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

  ‘Hold!’ K’azz ordered. He pushed his way to Nagal. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘Isturé fools!’ Rutana called from the side. ‘Would you anger our sea-guardians?’

  Shimmer exchanged wondering looks with Cole, Lor and Gwynn. ‘Guardians?’

  ‘Lower your weapons,’ K’azz ordered. Turgal and Amatt reluctantly lowered their bows. Rutana sounded a high cackling laugh into the silence. She was leaning over the side as if meaning to embrace the great beast, clapping her hands and gesturing to the water, perhaps inscribing something. Shimmer edged her way to her.

  ‘What is this?’ she demanded.

  Straightening, Rutana laughed her savage glee, revealing her oddly needle-like sharp teeth. ‘Our sea-guardians. Servants of our mistress. Just as Nagal and I are so honoured.’

  ‘They serve Ardata?’

  The witch peered up at her slyly. ‘They answer her call. They obey her commands. Is this service, or is it … worship? Who is to say?’ And she laughed again, brushing past.

  Shimmer remained at the ship’s side, as did all the Avowed. Out among the waves immense girths broached the waves, humped and glistening and mottled and as broad as the flanks of whales.

  Cole murmured, ‘In Seven Cities those are called dhenrabi. Any one of them could crush this ship.’

  ‘Then let’s be glad they’re on our side,’ Shimmer answered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

  Cole’s answering look told her that he fully understood her message.

  * * *

  Three days later they sighted land. The shore, if it could be called that, lay invisible beneath a thick forest of tangled trees, the roots of which stood from the water like a crazy maze of spider’s legs.

  ‘This is Ardata’s land?’ Shimmer asked Rutana.

  ‘The border of it.’

  ‘Where do we put in? Is there a port?’

  Again the witch gave the knowing superior smile that so annoyed Shimmer. ‘No port, Isturé. We travel upriver.’

  ‘I see. So, the settlement is inland.’

  The woman turned away, smiling still. ‘Settlement? Yes, far inland.’

  This half-admission troubled Shimmer like few other things on the voyage. While she scanned the swamp-edged jungle, the ship’s pilot pushed the stern-mounted tiller to swing the vessel aside and they struck a course following the coastline south. As the day waned it became obvious that they skirted an immense delta of twisting channels. Some coursed a mere few paces wide, while others passed as open and broad as rivers in themselves. All debouched a murky ochre water to churn and swirl with the darker iron-blue of the sea. Towards evening they came abreast of what Shimmer imagined must be the main channel. So wide was it that she could hardly see the opposite shore. The low tangled jungle edge stretched up the river’s length. Large dun-hued birds scudded over the muddy water; their harsh calls sounded a cacophony of noise. Shimmer saw no signs of settlement, or even of any human occupation.

  The order went out to drop anchor. Lor came to Shimmer’s side. She gestured to the nearby swampy shore. ‘Look there. See those?’

  Shimmer squinted, not sure what she was looking for. Already in the deepening light the tangled depths of the forest were impenetrable to her vision. ‘What?’

  ‘Standing from the water.’

  ‘Oh.’ What she took to be dead stumps resolved into carved wood signs, or totems. They stood at odd angles, rotting and grey with age. All were carved in fantastic shapes, half animal, half human. A snake-human, a half-leopard. Staring closer now, she noted tufted round objects hanging from them, and it took her a time to recognize them as human heads in various stages of decay.

  Peering around she found Rutana and crossed to her side. ‘What are those?’ she asked, gesturing to the shore.

  The woman glanced over, her gaze half-lidded, disinterested. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Those carvings.’

  ‘Ah.’ The sharp-toothed smile returned. ‘Warnings against trespassers. Bandits and pirates.’

  ‘Pirates?’ Shimmer waved a hand to the shore. ‘There’s nothing here…’

  ‘They go upriver to raid for captives. And perhaps they are drawn by the old stories and legends.’

  Shimmer nodded. Ah yes. Legendary Jacuruku. The great city in the jungle. Jakal Viharn. City of gold. Paved in jewels. Immortality and inestimable magical powers to be won. She leaned against the side. ‘Those are just stories.’

