder in the smallish meeting hall. More Guardians of the Faith lined the walls, fists on their iron-heeled staffs.
The entourage parted for him – and not with their usual sullen arrogance either; many carried knowing grins, some even let go soft laughs as he passed. Hands at his back, Ussü pursed his lips; so, some new form of torture thought up by Enesh-jer. What would it be now? Had he finally become reckless enough to follow through on his threat to arrest him for witchery?
He found Borun standing at the front and Ussü’s frown turned to a scowl. Lady look away! He’s not going to demand that Borun attack again, is he? He’ll only force the commander to refuse in front of everyone. The man’s instability was verging on dangerous, but Ussü said nothing. He took a deep breath and clamped his lips tight. This night the Envoy wore his full official uniform of rich fur cloak, gold rings at fingers, and thin silver circlet. He held a roll of vellum that he tapped in the palm of a hand. Ussü eyed the scroll. Word from the Overlord? If so, the night’s atmosphere just took on a far more dangerous tenor.
Enesh-jer briefly inclined his hound’s head to Ussü. He raised his hands for silence. ‘Commander Borun, Ussü. Thank you for attending. As many of you know, a messenger arrived a little while ago having ridden through the night from his posting to the west. He has brought word from our Overlord in Paliss.’ Enesh-jer motioned for silence again though hardly anyone had spoken. ‘My lords, the messenger’s credentials are confirmed, the missive’s seals are authentic and unquestionable. This is no fraud, no effort to sow confusion.’
The Envoy took hold of the scroll in both hands, regarded Ussü. A smile bared his sharp teeth. ‘Commander Borun, Ussü. It seems that my many justified complaints and communiqués regarding your behaviour and performance have finally been answered. Your insubordination, your intransigence in the face of my orders, all is well known to everyone here. Now, the Overlord has heard of it and he has answered. You, Commander Borun, and you, Adviser Ussü, are hereby summoned to Paliss.’ And he extended the scroll.
Borun bowed, accepting the vellum. For a time he studied it through the visor of his helm, then silently handed it to Ussü. The mage read quickly – the wording was definitely Yeull’s … yet the missive cited no reason for the recall, just that he should travel with all dispatch and speed for Paliss.
Lady’s revenge! Was this a summons to execution? Enesh-jer obviously believed so. He thought himself vindicated and Ussü could see no reason why he should not. ‘M’lord,’ he ventured, ‘may I ask—’
‘No you may not! Enough talk from you. Enough words.’ The Envoy swallowed, forcing himself to stillness. ‘You have been pulled from the front … which was my request all along. Go! Now. This night.’
Teeth clenched so hard they hurt, Ussü managed a very curt bow. Turning, he saw that the entourage had remained parted. They all knew already. This was just a pantomime, a public humiliation and a show of power. Let all others considering dissent beware! This could happen to you too!
Pulling on his cloak to leave, Ussü discovered his robes were wet where a number of the hangers-on had spat upon him.
On the way back down the valley Borun summoned messengers to give quick commands in the clipped foreign Moranth tongue. Ussü was silent for a time. There was nothing to say. Finally, he sighed, and asked: ‘Will we ride together?’
‘Yes. We will go ahead with an advance force. It will take time for the full withdrawal.’
Ussü stopped short. ‘Withdrawal?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean you are leaving with all your Moranth?’
‘Of course.’
Ussü’s voice rose with his amazement: ‘Does he know that?’
‘Yes.’ Borun’s tone remained maddeningly flat.
‘And he … approves … ?’
‘Of course. You know he has long regarded me as an impediment to his overall command
. He considers my removal a victory.’
‘Borun – you and your Moranth are the only reason this command remains. Only your heavy infantry is holding these Malaz—’ Ussü corrected himself, ‘Greymane back.’
‘Envoy Enesh-jer is not of that opinion.’
‘Dammit, man. They’ll all be dead within a week!’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Then Greymane will dog any retreat all the way to Paliss.’
The Black commander halted at the entrance to the tent he’d set aside for Ussü’s use. ‘I do not believe so, High Mage. Regardless, I suggest you redirect your energy and concern to what might lie in your own future. Have you not wondered what might stand behind this summons?’
‘No, not yet. I don’t know. Yeull has been convinced by Enesh-jer’s lies, perhaps.’
Borun clasped his gauntleted hands at his back, regarded the dark river. Ussü thought his mood reflective. ‘My reading of Yeull is that he is many things, but no fool. High Mage, he is a frightened man. Something has happened. Something that terrifies him. And he has called us to him.’
Ussü sighed. ‘I only wish I could share your … faith.’
‘Faith?’ The Black commander sounded bemused. ‘It is an estimation. A bet, if you will. Everything is a gamble.’
Ussü smiled now. ‘Really? Everything? What of those who do not gamble?’
‘Those who do not gamble do so betting that terrible things will eventually happen to those who do.’ And he bowed to leave. ‘High Mage. We both have a busy night ahead of us. Until then.’
Ussü bowed as well. He watched the commander march off. Messengers who had been keeping a respectful distance now crowded the man. Gods above and below, Yeull. What have you done to deserve the loyalty of such a man? It’s a mystery. Shaking his head, Ussü turned to packing his equipment.
The ground had been scoured naked here in what the Shadow priest, Warran, claimed was Emurlahn dissolving into the ‘between-ness’ of Chaos. Humped bare granite, resembling bedrock, gave way to pools of sand in dips and hollows that churned like water as if containing things just beneath their surface. Curtains of ash swept over them like gauzy blankets, only to drift on. A brief rainstorm out of the empty sky left them soaked in black dust.
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 162