They tussled until strong arms – Urko’s – pulled Dancer away, and he found himself staring at a very worried-looking Cartheron. ‘Prisoners will remain quiet,’ the Napan hissed.
Dancer nodded his cooperation and Cartheron appeared relieved. Urko released Dancer’s arms and he returned to being marched along. All the while he glared at his partner, who was whistling soundlessly, seemingly engrossed in the shop-fronts.
After crossing a section of the city waterfront they passed through guard checkpoints at tunnels through doubled, many-feet-thick walls, and entered the grounds of the palace proper. Palace, however, was something of a misnomer, as the immense stone fortress served first as harbour stronghold, garrison and arsenal, and only last as residence for the Napan rulers.
Dancer didn’t like this marching into the lion’s den, but Surly appeared to have sympathizers all over the city. She and Amaron seemed to have planned this quite carefully.
Once admitted to what Dancer presumed was the main keep, Amaron’s people quickly subdued the guards. Amaron turned to Surly. ‘We’ll hold the doors. The rest is up to you.’ Surly gave a cool nod in answer. Everyone’s weapons were returned. Dassem had Kellanved and Tayschrenn in the middle of his picked Malazans while he led the way with the Napans. Dancer drifted to the rear with Dujek and Jack.
They started through the immense hulking building. Everyone they came across either ran or had to be subdued – few had been killed so far, only knocked unconscious or tied and left aside. They were, after all, soon to be Surly’s people.
To Dancer’s experienced eye everything was going too smoothly. Still, it just might be a testament to this Amaron fellow, and the degree of Surly’s secret support among the Napans. Yet, glancing back to empty halls, he could not shake the feeling that there was more to this play than had been revealed so far. At one point he caught Tayschrenn’s eye and sent a silent query. The mage shook his head in a negative – he’d detected nothing strange so far.
Now that they had reached the higher floors of the rambling fortress, the dull roar of the battle beyond reached them. The assault on the harbour continued, at least for now.
At the fore, Urko and Cartheron eventually reached tall double doors, plated in gold, and bearing scenes of past naval glories of the island. These they pushed open to reveal a long reception hall, apparently empty. Dancer looked to the arched ceiling – also gilt – and shook his head. A godsdamned set-up, for certain. He set Dujek, Jack, and four other Malazans at the doors while everyone else advanced.
Doors opening ahead confirmed Dancer’s suspicions. Palace guards filed in, followed by a slight younger fellow, richly dressed in velvet trousers, silk shirt, and brocaded jacket. His Napan bluish hue was flushed very dark with emotion.
Dassem ordered his troop to surround Surly. Footsteps from the rear brought Dancer’s attention there and he glimpsed more soldiers approaching up the hall. Dujek sent him a questioning look. ‘Bar the doors,’ Dancer ordered, then slipped forward up to Kellanved’s side.
‘We don’t have to do this,’ Surly was saying to the young fellow.
‘You know we do,’ he answered. ‘And you are losing.’ He laughed then, rather nervously. ‘You think I don’t have my allies? Well, I do. And they warned me. Your wretched little handful of ships is being overrun as we speak – what a waste!’
‘I did not come alone.’
The fellow, King Tarel, Dancer assumed, daubed a cloth to his sweaty face. ‘Oh, yes.’ He laughed again, a touch strained. ‘The fearsome dark mage, ruler of Malaz – him, I assume?’
Kellanved stepped forward, shaking his head as if disappointed. ‘This confrontation is very ill-advised. You really should capitulate.’
‘First things first. There is someone here who would very much like to meet you.’
Kellanved made a show of peering round, ‘Oh?’
But the near-glee in Tarel’s voice put Dancer’s nerves on alert and he clenched his weapons at his back. Black opaque tendrils gathered at one edge of the room, and coalesced to a pool out of which stepped a woman in black, her hair a long, full mane of iron grey that fell all down her back. Tayschrenn, at Dancer’s side, hissed a breath of recognition.
‘Who is it?’ Dancer whispered.
‘I know her by reputation. The Witch Jadeen. A near Ascendant, some say.’
Dancer mouthed a curse: this Tarel had prepared well.
The witch pointed to Kellanved and crooked the black-nailed finger in a ‘come-hither’ motion. ‘You have poked your nose up too high, little one. Time for a true match of powers.’ Tayschrenn stepped up to Kellanved’s side, and the woman sneered. ‘What is this? Hiding behind lackeys?’
