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

  Ussü stared after him. Damn if the man wasn’t right. He regarded the hand, drew on his Warren. Blue flame flickered to life around the flesh. Anneal me, he commanded. Flames shall nourish. Instantly the bone-weariness sloughed from him like slag in a furnace. He straightened, shocked and, frankly, rather terrified. Whence comes this power? There was nothing of the Lady in it; rather, she seemed to have stood aside and allowed it. Grudgingly, he accepted it.

  My thanks, Blessed Lady.

  At the changing-post beside the main crossroads for the road to Paliss, word came that they were to make for Lallit. Ussü took the orders from Borun’s hands. ‘Lallit? On the coast? Whatever for?’

  ‘It does not say. But it is authentic. The seals and codes are correct.’

  Ussü threw it back at the messenger in frustration. He needed to speak to Yeull! Why this detour to the coast? It was insufferable – and yet more riding! ‘That’s another four days!’

  ‘Approximately. And we must go. There is no questioning this.’

  ‘Still no word from Ancy?’ Ussü asked the messenger.

  ‘No, sir. You are ahead of the news.’

  Borun dismissed the messenger. ‘We’ll take the Paliss road for a time then strike west.’ He headed for the corral.

  Ussü watched the man’s armoured back. Here I am complaining and this man has yet to hear any word on his command. Surely they must be a good two or three days ahead of any Malazan advance – even if they broke through immediately. Still, he would do well to dwell less on his own troubles and think of those of others for a change.

  Resigning himself to the shift in destination, he went to join Borun.

  Three days’ riding, plus the better part of three nights’, brought Ussü and Borun near Lallit on the coast of an arm of Sender’s Sea which many named the Pirate’s Sea. These last few days they’d come across signs of the passage of many men and wagons and carts of equipment. It looked as if an army had been brought to the coast. All this further troubled Ussü. Could Yeull actually be here and not at Paliss? If so, what of the capital? Whatever was he planning? The Malazans were advancing; the reorganized Roolian Army ought to be massing and heading east to confront them.

  Turning a last hillside in the long sloping descent to the coast brought the iron-blue expanse of the sea into view and the modest town of Lallit as well. Ships choked its narrow harbour and an encamped army surrounded the town. It looked like the assemblage of an invasion force. For an instant Ussü wondered whether they were looking at another Malazan force just landed on their west coast. But the dark brown of Rool flew everywhere, reassuring him. He and Borun exchanged a wordless look and continued on.

  Sentries met them, and an escort was assembled to guide them to the Overlord. All the rest of the Sixth appeared to have been brought together from all frontiers. Elite native Roolian and Skolati forces fleshed out the numbers. Their escort brought them to the wharf and the gangway of a large man-of-war bearing Roolian pennants, plus the personal pennant of the Overlord, the old standard of the Sixth.

  Here on the coast snow fell, driven inland by strong southwesterlies off the Ocean of Storms. The air was noticeably colder – the damp, Ussü told himself, nothing more. The Overlord’s personal guard waved them up the gangway. Within the dim sweltering main cabin they found the Overlord awaiting them. They drew off their thick travelling cloaks and Ussü knelt to offer obeisance to the shadowy figure behind the great desk piled with sheets of vellum, scrolls, and battered ledgers.

  ‘Overlord. You ordered us to report.’

  ‘And here you are,’ the figure grumbled. ‘Feed the fire. You’ve brought the frigid air with you.’

  A guard set more wood on the iron brazier even though sweat now beaded Ussü’s brow and steam rose from their travelling cloaks.

  ‘You ordered our withdrawal …’ Borun said, his voice sounding more hoarse than usual.

  The figure leaned forward, arms on the desk. His vision adjusting, Ussü saw that Yeull sat wrapped in his usual layers. His black hair gleamed wet with sweat and his face held a pale fevered look. ‘Is that an accusation?’ he demanded.

  ‘It is a question.’

  The man grunted, sinking back into his tall-backed chair. ‘You may have stalled the Betrayer a week or more but he would have crossed eventually. If not there, then elsewhere. Or divided his forces in multiple crossings. Yes?’

  Borun grated, ‘Possibly …’

  The Overlord sneered. ‘It would have happened. The Betrayer is determined to win through to the coast. He must. It is his strategy. His throw for all or nothing.’

