Her lungs ached, as if they too were losing their ability to function. Before long, she believed, she herself would begin to dissolve, this young body defeated in a way that was opposite to what she had feared for so long. She would not be torn to pieces by wolves. The wolves were gone. No, she knew now that nothing had been as it had seemed—it had all been something different, something secret, a riddle she'd yet to work out. And now it was too late. Oblivion had come for her.
The Abyss she had seen in her nightmares of so long ago had been a place of chaos, of frenzied feeding on souls, of miasmic memories detached and flung on storm winds. Perhaps those visions had been the products of her own mind, after all. The true Abyss was what she was now seeing, on all sides, in every direction—
Something broke the horizon's flat line, something monstrous and crouched, bestial, off to her right. It had not been there a moment ago.
Or perhaps it had. Perhaps this world itself was shrinking, and her few frail steps had unveiled what lay beyond the land's curvature.
She moaned in sudden terror, even as her steps shifted direction, drew her towards the apparition.
It grew visibly larger with every stride she took, swelled horribly until it claimed a third of the sky. Pink-streaked, raw bones, rising upward, a cage of ribs, each rib scarred, knotted with malignant growths, calcifications, porous nodes, cracks, twists and fissures. Between each bone, skin was stretched, enclosing whatever lay within. Blood vessels spanned the skin, pulsing like red lightning, flickering and dimming before her eyes.
For this, the storm of life was passing. For this, and for her as well.
'Are you mine?' she asked in a rasping voice as she stumbled to within twenty paces of the ghastly cage. 'Does my heart lie inside? Slowing with each beat? Are you me?'
Emotions suddenly assailed her—feelings that were not her own, but came from whatever lay within the cage. Anguish. Overwhelming pain.
She wanted to flee.
Yet it sensed her. It demanded that she stay.
That she come closer.
Close enough to reach out.
To touch.
The Mhybe screamed. She was in a cloud of dust that clawed her eyes blind, on her knees suddenly, feeling as if she was being torn apart—her spirit, her every instinct for survival rearing up one last time. To resist the summons. To flee.
But she could not move.
And then the force reached out. It began to pull.
And the land beneath her shifted, tilted. The dust slicked. The dust became as glass.
On her hands and knees, she looked up through streaming eyes, the scene dancing before her.
The ribs were ribs no longer. They were legs. And skin was not skin. It had become a web. And she was sliding.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Were the Black Moranth a loquacious people, the history of Achievant Twist would be known. And were it known, from what preceded first mention of him following the alliance with the Malazan Empire; his sojourn during the Genabackan Campaigns of that same empire; and of his life within the Moranth Hegemony itself—one cannot but suspect that the tale would be worthy of more than one legend.
Lost Heroes
Badark of Nathü
THE VISION MOUNTAINS LOOMED DARK AND MASSIVE, BLOTTING THE stars to the west. Her back to the vertical root wall of a toppled tree, Corporal Picker drew her rain cloak tighter against the chill. On her left, the distant walls of Setta formed a ragged black line on the other side of the starlit river. The city had proved closer to the mountains and to the river than the maps had indicated, which had been a good thing.
Her gaze remained fixed on the path below, straining in search of the first smudge of motion. At least the rain had passed, though mist had begun to gather. She listened to the drip of water from the pine boughs on all sides.
A boot squelched in mossy mud, then grated on granite. Picker glanced over, nodded, then returned her attention to the trail.
'Expect a while yet,' Captain Paran murmured. 'They've considerable ground to cover.'
'Aye,' Picker agreed. 'Only Blend runs a fast point, sir. She has eyes like a cat.'
'Let's hope she doesn't leave the others behind, then.'
'She won't.' She'd better not.
Paran slowly crouched at her side. 'I suppose we could have flown directly over the city and saved ourselves the trouble of checking it out on foot.'
'And if there'd been watchers they'd have seen us. No need to second guess yourself, Captain. We don't know what the Pannion Seer's got for eyes in this land, but we'd be fools to think we were entirely alone. We're already risking big with thinking we can travel at night and not be detected.'
'Quick Ben says it's the condors and nothing else, Lieutenant, and they only take to the sky during the day. So long as we keep under cover when the sun's out, we should be able to pull this off.'
Picker slowly nodded in the darkness. 'Spindle agrees. So do Bluepearl and Shank and Toes. Captain, with us and just us Bridgeburners frog-hopping with the Black Moranth, I'd have little concern. But since we're flying point on—'
'Shh—there, down below. Saw something.'
Blend was her usual admirable self, moving like a shadow, vanishing entirely for one, two, three heartbeats, then reappearing ten paces closer, zigzagging her way to where Picker and Paran waited.
Though neither officer had moved nor made a sound, Blend had somehow found them. Her teeth flashed white as she squatted down in front of them.
'Very impressive,' Paran muttered. 'Are you here to report or will you leave that to the man who's supposed to be doing that? Unless, of course, you've left Antsy and the rest stumbling lost half a league in your wake.'
The smile disappeared. 'Uh, no sir, they're about thirty paces back—can't you hear 'em? There, that was Spindle—his hairshirt snagging on a branch. And those steps out front—that's Antsy, he's bandy-legged, walks like an ape. Those clunks? Hedge. The quietest one of the lot is Detoran, oddly enough.'
'You making this up, soldier?' Paran asked. 'Because I don't hear a thing.'
'No, sir,' Blend said innocently.
Picker wanted to reach out and cuff the woman. 'Go down and find them, Blend,' she growled. If they're that loud they've lost the trail, you idiot. Not that they are. Not that they have. Paran stuck you right sharp and you don't like it. Fine. 'Now.'
