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

  Dinner came in numerous small courses of soup, bread and vegetables, none of which struck Kiska as particularly tasty or well prepared. Bland, serious and practical. Like these people themselves. She longed to escape this encampment and return to her mission. The only amusement of the night came from the faces Jheval made when tasting the food.

  An after dinner tea was served, a watery green infusion utterly without flavour, and Jayashul announced: ‘We are now prepared to mount an assault upon the Devourer.’

  Kiska thrust aside her tea, spilling it. ‘An assault? Shouldn’t we determine just … what it is, first?’

  Jayashul was undeterred. ‘We know it is a powerful magus, or what some would name an Ascendant. No doubt quite mad. Perhaps brought on by exposure to your otataral dust, or some form of mental attack or breakdown. Merely visiting Chaos can induce such a reaction – it is not uncommon.’ She turned to Warran. ‘What say you, priest of Shadow?’

  The priest had been very eager for dinner, and now he sat looking quite defeated by what had appeared on his plate. Kiska imagined he’d been expecting fish. ‘It would be best, would it not, to examine this anomaly more closely first to determine all its particulars, before striking?’

  Jayashul shook her head rather condescendingly. ‘My dear priest … if one of our white hounds were to launch itself upon you with an intent to consume you utterly, would you take the time to enquire as to his pedigree or antecedents? No, you would strike! Defend yourself! ’

  Warran offered a thin smile. ‘The hound would find in me a rather insubstantial meal.’

  Jayashul thought nothing of the comment but Kiska shot the little man a sharp look. Insubstantial? Was the fellow playing games? Mocking this Liosan Ascendant. Perhaps mocking everyone, the entire situation?

  A guard brushed aside the cloth hanging, and Jayashul looked up. ‘He is here?’ The guard nodded. ‘Good.’ She stood and everyone followed suit. ‘The one we have been waiting for has arrived.’ A man entered. He wore his long pale hair loose, and layered green robes. ‘My brother. L’oric.’

  The man’s gaze swept them all. Then, as he was about to bow to Jayashul, he straightened, stunned surprise almost comical on his face, and his eyes returned to Jheval. ‘Blood of my father …’ he breathed. ‘Leoman?’

  Jheval’s mouth twisted his chagrin and embarrassment. He bowed ironically. ‘L’oric. As soon as I saw these Liosan I was afraid you would show up.’

  ‘Show up?’ L’oric echoed, disbelief in his voice. ‘Leoman, your arrogance remains undiluted, I see.’

  Leoman? The name was familiar to Kiska but she couldn’t quite place it. L’oric turned his attention to her. Brother to Jayashul, but at first Kiska saw almost no similarity. His face was thin, but there was a certain haughtiness in its expression in which she saw the relationship. This man should speak of arrogance! It marches emblazoned across his face completely unbeknownst to him.

  ‘Malazan, I see,’ he mused. ‘Claw, no doubt. Come to spy.’ He turned to Warran. ‘And a priest of that Shadow usurper. He is worried about the integrity of his stolen Realm, yes?’

  Warran arched a brow. ‘Stolen? The house was empty, unclaimed.’

  L’oric’s mouth pursed with distaste. ‘The problem, I should think, is that by far too many claim that house.’

  Warran’s gaze narrowed in the first betrayal of annoyance Kiska had yet seen from him.

  L’oric now bowed to his sister. ‘Jayashul.’ He indicated Jheval. ‘What reason has this man given for coming here?’

  ‘They say they came to investigate the Anomaly, the Devourer.’

  L’oric’s gaze was openly sceptical as he studied them in turn. Kiska felt as if she’d been mentally frisked for stolen goods. ‘For what reason, I wonder,’ he mused. ‘All three must be arrested.’

  ‘I have extended the status of guest to them.’

  ‘Then you did so too quickly – you should have waited for me.’

  It was now Jayashul’s turn to reveal annoyance. Jheval laughed. ‘Still the diplomat, I see, L’oric.’

  The man frowned, completely unable to penetrate Jheval’s taunt. ‘This one, at least, must be chained. If only for our safety.’

  Kiska couldn’t contain herself any longer. It was stunning how these two could stand here speaking of them in the third person. ‘We have done nothing!’

  L’oric regarded her, bemused. ‘How strange to hear a Malazan defending Leoman of the Flails.’

