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

  The dog-creature licked its lips. It breathed in quick short pants. ‘Leave,’ it grated. ‘You do not deserve her. You will never – you will never … love her…’

  ‘Love her?’

  The creature’s short breaths slowed. The light in its brown eyes dimmed and they took on a fixed stare. Shimmer turned her puzzled gaze to Rutana. ‘Love her? Ardata?’

  The witch watched her silently for a time while reaching some sort of decision, then scorn twisted her slash of a lipless mouth. ‘We do not want you here. Nor do we need you.’

  Shimmer brushed past the woman. ‘Funny – that’s exactly how I feel.’

  * * *

  On her way back to the vessel, Shimmer shouted a recall. She found Lor and ordered her to spread the word. K’azz she found exactly where he’d been earlier. Something in her anger must have communicated itself through the stamp of her booted feet because he turned at her approach, one brow raised.

  ‘Yes, Shimmer?’

  ‘Why in the Abyss are we here?’ she demanded.

  He crossed his arms, sighing, and seeing these old familiar mannerisms worn by this old man made Shimmer wince yet again. What has happened to him? Is the power of the Vow doing this to him? Eating him alive? Should I feel pity? All I feel is revulsion.

  ‘We are here to deal with Skinner.’

  ‘You have already disavowed him.’

  ‘It seems that is not enough.’

  ‘You mean he is still bound?’

  He gave a slow reluctant nod. ‘Yes. It appears so.’

  ‘Then we will never be rid of him!’

  A sad smile crossed his aged face. ‘Like family, Shimmer.’

  She slumped against the rail. ‘Damn it to Hood!’

  Gwynn and Lor joined them. ‘What has happened?’ Gwynn asked. ‘There’s a familiar smell in the air…’

  Shimmer nodded. ‘I was attacked. The locals don’t want us here.’

  ‘I could have told you that,’ Lor murmured, peering down to where Cole, Turgal and Amatt struggled in the mud to push the vessel from the shore.

  ‘I was rescued by an Avowed – but a dead one. Smoky.’ She tried to catch K’azz’s gaze. ‘How could that be?’

  The man would not meet her eye. Head lowered, he began, ‘The locals call this region Himatan. They claim it is half of the real world and half of the spirit realm. Perhaps the Brethren are closer to us here…’

  Ahh, K’azz! So smooth a liar to others. Yet so poor a liar to us! What are you hiding? She turned her attention to the mages and found them just as uneasy as she. ‘Perhaps,’ she allowed. Her gaze promised the two words later. ‘Yet for now we—’

  The vessel’s lurching interrupted her. Everyone righted themselves as the ship ground free of the shore. Shimmer glanced down to see the three Avowed all standing in the waist-high waters and staring their bemusement at a grinning Nagal as the big man brushed his hands together, appearing quite self-satisfied.

  Shimmer frowned, thinking, Did that fellow alone just…?

  She broke off as K’azz walked away. ‘What about Smoky?’ she called after him.

  ‘In time, Shimmer,’ he answered without turning. ‘We’ll see – in time.’

  * * *

  Saeng had never before dared enter the Gangrek Mounts that marked the formal border between Thaumaturg holdings and Ardata’s lands. Some named them the Fangs, or the Dragon’s Fangs, for their similarity to jutting teeth as they shot so suddenly from the flat jungle to rise sheer for hundreds of feet. They seemed to have grown so swiftly they brought the jungle with them; it hung down their black rock faces in vines, creepers and roots. Verdant greenery topped them like mussed shaggy pelts.

  Hanu led, hacking his way through the denser brush and carrying her over the deeper sinks and the mires of choked pools. A troop of monkeys shadowed them, hooting and shaking the leaves amid the high canopy. Brightly coloured birds shot from branches in explosions of flame crimson and sapphire blue. They shrieked and chattered their irritation. Some flew on to roost high in the vegetation hanging from the rearing mountains. Closer now, she knew that mountains was something of a misnomer. Mountains, she understood, could be as big as countries. They took days, sometimes weeks, to climb or cross. These features were in no way as gigantic.