Kellanved urged Tayschrenn back, but his other hand, Dancer noted, was in his pocket, worrying that ridiculous stone. ‘This is my responsibility,’ he told Tayschrenn. The Kartoolian mage adjusted the clip of his long black hair, musing aloud, ‘Jadeen, they say you have walked the lands of Quon Tali for centuries. Plumbed many mysteries of the Warrens …’
The witch showed her teeth. ‘I will whisper all that into your ears … after I have removed them from your head.’ And she threw down a hand and both she and Kellanved disappeared in bursts of darkness and a rush of dry air.
Dancer clenched Tayschrenn’s arm in a fierce grip. ‘Follow them!’
‘I – I will try,’ he stammered, and, inclining his head to Surly as if in apology, he gestured and the chamber disappeared round Dancer.
*
Nedurian had long ago exhausted himself using his Warren to protect the Insufferable and the men and women of her crew. Now he merely fought with sword and shield, defending the deck against a constant rush of boarders as vessel after Napan vessel stormed alongside.
It was clear that they were losing by attrition and that there was nothing to be done about it. He stepped back, untangling himself from the melee, and went to find Choss.
The Napan admiral had seen fighting himself, his shirt hacked and bloodied. He was busy directing communication between the Malazan ships – those not yet taken, nor withdrawn from the harbour. ‘We must go!’ Nedurian shouted to him.
In answer, Choss gestured to the harbour mouth. ‘They got past us!’
Nedurian peered into the gathering dark of the evening. It looked as though a few vessels, Napans, had sneaked past to choke the narrow harbour mouth, and were probably lashing themselves together there. He mouthed a curse to Mael. Now what was to be done? Ram them? There was not enough wind here.
A release of enormous power rocked him then. Of the Rashan Warren, his own, and from the direction of the palace. He stood blinking, staring in wonderment. Familiar too. The witch he had duelled with so long ago, who had defeated every mage in Quon Tali who dared face her. Himself included.
He nodded. Only one thing would bring her here. A challenger. She’d come for Kellanved, gods help him.
Nedurian pulled a hand down his face again, thinking, Well, nothing to be done. They had their own problems here. And even as he returned his attention to the vessels surrounding the Insufferable and the many lines and grapnels clutching at her, a dense salvo of coordinated bowfire flew up skyward from all around to arc directly for the Malazan flagship.
He watched all this in a heartbeat and cursed that there was nothing he could do about it.
A wind suddenly buffeted him, nearly knocking him to the deck. The rigging snapped and lashed, the spars creaked and groaned overhead, and the countless arrows curved, gyring all together as in a funnel-cloud to hammer down on to the nearest Napan ship holding them back.
All eyes on board the Insufferable turned to a pale, red-headed girl at mid-deck, arms raised, her clothes whipping in an unseen wind. She lowered her arms, glaring all about. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘What are you all staring at? Let’s get out of here!’
‘Full canvas!’ Choss bellowed from the stern deck.
Sailors scrambled into the rigging and fierce winds bellied the sails as they fell. The In
sufferable lurched round in a tight arc, dragging the smaller Napan vessels with her. The marines hacked at the grapnels and hooked lines until they all flew free.
‘Strike between vessels,’ Choss ordered his steersman as they rounded towards the harbour mouth. The few remaining uncaptured Malazan ships did their best to angle in behind the Insufferable as she stormed past.
Hy had her arms raised once more, hands twisting as she sculpted the winds, and the deck actually tilted towards the bows as the Insufferable rocked anew. Nedurian smiled to see Hy’s squad covering her back now with raised shields as she worked.
‘Ramming speed,’ Nedurian mouthed to himself, and he hooked an arm round a stanchion, bracing himself for impact.
The gigantic flagship struck the roped barrier like a mountain of timber. The stout hemp lines stretched, creaking, straining, and finally snapped, first singly, then in multiple numbers, until the Insufferable lurched through and free.
The crew sent up a great cheer, but Choss was not smiling; he was peering back at their wake and Nedurian was straining to see as well. Slowly, in stops and starts, the Malazan fleet emerged and Nedurian let go a long-held breath. The Insufferable had done enough to break the blockade and it appeared that the Napans were letting them flee – tails between their legs, presumably.
