This left the rest of the opposing allies in utter and complete disarray. Even to Gregar’s inexperienced eye the immense gap it opened among the enemy forces was glaring. The largest remaining cohesive body of knights and nobles, the main Vorian contingent including King Gareth, now commanded the centre of the field. But instead of pressing the advantage and scattering the disordered Grisian allies once and for all, to Gregar’s complete disbelief horns sounded a recall and the entire mounted force curved round and charged in the opposite direction, abandoning the field.
He watched them go with his mouth hanging open, completely stunned.
Next to him, even Haraj grasped the significance of this betrayal. ‘We are so fucked,’ he announced.
‘We have to retreat,’ Gregar answered. Frantically peering round, he spotted a copse of woods to the south and pointed in that direction. ‘South!’ he half bellowed and half screamed. Urging, shouting, clapping shoulders, he managed to get the defensive circle of remaining Yellows lights lurching that way.
Their path took them over a trampled portion of their original position and here he had to step over the broken remains of Sergeant Leah, among so many others. He gently pressed closed her wide staring eyes, and crossed her hands over her bloodied breast. As to the fate of Master-sergeant Teigan and the rest of the far distant Yellows lines, he had no idea.
As they went they gathered up stragglers from other broken elements, a few unhorsed knights, stray skirmishers and such, and gradually, from these sources from distant disparate portions of the field, a picture slowly emerged of just what in Hood’s name had actually happened.
It seemed that out of nowhere Nita had suddenly turned on other Grisian allies positioned next to them, opening up a section of the lines that Bloor surged through. Yet it seemed that Gris was not entirely surprised, as they immediately abandoned that flank and surged round to take Bloorian allies on the opposing side. From then on it was complete and utter chaos.
Gris heavy cavalry sought out the Crimson Guard across the field, trampling every force in their way, friend or foe. Nita kept after the Duke of Athrans, pursuing his personal mounted troop entirely off the field, while for some inexplicable reason Rath elements lost all direction and order and became field ineffective.
And after all this, when Vor, as the last remaining even slightly cohesive force, was poised to win the day, at the decisive moment King Gareth sounded the recall and the Vorian cavalry and supporting infantry suddenly, and unaccountably, abandoned the field.
Crouched in the woods, Gregar, Haraj and a surviving Yellows sergeant watched the mopping up. Word came to them then, via survivors, explaining the inexplicable twists and turns of the engagement. It seemed that in the middle of the battle Baron Ranel of Nita had gone over to the Bloorian forces – and his price was Athrans, whom no one did anything to defend. On top of this, Styvell, the king of Rath, was very nearly mortally wounded by a crossbow bolt and everyone blamed Nita, which made no sense to Gregar but meant that that noble was now reviled by both sides of the dispute, and everyone wanted his head.
The worst news, however, came last, explaining the otherwise bizarre behaviour of King Gareth of Vor. Word had come at noon that very day that some damned pirate force out of Malaz had besieged and taken Vor itself by stealth two nights ago. Gareth, of course, immediately withdrew his forces to return with all haste.
‘I can’t fucking believe it,’ another Yellows sergeant kept repeating, over and over, where they crouched at the treeline. ‘We’ll have to surrender.’
‘Surrender?’ Gregar asked, astonished.
The man held out his hands in a shrug. ‘What choice do we have? Gris has the field. It’s five days’ march to Yellows. We’re outnumbered. No food. What are we going to do?’
Gregar motioned to the west. ‘Then get started, damn you.’
The sergeant looked Gregar up and down, sneering. ‘To Hood with you, fool. I’ll not end up with my head split open because of your pride.’
Gregar tossed him the spear with its colours. ‘Take this with you, then. It suits you.’
The man raised his fingers in an insulting gesture and waved the troops to him, withdrawing west. Gregar and Haraj watched them go.
The pale mage rubbed his hands up and down his stick-thin arms, shivering. ‘What’re we gonna do? There’s nowhere to go. I don’t want to be captured’n’sent to the tin mines, or the galleys.’
Gregar peered to the north, the last direction in which he’d seen the Crimson Guard withdrawing, and drew a heavy breath. ‘There’s one place we can try.’ He waved Haraj down. ‘We’ll wait till dark.’