  ‘The coast?’ Ussü asked.

  Yeull’s hot gaze shifted to him. ‘You did not stop for news during your ride here, did you? Else you would have heard. Tell me, this second invasion force arrived in more than four hundred ships. What do you think happened to those once the Betrayer landed?’

  Ussü shrugged. ‘I imagine that in due course the Marese sank them. As before.’

  Yeull seemed to growl his disgust. ‘Hot tea!’ he barked aside to a guard, and the man set about pouring a dark brew. ‘No, my too-trusting adviser. In due course the Marese acknowledged defeat and sued for peace!’ Yeull slammed a fist to the table, scattering vellum sheets. ‘So much for them.’ He pulled at the layered jackets and padded quilted jerkins he wore draped about his shoulders. ‘And now we are flanked.’

  Flanked? Ah, the coast! Gods for fend! They are here?

  ‘You are abandoning Rool,’ Borun judged, far ahead of Ussü in matters of strategy.

  The Overlord nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Ussü was completely confused. Abandon Rool? To go where? Why won’t he stand and fight? ‘You too are capitulating?’ he blurted and instantly regretted it.

  The Overlord was quiet. Sweat gleamed like a sheath on his face. His gaze was like a heated lance stabbing at Ussü’s brow. After a time he drew a shuddering breath, gulped down his steaming tea. ‘We travel to the real battle, my ignorant adviser.’

  A grating snarl sounded from Borun’s helm. ‘They strike at Korel!’

  Ussü felt as if he would fall faint. The exhaustion, the heat, these revelations. It was all too much. He wiped a hand across his slick brow. ‘That would be insane. The entire island would rise against him.’ He searched the dim room for an empty chair or a stool.

  ‘Your faith is a lesson to us all,’ the Overlord commented from the gloom. ‘That must be why she favours you so much.’

  But Ussü was not listening. His breath would not come. It was too close, too constraining. He felt as if the ship were suddenly in a storm. Armoured hands gripped him and sat him down on a ledge. A hand forced his head down to his knees. ‘Breathe,’ Borun ordered.

  The blackness swallowing Ussü’s vision abated. He panted while his heart slowed its constricted panic. Borun was speaking: ‘You are too quick to abandon Rool. Let me march south. We may yet stop him.’

  ‘True,’ the Overlord granted, sounding surprisingly tolerant of such questioning. ‘We may. But I have opted to substitute the possibility of victory now for assured success in the summer.’

  ‘Oh? How so?’

  Ussü looked up, blinking. A guard offered him a glass of tea, which he took with gratitude. It was a herbal infusion he recognized, very resuscitating.

  ‘The Korelri are desperate for manpower. We have struck an agreement to provide it. Further, we will stand with them to repel any Malazan attempt to break them. After this, come spring when the Stormriders have retreated and the Korelri stand idle … well, just imagine what we could accomplish returning to Rool accompanied by the iron might of the grateful Korelri.’

  Ussü stared, amazed. Would this work? The Korelri had never before interfered in any of the old internecine warfare and feuds; so long as they received their tribute, they were content. Yet if Greymane struck at their island in an attempt to break their power, and the Roolians stood with them … an alliance! The advantages would be incalculable.

  ‘An
d my command?’ Borun rumbled.

  Silent, Yeull regarded the Black commander for some time, his eyes slit almost shut. Ussü sensed a dislike bordering on disgust in that gaze – could this be jealousy? ‘They will be last. Ships will be sent back. You may stay to await them.’

  Borun bowed.

  ‘And you, my High Mage …’

  Ussü straightened, bowing. ‘Yes, Overlord.’

  ‘You will accompany me. Have you ever seen the Stormwall?’

  ‘Ah, no, my lord.’

  ‘It is a wonder of the world. And quite a sight. Especially this time of year.’

  Ussü suddenly no longer felt so unbearably hot. He pulled the sweat-soaked clothes away from his chest. ‘So you say, m’lord. So you say.’

