‘Couldn’t take two damned girls?’ Lyan said.
‘I was on top of things.’
‘They were all over you.’
‘I didn’t want to kill them.’
‘Bullshit.’
A wet cough brought their attention to Neese. She’d turned her head to where the blade lay in the grasses. It glowed with a gold-tinged light, like coming dawn when the moon is still high. ‘We thought…’ she breathed, ‘just stories…’
Kyle limped to the blade, took it up. He raised his gaze to meet Lyan’s staring, wide eyes. Grimacing, he picked up the sheath and hid the blade within, holding it edge down. He wrapped it in a leather belt. ‘Can’t leave them here,’ he said.
‘There’s a pit over there.’
He nodded. ‘I will head east tomorrow.’
Lyan hesitated, cleaned her blade on Neese’s leathers, then bent her head in assent. ‘We will go east tomorrow.’
‘You’re better off—’
‘We’re better off together,’ she cut in, firm.
Kyle chose not to argue the point. There was no way he could stop them from following him if they would. And he was grateful, though twice as worried now. There was no way he would see them killed because of him. He studied the bodies. ‘We should take their gear.’
* * *
They journeyed east for three days without catching sight of another human being. On the third day Kyle found his attention wandering to his travelling companions. Dorrin kept up as they jogged through the days until losing their breath, walked for a time to recover, then set off once more. Kyle had shouldered the other pack and so the lad ran unencumbered. Kyle hoped this was the main reason Dorrin could keep up. Not that he was getting old.
The boy also did exactly as Lyan told him. All without complaint, or face-making, or rebellion, and this struck Kyle as unlike any brother–sister relationship he’d ever heard of. He wondered whether they were in fact mother and son. But nothing in their manner reflected that. He saw no gestures of affection from either, no hugs or touches. Their behaviour to one another was in fact very formal, almost businesslike.
This drove him to say to her, as they walked along, with Dorrin distant for the moment: ‘You are not brother and sister, are you?’
Lyan bristled at first, taking breath to mount a strong objection. But she seemed to reconsider and subsided, shaking her head. ‘No. We are not related.’
‘Yet you are more than just chance survivors. You have been together for some time.’
‘Yes.’
He simply waited, walking in silence until she sighed and waved as if capitulating. ‘I am his guard. The last of his bodyguard.’
Kyle peered over at the blond-haired lad where he walked, his shirt dark with sweat, swishing a stick through the tall grasses as he went. ‘He is of noble blood?’
‘Yes.’
‘From north Genabackis?’
Again the woman paused, reluctant to continue. Kyle just shrugged. ‘I am from the south of these lands. Bael, it is sometimes called. I haven’t even been to Genabackis.’
Lyan sighed again, accepting this. ‘Well – you have heard that the fighting in the north-east of the continent was far more savage than the west?’ Kyle nodded; he had heard. ‘There were … powers there,’ she continued, ‘that the Malazans only overcame with great difficulty.’
‘Caladan Brood commanded the Free City armies of the north.’
‘That was later,’ she said. ‘There was no alliance of “Free Cities” before the Malazans arrived. Only competing city-states and personalities. One of the most powerful cities was Anklos. Its ruling family – the Batarius family – was the one that originally hired Caladan. They were the ancestral rulers of Anklos until the Malazans forced them out and they fled into exile.’
Kyle felt his brows rising higher and higher. ‘Are you saying that Dorrin…’
Lyan jerked her head in assent. ‘With the death of his father he is now king in exile, rightful ruler of Anklos.’
‘Then … may I ask – why here? Why in the name of the Sky-King are you here?’
Lyan gave a long troubled breath. ‘I advised against it. But his father insisted. You see, word had come of gold in Assail. Rivers of gold.’ She eyed him sidelong. ‘Do you have any idea how much gold it takes to mount a rebellion? To build an army? A very great amount indeed.’
Now Kyle was even more troubled. He walked in silence for a time, frowning. ‘And why are you telling me all this?’