Chapter 19
The next night Kellanved and Dancer walked the main marshalling grounds of the Napan palace cum garrison in Dariyal. Kellanved made a vague waving motion with his hands. ‘Where are all the troops?’
‘I understand all the recruits have been sent to Malaz for training under Dassem,’ Dancer replied.
‘Ah. Of course. Well – have ships sent to take them to Cawn with us. Now, this very night.’
Dancer frowned. ‘Raw recruits? Is that wise?’
The mage waved again, dismissively. ‘The Cawn merchants will have no fight left in them, I assure you.’
Dancer had to admit that after a visitation from the Hounds, this would probably be quite true. ‘Very well.’ He raised a hand to beckon a courier to him. It occurred to him that half these messengers attending Kellanved were probably Surly’s Claws in disguise, but this did not worry him overmuch as he knew he had Talons working among her own that even she knew nothing of.
‘How many?’ he asked.
‘All,’ Kellanved answered. ‘Every single soldier available.’
Dancer paused. ‘Really? I’m sure that would be thousands.’ The mage nodded, apparently unconcerned. Troubled, Dancer pressed the issue. ‘Why so many? As you say, Cawn should be prostrate. A garrison shouldn’t even be necessary.’ He knew his friend well, and the furtive look the falsely aged fellow got in his eyes made him suspicious. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded.
Kellanved twisted his fingers together and hummed and hawed, until finally admitting, after a deep breath, ‘I want Cawn cowed because I want the Idryn open.’
‘The Idryn? Why would you … oh, no …’
‘It’s time,’ the mage asserted, nodding.
They had been pacing, but now Dancer stepped before him to face him directly. ‘You don’t mean to head back there, do you?’
Kellanved raised his chin, defiant. ‘It’s time. They have it coming.’
A courier arrived and Dancer bit his lip against speaking in front of the woman. Kellanved gestured her close. ‘Order all available vessels to Malaz to pick up all troops in training there for transport to Cawn. Dancer and I shall accompany them. We leave at dawn.’
The woman bowed and raced off.
Dancer waited until they were alone once more. ‘They do not have anything coming – especially from us. They broke the back of the strongest army on the continent. This is foolish, Kellanved. Truly foolish.’
The mage raised his hands, his walking stick in one. ‘Do not worry, my friend. All is in hand. We have an answer for the Five now. Myself, Tayschrenn, Nightchill, and the rest. We are a match for them. All that remains are the walls. It’s the walls that defeat their enemies, not their wretched troops. The walls. And I have an answer for that now as well …’
Dancer looked to the night sky. ‘Oh, so you have some army that can ignore the strongest walls in Quon Tali? What? You think they’re just going to—’
He froze in mid-step and faced Kellanved, who waggled his greying bushy brows. ‘Oh no …’
Kellanved raised his walking stick in emphasis. ‘Oh yes, my friend.’
Dancer shook his head. ‘No. Don’t do this. I mean it. Don’t.’ Peering right and left to make certain they were alone, he leaned close to hiss through clenched teeth, ‘Remember Jadeen!’
Kellanved disparaged that with a wave
. ‘As I said – do not worry yourself, my friend. All is in hand. I have a plan!’
Dancer wanted to groan, but the little mage ambled off, humming to himself and tapping his walking stick. Why was it that every time the fellow said that he was less and less reassured?
*
In the midst of the preparations for departure Urko came stomping off the gangway of the Sapphire to face Kellanved. ‘What’s this about a raid?’ the huge fellow demanded.
The mage nodded to him. ‘Indeed. Cawn. But first we leave with the morning tide for Malaz to pick up troops.’
Urko snapped his fingers. ‘Right! Surly wouldn’t let me go to Vor, but we’re all refitted now. I can meet you at the Bay of Cawn.’
Kellanved nodded indulgently. ‘Very well. Two days hence. The Bay of Cawn.’
‘I’m short of captains I can trust – can I dragoon my brother?’
Kellanved waved him off. ‘Yes, yes. Whatever you think appropriate.’
The huge fellow tramped down the gangplank, chortling to himself.