  Leoman of the Flails! Kiska gaped at Jheval. The man at least had the scruples to appear ashamed.

  ‘I am sorry, Kiska,’ he said.

  ‘Ah!’ L’oric snorted, as if vindicated. ‘He lied to you. Typical.’

  ‘I believe we’ve established that,’ Warran commented, arching a brow.

  Leoman of the Flails. Follower of Sha’ik, and the last commander of the Seven Cities insurrection. The man who lured the Malazan Seventh Army to its greatest tragedy in the city of Y’Ghatan, where a firestorm consumed thousands. Possibly the greatest living threat to the Empire.

  And a man she would have brought to Tayschrenn! Whom the Queen of Dreams pressed upon her! Could he have deceived her? Surely not. But then … gods turn away! What was she to do?

  Kiska sat heavily, gazing at nothing.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Warran suggested, ‘you might settle this on your own.’

  L’oric gave a curt nod. ‘Yes.’ He snapped his fingers and a guard edged aside the cloth hanging. ‘Take these three back to their quarters and put them under close watch.’

  The guard’s gaze flicked to Jayashul. Though obviously irked by her brother’s infringement on her prerogative as commander, she gestured her agreement.

  Kiska remained sitting until hands urged her up and guided her back to her tent.

  She sat on her pallet, staring at the blank cloth walls long into the night. Leoman. Had he planned assassination? The Queen of Dreams could not have been fooled. Did she then … approve?

  Her gaze fell to her hands. Impotent. Deluded. Abetting!

  The hands clenched into white fists.

  No. Never. I will kill him.

  She stood, threw off her loose cloak and travelling jacket. She rewound her sash wider and tighter, pulled on her gloves. Only now did she notice the noise without the tent. Many men and women moving about. She glanced out of a gap in the cloth opening: the Liosan were readying for their assault. Utter insanity! What can an army do against a Void?

  She saw a detachment of five Liosan marching towards her tent, led by the man from the dinner, Brother Jorrude. Damn! They might be …

  She pulled on her cloak, wrapped it around her and sat on the pallet, hands tucked within the folds.

  A sharp knock on the tent’s front pole. ‘Yes?’ she called.

  ‘We must enter. Dress yourself.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I will give you one more moment.’

  ‘Enter, then. If you must.’

  The flap was pulled aside and three Liosan stepped in, Brother Jorrude and two female soldiers. They peered about the empty interior of her tent.

  ‘What is it?’

  Brother Jorrude ignored her.

  ‘Courtesy—’

  ‘Courtesy?’ the man cut in. ‘You Malazans are not deserving of courtesy. I find your manners … offensive.’

  Kiska smiled. ‘Came away poorly from a previous meeting, did you?’

  The man glared, gestured the others out, then followed.

  Kiska gave them a moment then peered out of the gap in the cloth. They appeared to be gone. She bent to examine the cot. Two legs came off, giving her short batons as weapons. These she tucked into her sash at the rear. She went to the flap, tucked her fingers round the edge and waited for the alley in front to clear.

  ‘There’s too many for that,’ a voice said at her back and she nearly jumped from the tent. It was Warran; the man was standing directly behind her.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ she hissed.

  �
��It looks as if we’ve all decided it’s time to go.’

  She eyed him, not liking that. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Jheval – that is, Leoman – has escaped.’

  ‘I knew it! That was why they came here!’ She regarded him anew. ‘And you as well, it would seem.’

  A modest shrug. ‘I come and go as I please. These Tiste Liosan truly do not understand Shadow. To them it is merely some sort of bastard hybrid. A crippled, or inferior, Liosan. But it is not that at all. It is its own Realm. Separate and equally legitimate.’

  In that speech she heard something new in the priest: pride, yes, but the touchy insecure pride of the outsider, or newcomer, to a very old and long-running game. ‘Will you help me get away?’

  The priest’s answering grin was unnervingly sly. ‘Of course.’

  Pyke choked on his beer when Lard and Wess thumped down at his table. He finished drinking from the heavy tankard and wiped his mouth. ‘What do you two want?’

  ‘We’re waitin’ for Suth.’

  Pyke snorted. ‘Then I’m goin’.’ He moved to rise but Lard grabbed his forearm. ‘What’s this shit?’

