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

  Feeling about blindly Antsy found what he’d sought and burned his hand in the process: the snuffed lantern. With its handle in one hand and his shortsword in the other, he felt his way down the wall. Feet thumped and scuffed in the dark. Someone was crying far off in one of the houses. He reached what he thought was the fourth doorway. ‘Corien?’ he whispered.

  ‘Here.’

  Antsy recognized the voice. He slipped in, covered the doorway behind him. ‘Malakai speak to you?’

  ‘Yes. And—’

  ‘I’m here,’ Orchid cut in from the blackness.

  ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘I’ll lead you out,’ Orchid said. ‘Malakai said he’ll keep them busy.’

  ‘Okay, but listen. Malakai seems to know his business, I admit, but these people scattered like chickens. He’s not that good. One of them mentioned some thing … a fiend.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ Orchid snapped. ‘We just have to get out of here. Take these.’

  The panniers hit Antsy in the chest. He arranged them over his shoulders. Orchid pushed out past him. Someone else, Corien, bumped him and squeezed his arm. ‘How’d you fare?’ the lad asked.

  ‘Okay. Scrapes. You?’

  ‘Just between us … I took a bad one. Someone stuck me. I rubbed in something I purchased. We’ll see.’

  ‘Hurry,’ Orchid hissed.

  She led them each by the arm through the narrow canted streets. Light now shone from a few high windows. Everything was quiet, hushed. Antsy imaged everyone huddled in their rooms, waiting. What was out there in the dark? What were they afraid of? The dark itself?

  ‘These are quarters for servants, guards, and others of lesser status,’ Orchid whispered as she yanked them along. ‘Mostly abandoned for centuries. The Moon’s population was always low. The Andii have few children.’

  Antsy wondered whether she spoke to distract herself from the fear that surely must be writhing in her guts. They twisted and turned up the narrow tilting stone streets. Antsy was completely lost. Then Orchid slowed, hesitated, came to a halt. ‘Where are we going?’ Antsy asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she hissed, low. ‘Just away from there for now. I thought …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought I saw something. A dark shape.’

  Antsy barked a near-hysterical laugh. ‘Dark? Isn’t it all dark?’

  ‘No. Not at all. I can’t explain it. I can see well enough. Textures, shapes, even shadows. But that one seemed … deep.’

  ‘Deep,’ Antsy echoed, uncomprehending. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Gone now.’

  Totally blind, Antsy felt as if he was about to be jumped at any instant. He gripped the still-warm lantern as if he could squeeze comfort from it. ‘Well, where will you meet Malakai?’

  ‘Nowhere. Anywhere. He said he’ll find us.’

  ‘Then let’s just get into cover. A small room. Defensible.’

  ‘Yes,’ Corien said in support, his voice tight with pain.

  ‘Well … okay.’

  A shriek tore through the blackness then, echoing, trailing off into hoarse gurgling. A chorus of terrified screams and sobbing erupted in response as the locals broke into a gibbering panic.

  ‘I don’t think that’s Malakai’s doing,’ Corien said.

  ‘No …’ Antsy agreed. He sheathed the shortsword and took a tight grip of his pannier.

  Orchid rushed them into a room. Antsy wanted to light the lantern so badly he could taste the oil and smell the smoke. But he set it aside; the light would only bring their pursuers like flies. They waited, he and Corien covering the open doorless portal. No further screams lifted the hair on his neck, though he did hear distant voices raised in argument.

  Then, down the street, the scuff of footsteps. ‘Company,’ he hissed, crouching, drawing his shortsword.

  ‘Red?’ came Malakai’s voice, whispering.

  A nasty suspicion born of years of warfare among the deceptions of magery made Antsy ask, ‘Red who?’

  ‘Red … whose name that isn’t.’

  Antsy grunted his assent, backed away from the portal.

  Orchid gasped as Malakai came shuffling noisily into the room.

  Antsy and Corien demanded together: ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Company,’ Malakai said, the familiar acid humour in his voice. ‘Your friend Panar. And Antsy, I like that counter-sign. Speaks of a sneaky turn of mind. I like it. We’ll adopt it.’