‘Because,’ and her gaze was constant upon him now, ‘I have also heard songs of the Malazan campaign in Fist. Of its leader, Greymane, Stonewielder … and of his companion, now known as Whiteblade. Who, I have also heard, abandoned the Malazans with the death of Greymane, his friend. Such a champion would have no use for the empire that used his friend so cruelly, I imagine.’
He lowered his gaze. ‘I walked away from all that. I have no intention of returning.’
‘You will do what you must. In the meantime one can at least keep watch while the other sleeps.’
He gave a stiff nod of acceptance. ‘At the very least.’
* * *
Towards the end of the afternoon, as the light darkened to a deep amber, he raised a hand in a halt. Lyan, who had been walking with Dorrin, jogged to him.
‘What is it?’
‘I smell smoke – and worse.’
Her gaze went to Dorrin, who crouched now in cover, as he’d been instructed. ‘I see.’
‘Should I scout ahead?’
She shook a negative. ‘Let us keep together.’
‘Very well.’
They advanced warily. Lyan hovered close to Dorrin, sword out. Kyle scanned the hillsides. In time, he spotted the source: a long patch of flattened and disturbed grass stretching between hills. They passed outliers of the attack – a burst wooden chest, spilled trampled clothes. A child’s rag doll. The smouldering remains of a two-wheeled ox cart. Staked out amid the wreckage lay bodies, and seeing this Lyan steered Dorrin aside. Kyle approached.
They had been left alive but had had their skin flayed from their bodies. Eyes gouged out, hands hacked off. Incredibly, two still breathed. Kyle crouched next to one, a thing that might have once been an old man. ‘Can you hear me, oldster?’
The head moved as if its owner were searching for the source of the voice. Kyle allowed a few drops of water to fall on to the man’s split and mangled lips. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Alana?’ the oldster whispered hoarsely. ‘Little Gerrol? Reena?’
Kyle had seen no remains of women or children. He did not wonder as to their fate. The clans here were similar enough to his own. Children adopted into the clan, and women of childbearing years taken to replenish their numbers.
‘Taken,’ he said.
The man’s head fell back. He moaned long and low – a sort of keening.
‘Old man…’ The fellow did not answer. He now seemed oblivious, lost in his pain. Kyle glanced to the surrounding hillsides. Had the clans left scouts? Had they eyes on the remains?
‘Old man!’ The head shifted once more, blindly searching. ‘Why are you here? Why are you trespassing?’
‘For the gold. We came north. Trains of travellers. Heading north … for the gold…’
Kyle straightened. The fools. As if the various clans of the Silent People would allow them to cross their lands. He jogged to where Lyan waited, her hands on Dorrin’s shoulders.
‘Trains of wagons travelling north,’ he explained. ‘It’s a rush to collect this gold of yours.’
She squinted to the south, appalled. ‘The clans are slaughtering them all.’
‘Yes.’ He examined Dorrin, who peered up at him, quite direct in his gaze. ‘You have a weapon?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know how to use it?’
‘The Shieldmaiden is training me.’
He raised his gaze. Well, it seemed he was not the only one with secrets. O
ne of the legendary Shieldmaidens of north Genabackis. Her lips remained tight and her eyes wary as her thick auburn hair blew about her. ‘Well, lad, here’s another one.’ He handed over one of his extra hatchets. To Lyan he said: ‘We’d best get going.’
She gave a curt nod of agreement.
* * *
Two days later the wind again brought hints of smoke. Lyan had the lad kneel in the grass and keep watch as she and Kyle advanced up a hillside. From this rise they could see another hilltop, this one fortified and occupied. Kyle counted more than thirty swords.
‘We should go round,’ he said.
‘Yes, we should. But … who are they?’
‘I should warn them.’
‘Warn them? Warn them about what?’
He handed her his weapons, water, and gear. ‘Take these. Hunker down. If I’m taken, just go on without me.’
Lyan stared, uncomprehending. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m going to talk to them.’ Hunched, he edged down the hillside.
‘Don’t be some kind of fool hero!’ she hissed after him.
