‘What was that?’ Skinner demanded.
‘He sent something. A summoning.’
‘Take it!’ Skinner ordered. ‘We must go.’
‘Yes, yes.’ The priest tore at the strapping securing the pack to the litter.
Snarling under his breath, Skinner started forward, impatient. ‘Just—’ He stopped, as the priest had frozen, staring off into the woods. Something was approaching, pushing its way stiffly through the dense brush. Mara experienced a momentary thrill of terror when, for an instant, she thought it an Imass.
But it was not – though the resemblance was strong. It was a desiccated corpse in ancient tattered armour of leather and mail, a tall sword at its back. Patches of hair still clung to cured tea-brown scraps of flesh over a round skull. Empty dark sockets regarded them. The dried lips had pulled back from yellowed teeth. The animated corpse pointed a finger – all sinew and knobby joints – to the litter.
‘Who brought this here?’ it asked. Its voice was a breathless stirring of dead things.
The other Malazan mage’s eyes had grown huge at the appearance of this ghoul and he spluttered, ‘Er, we did, sir. But we didn’t mean no insult. We was just fleeing this one!’ He pointed to Skinner, who merely crossed his arms in a slither of armoured scales.
‘I know of you, skulker of borders,’ the priest sneered from where he crouched hugging the pack. ‘I know your strictures. You cannot interfere!’
Mara started, shocked. Skulker of borders? Edgewalker? She raised her Warren to its greatest intensity. All mages are warned of this one – the most potent haunt of Shadow.
‘True,’ it breathed, its voice so soft. ‘However, you are within Emurlahn.’
‘Then we shall go,’ Skinner announced, and he reached for the pack.
In a leathery creaking of dried muscle and ligament, the legendary creature edged its head to one side, as if it were listening to some voice none other could hear. ‘I cannot foresee the outcome,’ it said, in warning.
Skinner paused. ‘What was that?’
‘Is this your wish?’ the haunt asked, facing away once more, as if addressing nothing.
Ignoring the creature, Skinner closed a gauntleted fist on the pack and pointed furiously to the priest. Howling his terror, the servant of the Chained God gestured and threw himself aside. The wrenching inner yanking snatched Mara, pulling her backwards, and she almost fainted from the clawing sense of violation. Her vision blackened and stars dazzled her eyes. She fell upon dirt, groaning, her stomach heaving. Still groggy, she pushed herself upright.
Skinner was there, the bag in his hand. But it hung limp, in tatters. He raised the torn canvas and leather strapping to his visor, studied it, then threw it down with a curse. The priest lay kicking and pounding the ground. It was as if he’d been taken by some sort of fit: shrieking curses, babbling in strange languages, even chewing and biting at the dirt in the extremity of his rage.
‘They cannot remain in Shadow,’ Skinner said. ‘They will return.’
This seemed to work upon the priest and he calmed, his convulsions easing. He pushed himself to his knees yet still appeared stricken, weaving, his eyes sleepy, not focusing upon anything at all. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘We must await them. Our master requires as many disparate parts as possible. He is much assailed. All his children he must gather to himself. Greater power is needed…’
Curious, Mara asked, ‘For what?’
Slowly the priest raised his head. His eyes lost their emptiness to focus upon her, and flooded with hate almost insane in its intensity. ‘Why, to win free of course, you useless fool!’
* * *
It was a blessing and a curse that Murk had been off squatting in the woods when the attack came. A blessing because he was out of sight in a stand of brittle grasses, but a curse in that he wasn’t done.
Shouts of astonishment and surprise sounded from the camp, followed by an explosion of power that knocked him over even though he was squatting down, his feet wide splayed. Uprooted plants and broken branches slapped across him, followed by a haze of suspended dust and dirt. ‘What the fuck?’ he exclaimed before clamping his mouth shut and cursing himself for a fool. He allowed one wipe to his bare arse with a handful of leaves then pulled up his trousers and fumbled at the lacing.
He pushed his way out of the dense stand. All was quiet now, the camp deserted but for new figures whom he merely glimpsed before ducking back into cover. He pushed through to the other side of the stand and ran, raising Meanas to cloak him as he went. A drifting haze of Mockra-laid mental confusion, distraction and a profusion of false trails lay revealed before him. It would have completely defeated him had not he and Sour worked together so long that they automatically allowed paths for each other through their defences and traps. He raced on, sensing their direction already.
