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 Disavowed encircled the two, weapons out, but unsure whether to rush in. Skinner let go one hand and lashed out with a punch to the woman’s head that made Mara wince.

  All that happened was that the woman stilled. Her eyes grew huge, like twin black pools, and she drew herself up as if insulted. ‘You dare … again!’ She raised a hand and backslapped Skinner across the face. The blow echoed through the trees and sent him tumbling. She raised the chest. ‘At last,’ she breathed.

  ‘Get her now!’ Jacinth shouted. Hist and Shijel closed.

  The woman laughed and jumped up the trunk of a nearby tree. Mara stared, astounded, as she pulled herself up one-handed and leaped from limb to limb.

  Next to her, Petal stroked his wide chin. ‘An impressive display,’ he murmured.

  Jacinth helped Skinner to his feet. ‘Bring her down!’ he roared to Mara.

  She nodded and let out a wary breath. Very well … but can we take her? She focused her Warren.

  Far above in the upper canopy the woman laughed wildly and shook the chest. ‘Sister Envy!’ she shouted to the sky, ‘I am coming!’ And she leaped from her perch.

  Mara flinched, but as the woman fell her shape transformed into something else, something sinuous and dark russet-red that flapped huge wings, driving Mara to cover her face from the dust. When she looked back the long writhing form was diminishing in the sky, forelimbs clenched round something small and gleaming.

  ‘Most impressive,’ Petal repeated. ‘Sister Spite. Envy, I think, is in for rather an unpleasant surprise.’

  Skinner roared, enraged, and punched the tree, leaving a dent in the thick bark.

  ‘Now what?’ Mara murmured to Petal.

  ‘I am not certain. But I do believe that we still have to establish whether K’azz truly is here.’

  At that name Skinner’s head snapped round. He marched to Petal and stared up at him; Skinner was one of the largest men Mara knew, but Petal was simply a giant both in girth and in height. After a moment, their commander nodded and crossed his arms. ‘That is for you, Petal.’

  The big mage’s eyes slid to Mara. They held fear like twin cornered mice. Why the dread? Ah, of course … Ardata will be waiting.

  * * *

  The mound Saeng and Hanu kept to was broad enough to be dismissed as a mere natural undulation in the jungle floor. The canopy rose seamlessly from the forest of the surrounding lower tracts to top the higher ground just as densely. As she walked, Saeng wondered whether, from far enough away, an immense pattern, rather like a many-rayed star, might be visible in the rise and fall of the canopy height.

  They followed the rise for two days, angling southeast. The way was not easy as the passage of centuries had not been kind to the earthwork; streams cut through it creating steep-sided gullies. In places it had been levelled entirely in broad swampy lowlands. But after continuing on, they found it once more as the land gently rose again.

  Each night Saeng lay awake for some time beneath the cover of the densest trees while the inevitable rain poured down. She watched the olive-tinged clouds and the glowing Visitor, immense and ominous, glaring down upon them. Would it really come crashing into the earth? And if so, where? Right on top of them? She hardly believed the Thaumaturgs would call it down directly upon themselves. In which case, being next to them might be a very safe place to retreat after all. Not that it would matter. She imagined that such an impact would annihilate everything across the land in ferocious firestorms.

  On the third day she glimpsed through gaps in the canopy some sort of tall rounded structure far ahead. Hanu paused and gestured. The land rose here; jumbled age-gnawed stone blocks might have once described a set of rising levels, or wide stairs. Jungle choked them now. A curtain of hanging and ground-crawling lianas draped the rise. Clinging orchid blossoms dazzled her with brilliant crimson, pink and white. Hanu pushed aside the hanging mats and led the way.

  The ground appeared to level here to a wide plateau that stretched as far as she could see. Far off, perhaps at the centre, was a structure. They advanced, Hanu drawing his yataghan. After a time she realized they walked the remains of a concourse. Statues lined it, barely visible through the undergrowth. They appeared to depict monsters or daemons of some sort, all bowed or kneeling. Defeated enemies? Enslaved forces? It was all so long ago she had no idea what they might reference.