Dancer watched him go, then turned to Kellanved. ‘We’re leaving Surly shorthanded.’
‘No we’re not,’ the mage answered, and he pointed his walking stick up to the shrouds. Dancer looked up to see a female sailor come descending the ratlines, handhold over handhold, to thump down barefoot to the deck to face them, hands clasped at her back.
Surly. She eyed them the way Dancer’s old teacher used to eye him when he’d been careless. ‘You’re up to something,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Kellanved laughed, a touch nervously. ‘Why, we’re taking possession of Cawn, of course!’
She shook her head. ‘Cawn’s a smokescreen. What are you really after?’
The mage pressed his steepled hands to his lips and nodded. ‘Very well. Divide and conquer, Surly. I intend to take control of the centre of the continent. I will isolate east from west. They will be divided, unable to coordinate against us. Divide and conquer.’
The woman let out a long taut breath – clearly she’d been dreading, or anticipating, this moment for some time. She nodded to herself. ‘I see … and if you fail I will still hold Nap. Yes?’
Kellanved waved his accord. ‘Oh, of course! Nap shall always be yours. Just as Malaz shall be mine.’
Surly snorted to show what she thought of Malaz, but nodded her agreement. ‘Very well.’
Dancer eased out his own breath and loosened his shoulders. That was the hard part. Now, we shall see. This is it. The throw for the mainland. At least it wouldn’t be him summoning their eldritch friends.
*
The task force sailed for Malaz. There they picked up all the recruits and trainee marines, together with further Malazan vessels, and sailed immediately for the Bay of Cawn. On board the Sapphire, Dancer was surprised to find that damned stuffed-shirt cultist Dassem Ultor himself present.
He looked the young man up and down, resenting, only slightly, those wind-blown curly black locks. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘You’ve come for my soldiers,’ the fellow asserted. ‘You’ll not have them without me.’
Dancer looked him up and down again, than glanced to the surrounding lads and lasses crowding the deck, all of whom had eyes only for Dassem, as if hanging on his every whim, and he had to shrug his shoulders. ‘Fine. It doesn’t matter. We doubt there’ll be any resistance.’
‘None the less, I’ll not have the life of one man or woman in my care thrown away on some wild scheme of your partner.’
Dancer fought the urge to slap the fellow down. ‘As I said … we don’t anticipate any major resistance.’
‘Let us hope so,’ the swordsman answered, his hand going to the grip of his weapon.
Dancer almost – but not quite – rolled his eyes to the sky.
In the Bay of Cawn they rendezvoused with further vessels from Nap, including those under the command of the brothers Urko and Cartheron Crust. Then they swung inland for the harbour of Cawn itself. It was night when they arrived – they were twelve hours late out of Malaz – and Dancer knocked on the main cabin door of the Sapphire and let himself in. He found Kellanved behind a desk, feet up, snoring.
He resisted smacking the fellow, settling instead for noisily slamming down a chair and sitting. The mage gasped, his feet falling, and he blinked about. ‘Yes? What?’
‘Is it done?’ Dancer asked.
‘Is what done?’
‘The Hounds! Did you loose them?’
The mage nodded his greying wizened head. ‘Oh yes, last night.’
Dancer rubbed his neck, almost wincing. Gods. Just like that. He shook his head. ‘So. They should be pretty damned cooperative.’
‘I should think so.’
Dancer shifted uncomfortably in the chair. ‘I have to say, I don’t understand. Why Cawn? Why now? The Hounds are a devastating weapon …’
The mage nodded, sat back and steepled his fingers before his chin – a gesture Dancer loathed as too self-aware and affected. ‘I see. But tell me, what use a weapon none know? This way stories of the harrowing of Cawn will spread to serve as a warning to all. Also,’ and here the mock-elderly mage gave a wink, ‘you did tell me to throw them a bone …’
Dancer felt his shoulders slump in surrender. Yes. He did say that. ‘Still, Cawn?’
‘One could say the same of anywhere, my friend. It had to be. Better here than elsewhere.’
Dancer cocked a brow. Well, maybe that was true. After all, no one gave a tinker’s damn about Cawn.