They had gone to ground in a clearing at the centre of a ring of thick trunks that the locals called raintrees. He dropped his disguise of shadows, making Ostler and Dee jump – even though Sour had no doubt warned them he was on his way.
‘They’re comin’,’ Sour announced.
‘All right.’ He waved to Ostler and Dee. ‘You two, take off. We’ll cover you.’
The two sheathed their swords, picked up the litter, and ran.
He and Sour started after, more slowly, interweaving a mesh of Meanas and Mockra with hidden snares of Thyr from Sour.
‘I think they’re good,’ Sour panted. ‘What a punch that gal has! My ears are still ringing.’
‘Focus on the job,’ Murk growled.
‘Right. Still, great legs on her.’
Together they spread such a maze of confusion, distortion and misdirection that Murk was certain no one could possibly win through. Yet whenever he cast his awareness to their rear he found them, and closing.
‘Can’t shake ’em,’ Sour gasped, near exhaustion. ‘How’re they doin’ it?’ He sounded close to weeping his fear and frustration.
‘Must have a tag on us somehow. Somethin’…’ Murk hit a fist to his forehead. ‘The damned shard! They’re tracking it. Must stand out like Burn’s own tits. Gotta change the plan.’
Sour halted, hands on a broad leaf cut by deep serrations as long as a murderer’s blade. ‘How’s that?’ he asked.
Murk gestured ahead. ‘Tell Dee to turn the game.’
‘On it. Just like that time in Mott.’
Murk snapped his fingers to urge his partner on. ‘I told you never to mention that Hood-damned place!’
Sour hurried away, muttering, ‘Okay, okay. Just ’cause the apes caught ya! Sheesh.’
Dee and Ostler took charge of the ambush. They impatiently waved Murk and Sour to the litter. Moments later a skinny gangly fellow came crashing through the brush to run right into Dee, who wrapped a forearm round his neck. The fellow squawked but quietened down when Dee pressed the blade of his heavy parrying gauche to his bulbous Adam’s apple.
Two more figures emerged and the first punched Murk’s breath away because he recognized him from stories he’d heard. Skinner. Fucking Crimson Guard renegade. What was he doing here? He’d heard they’d left Jacuruku. This could be it for us. We’re outclassed.
So struck was he that he missed something and now Skinner charged Ostler.
‘Gotta do it, Murk,’ Sour whimpered, revealing that he also knew whom they faced.
He said some stupid last words and took them into Shadow.
* * *
They emerged still within the confines of the forest of the Azathanai. The image of Celeste shimmered here as if awaiting them. ‘Hello,’ she greeted them, smiling, pleased to see them. ‘Who are those others?’
‘They’ve come to take you away. Bring you to your … ah, parent.’
The girl-shade giggled. ‘Parent! How quaint. I’m sorry, Murk, but that comes nowhere near our relationship.’
Distracted, he murmured, ‘Well. Have to start somewhere.’ Can’t stay here – gonna be entombed for ever by these damned trees
. ‘We have to move,’ he told Sour who answered with a you’re damned right nod.
A patch of the woods nearby roiled and blurred as if melting. Murk stared, stunned. I don’t fucking believe it! The Crippled God priest appeared and lunged for the litter. He and Sour eyed the rearing dark figure of Skinner who emerged looking like the ghost of Hood himself. The Crimson Guard Dal Hon gal followed but the transition was hard on her: she fell to her knees, gagging. Still, her D’riss Warren sizzled about her as an aurora of blue flames.
‘Sacred Queen,’ Sour squawked, a hand going to his mouth.
Murk shifted to kick the damned priest away.
‘Do not move,’ Skinner warned.
The priest was untying the straps. Murk couldn’t help trying to smack him aside. He saw the surrounding branches and roots stirring, but slowly. Far too slowly. To one side, the flickering image of Celeste watched the newcomers as if they were rare exotic animals while none of them even spared her a glance – not even the priest. They can’t see her either. Only I can. Her choice, I suppose. And this filthy priest is about to get his hands on her! Have to do something.
