‘The sting fades and new horizons show themselves,’ the other confirmed.
The larger cocked his head. ‘Think of it as rigidity sacrificed for an infinity of possibility …’
‘Well said,’ his companion agreed. ‘You are your own man now. You may do as you choose.’
The one between them tentatively raised his head. His long untrimmed hair hung down over his eyes. ‘Actions not dedicated to a higher purpose are meaningless,’ he countered as if reciting a text.
The two exchanged glances over his head.
‘Then select a purpose,’ the thin bald one suggested, smiling and flashing gold-capped teeth.
‘Such as?’
The big one waved expansively. ‘Well … such as ours, perhaps.’
‘And that is?’
Smiling, the thin one clasped the fellow’s shoulder. ‘That our every action, our very appearance, be a constant denunciation and thumb in the eye to our brethren. Now …’ he and his companion hooked arms through the young man’s, ‘let us continue this discussion in more convivial surroundings.’
‘I suggest Magajal’s place,’ the big on rumbled as they set off.
The bright metal glimmering on the bald one’s face was in fact gold thread stitching. It wrinkled as he frowned. ‘She waters her wine to excess. No. Dinner first at the Terrace overlooking the lake. We will consider later diversions over the meal.’
‘Excellent.’
‘Come, friend,’ the bald one encouraged. ‘Let this day be the first in an open-ended garden of companionship, adventure and extravagance. ’
Spindle watched the street through the slats nailed over the window of K’rul’s bar then sat back in his chair, crossbow on his lap. ‘Looks quiet,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘Maybe they’ve given up on us as not worth the candle.’
‘Whistling in the dark,’ Picker grumbled from the bar. She cocked an eye to the bard Fisher at the end of the counter where he was scratching on a sheet of vellum. She drew two tankards of beer and slid down to him, peered uncomprehending at the marks squiggled on the sheet. ‘Whatcha writin’?’
‘An epic poem.’ He lifted one of the tankards, saluted her, and drank.
Leaning forward on her elbows, she narrowed her gaze as if struck by a sudden new thought. ‘Why’re you here anyway?’
‘I like a quiet place to compose.’
She chuckled. ‘That’s a good one.’ Then she frowned. ‘Wait a minute …’ She had opened her mouth to say more when a loud groaning stilled everyone. It seemed to be coming from the walls themselves, as if the building were twisting, or being squeezed.
Spindle jumped to his feet clutching his crossbow. ‘What’s that?’
‘Don’t fucking know,’ Picker growled as she eased her way from behind the bar, long-knives out. ‘Blend!’
‘Clear,’ came the answer from the rear.
‘Sounded like it came from below,’ Fisher said.
Picker nodded her agreement. ‘Let’s have a look. Spin, check the cellar.’
‘What? Why do I have to check the cellar?’
‘’Cause I say so, that’s why! Now go.’
Grumbling, Spindle tramped for the stairs.
After Spindle disappeared a sudden explosive crack of wood made everyone flinch. ‘Upstairs,’ Picker grunted and headed up. Fisher’s hand strayed to his longsword.
‘This epic poem of yours,’ Duiker whispered into the heavy silence, ‘what’s it about?’
‘The Elder Gods.’
Picker came back down, wonder on her face. She motioned upstairs. ‘Timbers split in the roof and walls. Main load-bearing ones too. ‘
Spindle emerged looking pale and ill. Speechless, he indicated his boots. Black fluid, crusted and gummy like old blood, caked them. His feet had left a bloody smeared trail on the dirty stone floor. ‘The cellar,’ he managed, his voice choked. ‘Awash. Somethin’s goin’ on, Pick. Somethin’ terrible.’
Duiker turned his head to study the foreign bard straight on. ‘This poem … How’s it going?’
Fisher let out a taut breath. ‘I think I’m nearing the end.’
CHAPTER XVI
Paradise would be a city where pearls cobble roads and gems serve as playthings for children. And why? Not because all will be so wealthy, but because its citizens will have recognized that such things truly are toys.