  CHAPTER X

  There resides just outside Thol a famous anchoress who lives sealed within her prison home, her only communication with the outside world a narrow slit through which food may be passed. Pilgrims from all over the isles visit this sacred woman, who has forsworn the profane world for her contemplation of the sacred. You may sit next to the bricked door with its narrow window and partake of her wisdom earned through five decades of self-imposed exile from the world. Locked within her tiny cell, nothing is beyond the reach of her judgement.

  Holies of the Subcontinent

  The Abbey, Paliss

  ENTERING BANITH, GREYMANE ESTABLISHED HIS HEADQUARTERS in the warehouse the Moranth Blue occupied. Devaleth was pleased to see that when the High Fist and Admiral Swirl met, they shared a long clasp. Admiral Nok, she’d heard, was not present as the man had famously sworn a vow never to set foot on land again. The two immediately sat down to discuss tactics. Orders went out to the Fists, Rillish and Khemet Shul, who were in the field overseeing the disposition of the troops.

  While she was pleased by the High Fist’s cheer, what he intended was now absolutely clear to her and the immensity, the audaciousness of it left her reeling.

  Kyle noticed, and invited her aside. ‘You are unwell?’

  Her voice was shaky as she answered, very low, ‘Do you have any idea what this man is actually going to go through with?’

  ‘A landing on Korel, yes.’

  She stared at him, shocked that he could say that so casually. ‘It is clear you are all from elsewhere. What—’ She stopped herself, searching for the right words. ‘What does he intend regarding … regarding the Stormwall?’

  The young man did not look sure himself. He felt his way through it as he spoke: ‘I believe he intends to break the power of the Korelri here in this subcontinent. That he sees that as the only way he can truly win here.’ He was nodding as he finished. ‘And I agree,’ he added half to himself. ‘As to the Stormwall … The Malazans may have to step into the Korelris’ place for a time.’

  Devaleth twisted her hands across her stomach where they clenched, knuckles white. ‘If you do that you will be trapped there for ever.’ And she walked away, gaze lowered.

  Fist Rillish entered, and saluted. ‘You requested my presence, High Fist?’

  Greymane leaned back against his table, which was cluttered with ledgers and curled orders. He pushed back his long iron-grey hair, and for a time eyed the man from under his heavy brows, his blue eyes stormy. ‘Yes. Fist. We are disembarking for Korel with all speed. You know that. However, the worst option is that we may be repulsed. In which case we will need a secure port to return to. Banith, here in Rool, will be that port. Therefore, we cannot entirely abandon Rool.’

  Devaleth’s stomach clenched in dread. Oh, no, Greymane – do not do this to him …

  The Untan nobleman paled, swaying. ‘High Fist,’ he whispered, his voice cracking, ‘I beg you. Do not separate me from the Fourth.’

  ‘I will leave four thousand troops with you.’

  ‘Captain Betteries, or Captain Perin, surely …’

  ‘A captain cannot be the effective administrative head of a country, Fist. You know that.’

  ‘Greymane,’ Kyle murmured, ‘perhaps—’

  ‘You’re staying too.’

  Kyle flinched upright. ‘What!’ He stared in disbelief. ‘You will need me for the landing!’

  Greymane met his gaze: he seemed to be trying to tell the lad something. ‘With you here, Kyle, I’m confident at least Rool will remain in Malazan hands.’

  ‘With your permission …’ Fist Rillish grated, turning abruptly and leaving. Kyle glared his confusion but Greymane looked away, lowering his head, mouth clenched. Muttering a curse under his breath, Kyle stormed out to find the Fist. Bowing, Devaleth followed.

  She found them down on the wharf. The Fist was staring out over the harbour where the Blue vessels were readying to disembark. Already troops were heading out on launches for the larger men-of-war anchored in the bay. Kyle was standing nearby, also deep in thought. A chilling wind off the bay clawed at all of them and clouds roiled overhead, coasting inland.

  ‘You must be very angry with me,’ the Fist said, casting Kyle a quick glance.

  ‘Angry? With you?’

  The man shrugged, still staring out over the bay. ‘If it weren’t for me you’d be accompanying him, yes?’

  ‘I think he is right in keeping you here,’ Devaleth said. ‘If only he’d done it differently …’

  A strained smile from Rillish: ‘Diplomacy is not Stonewielder’s strength.’

  ‘We need to be with him. The landing will be butchery.’