That they had physically brought the shard through into Shadow gave him an idea. It ought to bring someone who could stand down even Skinner. Abyss, from the stories and rumours he’d heard among those who knew Shadow he could stand down anyone.
The Crimson Guardsman said something but Murk wasn’t listening; he was concentrating his power. Because he had nothing to lose, he sent a summoning. The instant he did the D’riss mage was on him. She hit like an avalanche and all he knew was a hammer slamming into his stomach knocking him backwards, then a spike driving into his head. Everything was lost in a burning sea of pain.
* * *
He came to holding his head. He unclenched his arms and peered up, blinking. They were still in Shadow. Celeste stood over him, studying him with her big green eyes. ‘You are in pain?’ she asked.
His head felt like it had cracked open. He swallowed the pasty coating in his mouth and ventured a weak, ‘Yeah…’
‘It appears quite incommoding. Not a good adaptation.’
‘What was that?’ Sour asked. ‘You okay?’
He shifted to sit up – carefully. ‘She’s here. You can’t see her?’
Sour peered around. ‘No. I guess only you can.’
‘Ah. So … give it to me. What happened.’
The fellow rubbed his bulbous nose, smearing his green and grey face paint. ‘Well. The scariest guy I’ve ever seen showed up and kicked them out of Shadow.’
‘He was here? He came!’ And I missed it! I can’t believe it! How could I— A thousand unanswered questions. What an opportunity … He shook his head and winced.
‘Yeah,’ Sour answered, then he frowned, confused. ‘Who?’
‘Edgewalker.’
Sour’s brows, one higher than the other, rose. ‘Oh! I heard a him. I hear he’s the worst reason you should never trespass in Shadow.’
‘That is how you know this being, then?’ Celeste asked. ‘A menace?’
Murk blew out a breath while probing the back of his head. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘He is not threatening. He only makes me sad.’
Murk gave her a hard glance, but, seeing that she would say nothing more, turned his attention to the surrounding forest. ‘The trees aren’t moving against us,’ he murmured, surprised.
Sour nodded, eager. ‘Yeah. Your Edgewalker guy told them to leave us alone.’
Murk jerked, amazed, then held his head to contain the blazing pain that spiked there. He told the forest of the Azathanai to leave us alone? Who is this guy? He’d heard stories, of course. Garbled versions that circulated among the apprentices and equally absurd speculations in written legends. How it had been he who had slain the first king of Kurald Emurlahn, Elder Shadow, and how he was now cursed to wander it for ever. Or that he had shattered Emurlahn in the first place, damning himself in the process. And now Celeste says he makes her sad. No one knew the truth of all those events lost so far in the mists of the ancient past. And Edgewalker himself certainly wasn’t talking.
Sour wiggled a finger in his ear, studied it then flicked it. ‘But he only did that ’cause I promised we’d go soon.’
Yes. They couldn’t hide here for ever. Edgewalker might be able to restrain the forest, but Murk had his doubts about the Hounds, should they come sniffing. ‘Can you disguise her presence? Hide her?’
His partner cocked a brow. ‘It, you mean. Don’t ya?’
He waved a hand impatiently. ‘Whatever.’
Sour took a deep breath, his scrawny shoulders rising and falling. ‘Nope. Too powerful.’
‘No? Just like that? Think of it as a professional challenge.’
‘I just ain’t got the pull, Murk. Sorry. Maybe it – she – can help.’
Murk managed not to slap his hand to his head. What a fool he’d been! Somehow he’d fallen into treating her, it, as some kind of helpless ward he’d picked up. He shifted on his knees to regard her more directly. Seeing him turning to her she sat on a log and clasped her hands on her knees, regarding him intently. Murk felt his mouth go dry. ‘Celeste,’ he began gently, ‘we need you to hide your presence. It would be a great help to us.’
A frown creased her pretty features. ‘I do not think I understand you. Hide myself? However does one do that?’
Right. How to explain? Throw a blanket over oneself? Abyss, she don’t even know what a blanket is! He cleared his throat. ‘These people searching for you. They want to take you away. We need to make it hard for them to find you…’
She was picking at the rotting bark of the log, her head lowered, seemingly embarrassed. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have been thinking. I’d like to explore more of that entity, that awareness I spoke of, and that would mean seeking it out. I would be hard to locate, exactly, then.’ She dared a glance to Murk, almost coy. ‘Do you think I could?’
