The Bonehunters

by Steven Erikson

  and so the ghosts did gather, summoned by

  one who would stand, mortal and feckless,

  in the terrible slayer's path, would stand,

  this precious fool, and gamble all in the clasping

  of hand, warm to cold, and be led to the place

  long vanished, and beasts long vanquished

  would at his word awaken once more.

  And who was there to warn him? Why, no-one,

  and what found its way free was no friend to

  the living. When you play horror against horror,

  dear listener, leave all hope behind—

  and ride a fast horse.

  Master Blind, Saedevar of the Widecut Jhag

  Chapter Seven

  Never bargain with a man who has nothing to lose.

  Sayings of the Fool, Thenys Bule

  Leoman of the Flails staggered from the inner sanctum, a sheen of sweat on his face. In a hoarse voice he asked, 'Is it night yet?'

  Corabb rose quickly, then sat back down on the bench as blackness threatened to engulf him — he had been sitting too long, watching Dunsparrow attempt to pace a trench in the stone floor. He opened his mouth to reply, but the Malazan woman spoke first.

  'No, Leoman, the sun rides the horizon.'

  'Movement yet from the Malazan camps?'

  'The last runner reported half a bell ago. Nothing at that time.'

  There was a strange, triumphant gleam in Leoman's eyes that troubled Corabb, but he had no time to ask as the great warrior strode past. 'We must hurry. Back to the palace – some final instructions.'

  The enemy was attacking this very night? How could Leoman be so certain? Corabb stood once again, more slowly this time. The High Priestess had forbidden witnesses to the ritual, and when the Queen of Dreams manifested, even the High Priestess and her acolytes had left the chamber with discomfited expressions, leaving Leoman alone with the goddess. Corabb fell in two steps behind his leader, prevented from drawing closer by that damned woman, Dunsparrow.

  'Their mages will make detection difficult,' the Third was saying as they headed out of the temple.

  'No matter,' Leoman snapped. 'It's not like we have any worthy of the name anyway. Even so, we need to make it look as if we're trying.'

  Corabb frowned. Trying? He did not understand any of this. 'We need soldiers on the walls!' he said. 'As many as can be mustered!'

  'We can't hold the walls,' Dunsparrow said over her shoulder. 'You must have realized that, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas.'

  'Then — then, why are we here?'

  The sky overhead was darkening, the bruise of dusk only moments away.

  Through empty streets, the three of them rushed along. Corabb's frown deepened. The Queen of Dreams. Goddess of divination and who knew what else. He despised all gods, except, of course, for Dryjhna the Apocalyptic. Meddlers, deceivers, murderers one and all. That Leoman would seek one out... this was troubling indeed.

  Dunsparrow's fault, he suspected. She was a woman. The Queen's priesthood was mostly women — at least, he thought it was — there'd been a High Priestess, after all, a blurry-eyed matron swimming in the fumes of durhang and likely countless other substances. Just to stand near her was to feel drunk. Too seductive by far. Nothing good was going to come of this, nothing at all.

  They approached the palace and, finally, some signs of activity. Warriors moving about, weapons clanking, shouts from the fortifications. So, the outer walls would be breached — no other reason for all this preparation. Leoman expected a second siege, here at the palace itself. And soon.

  'Warleader!' Corabb said, shouldering Dunsparrow aside. 'Give me command of the palace gates! We shall hold against the Malazan storm in the name of the Apocalypse!'

  Leoman glanced back at him, considering, then he shook his head. 'No, friend. I need you for a far more important task.'

  'What will that be, Great Warrior? I am equal to it.'

  'You'd better be,' Leoman said.

  Dunsparrow snorted.

  'Command me, Commander.'

  This time she laughed outright. Corabb scowled at her.

  Leoman replied, 'Your task this night is this, my friend. Guard my back.'

  'Ah, we shall be leading the fight, then, in the very frontmost ranks! Glorious, we shall deliver unto the Malazan dogs a judgement they shall never forget.'

  Leoman slapped him on the shoulder. 'Aye, Corabb,' he said. 'That we shall.'

  They continued on, into the palace.

  Dunsparrow was still laughing.

  Gods, how Corabb hated her.