  What these mounts did possess that made them potentially just as dangerous, however, were sudden sheer drops into seemingly bottomless sinkholes. Some of these were immense, containing entire lakes that she and Hanu were forced to detour around. The pits and openings dotted the ground, making it impossible to move after dark. And so come the evening, as the clouds thickened for the nightly rain, they would seek shelter amid these caves and sit out the rains, awaiting the dawn.

  And it was into one of these pits one dark twilight that Hanu disappeared.

  He was there one moment, cutting the brush from their path, and then he was gone. So sudden and silent was his disappearance it was as if the jungle had snatched him away. Saeng froze. ‘Hanu?’ she called, still not believing he was gone. ‘Hanu?’

  Silence answered her, but not true silence: the ringing cacophony of the jungle – full of the brushing of broad heavy leaves, the creaking of trunks, the constant keen whirring of an infinity of insects, the piercing songs of unseen birds, and the distant rush of falling water.

  ‘Hanu!’

  She edged forward one step, then another, parted the leafed vines. The path ended at a sheer drop into darkness. Water streamed down in a thin sheen and the hanging vines swung weakly as if slowing from a disturbance. ‘Hanu!’

  She waited but no answer emerged from the dark. The evening’s warm deluge now pattered down, slapping her shoulders and hair.

  ‘Dammit to the Dark King…’ She took hold of the vines and yanked on them to test their strength. The hand-hold seemed solid enough. ‘I’m coming!’ She swung out over the abyss, fought to entwine her legs, and began letting herself down.

  She descended into darkness. Immediately, her arms began to ache, her hands to numb. Her vision adjusted until she could make out an immense cavern. What little light remained beamed down as a thin glow illuminating the centre of a heaped pile of overgrown debris. The vines she clung to hung as a curtain halfway out over the gulf. Water streamed all about, hissing as it sliced into hidden pools. Suddenly dizzy, she turned her face away from the height to press it to the waxy leaves of the vines and their sweet stink. She descended by alternately easing the grip of each hand. The woody bark cut her palms and sliced the skin of her fingers but she held on for her life.

  Eventually, after the pain became more than she believed she could take, she stumbled down on to uneven rocks. She had to force her hands open to free them from the bunched tangled vine she gripped. ‘Hanu?’ she called, panting. ‘Hanu?’

  Where could he … By the restless dead, girl, are you some sort of mage or not? Saeng willed herself to see. In a swirl of colours the dark took on shades of deep crimson and bright yellow. She could see, but not normally: it seemed to depend upon what areas had been in the light – these glowed the brightest – while the depths of the cavern held a deep, almost black carmine. She set out searching among the jumble of fallen rock.

  She splashed through pools of standing water. The sheets of falling rain obscured her vision. A sort of slime of rotting vegetation and mud covered the rocks, making her footing treacherous. While she searched through the grotto the crashing of the many streaming waterfalls swelled into a commingled roar.

  It occurred to her that the pool she splashed through was rising. She slogged her way to the cavern’s centre, where the last of the light streamed down, and gave one last yell: ‘Hanu!’

  Her voice returned to her, echoing. Panic rose choking her as the thought came: We’ll drown! Somehow the thought of imminent death calmed her, perhaps because it was something she was so very familiar with. Yes, death. Just two more ghosts, he and I. And thinking of that – aren’t you a damned witch? Saeng pressed the heels of her palms to her eye
s. Gods, girl! Use these damned magics they showed you!

  She took three slow breaths before reaching out with her awareness, trying to sense him. She came up with nothing, which she thought odd. She ought to be able to sense him. Then she remembered all the countless protections and investments she’d layered upon him the many nights he’d accompanied her into the jungle. She reordered her thoughts so that she was reaching out to her brother, Hanu himself, from before he’d been taken from them. And now she sensed him. She sloshed through the rising waters and found him lying insensate, or dead, entangled in a heap of fallen vines.

  She tried shaking him. ‘Hanu. Wake up!’ She felt over his stone-like armoured body, his enclosed helm, found no obvious wound, crack, or blood. Water now thundered down from all sides. A current began to push her as the waters flowed past. She had to raise Hanu’s head to keep it out of the rush.