  Suth entered, peered round, then sat at the table. He nodded to Wess, who yanked something from Pyke’s waist – his money pouch. Wess upended it over the table. Silver and copper coins tumbled over the uneven planks and on to the floor. Pyke writhed to escape Lard’s grip. ‘You guys crazy? That’s mine!’

  Suth shook his head. ‘I wasted my entire day following you, Pyke, from one shop to the next. Guess what I saw?’

  Pyke wrenched his arm free and rubbed it, sneering. ‘What’s the matter with you guys? It’s the routine. Why should we miss out?’

  ‘We get paid,’ Lard said.

  A laugh from Pyke. ‘When was the last time you saw any Malazan coin?’

  ‘Coin or not,’ Lard ground out. ‘I signed on to fight, not steal.’

  ‘Well then, you’re just a stupid fucker, ain’t you?’

  Lard surged forward but Suth pulled him back, saying, ‘You’re digging a grave with that mouth of yours, Pyke. Consider this the warning it is. No more giving us a bad name, or we’ll put you in the infirmary.’

  Pyke bared his teeth in a derisive smirk. ‘You can try.’

  Suth sat back, disbelieving. All the gods of the lands. How dense can a man be? ‘All right. Outside.’

  Wess inched his head aside, his eyes to Suth’s rear. Suth turned to see Goss approaching. The sergeant rested a heavy hand on Lard’s and Pyke’s shoulders, giving them all an evil smile. ‘Good to see everyone together like one big happy family. Now kit up. We’re on.’

  The squad assembled in front of the inn. All were present, including, of all people, Faro. Yana only was absent as she was still recovering from her crossbow bolt wound. Suth had been named acting corporal. Len and Keri showed up last, jogging from the direction of the garrison. They cradled fat shoulder bags at their sides. Something in Suth shivered upon spotting those bags: whatever this was, it was gonna be ugly.

  They marched east. Before they left the last outskirts of Banith, the 6th joined them led by Sergeant Twofoot. Suth couldn’t miss the giant shambling Fish, the squad’s muscle. The man held out a hand to Wess, who pressed a pouch into it. The two tucked rolls of leaves into their mouths. Peas in a damned pod.

  Beyond the outskirts they passed tilled market gardens, leafless orchards and harvested fields of stubble and snow. They passed through Malazan checkpoints, were saluted onward. A mounted messenger joined up with them and led the way to a copse of trees north off the road. Here they were ordered to form up.

  People advanced from the gloom of the woods. Suth recognized the Adjunct Kyle, Fist Rillish, and the mail-coated woman from the bridge battle, Captain Peles. With them was some squat meaty fellow who had the look of a wrestler, and an old man in ragged shirt and trousers, barefoot. One of the local tribesmen. The Fist stepped forward, studied their ranks.

  ‘Troopers of the 6th and 17th. You have been selected for a special mission. We will be making a dash to a Roolian stronghold, a series of caves in the mountains. There, our objective is to acquire or destroy a small box or chest. If any of you should locate this object – do not touch it! It could be deadly. Call for the saboteurs.

  ‘Now, you may be wondering how we could be making a dash to the mountains … well, you are Malazan troops. How many here have travelled by Warren?’

  Suth looked round, curious, while a few hands went up – less than a quarter of the company. Goss’ hand was up, as was Twofoot’s, also most of the saboteurs’. Faro’s hand wasn’t up, which didn’t surprise Suth; the man would hardly volunteer any information. Peering about, Suth was startled to see that someone new had joined their ranks at the rear: a giant. The fellow was nearly half as tall again as the average height. He was also by far the broadest across, as well. Suth stared, then remembered he was in ranks, and returned his eyes forward.

  Fist Rillish was nodding. ‘Very good. Those who have travelled before help the others, if necessary. Now, our guide for the quick journey will be this man.’ The Fist indicated the elderly local. ‘Gheven is his name. You will follow his orders explicitly. While we are in Warren, you will do as he says without hesitation or question. Is this clear?’

  ‘Aye, sir!’ came the bellowed response from all throats.

  The Fist nodded again. ‘Very good. Now, I requested you because I know you’ve been in the fire before. You can handle yourselves. Follow orders, be responsive and quick, and we’ll be back before your lovers can miss you. That is all. Sergeants.’

  Goss and Twofoot stepped forward. ‘Squads! Form up double column!’