  ****

  Lostara Yil swept back the tent-flap and marched inside. She found Pearl lounging on looted silk pillows, a hookah of wine-flavoured durhang settled like a bowl in his lap. Through the smoke haze, he met her fury with a lazy, fume-laden regard, which of course made her even angrier.

  'I see you've planned out the rest of this night, Pearl. Even as this damned army prepares to assault Y'Ghatan.'

  He shrugged. 'The Adjunct doesn't want my help. I could have snuck into the palace by now, you know — they have no mages to speak of. I could be at this very moment sliding a knife across Leoman's throat. But no, she won't have it. What am I to do?'

  'She doesn't trust you, Pearl, and to be honest, I'm not surprised.'

  His brows lifted. 'Darling, I am offended. You, more than anyone else, know the sacrifices I have made to protect the Adjunct's fragile psyche. Needless to say,' he added, pausing for a lungful of the cloying smoke, 'I have of late been tempted to shatter that psyche with the truth about her sister, just out of spite.'

  'Your restraint impresses me,' Lostara said. 'Of course, if you did something as cruel as that, I'd have to kill you.'

  'What a relief, knowing how you endeavour to protect the purity of my soul.'

  'Purity is not the issue,' she replied. 'Not yours, at least.'

  He smiled. 'I was attempting to cast myself in a more favourable light, my sweet.'

  'It is clear to me, Pearl, that you imagined our brief romance — if one could call it that — as indicative of genuine feelings. I find that rather pathetic. Tell me, do you plan on ever returning me to my company in the Red Blades?'

  'Not quite yet, I'm afraid.'

  'Has she given us another mission?'

  'The Adjunct? No, but as you may recall, what we did for Tavore was a favour. We work for the Empress.'

  'Fine. What does our Empress command?'

  His eyes were heavy-lidded as they studied her for a moment. 'Wait and see.'

  'She commands us to wait and see?'

  'All right, since you insist, you are temporarily detached from me, a notion that should give you untold satisfaction. Go join the marines, or the sappers, or whoever in Hood's name is attacking tonight. And if you get a limb lopped off don't come crawling back to me — gods, I can't believe I just said that. Of course you can come crawling back to me, just be sure to bring the limb along.'

  'You don't possess High Denul, Pearl, so what point in bringing back the limb?'

  'I'd just like to see it, that's all.'

  'If I do come crawling back, Pearl, it will be to stick a knife in your neck.'

  'With those cheery words you can go now, dear.' She wheeled and marched from the tent.

  ****

  Fist Keneb joined Tene Baralta in the mustering area just inside the north pickets. Moths and biting flies were swarming in the crepuscular air. Heaps of rocky earth rose like modest barrows where the soldiers had dug their trenches. As yet, few squads had assembled, so as not to reveal the army's intentions too early, although Keneb sus­pected that Leoman and his warriors already knew all that needed to be known. Even so, the Fist noted as he stared at the distant, uneven wall, topmost among the tiers of earth and rubble, there seemed to be no activity. Y'Ghatan was deathly quiet, virtually unlit as darkness spread its cloak.

  Tene Baralta was in full armour: scaled vest, chain skirt and camail, greaves and vambraces of beaten b
ronze rimmed with iron. He was adjusting the straps of his helm as Keneb came to his side.

  'Blistig is not happy,' Keneb said.

  Baralta's laugh was low. 'Tonight belongs to you and me, Keneb. He only moves in if we get in trouble. Temul was wondering... this plan, it matches his own. Did you advise the Adjunct?'

  'I did. Inform Temul that she was pleased that his strategy matched her own in this matter.'

  'Ah.'

  'Have your company's mages begun?' Keneb asked.

  A grunt, then, 'They say there's no-one there, no-one waiting to counter them. Nil and Nether have made the same discovery. Could Leoman have lost all his mages, do you think?'

  'I don't know. Seems unlikely.'

  'I trust you've heard the rumours, Keneb.'

  'About what?'

  'Plague. From the east. It has swept through Ehrlitan. If we fail tonight and find ourselves bogged down outside this city...'

  Keneb nodded. 'Then we must succeed, Tene Baralta.'