  The concourse traced what might once have been a moat but was now just another stretch of wilderness, albeit wetter than its surroundings. It led to a wide arched gate in a wall of dressed cyclopean stones. The arch was strangely pointed in a style she did not recognize.

  Here Hanu pulled her behind the cover of the nearest of the mature trees that had pushed their way through the laid stones ages ago. He motioned to the ground close to the gate. She could just make out deep cuts and prints in the loamy soil. A line of many wheeled wagons or carriages had entered before them.

  The Thaumaturgs were already here.

  A black despair of exhaustion pulled on her. After all this! She pressed her head to the tree trunk. She’d counted on getting here first to sabotage or wreck any possibility of the ritual, but they had lost too much time. Now the Circle was here and had already begun.

  Hanu squeezed her shoulder and gestured that they should move. She shook her head. There was no point now. What could she possibly do against the entire Circle of Masters?

  Hanu unceremoniously picked her up and marched off to the side, tracing the outer wall.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I do not know. We’re not alone out here. For some time it’s been bothering me. Perhaps we’re being followed.’

  She covered her face to fight back tears. ‘Well – it’s all over anyway.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Hanu … You don’t understand…’

  ‘I know you shouldn’t give up before the battle is joined.’

  ‘It’s not that simple!’

  He was jogging now, hunched, leaping tall snaking roots and fallen rotting tree trunks. They rounded the corner of the overgrown walls to find an exact replica of the side they’d quit. The structure, it appeared, was completely symmetrical in all directions. He set off again at a run. Saeng braced herself with an arm at his armoured neck.

  They came to another gate, this one facing north. From the untrammelled ground it appeared that no one had come this way for a very long time. Hanu set her down. ‘I know we should at least reconnoitre,’ he sent, then he motioned for her to follow him at a distance, and edged forward towards the gate.

  * * *

  The interior was a series of narrow courts separated by walls and gates. Covered walks lined the walls. Carvings depicted a series of battles against inhuman forces, giants and half-humans such as those she’d met populating the jungle today. Saeng was reminded of the ancient legends of the God-King as a great conqueror who subdued the entire continent. It occurred to her that what she was looking at here was a record of human ascension. Perhaps they revered him because he had won them their lands.

  Yet the earthworks, the mounds, all were so incredibly ancient. Did it all go back that far? The thought of such an immense gulf of time made her dizzy. Perhaps, she considered, people had been here already – just a different tribe or offshoot of humanity. Forebears painted as monsters in retrospect.

  They were nearing something. She could feel it pressing against her like a driving wind coming out of a place where no wind should come. Her flesh prickled with the power being summoned, leashed and contained. All to compel a god.

  Hanu returned and gestured her forward. She ran a hand along the damp chill stone inner wall of an arch as she went. Grit from the old stones came away against her palm. Crumbling away even as I touch it.

  He motioned to one side along another covered walkway. They were near the centre structure, a tall narrow stupa-like tower, but Hanu was pointing down here. She edged around to see that the wall of the inner temple possessed a narrow gap, an opening leading down.

  ‘Wha
t do you think?’

  She nodded. Yes, down. It felt right. Hanu went first and she hurried after. The stairway was so slim her shoulders brushed either wall, and the stone steps were so steep she had to take them one at a time. Below ground level the stones lining the way changed to a darker native rock and each block was much larger. These were also set exquisitely, without a hair’s gap between.

  An older construction – one pre-dating the temple above. Of course! A sacred site retains its power. Newer faiths or creeds merely build atop the ruined old, each appropriating the older authority and presence. That thought gave her an idea, and suddenly all did not appear as hopeless as before.

  As they descended, a flickering light grew ahead. Not daylight, which was fading behind them, but an argent and white surging that Saeng recognized as raw puissance. They emerged into a wide chamber built entirely of the cyclopean basaltic blocks. At its centre was a raised dais, or altar, carved from the same dark stone. Set within the stone lay a multi-rayed sun symbol that glowed as if formed of gold itself. It probably represented the immense league-spanning earthworks surrounding this structure, that perhaps even extended all the way across the continent. The Locus. The focal point of immense energies tapping the entire land.

  Sizzling and crackling on the dais stood a pillar of that enormous might, drawn like an inverted waterfall up to the ceiling and through a tiny aperture, presumably to the chamber above where the Thaumaturgs, having summoned it, now strove to manipulate and control it.