  ‘Fine,’ Antsy answered, impatient. ‘But what’s the idea dragging this guy off? Now they’ll come after us.’

  ‘No they won’t. They’re too busy fighting over who’s in charge now. Isn’t that so, Panar?’

  A pause, cloth tearing, then Panar’s voice, rather blurry and slurred: ‘They’ll ransom me.’

  ‘No they won’t. You’re dead and buried to them.’

  ‘They’ll ransom me with information. Just go back and ask.’

  Malakai laughed quietly at that. ‘You’ll give us all the information we need.’

  ‘I won’t talk.’

  ‘Then,’ Malakai whispered, ‘I’ll have to do … this.’

  From behind a hand or a balled cloth erupted a gurgled muted scream of agony. Feet kicked against the stone floor.

  Orchid gagged. ‘Gods, no! Stop him! Stop him, Red!’

  Then silence and heavy breathing. Antsy imagined Orchid covering her eyes. Malakai’s voice came low and cold – as when they’d met and he warned her he may leave her to die: ‘If you don’t like it, Orchid, then I suggest you step outside.’

  ‘Red?’ she hissed. ‘Do something! You aren’t going to let him torture this poor man, are you?’

  Antsy fumbled for words. ‘I’m sorry … I’ve questioned men myself. Has to be done.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve questioned men, have you? Her voice dripped scorn from the darkness. ‘Barbarian!’

  She had his sympathy. He’d lived his entire adult life in the military and he’d long ago been hardened to brutality. But men – and women – like Malakai left him squeamish.

  ‘What do you say now, Panar?’ Malakai asked. ‘Tell us what we want. After all, what does it matter? We’re all dead anyway, yes?’

  Silence in the room’s darkness. Then a groan, someone shifting. ‘Fine. Yes. What do you want?’

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Malakai said conversationally. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Panar Legothen, of March.’

  Antsy grunted at that: March was one of the so-called Confederation of Free Cities.

  ‘How did you get out here?’

  A laugh full of self-mockery. ‘You won’t believe me, but I was one of the first. I came out in my own boat.’

  ‘And?’

  Silence, followed by a long wistful sigh. ‘What a sight it was then. A glittering mess. Everywhere you looked pearls, moonstones, tiger-eye, sapphires, gold and silver. Silver everything! You could scoop it up by the armload.’

  Antsy stopped himself from barking at the man to go on. Where was it all? What happened? He wanted to take the fellow by the shirt and shake him, but Malakai was obviously just letting him talk himself out.

  ‘There were others, of course. Sometimes I fought – most times I just ran. Where could I keep it all though? We all had too much to carry, so we started to strike bargains, band together. Stake out territories. This here, this town – Pearl Town, we call it – is just a little place. The bottom of things. Where I’ve ended up.’

  ‘What happened?’ Orchid prompted gently.

  Another groan from the dark. ‘Me and a few partners, we’d cleaned out our stake. When we saw more dangerous fortune-hunters arriving we knew things would be goin’ downhill fast. So we made for the Gap. But we’d waited just a touch too long. Got greedy. I caught that particular fever when I arrived. I think if I’d just picked up the first thing I found … a beautiful statuette in silver, such a sweet piece … if I’d just climbed back down to my boat and left right then and the
re I’d be a rich and happy man right now.’

  ‘But?’ Orchid prompted again after a long silence.

  Stirring, the man roused himself. ‘Well … first we met the Malazans. They controlled about a third of the isle then. We bribed our way past them. Then a band of other looters jumped us. I guess they waited there for fools like us to go to all the effort to bring the riches to them. I got away with a bare fraction and reached the Gap.’

  ‘What is it?’ Malakai demanded.

  ‘It’s just what it says – an exit. A big series of terraces open to the outside. I guess the Andii used them to view the night sky or some such thing. The water comes right up to them now. They pull their boats up there, take their cut then take you out. Least, that’s what everyone said happens …’

  ‘But … that’s not what happened,’ Corien said.

  ‘No. That’s not what happened.’ The man’s voice thickened, almost choking. ‘I handed over all my best pieces, the cream of the riches – and do you know what they said?’