  An outlet. There must be some sort of an outlet, an underground stream, or river.

  Something bashed into her and she clutched at the vines to support herself: a branch pushed past, carried along by the current. I’m standing in the bed of an underground stream!

  The flow deepened and strengthened. She fought it, one arm entwined around a handful of the hanging vines, the other under the armoured chin of her brother. But it pulled at his limp heavy body. And he was far more massive than she. As time passed the cold water drained the strength from her. She came to understand that she would have to choose: it would have to be either the vines or him. But not both.

  She held on for as long as she could in the swelling current. Her feet were swept out from beneath her. She locked her elbow under her brother’s chin, wrapped her other arm around the vines, but the water now sometimes overtopped her, choking her. What could she possibly do? What magery could save them? She couldn’t fly! Couldn’t breathe water! One thing only occurred to her, one last possibility should she lose her grip in what was now almost utter darkness.

  The time finally came when the pull of the current upon her brother’s body was simply too much for her chilled bones and flagging strength. Screaming her frustration, she let go of the vines to hug the armoured body, striving to keep it on the surface. At the same instant she summoned her powers to work upon the form to keep it afloat, even buoyant, so that she could cling to it to save herself.

  The roaring churning flow swept them out from under the cavern’s opening, and glancing ahead, Saeng now realized true blackness awaited them. It sucked them in like a swallowing throat. She took one panicked breath, considered using her magery to give herself some sort of further vision, dismissed the thought as there was nothing she could do, vision or not, and relaxed to allow the swift charging flow to drag her along.

  Hanu in his armour crashed into unseen obstacles, scraping in a dragging of his stone armour against rock, and Saeng hoped he wasn’t enduring too much damage, while at the same time she was grateful that he was saving her from these same jagged hazards. At times her vision returned as the flow swept them along beneath similar openings. Through the gaps she glimpsed clouds and sheets of falling rain. They passed beneath a waterfall that pounded them, briefly submerging her. Saeng emerged spluttering and hiked up Hanu’s helm where she gripped his neck. She thought she felt him spasm then, perhaps coughing, and a new fear assaulted her: what if he should truly awake? Wouldn’t his first unthinking reaction be to strike out? To free himself?

  ‘It’s me,’ she whispered then, next to his helmed head, ‘Saeng.’

  But he did not answer; nor did he move again.

  A much louder roaring was gathering ahead. It sounded exactly like what she feared it would be: the course was nearing a massive waterfall. She could see no options, no way out. They were being swept along, helpless. Yet her power remained. It seemed to be working in keeping Hanu afloat. She would use it again – somehow – to keep them alive.

  Still in complete and utter dark, which was perhaps a mercy in that she could not see the true horror that awaited them, they careered along in the grip of the rushing waters until the thundering engulfed them and, falling, they were airborne for a time. In her moment of greatest panic Saeng threw all her remaining strength and energy into one last effort to protect them, holding back nothing for herself.

  Whatever it was she summoned pulled everything from her and the darkness of unconsciousness took her before she knew what their fate would be.

  * * *

  Birdsong awoke her. High sharp calls. She opened her eyes, wincing and blinking, into bright daylight. The crash of a waterfall rumbled nearby – the same one? Probably not. This one coursed in open daylight. She was sodden, chilled, aching all over from countless bruises and bumps, but otherwise seemed whole. She lay in the fall’s shallow rocky pond, perhaps deposited by the weakening current.

  In a sudden panic she pushed herself erect and peered about, her wet hair whipping.

  ‘He’s over there,’ a child’s voice piped.

  Saeng jerked, turning: a boy sat on the rocks nearby. He wore only a cotton wrap about his waist and his head was shaved in the manner of only the most backward and traditional villages. He held a stick in both hands, which he brought to his mouth and blew upon, piping the high birdsong that had woken her. He motioned with the crude handmade flute, pointing.

  Gritting her teeth against her exhaustion, she struggled to her feet to limp over to where the lad indicated. Some distance off lay Hanu. He was on his side, immobile. She slumped to her knees next to him and shook him, water dripping from her clothes. ‘Hanu! Wake up. Can you hear me?’