Words of the Street Prophets
Compiler’s name withheld
THERE WERE TIMES WHEN KISKA WAS DOZING IN THE CAVE HALF asleep in the dim phantom light of night when she thought she heard weeping. The sound came drifting in over the surf, faint, wavering, and she would have dismissed it as a scrap of dream had she not heard it more than once.
The sound grated like a blade down her spine, for she knew who it was. If Tayschrenn was not dead as Leoman insisted, then it could be none other. His mind was gone – or, more accurately, she had destroyed his mind by playing into the hand of the Queen of Dreams.
The scheming bitch. She saw it all now. The elegance. All the hallmarks of her plotting. She, Kiska, naïve agent, would find the archmagus and deliver to him the poison supplied by her. And once that happened whatever reaction it was would be unleashed and he would be stricken.
And she the brainless dupe. Gods! Every time her thoughts returned to that she bashed the heels of her hands to her forehead. She would escape from here if only to track the damned Enchantress down.
And Agayla? No – she too must have been ignorant of the Queen’s intent. Must have.
Gods above and below, forgotten and forsworn! When would she ever learn? Never trust anyone. Never. That had been her mistake. She’d trusted and been used. As it is for everyone everywhere. You are no different, woman.
She groaned again and wrapped her head in her arms, pulling it down between her knees.
Further into the cave Leoman stirred. ‘Don’t beat yourself up child,’ he said. ‘You … we … had no way of knowing.’
‘Shut the Abyss up.’
She heard pebbles striking the wall as he tossed them one by one. ‘It stings now but that will pass. I should know. And it wasn’t even on purpose. So never mind. What’s done is done. There’s no sense worrying about it.’
She raised her head to stare at him, incredulous. ‘Says the man who murdered thousands in a firestorm he deliberately set!’
He shrugged. ‘It was war. I was fighting for my life.’
‘Why should your life be worth more than anyone else’s in that city?’
The man tossed another pebble. ‘It is to me.’
She turned away. ‘Gods. You’re beyond hope.’
‘Just honest.’
From the cave mouth came the dragging uneven footsteps of the rescued creatures. Kiska and Leoman shared a glance. He rose, brushed dirt from the tattered Seven Cities robes he still wore over his mail. Kiska pushed herself to her feet.
‘You may exit,’ came a weak quavering voice. ‘Follow us.’
She ducked from the cave, followed by Leoman. The creatures had hobbled off towards the shore. ‘Come,’ one called.
They descended the strand of black sand. Kiska glanced about, searching for the giant, Korus. He seemed nowhere about. The enormous faint silhouette of Maker was visible, larger than any mountain, labouring somewhere on the distant shoreline.
Then she saw someone at the shore and froze. Her heart lurched as if it had been hammered. She clamped a hand to her mouth. Him. Standing. Standing. Staring out at the bright Vitr sea. Oh, my Queen – I have wronged you so.
She ran all the way down to him only to stop just short. She reached out as if to touch him but yanked her hand back, afraid she shouldn’t. Or that he might not be there. He turned to her and she flinched, catching her breath. For he was Tayschrenn yet he wasn’t. Gone was the sharp questing gaze that could flense flesh from bone. And gone also was the guarded mien – immobile, almost mask-like. He smiled now, studying her in turn. Yet the sight made her heart ache even more so sad was
it, so melancholy.
‘You are … healed?’ she asked, her voice catching.
‘Healed? Yes, Kiska. I am healed.’ He reached out to brush her hair from her face. ‘And harrowed. Cut through to the core.’
‘I don’t understand.’
He invited her to walk with him along the shore. ‘You restored me, Kiska. Though I wonder whether I should thank you for it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I was – am – Thenaj still. Just as I am also Tayschrenn. And I find that I was everything Thenaj loathed. I am both still and now I must choose who to be.’
‘You are both? Be both then. Who you are.’
Again the wintry smile as he walked, his long thin hair loose. ‘Always the hard choice with you, hey Kiska? Easier just to deny the one or the other. Blot it out. Pretend it never was … but instead you counsel conciliation. The difficult third path of adaptation and growth.’
He held his long-fingered hands out in front of him, turned them over as if studying them for the first time. ‘So be it. I shall be both – and neither.’