  ‘Yes, but as with all such legends there resides a kernel of truth in it. Jakal Viharn is real, and it is a very magical place. It is simply … very hard to find.’

  ‘But you can bring us to it.’

  ‘Yes. Nagal and I are your guides.’

  ‘And without you – we would never find it.’

  The witch shrugged. ‘It would be most difficult. Yet you Isturé are perhaps resourceful enough…’

  ‘As Skinner was?’

  Rutana’s face closed up once more, her mouth snapping tight. Walking away she said over her shoulder: ‘Tomorrow we start upriver. Prepare yourself for such a journey as you have never known. We enter the world of my mistress’s dreams.’

  * * *

  The assembled army of tribes that was the Adwami’s raid into Thaumaturg lands made very little headway. Oh, Prince Jatal could admit that the noble cavalry of each house made a pretty enough pageant charging back and forth along the order of march, their polished spearheads gleaming and the colourful tassels of their long caparisons kicking up and whipping as they flew past. But when the dust settled from all that patrician display, the main body of infantry with its carts and wagons of materiel trudged along in a disordered and rather neglected mess. Only the intervention of the Warleader and his officers kept the columns moving along: disentangling a crossing of columns here, or settling an order of march there.

  And judging from the old man’s stinging rebukes and even saltier language, the outland general was rapidly loosing his patience with it all.

  To Prince Jatal’s disgust the traditional scheming and internecine jockeying that was the curse of the clans of the Adwami began even as the army took its first steps into the maze of bone-dry canyons and buttes: the Saar would not ride alongside the Awamir; the Salil refused its posting and instead filed up next to the Vehajarwi; while he, it had to be admitted, nearly trampled several minor families as he manoeuvred his forces to claim the head of the main column. Of course, as the largest of the contingents present, such placement was his by right in any case.

  The Warleader and his mercenary army, some two thousand strong, rode as well. Such was the first of the foreigner’s requirements, and fulfilled readily enough as the Adwami counted their wealth in horses – all held against restitution from his twentieth share, of course. The infantry column marked the main body of the army. The mounted noble Adwami contingents surrounded this, riding dispersed, scouting and screening.

  Jatal and his fifty loyal retainer knights had the van. As they walked their mounts through the stony valleys and washes – sodden at night but bone dry by midday – representatives of the various families joined him under pretexts of social calls and honouring distant blood-ties. Ganell was of course the first, thundering up on his huge black stallion. The man was nursing a blistering headache which did his notorious temper no favours.

  ‘I cannot believe these Saar fools are with us!’ he announced, wincing, and holding up a fold of his robes to shade his head.

  ‘The Warleader welcomes all who would contribute.’

  The man’s mouth worked behind his great full beard. ‘Well … I’d best not catch sight of them after the fighting is done, I swear to that by the Demon-King!’

  True to the lessons of the many tutors his father had inflicted upon him, Jatal decided to remain the diplomat. ‘We shall see if they honour their commitments.’

  ‘Ha! That will be a first. Well … I’ll be there to urge them along with the flat of my blade. I swear to that as well!’ And he kicked his mount onward. ‘Fare th
ee well, O great Prince!’ he laughed as he rode off.

  Representatives of Lesser families came and went, joining him at the van for a time. Families his had allied with during various vendettas and feuds of the past. All pledged their support against the certain treachery to come. Jatal thanked them and pledged his own of course, as honour required, but inwardly he could only sigh as he imagined the very same assurances being offered to Sher’ Tal, Horsemaster of the Saar, or Princess Andanii.

  As the day waned he became impatient with the army’s slow progress – so contrary to their lofty aim of a lightning-quick raid. How typical of any concerted effort from the Adwami! When the order went out from the Warleader for a cease to the day’s ride, Jatal could contain himself no longer. He turned to Gorot, his grizzled veteran master-at-arms. ‘I will scout ahead,’ he said, and kicked his mount onward even as the first objections sounded from the man.