  ‘So there’s someone in there?’ the lad said. ‘Is that one of those living statues that are the slaves of the mages?’

  ‘It’s just fancy armour,’ Saeng answered dully. She was so very tired. Was he dead? How could she even tell?

  ‘Is it?’ the lad answered in an oddly knowing tone that brought her gaze to him, squinting. ‘I’ve called Moon,’ the boy said, and he blew another piercing blast on the flute.

  Saeng blinked, studying him. She must be more worn out than she’d thought. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say you called the moon?’

  The boy made a great show of his scorn. ‘Not the Moon. Old Man Moon. He’s coming. But he’s slow. Not what he used to be, is Old Man Moon.’ And he blew a jaunty little tune.

  Saeng just blinked anew, her brow clenching. What was going on? Something was, she was sure. She pressed a cold hand to her ringing head. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘In the jungle.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Saeng squinted up to the canopy of high branches where the sun glared through. It looked to her as if … ‘Are we east of the mountains?’

  ‘East. West. What is that to those who live their lives in the shadows of the jungle?’

  She bit down on her exasperation – she suspected that she wasn’t really dealing with a young boy. She ventured: ‘Does the sun set behind the mountains?’

  ‘Of course it does. Why shouldn’t it? For a grown-up you don’t seem to know very much.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.’ So, they’d made it. Passed through to the other side. Entered Himatan, where, she’d always heard, one walked half in the realm of spirits. A realm ruled by the most powerful spirit of all, Ardata, its Queen.

  The lad blew a quick series of notes. ‘Ah! Here’s Moon.’

  An old man emerged from among the tangled undergrowth. At least, he had the skinny hunched shape of an old man, but he appeared to be covered in black fur.

  ‘What’s this?’ he called. ‘Strangers in the jungle?’

  Walking carefully, he edged his way down to the pond, his limbs stiff and stick-thin. Closer, Saeng could make out that what resembled a thick black pelt was in fact a dense matting of inked tattoos that covered him from head to toe. He studied her, peering down with tiny black eyes under greying tangled brows and surrounded by spidery glyphs. A lively humour seemed to dance in those eyes. ‘And what is your name, child?’

  ‘Saeng.’

&nbs
p; ‘And who is this unfortunate?’

  ‘My brother Hanu. Is he – can you tell, is he alive?’

  The man’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You, of anyone, ought to know who is alive and who is not. But … he is your brother and so emotion intervenes. Try to see – calm your mind. See through your fears.’

  Saeng nodded at the old man’s words. Yes, of course she should be able to sense this. It was just … she so dreaded the answer … Yet she had to know, and so she closed her eyes, still nodding, and reached out.

  She found a slow steady heartbeat.

  A half-gasp half-laugh of relief escaped her and she covered her mouth. Thank the Ancient Cult!

  ‘There!’ the old man announced. ‘That wasn’t so hard. Yes, he lives. But he dreams – he has taken a blow to the head, perhaps? I will have to examine him.’

  ‘Examine him? How can you? He’s – do you know how to remove the armour?’

  A wave dismissed the difficulty. ‘I could if I had to, I suppose. But I needn’t. Now, let’s get him back to my house.’

  Saeng looked the frail old man up and down. ‘You’ll send the boy for help, I imagine.’

  Another wave of a hand completely covered in a web of hieroglyphs and symbols of power – even down to the fingertips. ‘I live alone but for my young offspring.’ He clambered down to Hanu’s side. ‘Now, the sooner we start the better … I am not as swift as I used to be.’

  Saeng knew two hale men couldn’t lift her brother, encased as he was in his stone armour. It would be like attempting to lift an ox. ‘You can’t possibly…’ Her objection died away as the old man picked up Hanu’s arm and hiked her brother on to his back so that his armoured limbs hung down over the skinny shoulders that jutted no more than bare bone under tattooed skin.

  Bent practically double, his head no higher than his waist, the old man pronounced: ‘There! Not so bad. Follow me, yes?’

  Saeng stared, astounded, then quickly shuffled backwards out of the fellow’s way. ‘Yes. Yes … of course.’

  ‘Ripan! Lead the way.’