This gave him pause. It reminded him of Ruthen’el’s words. But he wasn’t trying to be a hero; he was just trying to do these people a favour.
When he got close enough, he shouted, ‘You there! On the hilltop! Let me speak to your commander.’
The men and women guarding the perimeter of heaped wrecked carts and baggage all sprang to their feet. They scanned the hillsides, readied crossbows.
After a moment a gruff voice called out: ‘Yes? What is it? Show yourself.’
‘You can’t stay here,’ Kyle shouted. ‘You have to keep moving.’
‘Show yourself! Are you one of them?’
Damned fools. Couldn’t they tell he couldn’t possibly … oh, fine! He stood. The guards pointed. A man climbed the barricade. A fat fellow, in leather armour.
‘I see you there. So, a traveller like ourselves.’ He waved Kyle up. ‘Very well, come. Join us.’
‘No. You’re in a death trap. Your only hope is to keep moving.’
The commander appeared taken aback for an instant, then he gave a great belly laugh. ‘We’re holding them off!’ He glanced about to his people. ‘Isn’t that so?’
Kyle resisted raising his hand to press it to his forehead. Blind idiot. ‘Listen – they’re coming in twos and threes, yes?’
The man frowned, losing patience. ‘Yes? What of it?’
‘They’re just using you. They’re sending their least experienced warriors to blood them. You don’t understand. It’s like a game to them. They’ve got you right where they want you.’
The fellow was scowling now, rubbing his bearded jaw. ‘Wait a moment … it’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one they’re after. You caused all this!’
Kyle raised a hand for a pause. ‘Now wait! I didn’t cause any of this…’
‘Kill him!’ the commander ordered. ‘Fire!’
Bows and crossbows thrummed. Kyle dived for cover. Bolts and arrows hissed through the grasses about him. ‘Get out there,’ the fellow bellowed. ‘Get his sword! It’s worth a fortune!’
Kyle ran hunched almost double, straight south. Bolts and arrows continued to punish the grass about him, but luckily none struck. One did slash his arm. He ran on until he judged it long enough, then cut due east. He kept glancing back to look for any pursuit but saw none. It appeared these men and women were unwilling to travel too far from the security of their redoubt.
Their voluntary burial ground, as far as he was concerned.
He jogged east until twilight came. Only then did he start to worry; he hadn’t really organized a firm rendezvous with Lyan. What if he’d lost her too? He assumed she’d been watching. Wouldn’t she have started east, knowing that this was his chosen direction?
He walked now in the open, scanned the gently rolling steppe lands as he went. It was getting cold as night gathered. Then a light flashed on a distant hillside. He raised a hand to shield his vision. It came again from north of him, flashing and flickering on and off. A signal? He set out jogging in that direction.
He came to a long winding hillock, not too tall, but broad with steep sides. A figure rose from the deep shadows there and descended towards him. He went to meet it.
It was Lyan. She held out his weapons and gear. He took it all and re-girt himself. Dorrin rose from cover nearby and came dragging the two heavy packs.
‘So,’ Lyan said. ‘That went well.’
Kyle just made a face.
‘Your diplomacy skills at work again, I see.’
He merely gestured, inviting her eastwards.
‘Making friends all over the region.’
He let out a long breath. ‘Try to help someone and what do you get?’
‘No good deed goes unpunished.’
‘No indeed.’
‘Now what?’ she asked. ‘Just going to leave them to be ground down?’
‘They deserve it. I recognized them. Slavers out of the south. A city named Kurzan. I have a particular dislike of slavers.’
‘Slavers! In truth? Then they do deserve it.’
He took a pack from Dorrin. ‘Thanks, lad. You’re doing just fine, you know?’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Kyle laughed. ‘Sir? You don’t have to call me sir.’
‘Oh, but I should,’ the lad returned quite seriously. ‘All champions should be called sir. As a sign of respect.’
Kyle’s gaze snapped to Lyan, who looked away as if disinterested, but he thought her face a touch flushed.
‘Who says I am a champion?’ he said, still gazing over the lad to Lyan.