  Saeng stared, awestruck, her gaze shielded against the glare. How could anyone hope to contain such astounding power? No wonder they seemed unaware of her presence – they were quite preoccupied, enmeshed in a fight for their lives. She knew that even to approach such a cascade would blast her to ashes instantly; and the Circle above fought now to actually direct it.

  She lowered her gaze to the dais. This was the key. It had originally been an altar sanctified to Light – the worship of the Sun and the Sky. The cult of which others had recognized her as High Priestess. She knew then what she had to do.

  She merely had to claim it.

  She turned to Hanu. The truth must have been in her eyes for he glanced from her to the dais. He waved a negative. ‘No! There must be another way. I will try to break it…’

  ‘This is how it must be,’ she sent to him.

  ‘No! There must—’ He broke off, spinning to the entrance.

  Saeng turned and had a shocked single glimpse of a ragged figure, a ghost from the awful days just past: Myint herself, pale and haggard, her armour torn, her hair a gnarled mat. Insane glee blazed in her eyes as she launched herself from the steps of the entrance, her spear levelled at Hanu.

  The keen weapon struck home. And with Myint’s entire weight falling behind the thrust the blade penetrated to emerge glistening with blood from Hanu’s back. He toppled to his side.

  More figures followed. In scuttled Thet-mun, hunched, emaciated, dirt-smeared, his eyes huge as he stared about, terrified. And last came the one she somehow knew would be leading them still: Kenjak Ashevajak, the so-called Bandit Lord. He’d had most of the swagger kicked out of him, but he still carried a smirk that he now bestowed on her.

  She ignored them all to run to Hanu’s side. She brushed her hands over him; she had no idea where to start, what to do. Blood ran from his wound and the sight horrified her.

  ‘Run,’ he sent to her.

  Hands yanked her upright and spun her about to face Kenjak. He stepped up so close she could smell his stale sweat, see the dirt and grime blackening his pores. He stared at her as if he too could not believe that they had at last met again.

  The smirk grew into a secretive smile and his gaze became almost tender. ‘I’ve been following you,’ he whispered, just audible over the roar of the energies filling the chamber.

  Saeng felt her shoulders fall as the realization struck. Of course! The wild men of the woods. What a fool I’ve been! ‘Kenjak,’ she began, speaking very slowly, ‘you must listen to me. You mustn’t interfere here. This is very important.’

  He waved for silence and the hands, Myint’s, tightened about her neck. He stepped up even closer, close enough to kiss her. ‘Oh, important,’ he said, mocking her delivery. ‘Well … I have something important to do as well.’ He raised a blade between their faces. ‘Something I’ve had to wait far too long to do.’

  The hands were vices at her neck but she forced out, ‘Jak – I’m worth much more alive.’

  ‘Fuck that!’ he yelled spraying spittle in her face. ‘Fuck them all! I swore I’d have your head and I mean to collect.’ He pressed the blade’s razor edge under her chin.

  The man is insane! Utterly transported with hatred. What can I do? There is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  The hands at her throat flew away. Gagging sounded behind her. Jak’s gaze shifted to over her shoulder and puzzlement creased his brow. ‘What…?’ He jerked back a step, knocking Saeng backwards into the side of the dais. Another figure now blocked the entrance and Saeng thought dazedly, Of course – why not?

  It was the Thaumaturg, Pon-lor. He appeared even worse for wear than these ragged bandits. Saeng couldn’t even believe he was standing; dried caked blood covered his shoulder and side. The left side of his head was a crusted wound. One eye stared upwards but the other was fixed upon Jak. A smile that could only be described as ironic crooked one edge of the man’s mouth.

  ‘No…’ Jak breathed. ‘You are dead. You must be…’

  The horrific figure mouthed something. His words were distorted, but Saeng understood despite the sizzling and crackling punishing her ears: ‘Perhaps I am. No matter.’

  Something thumped to the ground and Saeng peered over to see Myint, her face contorted in terror and utterly bloodless, her own hands at her throat. Had he compelled that? Self-throttling? Or had she died fighting for breath?