  He rode hard at first in order to put as much room as possible between himself and the encampment with its great swarm of Adwami warriors. As evening came he continued at a more leisurely pace. The route he chose was one of the most direct; it had no doubt already been scouted by the foremost outriders, but that was no concern. The excuse alone was enough to quit the column with its dust and endless bickering and childish rivalries and ages-old grudges. These last months the lurid emerald arc of the Scimitar brightening across the sky had made such night travel far less of a danger for horse and rider. However, to Jatal’s mind the benefit of the greater light was offset by the confusing twin shadows as the moon’s silver light warred with the Scimitar’s jade. He eventually gave up and found a narrow gully in which to throw down his blankets and hobble his mount. He rolled up in the blankets and went to sleep.

  In the morning he awoke to an enormous passing of gas from someone. He pulled down his blanket, blinking in the light, to see the hulking shape of the Warleader’s second, Scarza, sitting opposite. The man had a cactus leaf in one hand and had frozen in the act of eating it.

  ‘Sorry,’ the fellow said, and took a bite of the thorny green bud. ‘Strange diet lately.’

  ‘They say eating charcoal helps,’ Jatal offered.

  The man raised one tangled bushy brow. ‘Really? Chewing on a burnt stick? You’re having me on.’

  ‘Not at all. Our old healers swear by it.’

  ‘Old healers? Why, the force of my eruptions alone would slay them.’

  Jatal cocked his head, considering. ‘Well … I’ll just have to take your word for that.’

  ‘You are wise to do so.’

  Surprising himself, Jatal found that he was warming to this hulking lieutenant. ‘The Warleader sent you after me?’

  ‘Yes. He is understandably concerned regarding the safety of a prince of the Hafinaj.’

  Sitting up, Jatal rested his arms on his knees. ‘Let me tell you about the so-called princes of the Hafinaj…’ He stirred the embers of the fire. ‘First, there are over twenty of us. Sons of wives and of concubines. I am nearly the youngest. Among all the Adwami, princes number as many, and are as common as, grains of sand.’

  Scarza grunted his understanding, appearing even more broad and stump-like sitting hunched as he was. ‘Good. Then you won’t be expecting me to make you tea or any damned thing like that.’

  Jatal grinned and blew on the fire. ‘No. I prefer to prepare my own tea – just as I like it. And you?’ He studied the fellow: his dark cast, the wide face, prominent canines – almost like tusks – heavy brows and thick pelt-like brown hair. ‘You are of the Trell, or legendary Thelomen kind?’

  ‘Legendary here only, Prince. As I understand, your ancestors killed them all.’

  Jatal set his small bronze pot on the fire. ‘The Demon-King was responsible for that. And the gods dealt with him for it.’

  ‘Cursed to wander eternally.’

  ‘Yes. And his kingdom swallowed in a rain of fire.’

  Scarza eased himself down further into the sands. ‘I don’t know … wandering eternally doesn’t sound like much of a punishment to me.’ And he laid an arm over his eyes.

  Jatal fixed his tea and chewed on a stale flatbread. After his tea he cleaned the tiny thimble-cup and went to see to his toilet. Returning to their camp it occurred to him that the only horse present was his, Ash, named for his colour. Having readied the mount for the day’s ride he stood over the apparently sleeping half-breed. ‘Scarza … you have no horse?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then … how do you propose to keep up?’

  ‘I can keep up with any horse over the day. Especially in country as rough as this.’

  ‘So … I should simply go on ahead?’

  Arm still over his eyes the half-giant answered: ‘Aye. I’ll find you. And must I point out just how easy it is to spot you, mister not so discreet at scouting. What with you riding a horse and all.’

  Jatal smiled. ‘If I wished to go on more circumspectly, I could simply send him back.’

  Scarza moved his arm to blink up, puzzled. ‘Send him back? How?’

  ‘I would merely tell Ash to return to his friends and relatives among the Hafinaj.’

  Scarza eyed the horse, impressed. ‘Truly? What talented animals. Myself, I’ve never seen their use. Eat far too much, as, now that I think of it, has been said of me.’

  Jatal mounted, chuckling. He nodded his farewell. ‘Until later, then.’

  ‘Yes. Until later, Jatal, prince of the Hafinaj.’

  * * *

  The canyon lands took all of the next day to cross. Swift scouts of various families came and went, saluting him. Not one subject of the Thaumaturgs, guard or picket, was evident among the draws and cliffs. As Jatal expected. For these subjects were farmers all, none rich enough to own a horse, even if their Thaumaturg masters allowed it. Late in the day he crested a shallow rise to look down on the vista of the broad plateau of channelled rivers and farmlands of the southern Thaumaturg lands. A land, if poor in portable riches, at least rich in population and fertility. To the north clouds gathered and the slanting darkness spoke of rain approaching.