  ‘It wasn’t enough,’ Malakai said.

  ‘That’s right. It wasn’t enough. I threw them everything I had, even my weapons. They still claimed I was short of the payment for passage.’ The man sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. ‘You’ve all probably figured it out, haven’t you? But only then did I realize what was going on. Up until that moment I truly believed they would take their cut and let me go. God of the Oceans, what a fool I was.’

  ‘They just sent you back to collect more,’ Malakai said.

  ‘Yes. This is their gold mine and they need the labour. They said they’d keep what I’d brought as a down payment on my exit fee. Ha! That’s a joke. I had nothing left, just the shirt I’m wearing. I simply wandered off and ended up here.’

  That mailed fist of rage brought stars to Antsy’s vision once more. Trapped! Fucking knew it! A joke? Oh yes, because all Oponn’s jests are bad news!

  Orchid was saying, ‘How do you survive down here?’

  ‘Oh, we scrape together enough to buy food and water from the Confederation crews. At astounding prices, of course. Water is truly worth its weight in gold.’

  ‘We want up,’ Malakai cut in. ‘Which way do we go?’

  ‘There are stairs … it’s the only way. It’s—’

  A second scream exploded in the night, making Antsy flinch and raising an answering cry from Orchid. It wailed, rising in terror and agony until it cracked as if the throat carrying it had been torn out.

  In the long silence following that terrifying sound Malakai asked mildly, ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Ah. That. The Spawn is an ancient place, you know. Full of inhuman spirits and sorcery. Some claim it’s a curse on all of us. Humans aren’t welcome here. Myself, I believe it to be an escaped demon. Every few days it comes to feed. I was rather hoping it would show up here.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Malakai said. ‘Let’s get going.’

  ‘And … what of me?’

  ‘You we leave behind. Congratulations. Maybe you’ll be the last off this rock.’

  ‘But – as I told you – there’s nothing left.’ The man sounded genuinely puzzled. ‘What could you possibly be looking for?’

  A long awkward silence followed that seemingly simple question. Antsy wasn’t looking for anything beyond someone to pay him handsomely for his skills. And to look into rumours he’d heard about this place. Corien wanted riches and the influence they could bring. Malakai similarly so, he imagined. He had no idea what Orchid wanted.

  Malakai spoke into the silence: ‘Myself, I’m searching for the gardens of the moon.’

  Antsy blinked in the night. There was no such thing; it was just poetic – wasn’t it? But Orchid’s gasp of recognition told him she knew something of it. As for Panar, he started laughing. He laughed on and on and would not stop. It seemed the man was laughing not so much at Malakai’s gallows jest as at them, and himself, and at the entire absurd fate they’d all so deftly manoeuvred themselves into through greed, and ambition, and short-sightedness – all the classic character flaws that lead men and women to their self-inflicted dooms.

  And he kept on laughing even after Malakai threw him aside.

  Nathilog had been among the first of the settlements of northwestern Genabackis to fall to the Malazans. It had been a notorious pirate haven before that, ruled by might of fist under a series of self-styled barons. Now, after decades of Malazan occupation, its aristocracy was thoroughly Talianized. Trade across the top of the Meningalle Ocean was heavy as the raw resources and riches of a continent passed across to the Imperial homeland, and troops and war matériel returned.

  Agull’en, the Malazan governor, resided in the rebuilt hall of rulership once occupied by his robber baron antecedents. It was here at the end of his daily reception that a mage suddenly appeared in the hall. His picked bodyguard of twenty Barghast surged forward to interpose themselves between him and the interloper. His own mage, a Rhivi shaman, stared frozen at the apparition, clearly stunned.

  Remind me to fire the useless sot, Agull’en snarled to himself, then turned his attention to the mage. Tall, regal-looking with his long hair pushed back over his skull. A greying goatee. Plain brown woollen robes, though a wealth of rings on the fingers. The man’s face was badly lined – red and blistered with livid scars as if he had recently been severely wounded, or lashed.

  The governor steeled himself and hardened his voice: ‘What is the meaning of this? Who has sent you?’

  The man bowed low, hand at goatee. ‘Greetings, Agull’en, governor of north-west Genabackis. I am come with salutations from my master, the newly installed Legate of Darujhistan.’