Inevitably, however, there had been losses, despite Kellanved’s and Surly’s intent of a mere diversion. The question was, would they prove too heavy? And if so, it occurred to Nedurian that it might not be healthy for Choss, as a Napan and one of Surly’s crew, to return to Malaz. Return to what? Censure? Arrest?
It all depended, he supposed, on what was happening in that great bulk of stone that was Dariyal’s harbour keep.
*
When the Witch Jadeen plucked Kellanved from their midst, and Dancer followed shortly thereafter with the mage Tayschrenn – presumably in pursuit – Cartheron almost let his arms fall. Typical! Bloody typical! They hit a tight spot and the mad mage disappeared once more.
Surly, as usual, collected herself more quickly than anyone. ‘What now?’ she demanded of her brother, as if nothing had happened.
Tarel just laughed. ‘Now? What happens now? You die!’ He waved the palace guards forward. ‘Kill them all!’
Surly threw up her arms, calling out loudly: ‘No need! No need for Napan to kill Napan. Or for any more to die. That is exactly what I had wished to avoid. I will surrender – but with one condition.’
Tarel’s face wrinkled in sour disbelief. ‘Condition? You are in no position to make demands. I have beaten you. And now you die.’
A commanding officer with Tarel leaned in and whispered something to him. Cartheron thought the officer was looking towards the Malazans – to Dassem in particular – and it occurred to him that the Dal Hon swordsman might very well be able to fight his way out of this singlehanded, and that a lot of Napan soldiery would die in the process. The king rolled his eyes to the ceiling and huffed.
‘Oh, very well,’ he allowed. ‘What is it?’
‘Grant safe passage to the Malazans,’ Surly said. ‘They aren’t really involved in this. This is a Napan affair.’
Tarel waved a hand. ‘Very well. Escort these Malazans to a captured vessel and send them off. They’ll no doubt be killed by the mob when they return, anyway.’
Surly turned to Dassem. ‘Keep order. Handle a transition of leadership if necessary.’
The swordsman bowed. ‘I will help keep order, for a time. Until we see what we shall see.’
Surly nodded her understanding.
Yes, Cartheron thought, until we see if Kellanved will ever return. He caught Dujek’s eye and saluted him.
The burly fighter shoved his sword home. ‘We’ll stay, dammit!’ he growled.
Surly shook her head and motioned for him to remove his sword-belt. He eyed the surrounding guards for a time, then gave a reluctant nod and complied. All the other Malazans followed suit, even Dassem.
Palace guards escorted the Malazan contingent out. Tarel eyed the four remaining Napans. ‘Drop your weapons as well,’ he commanded.
Cartheron, Urko and Tocaras did so – Surly was unarmed.
Tarel motioned to his guards, ‘Throw them into separate cells to await their execution.’ He took one step nearer to Surly, and it seemed to Cartheron that this was as close as the man dared get to his sister. ‘And you,’ he said, pointing to her, ‘I know your tricks. You will be under constant observation, and if you escape your followers here will all be killed immediately. Is that clear?’
She crossed her arms, almost sighing. ‘Yes, Tarel.’
*
Dancer found himself on damp ground in the middle of thick jungle at night. Tayschrenn was with him and he released the mage’s arm. ‘Where are we?’ he whispered.
The mage peered round. ‘South Itko Kan, I presume. Jadeen’s territory.’
‘Are they near?’
Tayschrenn motioned to one side. Dancer edged forward, pushing through wet fronds to a clearing where, beneath hanging rain-clouds, Jadeen stood over a prostrate Kellanved. Dancer decided that he probably had no chance of actually stealing up on the woman, and so he chose to walk up openly. He glanced behind to see Tayschrenn following, hands clasped at his back.
As they closed, the witch shot them a glance, then urged them forward with one lazy beckoning gesture of a black-nailed hand.
Kellanved, Dancer saw, lay enmeshed in ropes of writhing night.
‘You followed,’ she observed, and she peered past Dancer to Tayschrenn. ‘You have some skill – and power. Do you too challenge?’
Dancer eyed the Kartoolian sidelong. Tayschrenn remained impassive, droplets of rain now darkening his long straight black hair, which was pulled back and tied by a silver clip. He lifted and dropped his thin shoulders, seemingly indifferent. ‘If he falls I shall be paramount.’