  A rider was galloping on the road behind and to their right, fast approaching. Both men turned as the pounding hoofs reverberated through the ground at their feet. 'An urgent message?' Keneb wondered, squinting to make out the grey-cloaked figure, face hidden by a hood. A longsword at his side, the scabbard banded in white enamel. 'I do not recog—'

  The rider rode straight for them. Bellowing in anger, Tene Baralta leapt to one side. Keneb followed, then spun as the rider flew past, his white horse reaching the trenches, and launching itself over. The picket guards shouted. A crossbow discharged, the quarrel striking the stranger on the back, then caroming off into the night. Still riding at full gallop, the figure now leaning forward over the horse's neck, they sailed over the narrow inside trench, then raced for the city.

  Where a gate cracked open, spilling muted lantern light.

  'Hood's breath!' Tene Beralta swore, regaining his feet. 'An enemy rides right through our entire army!'

  'We've no exclusive claim on bravery,' Keneb said. 'And I admit to a grudging admiration — I am glad to have witnessed it.'

  'A rider to bring word to Leoman—'

  'Nothing he doesn't already know, Tene Baralta. Consider this a lesson, a reminder—'

  'I need none, Keneb. Look at this, my helm's full of dirt. Light grey cloak, white horse and white-banded sword. A tall bastard. I will find him, I swear it, and he will pay for his temerity.'

  'We've enough concerns ahead of us this night,' Keneb said. 'If you go off hunting one man, Tene Baralta...'

  He emptied the dirt from the helm. 'I hear you. Pray to Treach, then, that the bastard crosses my path one more time this night.'

  Treach, is it? Fener... gone so quickly from men's minds. A message no god would dare to heed, I think.

  ****

  Lieutenant Pores stood with Captain Kindly and the Korelri Faradan Sort, within sight of their respective com­panies. Word of a spy in the army's midst, boldly riding into Y'Ghatan, had everyone more on edge than they already were, given that at any moment would come the order to move. Sappers in the lead, of course, disguised within gloomy magic.

  Magic. It's all gloomy. Worse than sappers, in fact. In combination, well, this night was headed straight into the Abyss, as far as Pores was concerned. He wondered where old Ebron was, and if he was participating in the rituals — he missed his old squad. Limp, Bell, and that new lass, Sinn — now there was a scary creature. Well, maybe he didn't miss them all that much. Dangerous, one and all, and mostly to each other.

  Captain Kindly had been trying to take the measure of the woman standing beside him — a choice of phrase that brought a small smile to the lieutenant's mouth. Take her measure. But ain't nobody's got that close, from what I hear. In any case, it was frustrating being unable to get a sense of a fellow officer. Cold iron, probably — you don't stand the Wall long enough to survive without something icy, brutal and calculated wrapped round the soul — but this one was cold in every other way besides. Rarest of all, a woman of few words. He smiled again.

  'Wipe that grin off your face, Lieutenant,' Kindly said, 'or I'll conclude you've lost your mind and promote you.'

  'Apologies, Captain, I promise I won't do it again. Please don't promote me.'

  'You two are idiots,' Faradan Sort said.

  Well, that's one way to halt a conversation.

  ****

  Sergeant Hellian looked on the wavering scene, comforted by an overwhelming sense of propriety, although the way everyone was swaying was making her nauseous. Corporal Urb separated himself from the squad and came up to her.

  'You ready for this, Sergeant?'

  'Ready for what?' she demanded. Then scowled, all sense of propriety vanishing. 'If that bastard hadn't disappeared the way he did, I wouldn't be trading my sword for a jug of that local rot, would I?' She reached down for the weapon, her hand groping as it found only air, then the empty scabbard. 'Why didn't you stop me, Urb? I mean, it was my sword, after all. What am I s'posed to use?'

  He shifted nervously, then leaned closer. 'Get a new one from the armoury, Sergeant.'

  'And that'll get back to the captain and we'll get shipped off somewhere even worse.'

  'Worse? Where is worse than this, Sergeant?'

  'Korel. Theftian Penins'la. Black Coral, under the empty eyes of the Tiste Andii. The Wreckers' Coast on North Assail—'

  'Ain't no Malazan forces there.'

  'No, but it's worse than this.'

  'One story from some addled sailor in Kartool and you're now convinced that Hood himself strides the shadows—'

  'He's stridin' our shallows — shadows, I mean.'

  'Listen, Sergeant, we're about to head into battle—'

  'Right, where's that jug?' She looked round, found it lying on its side near somebody's bedroll. 'Hey, who in my squad ain't packed up their kit?'

