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

  Ina considered denying it, or dismissing the situation as minor, but her duties as bodyguard demanded that she acknowledge her weakened state – and potential failure to serve adequately. She drew her fingers across her sweaty slick brow above her mask. ‘Yes, m’lady. I feel … quite unwell.’

  ‘Indeed…’ It appeared to Ina that the Enchantress was struggling with the concept of unwellness. ‘You are sick?’ she finally asked.

  ‘I do not know what it is, m’lady.’ She held out her painful hand. ‘Something in the river perhaps.’

  T’riss halted. She cursed beneath her breath and Ina overheard terms that would make a labourer blush. ‘The river. Of course. My apologies, Ina. It is difficult for us … for me … to keep such things in mind.’

  ‘Such things?’ Ina echoed dully. She felt almost faint from the lancing agony now creeping up her arm.

  The Enchantress took her good arm at the elbow. She scanned the dense undergrowth. ‘Now…’ she murmured as if preoccupied. ‘Who is closest?’ She pointed. ‘Ah! There. They will do nicely.’

  It was becoming impossible for Ina to maintain her concentration. ‘I’m sorry, m’lady … but what are you pointing at?’

  ‘This is earlier than I had wanted, but it will have to do. Things never go quite the way one would prefer…’

  ‘I’m sorry, m’lady…?’

  ‘Shush.’

  Ina flinched, clutching for her sword as the surroundings blurred. Was she passing out? Or had she? What had happened? One moment they were sunk within a dense fern meadow and now they stood in grounds dominated by giant trees, the under-canopy relatively clear. And the air felt closer, much more humid and hot. Or perhaps that was just her.

  The Enchantress guided her by the arm and they came to the edge of a relatively fast-flowing stream. ‘We’ll wait here,’ she said.

  ‘Wait?’ Ina asked, dreamily. She fought now to remain conscious. Something was dulling her mind and it seemed to be deepening as the pain increased. ‘May I sit?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course,’ T’riss answered, sounding distant amid a roaring in Ina’s ears. ‘Not long now.’

  * * *

  Murk knew more trouble was headed their way when he spotted two scouts, Sweetly and Squint, slogging back up the stream. They conferred with Burastan who signed for a halt to the march. Then came what he knew would be coming: she waved him and Sour forward from where they walked alongside the litter.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked as they joined the scouts.

  ‘Two civilians ahead,’ Squint drawled, talking for Sweetly, as usual. ‘Non-locals.’

  ‘So?’

  Squint shrugged. ‘They’re waitin’ there like we was a scheduled carriage ride or somethin’. One’s got the look of a mage.’ He paused, glancing to Sweetly who gave the ghost of a nod for him to continue. ‘Other’s masked – like a Seguleh.’

  Murk felt his brows rising very high. ‘Really? That’s … really unusual.’

  ‘Not for this madhouse,’ Burastan muttered, half aside. She looked to Murk. ‘What do you sense?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He turned to Sour. ‘You?’ His partner was hunched, head down, shifting from foot to foot as if uneasy. ‘Well? Sour?’

  He glanced up, startled. ‘Ah! I sense ’em. She’s not, ah, hostile.’

  ‘Didn’t say they was women,’ Squint said and he gave Sour a strong taste of his namesake.

  Sour shrank beneath the glare. ‘Like I said. I sense ’em.’

  Burastan shared Squint’s measuring glower for a time, then glanced back upstream to where Yusen followed with the main column. ‘All right. Let’s parley. See what they want. Sweetly, Squint, send your boys and girls wide in case there’s more of them.’ They nodded and slogged off. ‘You two, you’re with me.’ She started forward.

  Murk followed behind. He shot angry glances to his partner who dragged along even more reluctantly than usual. ‘What’s with you?’ he whispered. ‘You were all happy to be sloshing through the water but now you look like you’re headed to a firing squad. Is there something you’re not telling me?’ He asked because he knew there damn well was.

  Sour shook his head. Then he did something very strange: he pushed back his muddy slick hair and brushed away some of the twigs and leaves stuck to his arms and bulging pot-belly stomach. Murk eyed him up and down. What in the Abyss has got into the man?