  ‘No,’ Devaleth snapped, fierce. ‘It could easily go so badly – you will be needed here.’

  The Fist took a deep breath of the icy sea air then turned to face them. His face was pale, the lines at the mouth savage. His greying hair blew about, neglected and unkempt. ‘The High Fist has made his choice. We cannot but obey. Even with Yeull fled to Korel with the majority of the Sixth there still remain the Roolian militia, straggling units, renegade companies, and this self-appointed “Baron” to deal with. We will more than have our hands full.’

  ‘That is not reason enough to leave us behind,’ Kyle ground out.

  ‘You are not considering another reason,’ Devaleth said, her gaze arched. ‘I believe the man has just saved both your lives.’

  Kyle and Rillish shared a rueful glance, then she saw in their faces the realization: as High Mage, she would be accompanying Greymane.

  Suth charged up the stairs of the inn the 4th Company had occupied when it entered Banith, threw open the door to his squad’s room and began pulling his equipment together. Pyke lay on one pallet while Wess lay on another, apparently asleep.

  ‘Get a move on,’ he told them, quickly packing his roll. ‘They’re lining up to board.’

  Pyke watched, an arm under his head, a mocking smile at his lips. He raised a bottle and took a sip. ‘Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘We ain’t goin’.’

  Suth looked up from his packing. ‘What?’

  ‘We’re stayin’.’ Pyke held the bottle on his stomach. ‘Garrisoning Banith here. Sweet berth, if you ask me. We’ll be pulling in protection dues in no time. Maybe there’ll be some girls who need extra protection, if you know what I mean.’ He winked.

  Suth gripped his sword, newly sharpened and wrapped in its belt. He goes to find a grinder and now this happens? He threw it down. ‘You’re full of shit, Pyke.’

  For once the man wasn’t nettled. He grinned, sipping his wine. ‘Go ask fat-arse Goss. He’s downstairs.’

  Suth waved him a gesture and stormed down the stairs. He found the sergeant, and most of the squad, at a table towards the rear. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded, standing over them.

  Goss sank back in his seat, a tall stoneware stein before him. ‘It’s true,’ he growled, sounding defeated. Yana nodded, head in her hands, elbows on the table.

  ‘Imparala Ar take them! That is so full of shit!’

  Someone cuffed Suth from behind, a trooper he recognized from the 10th. ‘Good luck with these old ladies here in Banith – watch out for th
eir canes!’ The next table over burst out laughing.

  Suth waved him off with a sick laugh of his own. Len kicked out a chair. Suth threw himself down. ‘Who else?’

  ‘The 11th, the 6th, a few others,’ Len answered.

  ‘The 20th?’

  Len shook his head. ‘They’re going.’

  ‘Sure – they get to go!’ Yana snarled.

  ‘It’ll be damned ugly,’ Goss warned, taking a deep drink. Len frowned down at the table. Keri looked pained, either for herself or for those going, Suth wasn’t sure.

  Lard just sighed. ‘An’ we’re gonna miss it. I was so lookin’ forward to it.’

  Suth eyed the big man. He really couldn’t say he was looking forward to it; he no longer needed to clash swords to see who was stronger or faster. The reason he wanted to go was to be there for everyone else – they’d all be needed for this ugly set-to. ‘I can’t fucking believe it.’

  Goss was nodding. ‘Welcome to the army.’

  From the windows of his office Bakune watched the occupying Malazan Army march through the streets of Banith. So they march in and they march out; Malazans go and Malazans come. Our old overlords had been Malazan yet somehow these feel different. But then I wasn’t there when the Sixth first marched in. I imagine this is what they must have looked like then too: disciplined, hardened, the veterans of invasions on five continents. But after a few decades of occupation, now look at them …

  He turned away to his desk. Paperwork cluttered it. Demands from the religious hierarchy that Banith pay for repairs to the Cloister and Hospice. His denial of said demand: the church can pay for it. Though, given their disarray, there was no way of telling when that would occur. Demands from citizens for recompense regarding billeting and the occupation of rooms. Lost income, damages. Bakune could only shake his head. Didn’t they understand that these were their conquerors? They could do as they pleased. So far no one had been killed on either side: that was the important fact.