  The 17th lined up next to the 6th, while the Adjunct and the Fist led with their party. Then they merely set off through the woods. The night was partially overcast. Occasionally, a crescent moon dropped silver beams across the tree trunks. It was chill, but not uncomfortable. ‘Who’s the big guy?’ Suth asked Goss as they marched.

  A shrug. ‘Came with the priest. Strange feller. Don’t see what help he’ll be.’

  ‘Priest?’

  Goss gave him an amused look. He pointed to his face. ‘Priest of Fener.’

  Suth hid his annoyance: too damned dark to see, wasn’t it?

  ‘Where’re we—’

  Goss had raised a hand for silence. Crossbows were readied all up and down the two columns. The lines became ragged as some hesitated, anticipating a halt. But the order came back to keep moving. None should stop unless directly ordered to do so.

  They marched, scanning the woods to either side, crossbows at shoulders. Suth caught a glimpse of some huge beast moving through a glade – of a set of gigantic antlers upraised, almost occluding a surprisingly fat and large moon. That none fired a bolt spoke of the strict adherence to the wait-for-go orders.

  Suth stared back at that moon. He could’ve sworn it had been a sliver crescent last time he’d seen it. He was so absorbed he stumbled over Goss’ heels and the man righted him. ‘Ignore everything,’ he told him. ‘Unless it bites you.’

  Suth nodded, chastened.

  Things got very strange after that. The forest became extraordinarily wild and dense. Everyone released the tension on their crossbows and swung them on to their backs. Swords came out to hack a route. A mist rose, obscuring everything but the tall thick trunks and the vines surrounding them. Those vines occasionally snagged ankles and wrists but quick work from everyone hacked them away; Suth couldn’t tell whether that catching was accidental or deliberate. Soon the mist was swept away by a lashing heated wind that halted them with its fury. Branches slashed them. Suth held a forearm across his eyes, head down. After the wind had passed smoke boiled over them, chokingly thick. It slowly dispersed as they felt their way onward. Ahead, the forest was a blackened wasteland of standing shattered trunks. Beyond that rose a wall of ridges and cliffs, bare and black, billowing plumes of smoke, flame-lashed and glowing, obscuring half the night sky.

  Rillish steadi
ed Gheven whenever he faltered, which was becoming ever more frequent. He wondered, not academically, what would happen if they were still in this strange Warren when the man died. Would they be lost for ever? It was selfish of him to think of it, but it was a worry. He studied the man’s lined, sweaty face and received a nod of reassurance.

  ‘She’s anxious,’ the old man explained, his breath coming hard. ‘I sense it. There are things happening all across these lands. Control is slipping away. Now is our best chance.’

  ‘And how are you?’

  Gheven answered with a tired smile. ‘I will manage. I have been hiding and watching long enough.’

  Rillish answered the smile with one of his own then looked back to study the company. They were climbing the rocky slope of the crescent of mountains, the Trembling range, that contained the inland body of water known as Fist Sea. Somewhere ahead waited the cave complex of Thol. Below, the coming dawn revealed that at some time the forest had returned; the thunderstorm plume streaming from behind the peaks above was gone as well. A morning mist obscured the greenery of the forest, while the usual thick cloud cover now obscured the sky, seeming to pile up against the shoulders of the Trembling range.

  The line of troops snaked below, the men and women dodging from cover to cover. Coming abreast of him, the priest Ipshank shot him a glance and Rillish directed his gaze to the elder. ‘Can’t you help him?’ he murmured, keeping his voice low.

  The priest shook his head. ‘No. She’d sense me immediately. He’s having a hard enough time obscuring the Adjunct’s and my presence.’

  ‘Are we … out?’

  ‘Yes. Some time ago.’

  Rillish nodded, relieved. ‘As soon as there’s cover I’ll order a rest. Everyone’s tired. We’ll have one shift to try to get some sleep.’ He waved for the sergeants. Now, his nagging suspicion returned that he’d not brought enough troopers. But Gheven had been adamant: he could manage no more.

  So be it. They would have to succeed with what they had. The Adjunct, Kyle, had been insistent that he come. He had Captain Peles, who was extraordinary in a fight, Ipshank and Manask who were both legends, and two squads of Malazan heavy infantry. What more could any commander wish? It would have to do. After all, what could possibly be awaiting them here, in the middle of nowhere?