  They rounded a bend in the stream and there they were on one bank: a dumpy middle-aged woman in dirty robes and a lean swords-woman, sitting slumped, cradling her right arm, a half-mask on her face just like a Seguleh. Can’t be real, was Murk’s first thought.

  Burastan signed a halt. ‘Who are you?’ she called.

  ‘I am Rissan, out of Tali,’ the middle-aged woman said in a calm clear voice. Sour, Murk noted, jumped at the name. ‘This is my companion, Ina, from Genabackis. She is ill and in need of healing. You would have my gratitude if you could see your way to curing her infection.’

  Burastan grunted, unimpressed. She crossed her arms. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could very well ask the same question of a Malazan patrol in the middle of Ardata’s territory, but I shall refrain.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  The woman sighed. ‘If I must. I am a practitioner. I came to seek out Ardata as have so many over the ages. And,’ she waved helplessly to the surroundings, ‘like so many before me I have found the journey … challenging.’

  Burastan grunted her agreement. ‘It is that.’

  ‘And what of you?’ Rissan asked.

  ‘Shipwrecked. We’re on our way to negotiate for transport out of this godsforsaken abyss.’

  The woman’s gaze sharpened. ‘With what would you bargain?’

  Burastan scowled, quite annoyed. She had opened her mouth, obviously meaning to put the woman in her place, when Sour piped up: ‘A term of service, maybe. Or payment from the nearest governorship.’

  Burastan turned her scowl on Sour who hunched apologetically. Murk also eyed his partner, wondering, Why the uncharacteristic boldness?

  Rissan nodded. ‘Then I offer my services in return for your healing my retainer.’

  Murk turned aside and brought his face close to Sour. ‘What do you think?’ he murmured, low. ‘She worth it?’

  The scrawny fellow was hugging himself and hopping from foot to foot as if he would explode. ‘Oh yeah,’ he answered in a strangled squeak.

  Murk gave the nod to Burastan, who rolled her eyes. ‘Very well. We’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘You have my gratitude.’

  Sour eagerly slogged forward to examine the hunched, supposedly Seguleh woman. Throughout, she had sat immobile, head slightly lowered, but when Sour reached for her she moved in a blur, her sword appearing held one-handed between her and Sour, its point pressed to his chest.

  Murk flinched backwards. Okay – so maybe she really is Seguleh.

  Burastan went for her blade, cursing. Sour raised his arms and looked to Rissan. The woman spoke to the Seguleh: ‘Allow him to examine you, Ina.’

  The woman, Ina, her chest working, swallowed and nodded. She lowered the sword, though she did not let go of it. Sour took hold of her forearm. His breath hissed from between his teeth. He peered up at Rissan. ‘This is very bad.’

  The Seguleh woman snorted a laugh. She spoke in short panted breaths: ‘Is this you … trying to be … reassuring, Malazan?’

  Sour moved off. He waved Sweetly and Squint to him. They talked in low tones then headed into the jungle in separate directions.

  ‘I’ll report in,’ Burastan told Murk, and slogged off upstream.

  Murk eyed this mage. ‘You are a sorceress, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Accomplished, I hope. We mean to enter Jakal Viharn.’

  Her gaze yet resting on her sick retainer, Rissan answered, ‘If it can be found.’

  ‘It’s hard to hide things from me,’ Murk said, realizing, as he said it, that it sounded
as if he were boasting, or attempting to impress this newcomer. Why in the Abyss should I care? Because there’s something about this one, that’s why. Don’t know why but she scares me.

  The woman gave a small smile. ‘Your patron has that predilection.’

  Has me pegged already, does she?

  The main column came pushing their way through the waist-high water. In its middle were Ostler and Dee, supporting the litter between them on their shoulders. Murk watched them then sneaked a glance to the sorceress. Her gaze followed the litter all the way as it neared.

  Don’t like that. ’Course she ought to sense something if she really is a strong practitioner. Could she be here for the shard? Could hardly wrest it from amongst all of us. And she seems to care for this retainer gal. Unless it was all just a handy trick to ingratiate herself.

  Damn these adherents of the Enchantress! It’s always so hard to figure out what their game is.