‘And,’ Kiska asked warily, ‘what will you do?’
‘Yes. What to do. I cannot return to the old now that I am not who I was … Yet one possibility does beckon. A possible place for me. One perhaps only I can fill …’
‘And that is?’
He turned to face her, square on. Shook his head. ‘We shall see. I may not be strong enough to take it on. For now it is enough that we will be going. I am finished here.’
‘So – we are leaving? You are coming with me?’
‘Yes.’
Kiska felt as if she had shed ten stone. ‘Thank the gods!’
‘Do not thank them,’ Tayschrenn snapped in a manner something like his old self. ‘Terrible, unforgivable things are stirring and it could be argued that they are to blame. They’ve stuck their hands into the furnace once too many times and now they find they cannot pull them out. So do not thank them. But perhaps we can find it within us to pity them.’
Kiska did not know what to make that – most of which seemed directed more at himself, in any case. But it wasn’t important. She’d heard the words she’d wanted to hear. He was returning. She had succeeded. Sent on a mission across creation to find someone cast into Chaos – and she had succeeded!
And now she wondered: was that in truth what mattered to her? Was it that which had been gnawing at her all this time? Not concern for Tayschrenn; not fear of her own fate. Was it just that she couldn’t stomach failure? Not a flattering piece of self-revelation.
Perhaps, as Tayschrenn suggested, she should just blot that one out.
He led her back to where Leoman stood waiting, hands on his belt, next to the gathered creatures.
Tayschrenn stopped before the man and frowned. ‘Leoman of the Flails. You have some nerve standing here before me.’
The man gave an insouciant shrug. ‘All that is the past.’
The mage’s gaze narrowed, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepening. ‘Funny you should say that …’
‘Thenaj …’ one of the unformed asked, its thin voice trembling. ‘What is happening?’
‘I am sorry. But – I am leaving.’
‘Leaving? Going?’ The creatures set up a clamour of murmuring and crying.
Then Korus appeared, bounding towards them from among the dunes. ‘What is this!’ it bellowed. ‘You are going?’ Coming close, it dug in its odd clawed feet to halt, kicking up sand. ‘I knew you would betray us! Look at you. I sense it in you – mage. Torturer! Murderer!’
‘That’s not fair!’ Kiska shouted.
‘Look at you … abandoning us. Does your word mean nothing? No – of course it does not, for you have been forsworn all your life!’
Undisguised hurt twisted Tayschrenn’s features. He raised a hand to speak. ‘Please, Korus … my friend …’
‘And what are we to do?’ the giant demon raged on. It thrust a taloned hand to the Vitr. ‘Every day I hear them calling. Our brothers and sisters, dying! Burning into dissolution! What are we to do?’ Kiska was astounded to hear true torment in the demon’s cracking trembling voice.
‘Korus … Korus. Please. Listen to me. Give me your hands.’
The huge beast flinched away. ‘What?’
‘Korus, trust me. I am still the man you knew as Thenaj. Truly. I am. Now give me your hands.’
The high-born demon edged its wide taloned hands closer. Its knife-like fangs ground and scraped at the strain of the gesture. Tayschrenn took the mangled fingers in his. Scar tissue that twisted up Korus’s forearms marked the extent of its past suffering. After a moment Tayschrenn released it. ‘There.’
‘There? What trick is this?’
‘You are now inured to the Vitr, friend. You may enter it as I did. Without fear or effect. You will take my place.’
The demon backed away. It cocked its wide mangy head as if it could not, or would not, believe. ‘How can I …’
Tayschrenn gestured to the Vitr sea. ‘Go ahead. Test it.’
Korus backed away, still wary. Then it padded down to the waves. It dipped a hand into a glimmering wash of the liquid light and raised it, letting the fluid run from its taloned fingers. Then, peering back at them, it laughed. It threw back its maned head and let go a great shaking roar of laughter. It fell to its knees splashing both hands in the Vitr as if it were no more than a tidal pool. The malformed creatures gathered nearby on the shore. They murmured their amazement while Korus chuckled on and on.
‘That was a great thing,’ Kiska said.