  Agull’en frowned, puzzled. ‘Legate? Darujhistan has a Legate?’

  ‘Newly installed.’

  ‘I see.’ Agull’en peered around, thinking. His mage, he noted, was nowhere to be seen. Had the man fled? Damn him! He’d see him flogged! Then the instincts that had guided his path these many years over so many rivals and up so many rungs asserted themselves and his lips eased into a knowing, rather condescending smile. ‘You wish to renegotiate trade agreements. Very well. A trade delegation may be sent.’

  ‘No, Governor. My master does not wish to renegotiate details of trade.’

  ‘No? Treaties then? This “Legate” must speak with the Malazan ambassador there in Darujhistan regarding any treaties.’

  ‘Be assured that my master will deal with the ambassador when his time comes. No, I am come as the mouthpiece of the one who is the rightful spokesman for all Genabackis. And he demands, my good governor, that you swear allegiance to him.’

  Agull’en sat forward in his chair. ‘I’m sorry? Swear allegiance to this Legate of Darujhistan?’ He laughed his utter disbelief. ‘Are you mad? Is he mad?’

  The mage bowed once more. ‘No, sir. I assure you he is not.’

  ‘And what if I refuse this demand? What will this self-styled Legate do should I decline his invitation? You may be an accomplished practitioner in your field, mage. But I offer a lesson in stark politics for your consideration. Malazans have thousands of troops. Darujhistan has none.’

  ‘If you do not swear, then we will find someone who will,’ the mage answered simply.

  Agull’en’s face darkened as his rage climbed beyond his control. He waved his guards forward. ‘Flay this bastard!’

  The guards did not live long enough to draw weapons. And the hall of rulership at Nathilog was once more in need of rebuilding.

  Similar scenes played themselves out across the north of the continent from one ex-free city to the next: Cajale, Genalle, and Tulips. Last of all was a visitation within the temporary wood hall of mayorship in Pale. The mayor was dining with guests when an apparition wavered into view before the long table. The guests started up in panic, raising eating daggers. Guards were called. The ghostly figure of a tall man opened his hands in greeting. ‘I would speak to the Lord Mayor,’ he called.

  Guards came scrambling in, cr
ossbows raised. A portly bearded man raised his arms, bellowing, ‘Hold!’ The guards halted, taking aim. ‘Who are you and what do you wish?’ the man demanded of the apparition.

  The figure bowed. ‘Lord Mayor of Pale. I am come as the mouth of the newly installed Legate of Darujhistan.’

  The mayor frowned behind his beard, clearly astonished. He glanced aside to another guest, a balding dark man in a black leather jerkin. ‘Is that so? A Legate in Darujhistan?’

  ‘Yes. Newly installed. As such, he claims his traditional position as spokesman for all Genabackis. And in such capacity he demands your allegiance.’

  The mayor’s tangled brows climbed his forehead. ‘Indeed. My allegiance in … what? May I ask?’

  ‘In Darujhistan’s enlightened guidance and protection.’

  ‘Ah. How … appealing.’ The mayor shot another glance aside to the balding dark fellow who had sat forward, chin in fists, eyes narrowed to slits. The Lord Mayor wiped a cloth across his brow and cleared his throat. Then a thought seemed to strike him and his thick brows drew down together. ‘All Genabackis, you say? What of Black Coral? Does this claim of suzerainty extend over the Tiste Andii?’

  The shade’s haggard features twisted in distaste. ‘Black Coral is no longer part of Genabackis.’

  ‘Ah. I see. How … unfortunate.’ The Lord Mayor drew breath, raising his chin. ‘We in Pale wish his excellency to know that we consider it an honour to be so invited. We convey our salutations, and beg time to give this offer the serious consideration it demands.’ The man sat heavily, gulping in breath, his face flushed.

  The apparition straightened; it did not bother to disguise his disapproval. ‘Consider carefully, then. You have two days.’ It disappeared. The Lord Mayor and his guests sat in stunned silence. The dark balding man pushed back his chair and stood, revealing the sceptre inscribed on the left of his chest.