At dawn they drew up to the broad wharf of Cawn’s harbour. Lines were thrown and the gangway was wrestled into place. A troop of soldiers debarked first, then Kellanved and Dancer came down. A contingent from the city awaited them. Peering up past them, Dancer noted smoke rising here and there across the city, as from disparate fires. Trash and broken carts and barrels littered the broad cobbled way as if some sort of demolition had been taking place.
The Cawn representatives themselves bore witness to the night’s terrifying ordeal; dishevelled, their eyes dark and sunken, hair a-tangle, they all kept bowing to Kellanved, hands clasped, eyes downcast.
Kellanved raised his hands in benediction. ‘You have had a taste of my ire, citizens. It would not be well to try me once more.’
The merchants threw themselves down to their knees, hands raised. ‘Never, lord. We are yours. How may we serve?’
Kellanved gave a deprecating wave. ‘Just one small thing only. Your boats. All your trading river craft. I have need of them.’
The merchants glanced amongst themselves, mystified. ‘River boats, my lord? Truly?’
Kellanved rapped his walking stick to the cobbles. ‘Indeed. Now. Immediately.’
The representatives of the merchant houses scrambled to their feet. ‘At once, m’lord!’ They backed away, bowing over and over. Dancer watched them go, half shaking his head. Doing so, he saw among the gathered Malazan and Napan troops the scowling figure of Surly, arms crossed, lips compressed, a frown between her eyes. He crossed to her.
‘River boats?’ she asked quizzically.
‘Transport.’
‘So we are headed upriver.’
‘Indeed.’
She snorted. ‘I’d half doubted it. What about the Five?’
‘We have Tayschrenn, Nightchill, and the rest. We can match them.’
Now she appeared more worried than vexed. ‘It’s been hundreds of years since a confrontation on a scale like this. Who knows what might happen?’
‘Don’t worry. It may not come to that.’
Now she appeared truly puzzled, and she opened her mouth to ask, but Dancer pulled away, motioning after Kellanved. ‘Have to go. Don’t worry. You’ll see.’
Over the course of the morning every Napan and Malazan trooper was transferred to a river craft of lesser draught. Joining Dancer and Kellanved on board the first vessel were Surly, Tayschrenn, Nightchill, Hairlock, Calot and Dassem. Thankfully, the Idryn was a shallow and wide river of
sluggish current and so sails served to take them on the first leg of the journey.
Dancer sat back against the low railing while the vessel tacked its way north. Tayschrenn, who had been on board another ship out of Malaz, came to stand next to him. The lean mage drew a hand down a patchy beard he was growing, eyeing him on and off. Finally, Dancer sighed and motioned to him. ‘What?’
The High Mage nodded and cleared his throat. ‘So, you succeeded?’
Dancer didn’t have to ask what he meant. Peering at the passing low farmlands, he nodded. ‘Yes. After a fashion.’
‘And Jadeen?’
‘She … failed.’
The High Mage nodded again; clarification was unnecessary. Both understood what failure meant at these stakes. ‘And?’
‘And … what?’
The High Mage smoothed his thin beard. ‘Will we … see?’
Dancer drew his hands down his thighs, let out a long breath. ‘Let’s hope not.’
The mage’s brows rose in understanding. ‘Ah. I … see. Indeed. Let us hope not.’ And bowing, he took his leave.
Dancer returned to watching the flat farmland pass. So, Li Heng. The one city he wished never to see again. Still … once all this was over, perhaps he should go by to see how she was … But no. Better not to draw any more attention to her – he’d brought enough misery into her life as it was. In three days and nights – if the winds were with them – they should make Heng. As far as he was concerned this was it. Taking a no account pirate haven named Malaz was one thing. Overcoming an entrenched cabal on the mainland was another entirely. There would be no going back after this. Every hand would be raised against them. Quon and Tali would march. Perhaps even Unta, noble haughty Unta, would be forced to wade in.
It would all be different from this point onward – should they succeed.
And if they failed … well, both he and Tayschrenn understood what failure meant at this point. It was what they had put down as a stake – and this was the toss of the bones.
* * *
Kellanved's Reach (Path to Ascendancy) Page 32