  Burastan returned with Yusen. Introductions were made. The captain made the call to camp here and so they offered the best of their ratty remaining blankets to the retainer gal, Ina, and she eased herself back against a tree, her arm cradled on her lap.

  It looked to Murk as though she didn’t have long. Not that he was the expert. The sorceress, Rissan, sat nearby on a folded blanket. Murk crossed to Ostler and Dee and motioned for them to follow him. He led them aside, out of sight of Rissan, then signed for them to rest their burden. He sat on a root next to the litter. ‘Extra guards tonight,’ he told Dee, who nodded. ‘Go get some food, you two.’

  Dee frowned, rubbed his shaven, and now sunburnt, scalp. ‘Call that food?’ he grumbled. Before Murk could say something disparaging, the big man shrugged. ‘Well, better’n starvin’ anyways. Never complain to the cook, that’s my motto.’ He waved Ostler to follow him. ‘Maybe we can spear us some fish.’

  Murk sat staring off into the shadows for some time after that. Dee’s tossed-off observation had struck something in him. The old soldier’s common refrain: don’t complain to the cook. Was that what he’d been doing these last few weeks? Complaining to the cook? Man takes the trouble to pull them through a difficult time and what does he do? Piss over all his efforts? What had he contributed? What problems had he solved?

  Murk suddenly felt his face growing very hot indeed.

  Don’t complain to the cook. And why? ’Cause it’s just damned ungrateful, that’s why.

  And that was just the easy part. The problem with being able to self-reflect meant that it was possible to open up a whole pit o’ ugly writhin’ snakes. Like maybe he was just plain resentful. Used to be he was the man with the answers. He made the calls. Now, he wasn’t even in the lists.

  Hard to watch your own star fade while another brightened. A hard lesson in basic humanity – even for those who know what that is.

  Staring off into the deep shadows without seeing them, he whispered, ‘Fuck.’

  Only thing for him now was to make the human gesture.

  When the guards assigned to watch the shard arrived it was twilight. He returned to camp. A fire had been lit, pickets posted for the night. One of the squads was eating at the fire. Sour was with the swordswoman, tending her arm. Some kind of food was out on a broad leaf. Little packets wrapped in leaves. Murk leaned in to pick one up. It had come from the fire, seared in the crisp leaf wrappings.

  Seeing him, Sour straightened. Yusen, where he sat aside, also rose. Sour signed that he wished to talk privately and Murk gave a nod. They came together opposite where the swordswoman lay back, apparently asleep. The sorceress also approached. And now Murk noted a strange thing: the clumsy, awkward Sour actually bowed to the woman to invite her to join them.

  So, ranked higher than Sour in their Warren. Not too difficult, I s’pose. Murk grimaced then. Dammit, remember, give the man a break, for Fanderay’s sake. ‘Sour,’ he greeted his partner. ‘What’s the news?’

  ‘Bad.’ Sour nodded to Yusen, bowed again to the sorceress Rissan. ‘I’m sorry, um … ma’am. I stopped the infection – an infestation actually – but I can’t save the arm. Too far gone. Too much damage.’

  The woman crossed her arms over her broad chest. ‘So … you are saying…’

  ‘Have to amputate. At the elbow, possibly.’

  Rissan’s gaze slid to where Ina lay half reclining, her mask reflecting the firelight like a multicoloured rainbow. ‘That could be … problematic,’ she murmured, her voice low.

  ‘I see your point,’ Yusen added.

  ‘You could suppress her awareness,’ Sour said to Rissan.

  ‘Yes … I could. However, I am currently very preoccupied.’

  ‘Preoccupied?’ Murk asked sharply. ‘How?’

  The sorceress’s gaze moved to Yusen. ‘You are being hunted. Hunted by a particularly tenacious and, dare I say, spiteful enemy.’

  The captain started, his hand going to his sword. Murk snapped up a hand to sign wait. He addressed the sorceress: ‘What of it?’

  ‘I am currently disguising this location. I really ought not to stop doing so.’

  ‘I’ll take over,’ Murk said.

  Rissan raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? You? She is quite … implacable.’

  ‘I’ll handle it.’ He gave the woman a toothy smile. ‘You could say it’s my speciality.’

  The sorceress answered the predatory smile. ‘Meanas,’ she observed. ‘Far too full of himself.’