The mage shook his head. ‘Was it? Few who call survive. He will suffer much failure. That will be a torment.’
‘No. His helplessness was his torment.’
‘Helplessness?’ The mage examined his own hands once more. ‘Ah. Helplessness.’
‘And now?’ she asked.
‘Now we will go.’
‘Yes,’ Leoman said. ‘Now you will go.’
‘You?’ Kiska repeated sharply. ‘What do you mean? You said that earlier too.’
The man brushed his moustache, shrugging again. ‘I mean I will be staying, I think.’
‘You? Stay?’ Kiska laughed. ‘That’s absurd.’ She gestured to the desolate shore. ‘There’s nothing here for you.’
‘It’s peaceful, Kiska,’ he answered calmly, completely unruffled by her disparagement. ‘I can sleep here. And to me that means a lot.’
‘I understand,’ Tayschrenn said.
Kiska set her hands on her hips. ‘This is ridiculous.’ She gestured towards Tayschrenn. ‘I just got—You’re coming with us. That’s all there is to it.’
‘No. And who knows … if this place can help our friend here, perhaps it can help me.’
Kiska waved for Tayschrenn to speak. ‘Say something. He can’t stay here all alone!’
The mage cleared his throat, nodding. ‘Maker likes stories. I was always sorry I didn’t have any for him.’
Leoman groomed his moustache again. ‘Oh-ho!’ He smiled behind his hand. ‘Have I got stories for him.’
‘No.’
Tayschrenn took her hand. ‘Come.’
‘No!’
He pulled her along behind like a reluctant child.
‘No – we can’t just leave him here all alone …’
‘He is not alone.’
‘Well, yes, but …’
‘He knows what is best for him. Now come. We have far to go.’
‘Fine!’ She twisted her hand free and straightened her shirt. ‘Fine. Leave him exiled, then! For ever!’
Tayschrenn walked on, hands clasped behind his back. ‘He is not exiled. He can leave whenever he wishes. Maker can send him anywhere he chooses.’
Kiska ran to catch up. ‘Oh, well. Why didn’t you say so?’ She glanced back, caught Leoman’s eye, and waved farewell.
Leoman answered the wave then turned away, arms crossed, to watch Korus play in the sea. And, to Kiska’s eyes, he d
id have the look of a man at peace.
Noise from downstairs woke Scillara. She tensed, listening in the dark. The city had been quiet these last weeks now that the Legate had imposed his curfew. Every sound carried a sudden insistence and stood out as rare and unexpected as … well, as an honest man.
She reached down for the long-knife Barathol kept on the floor under the bed. She’d laughed, of course, as was her way with him – anything to dance away from the grim – for she’d spotted him long ago as one of those who could slide too easily into gloomy brooding.
Up to her to chivvy him along.
Strangely enough, her first thought had been for the babe. Now there’s a shocker. Gettin’ to me after all. Just as Barathol said.
She listened once more: now all she could hear were the babe’s quick wet breaths.
Then it came again. Someone moving about downstairs. As if they had two sticks to steal! As disappointing a break-in as they come. She went quickly to the stairs and edged her way down, blade out in front. Let them chuckle at the fat woman with a knife; she’d had to cut her fair share of men turned ugly with drink and sour tempers.
A light was on on the main floor. Halfway down the stone stairs she saw Barathol at the rear seeing to the banked fire. She reached up through the trapdoor to slip the blade on to the bedroom floor and went down.
‘Back already?’
He grunted and turned from coaxing the fire going. She was shocked to see that he was sodden through. ‘You’re soaked. Was it raining?’
‘No,’ he croaked, his voice ragged.
She took the sticks and tinder from his shaking hands. ‘I’ll see to it. What happened, then?’ She blew on the embers.
He slumped into a chair. ‘I washed. Washed everything. Dumped water over myself from a cistern.’
‘To hide the smell of the drink?’
Not a glimmer answered that. ‘No. To wash away … something else.’ He held out his hands and turned them over. They shook like leaves. Kneeling, she reached for them but he yanked them away. Even so, she felt their chill. Frozen!
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 243