  'That's yours, Sergeant,' Urb said.

  'Oh.' Collecting the jug, she gave it a shake and was pleased at the sloshing sounds within. She glanced over to stare at her... squad. There were two soldiers. Two. Some squad. Captain had said something about a few newcomers on the way. 'Well, where are they?'

  'Who?' Urb asked. 'Your squad? They're right in front of you.'

  'Touchy and Brethless.'

  'That's right.'

  'Well, where are the rest? Didn't we have more?'

  'Had four marching with us the last day, but they were re­assigned.'

  'So my squad is a corporal and two soljers.'

  'Twins, Sergeant,' Touchy said. 'But I'm older, as I'm sure you can tell.'

  'And mentally underdeveloped, Sergeant,' Brethless said. 'Those last few minutes were obviously crucial, as I'm sure you can tell.'

  Hellian turned away. 'They look the same to me, Urb. All right, has the word come yet? We s'posed to be muster­ing somewhere right now?'

  'Sergeant, you might want to pass that jug around — we're about to get in a fight and I don't know about you and them two, but I joined the local city guard so's I wouldn't have to do any of this. I been to the latrines four times since supper and I'm still all squishy inside.'

  At Urb's suggestion Hellian clutched the jug tight to her chest. 'Getyerown.'

  'Sergeant.'

  'All right, a couple mouthfuls each, then I get the rest. I see anybody take more'n two swallows and I cut 'em down where they stand.'

  'With what?' Urb asked as he pulled the jug from her reluctant hands.

  Hellian frowned. With what? What was he talking about? Oh, right. She thought for a moment, then smiled. 'I'll borrow your sword, of course.' There, what a pleasing solution.

  ****

  Sergeant Balm squatted in the dirt, studying the array of pebbles, stone discs and clay buttons resting on the elongated Troughs board. He muttered under his breath, wondering if this was a dream, a nightmare and he was still asleep. He glanced across at Sergeant Moak, then looked back down at the game-board.

  Something was wrong. He could make no sense of the pieces. He'd forgot
ten how to play the game. Straws, discs,buttons, pebbles — what were they all about? What did they signify? Who was winning? 'Who's playing this damned game?' he demanded.

  'You and me, you Dal Honese weasel,' Moak said.

  'I think you're lying. I never seen this game before in my life.' He glared round at all the faces, the soldiers all look­ing down to watch, all looking at him now. Strange expressions — had he ever seen any of them before? He was a sergeant, wasn't he? 'Where's my damned squad? I'm supposed to be with my damned squad. Has the call come? What am I doing here?' He shot upright, making sure one foot toppled the game-board. Pieces flew, soldiers jumping back.

  'Bad omen!' one hissed, backing away.

  Growling, Moak rose, reaching for the knife at his belt. 'Swamp scum, you'll pay for that. I was winning—'

  'No you weren't! Those pieces were a mess! A jumble! They didn't make sense!' He reached up and scratched at his face. 'What — this is clay! My face is covered in clay! A death mask! Who did this to me?'

  A familiar but musty-smelling man stepped close to Balm. 'Sergeant, your squad's right here. I'm Deadsmell—'

  'I'll say.'

  'Corporal Deadsmell. And that's Throatslitter, and Widdershins, Gait and Lobe—'

  'All right, all right, be quiet, I ain't blind. When's the call coming? We should've heard something by now.'

  Moak closed in. 'I wasn't finished with you — that was a curse, what you did, Balm, on me and my squad — since I was winning the game. You cursed us, you damned warlock—'

  'I did not! It was an accident. Come on, Deadsmell, let's make our way to the pickets, I'm done waiting here.'

  'You're headed the wrong way, Sergeant!'

  'Lead on, then! Who designed this damned camp, any­way? None of it makes any sense!'

  Behind them, Sergeant Moak made to step after them, but his corporal, Stacker, pulled him back. 'It's all right, Sergeant. I heard about this from my da. It's the Confusion. Comes to some before a battle. They lose track — of every­thing. It should settle down once the fighting starts — but sometimes it don't, and if that's the case with Balm, then it's his squad that's doomed, not us.'

  'You sure about all that, Stacker?'

  'Yeah. Remember Fist Gamet? Listen. It's all right. We should check our weapons, one last time.'