Gods above, help me. What to say? Should she? Would I just be serving my own interests to say yes? But how should I know? Dammit! I’ve had no training in raising a damned child god! ‘Well,’ he began. ‘I guess that if you would like to then perhaps you ought to have a try at it…’
She beamed a smile and clasped her hands exactly like a child delighted. ‘Oh, thank you, Murk. I shall.’ The ghostly transparent casting that was her presence thinned then, dimming until it faded away entirely into nothing.
Murk sat back on his haunches. He felt saddened. Would he never see her again? He assumed it was just was well – who knew what awful future blunders this sidestepped. And yet he felt a strange sort of disappointment. Was that it? Just like that?
‘What happened?’ Sour asked. ‘You look all lost.’
He peered about the woods. ‘She’s gone.’
His partner frowned. ‘What? Gone gone? Where?’
‘Waiting for us to call her back. I think.’
‘I’m all for goin’ too. Don’t want to meet those damned Hounds.’ He added, eyeing him critically, ‘And if she is gone then that’s all for the best, man. Playin’ with fire, I say.’
Murk shook his head; he couldn’t muster the resentment for a fight. ‘I know, I know. We’ll go back. Yusen must be getting worried.’
Sour let blow a long breath. ‘Any chase you walk away from is a good chase. That’s what I say.’
* * *
The scouts found them and brought them to Yusen who had relocated camp to another clearing. A doubled picket let them through and the commander met them fully armoured, helmet under an arm. A small grin of vindication plucked at his lips but the worry remained in the many deep wrinkles around his always tightened eyes. ‘You made it,’ he said. ‘Good.’ Only gripping the poles of the litter stopped Murk from saluting. ‘But, ah…’ He eyed the litter and the blanket-wrapped object tied down with bits of rope and strips of torn cloth.
They set the litter down. ‘We think they won’t be able to spot it again. Not easily, anyway.’
&nbs
p; Yusen grunted his acceptance of this. ‘And the they? There’s wild talk of the Crimson Guard.’
‘Ex-Guard. Skinner and his command were disavowed by K’azz. Stories were they’d left Jacuruku. I guess they’ve come back.’
‘All the more reason for us to leave,’ Yusen said, scratching his unshaven chin.
‘With permission, sir,’ Murk ventured, ‘they can probably guess we’re headed west. They’ll keep an eye out.’
Their commander frowned his displeasure, but Murk knew it wasn’t directed at him; it was at their situation. ‘Looks like we have the proverbial tiger by the tail,’ he murmured.
‘Aye, and we can’t let go.’
‘So? What’s your answer?’ And I hope to Fanderay you’ve got one.’
Murk shared a look with Sour, who urged him on. ‘Well … rumours are that there was some kinda falling out between Skinner and Ardata. It looks to me like he’s hunting this to maybe use against her…’
Yusen pulled his hand down his chin, nodding. ‘So. The enemy of my enemy…’
‘Yeah.’ Murk shrugged apologetically. ‘Best I can do.’
‘It’s a plan.’ The ex-officer gave a curt nod of acceptance. ‘Always good to have one of those.’ He raised a hand and signalled. Burastan, Sweetly and others jogged up. ‘We’re headed east, double-time.’
Sweetly’s gaze swung to Murk and Sour and the twig that had been standing straight out from his clenched lips slowly fell. The expression that compressed the man’s face was far from sweet.
Murk raised his open hands as if to deny all responsibility. The scout didn’t buy it. He went off, shaking his head in disgust.
‘East,’ Burastan repeated in disbelief. ‘Further into Himatan…’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Quite, Lieutenant.’
Her disapproving gaze raked Murk and Sour. ‘Very good, sir.’
Murk offered another apologetic shrug. Man, we’re not winnin’ any popularity contests round here, that’s for sure. Nothin’ new in that. Soldiers are a notoriously superstitious lot. Bad luck and setbacks always get laid at the feet of the mages. Just how it is.
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 309