  Thet-mun appeared from behind the dais to throw himself at Pon-lor’s feet. ‘I am yours again!’ he pleaded. He raised his hands as if in prayer. ‘Please! I will serve. Remember? Remember how I served you before? Yes?’

  Jak leaped to take Saeng’s arm. He pressed the knife to her neck once more. Yet she could hardly spare all this any attention, for the blood continued to flow from Hanu, and his chest rose with such effort, and so slowly.

  The Thaumaturg looked down – or rather one eye shifted to peer down. The other continued to look off in another direction. ‘Thet,’ he mumbled from the side of his mouth, ‘I told you. I warned you. Go home, I said.’

  Thet, his hands clasped together, nodded eagerly. ‘Yes! I will! I promise.’

  Pon-lor shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry … it is too late.’

  The lad looked confused. He lowered his hands. ‘What…?’

  Pon-lor gestured with one hand and Thet seemed to sag. He slumped to the ground and continued to spread out, running, flowing, until all that was left was wet gleaming bones and limp clothes amid a pool of fluids that disappeared into the cracks of the floor.

  The Thaumaturg’s single eye now rose to Jak, who flinched and pushed the blade even harder into Saeng’s neck. She felt warmth running down her shirt-front from the cut he made. ‘I’ll kill her!’ he yelled. ‘I swear!’

  Pon-lor just shook his head as if all this was so very tiring. ‘Jak … I’m sorry, but she could have destroyed you at any time of her choosing.’

  The blade withdrew a fraction. ‘What?’ he said, mystified.

  And Saeng knew it was the truth even as Pon-lor said it. Yes … I could have. I am standing next to a source of power unmatched in this age and all I have to do is reach out – yet they will know the instant I do.

  ‘But unlike you,’ the young Thaumaturg continued, ‘she is no murderer. You should thank her. I, however, do not share such high principles.’ He curled the fingers of his left hand – his right had so far hung limp at his side – and Jak was yanked from Saeng’s side as surely as if he’d been plucked from a cliff. The bandit leader fe
ll to his knees before Pon-lor.

  ‘Go ahead!’ the youth bellowed. ‘You rich bastards always win in the end, don’t you? Spoiled brat! It isn’t fair! You’ve had all the advantages all your life!’ The Bandit Lord was fighting tears and Saeng now saw how he was perhaps even younger than she, or the mage.

  Pon-lor continued to shake his head, as if saddened by this entire affair. ‘Jak … you have no idea. You grew up in a village, yes? In a family, with a father and a mother, a place to sleep, food on your table…’ He grimaced and his odd eye rolled aimlessly. ‘I cannot remember my childhood. There are images…’ he winced again, pained. ‘Jak … I was taken by the Thaumaturgs from the streets of Anditi Pura where I’d been abandoned to fend for myself. I never knew my mother or my father. I grew up sleeping in alleyways that were nothing more than open sewers. I fought packs of dogs for trash thrown into gutters. I throttled other children over rags and scraps of food you yourself would have turned away from in disgust. I…’ His voice caught and he blinked to master himself. Tears fell from both eyes. ‘And here you … Well, no matter. Your only defence is that you are utterly ignorant. Similarly, however, your crime is that you chose to remain ignorant. Therefore, I condemn you for wilful ignorance and blind self-centred self-pity.’

  Pon-lor clenched his one good hand and Jak gagged. He dropped his dagger. His hands flew to his neck as if he would prise unseen fetters from round his throat.

  ‘Choke on the truth you have rejected all your life, Kenjak Ashevajak – Bandit Lord.’

  Jak tottered, gagging yet, and fell. His breath, together with all the tension in his convulsing frame, sighed from him in one last long exhalation and he stilled.

  Saeng blinked. The spell that had held her fascinated faded away. She ran past Pon-lor to kneel at her brother’s side. ‘Hanu! Speak to me!’ she sent, pleading.

  No answer came, though his chest still rose and fell in light panted breaths.

  Pon-lor limped to her. He took hold of her arm to lift her to her feet. ‘I will do what I can to heal him. You must do what you have to.’

  She squeezed his shoulder, looked up to meet his good eye. ‘Yes! Thank you. And … I’m sorry … I was wrong.’