‘Oh, I’ve heard the stories too,’ Dorrin continued, unaware. ‘From my tutors. They said that Whiteblade cut through a ship’s chain as thick about as a man’s thigh.’
‘A wrist, perhaps,’ Kyle conceded.
‘That the sword Whiteblade cut a goddess that none other could touch.’
‘That is true.’
Lyan seemed to flinch at that, reddening even more.
‘They said Stonewielder broke the Shieldwall – though many in Fist claim it was just an earthquake.’
‘It was he,’ Kyle said, his voice hoarse and faint, and he looked away to scan the hillsides.
Lyan cleared her throat. ‘That’s enough, Dorrin.’ Then, to Kyle: ‘This sea to the east … it is the Sea of Gold, yes?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It is another. It has many names. My people called it the Sea of Terrors. Everyone knows it is cursed. We will not go near it.’
‘Then … what is our route?’
‘North, skirting its shore.’
‘Then … we remain within the Silent People’s territory?’
‘No. I understand their territory ends just to the north.’
‘And who is next? What murderous clans?’
Kyle did not answer immediately; he shaded his gaze to the west, squinted into the sunset, glanced away. ‘We’ll need to find a camp soon.’
‘What tribes?’ Lyan continued stubbornly.
His gaze lowered, he drew his hatchets, tested their edges with his thumbs, hooked them back into his belt. ‘There are stories,’ he began slowly. ‘Only stories. The further north we go the less I know of things.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘The Silent People’s territory ends north of here because they are afraid of those lands. As were my people.’
‘Who lives there?’
He cast her a quick bleak smile. ‘No one knows. We call it the Vanishing Lands. That is because those who venture there are never seen again. None have ever returned.’
Lyan halted. ‘And we are walking into it? You would … I would take Dorrin to such a terrible place? I would rather take my chances with this sea.’
Kyle halted as well. ‘Believe me, you would not. I know more of this sea than the north – that is why I would avoid it.’
‘There will be ships! Surely one will be headed south, away from these dreadful lands.’
‘There is only death on that sea. All agree it is cursed with madness.’
‘A few days on a ship will see us free of here!’
Kyle raised his eyes to the darkening cloudless dome of the sky. ‘There will be no ships coming south out of the Sea of Terrors.’
Lyan dropped her pack and waved a dismissal. ‘How do you know? Have you seen this? Countless ships are entering it now. Heading north even as we speak! Yes? Do you deny that?’
‘No, I do not deny that.’
‘Then why are you even arguing? They will come south again.’
Dorrin came and stood between them; he looked from Lyan to Kyle.
Kyle shook his head. ‘None of them will ever return.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, come now. Listen to yourself: “None will ever return.” Some will.’
He drew a sharp breath.
Dorrin announced loudly, ‘We need to camp. It’s late.’
Kyle clamped his jaws shut. Lyan glanced away. She clenched and unclenched her gauntleted hands.
Dorrin headed for the nearest hilltop. Kyle watched him go. After a time, he murmured ruefully, ‘Wise beyond his years.’
Lyan hitched up her pack and followed. ‘I’m glad one of us is.’
* * *
There was little talking the next morning. Kyle walked ahead and apart. He thought through yesterday’s conversation. How close could they get to the sea? And what of water? They were in desperate need. Yet the narrows could sometimes reverse their flow and seawater would wash into the basin. It was unhealthy to drink much of it, although some claimed it was the water itself – run-off from the great ice-fields and snows of the north – that carried the curse.
They passed the scene of an old attack. Grass grew through the spokes of burnt cartwheels. Tiny scavengers had gnawed the leather of scattered rusted equipment. A skull half bare of flesh grinned from the dusty dry earth. Its hair was long and black. Kyle scuffed dirt over it before Dorrin arrived.
Later, he and Lyan walked together. He cleared his throat. ‘We do need water…’ he began.
‘But as you say – if it is too dangerous…’ she answered. ‘And you should know. You’re the local. I should defer. I’m sorry … command is a hard habit to break.’
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 356