The witch bared her teeth again, in evident approval, and regarded the prostrate Kellanved. ‘There. You hear that? The law of might. Those who are weak fall. So should it be. So it has always been.’ She crooked a finger at him. ‘Should’ve kept your head down for a hundred years or so, little man. Perhaps then you would’ve been a challenge to me. But you chose to reach too high too soon.’
‘A trade then,’ Kellanved gasped, struggling.
The witch snorted her scorn. ‘So now you beg. This has been no fun at all. Trade? What could you possibly trade?’
‘Incomparable power.’
Jadeen peered round and opened her hands as if in wonder. ‘Power? You possess none.’
Kellanved glanced down his side. ‘In my pocket. A key to the greatest power on all the earth.’
Fat rain droplets struck Dancer’s shoulders as he eased his hands behind his back and took hold of the grips of his slimmest throwing daggers. He wasn’t going to just stand by—
Slightly behind, Tayschrenn reached out and gently set a hand on his elbow; he glanced back and the mage edged his head in the faintest of negatives. Dancer clenched his teeth, but relaxed his grip. Very well – for the moment.
Jadeen had been eyeing Kellanved in disgust. ‘Please. No pathetic tricks.’
‘No trick. Here. In my pocket.’
‘Very well.’ She gestured to Tayschrenn. ‘You, mage. Remove the thing and toss it this way.’
Tayschrenn bowed, and approached. The twisting night-black ropes of Rashan parted to allow him access to the pocket. He withdrew what looked like a stone tool of some sort, which he gently tossed to Jadeen’s feet. She urged the mage back again with a wave.
The witch peered down for a time, studying it, then threw her head back, her hair tossing, and barked a harsh scornful laugh. Her reaction reminded Dancer uncomfortably of the Seti shaman’s when he saw the spear-point as well.
‘So,’ she said, ‘you too have found a stone compass to the fields of flint. This is your power, is it?’ She shook her head, amused. ‘An ancient puzzle, yes. But false. No power lies at what so many wrongly call the Graveyar
d of the Army of Bone.’
Dancer heard Tayschrenn’s breath leaving him in a long hissed exhalation and he glanced to the man to see open amazement upon his features.
‘But it points …’ Kellanved began.
She smirked, smiling still, but it was not a pleasant expression. ‘Yes, it points. Come then. Let me show you what your life is worth. Nothing.’
The witch gestured again and the two disappeared in smears of thickening darkness.
Dancer snatched the mage’s arm again. ‘Follow them!’
Tayschrenn was shaking his head. ‘The Army of Bone. Dancer … is that where you’ve …’ He actually tried to pull away. ‘No one should meddle there. An Elder horror. To disturb them … you do not know the legends …’
Dancer squeezed the arm. ‘There’s nothing there. I’ve seen it. Now go!’
The Kartoolian mage had visibly paled. He swallowed. ‘Well … for now. But you have no idea …’
‘Go!’
Tayschrenn threw a hand down and their surroundings shifted once again.
It was night still, but the sky was clear, the air much colder. Dancer and Tayschrenn stood upon a familiar hillside, a valley before them. Dancer motioned ahead. ‘This way.’
It did not take long to find the witch. She was pacing about, picking up objects and letting them fall, brushing her hands together, speaking to someone as yet unseen. Closer, Dancer spotted Kellanved on the ground, still wrapped in tendrils of Rashan.
The witch nodded to Dancer as he approached. ‘You are persistent.’ She tilted her head, examining him. ‘You possess no talent, yet you have strong instincts. Are you the one who slew Chulalorn?’
Dancer saw no reason to dissemble, and he nodded.
The witch snorted again, and turned to Kellanved. ‘I warned him! He, too, over-reached. And look how he ended up.’ She opened her arms to encompass their surroundings. ‘Behold the Graveyard of Bone – so called. I, too, pursued this mystery for a while.’ She peered round, as if in remembrance. ‘But that was a long time ago. This puzzle has consumed entire lifetimes of study. Driven mages insane.’
She prodded Kellanved with a toe. ‘Like your Meanas. A cute trick, mastering it. But not enough.’
Kellanved's Reach (Path to Ascendancy) Page 18