  Studying the countryside, Jatal nearly fell from Ash’s back when a woman’s voice called out, laughing: ‘Hail, Jatal, prince of the Hafinaj!’

  He flinched and turned to see Princess Andanii come walking her horse. ‘What in the name of the ancients are you doing here?’

  ‘Same as you,’ she laughed. ‘Scouting a best approach for our army.’

  ‘This is no pleasure outing, my princess.’

  She lost her smile and her eyes narrowed to slits in sudden anger. ‘I had hoped for better coming from you, Prince Jatal.’

  He raised his hands in surrender. ‘My apologies. I am aware that you have gone on raids and bloodied your sword. It is just … this will be different.’

  ‘It will be the same. Only differing in scale.’

  He tilted his head in acceptance. ‘Let us hope. Yet I have my reservations.’

  As she drew close he dismounted so as not to tower over her. For while they might carry titles of equality among the Adwami, Jatal knew of their differing status: he was one prince of many, and the least, while she was the one and only princess of the Vehajarwi.

  Close to her now, and they all alone – a scandalous breach of decorum – Jatal could not help but notice the heady smell of her sweat mixed with jasmine perfume, her proud chin, and the dark eyes which held the teasing knowledge that she too understood the complexities of their … predicament.

  ‘I have heard much of you, Prince Jatal,’ she said, the teasing even more pronounced.

  ‘And I of you, Princess.’

  She laughed. ‘How I bedevil my father and am the weeping shame of my family, no doubt.’

  ‘Not at all. I hear how every family envies the Vehajarwi for the strength, bravery and beauty of its daughters.’

  Now she laughed in earnest, waggling a finger. ‘I was warned against you. They say you are so learned and cunning you could talk a lizard out of its tail.’ />
  ‘Yet I doubt anyone could outwit you, Princess.’

  ‘Poet and diplomat they say, as well. Is it true you had outlander tutors?’

  He bowed. ‘Yes. Travellers and castaways from other lands. As a lesser son, it was the wish of my father that I gather knowledge to serve as adviser to my elder brothers.’

  ‘As if they would listen to any younger brother – hmm?’

  Jatal cocked a brow. No one had ever put it quite so bluntly to him before. ‘Well … yes. There is that.’

  ‘I do apologize, Jatal. But I’ve met some of them. And so, as I said … I am very glad you were sent.’

  Jatal had to clear his throat. ‘Princess … you honour me to no end. And perhaps you had best ride back before we are seen.’

  Andanii swept her arms out wide and turned full circle. ‘But why, after I have gone to such trouble to meet you alone?’ And she laughed again, a hand at her mouth. ‘If only you could see your face right now!’

  For his part Jatal was struggling to think. Trouble? To meet him? Whatever for? What could she want? Were they not enemies? The Vehajarwi were the only extended clan that could rival his. For generations they had taken opposing sides in all the standing vendettas and feuds. ‘I am sorry, Princess,’ he finally managed, ‘but you have the advantage of me.’

  Eyes downcast, Andanii brushed a hand through the leaves of a nearby sapling. ‘You or I could never truly meet or talk there within the column, could we? We are both bound by tradition and history and the confines of our roles. I watched while the cringing Lesser families approached you swearing their loyalty. I know because they came to me as well. As if they could make a gift of what is owed to us in any case!’

  Jatal disagreed with the sentiment but nodded his understanding anyway. ‘It is an old story.’

  ‘Exactly! I almost cry my frustration to think of it!’ She stopped then, as if reconsidering saying more, and instead mounted her handsome pale mare. ‘All I ask, Jatal, is that when this tradition-breaking raid is done and the rewards apportioned, you consider what more could be yours – should you and I agree to put aside even more of the traditions that have hobbled our two families.’ And before he could close his gaping mouth she snapped her reins to urge her mount into motion. His parting vision was of one last look backwards, her hair streaming about her face like a scarf, and the teasing smile once more at her lips.