  In the silence that followed Yusen cleared his throat, nodded to Sour. ‘What will you need?’

  While the various short weapons were being collected, Murk paced the camp searching for just the right tree. It had to be far enough away from the distractions of camp but not too far out. It would help an awful lot if it offered a little bit of comfort too. He selected a tall kapok that seemed to fit his requirements.

  Sour emerged from the night while he stood peering up at its canopy and the shifting clouds above.

  ‘Rain’s holding off,’ Sour commented.

  ‘Yeah. Hope to have some cover though.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘Got what you need?’

  ‘Yeah. You gonna … y’know. Manage?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure.’ Murk raised the leaf-wrapped packet and took a bite. The cooked leaf wrapping was brittle and smoky, but the inside was soft and creamy. It tasted sweet. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  The man’s anxious expression brightened into eagerness. ‘Ants and grubs and a particular plant stem all pulped together.’

  Murk suppressed his gagging reaction, forced the mouthful down. ‘Really?’ he managed, hoarse. His eyes started watering.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s … good. Thanks.’

  Sour looked relieved. ‘That’s great. Listen. You get into trouble – don’t hesitate to call on, er, Rissan. Okay?’

  ‘Why? She some kinda heavyweight?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Okay, partner.’ He raised his chin to camp. ‘She really one o’ them Seguleh?’

  ‘I think so, yeah.’

  He snorted. ‘Good luck cutting off the arm of a Seguleh.’

  Sour almost flinched. ‘Had to put it that way, didn’t ya?’

  ‘Look at it this way. It’s a fucking miracle we’re still alive, hey?’

  Sour laughed. ‘Yeah. Funny – that’s how I always see it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck.’

  Sour took it. ‘See you tomorrow.’ He offered the old salute of hand to heart then headed off into the night.

  Murk watched him go. He raised the leaf packet and examined it. Funny how the damned thing tasted like toasted nuts. He threw it aside and sat snuggling down into a fork in the roots until he was as comfortable as possible. Then he set to readying himself for a journey as close to the half-existence of Shadow as he dared.

  The shades all about him multiplied as his Warren rose. Some shifted, cast by an unseen moon or moons. Others lay as dark and thick as pools of water. He cast his self-image upwards t
owards the top canopy. Here he found the treetops a shifting nest of shadows that rippled and brushed like the leaves themselves. Above, the night sky shifted from dark overcast to clear starry expanse as if he were witnessing a pageantry of nights all passing like shifting winds. He spread his Warren outwards to encompass the camp and set to work binding each shadow to deflect, mislead, or slip away from any direct questing.

  While he worked he slowly became aware of a presence next to him. He spared himself the degree of attention to glance aside and there among the branches sat the faint glowing image of Celeste.

  That gave him pause in his work, but he managed to carry on after a beat, and murmured, ‘Welcome.’

  She sat with her knees drawn up to the slightly pointed chin of her oval face. She broke off a stem and studied it. ‘Murken – I have a question.’

  He strove to keep himself calm and to maintain his concentration. ‘Oh yes?’ What might it be now? The birds and the bees?

  ‘What happens to you when you go away?’

  He could only half listen as he worked on his maze of shadows. ‘I’m sorry? Go away? What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean … when you die.’

  Murk flinched as if a burning stick had been touched to his arm. The multitude of filaments he was manipulating slipped from his grasp like so many wriggling fish. ‘Die?’ he blurted. ‘Who’s gonna die?’

  Celeste continued to examine the twig. ‘Well … everything. You, everything. Even, possibly … me.’

  Ah. That question. He regarded her: she took the appearance of a child but was no child. So, too, was the question she had arrived at. A child’s question that preoccupied so many adults.

  He glanced away to the sky because something there had moved. He took great care not to peer through his Warren actively. He sought to passively receive the shape, or presence. A moment later the movement solidified into a great winged silhouette. It circled high above in a wide lazy arc covering leagues of jungle.

  ‘I’m kind of busy right now,’ he said. Funnily enough, even as he said it, he heard his own father so long ago.

  Celeste glanced up. ‘Her?’ She flicked the twig aside. ‘Do you want me to get rid of her?’