'Aye, Lieutenant.' Blend sighed.
They watched her slither and slide her way back down to the path, then vanish.
Paran grunted. 'She almost had me there.' Picker glanced over. 'She thinks she's done just that.'
'That's right, she does.'
She said nothing, then grinned. Damn, I think you're our captain now. Finally, we found a good one. 'Here they come,' Paran observed.
They were a match to Blend, or close enough to make little difference. Flowing silent, weapons bound, armour muffled. They watched Antsy raise a hand, halt those following with a gesture, then inscribe a circle in the air with his index finger. The squads dispersed to the sides, each one seeking a place of cover. The patrol was done.
The sergeant made his way up to where Paran and Picker waited. Before he arrived, Quick Ben slipped down to join the two officers. 'Captain,' he said under his breath, 'I've been talking with Twist's second.'
'And?'
'And the Moranth is worried, sir. About his commander—that killer infection's moved up past the shoulder. Twist only has a few weeks left, and he's living with a lot of pain right now—Hood knows how he stays in control.'
'All right,' Paran sighed. 'We'll resume conversation on that subject later. Let's hear Antsy now.'
'Right.'
The sergeant arrived, settled down in front of them. Picker handed him a flask and he took it, swallowed a half-dozen mouthfuls of wine, handed it back. Antsy cleared both nostrils with explosive snorts, then wiped his moustache and spent another few moments grooming and patting it down.
'If you start washing your armpits next,' Par
an warned, 'I'll kill you. Once I get over the nausea, that is. So you've visited Setta—what did you see, Sergeant?'
'Uh, yes, sir, Captain. Setta. A ghost city, damned eerie. All those empty streets, empty buildings, feast-piles—'
'Feast what?'
'Feast-piles. In the squares. Big mounds of burnt bone and ash. Human. Feast-piles. Oh, and huge birds' nests on the city's four towers—Blend climbed close to one.'
'She did?'
'Well, closer, anyway. We'd noticed the guano on the tower sides when the sun's light was still clinging up high. Anyway, there's those mountain vultures bedded down in them.'
Quick Ben cursed. 'And Blend's sure she wasn't seen?'
'Absolutely, Wizard. You know Blend. We kept to blocking lines of sight just in case, which wasn't easy—those towers were well placed. But those birds had bedded down for real.'
'See any Great Ravens?' Quick Ben enquired.
The sergeant blinked. 'No. Why?'
'Nothing. But the rule holds—trust nothing in the sky, Antsy. Be sure everyone knows and remembers that, right?'
'Aye, as you say, Wizard.'
'Anything else?' Paran asked.
Antsy shrugged. 'No, not a thing. Setta's dead as dead gets. Maurik's probably the same.'
'Never mind Maurik,' Paran said. 'We're bypassing Maurik.'
He had Picker's fullest attention with that. 'Just us, Captain?'
'We're flying point all the way,' Quick Ben answered.
Antsy growled something under his breath.
'Speak clearly, Sergeant,' Paran ordered.
'Nothing, sir.'
'Let's have it, Antsy.'
'Well, just Hedge and Spindle and the other sappers, Captain. Been complaining about that missing crate of munitions—they were expecting to get resupplied, at Maurik. They'll squeal, sir.'
Picker saw Paran glance at Quick Ben.
The wizard scowled. 'I forgot to have a word with Hedge. Sorry. I'll get right on it.'
'The thing is,' Antsy said, 'we're undersupplied and that's the truth of it. If we run into trouble…'
'Really, Sergeant,' Picker muttered. 'When you've burned the bridges behind you, don't go starting a fire on the one in front of you. Tell those sappers to stiffen their spines. If we get into a situation where the fifteen or so available cussers and thirty or forty sharpers aren't enough, we're just one more feast-pile anyway.'
'Chat's over,' Paran announced. 'Quick, get the Moranth ready—we're making one more jump tonight. I want us within sight of the River Eryn come the dawn. Picker, check the cairns one more time, please. I don't want them obvious—we give ourselves away now and things'll get hot.'
'Aye, sir.'
'All right, let's move.'
He watched as his soldiers scrambled. A few moments later he sensed a presence and turned. The Black Moranth commander, Twist, had come to stand beside him.
'Captain Paran.'
'Yes?'
'I would know if you blessed the Barghast gods. In Capustan, or perhaps thereafter.'
Paran frowned. 'I was warned that they might ask, but no, I've not been approached.'
The black-armoured warrior was silent for a moment, then he said, 'Yet you acknowledge their place in the pantheon.'
'I don't see why not.'
'Is that a yes, Captain?'
'All right. Yes. Why? What's wrong?'
'Nothing is wrong. I will die soon, and I wish to know what will await my soul.'
'Have the Barghast shouldermen finally acknowledged that the Moranth share the same blood?'
'Their pronouncements one way or the other are without relevance.'
'Yet mine are?'
'You are the Master of the Deck.'
'What caused the schism, Twist? Between the Moranth and the Barghast?'
The achievant slowly raised his withered arm. 'Perhaps, in another realm, this arm is hale, whilst the rest of me is shrunken and lifeless. Perhaps,' he went on, 'it already feels the clasp, firm and strong, of a spirit. Who now but waits for my complete passage into that world.'
'An interesting way of viewing it.'
'Perspective, Captain. The Barghast would see us withered and lifeless. To be cut away.'
'While you see it the other way round?'
Twist shrugged. 'We do not fear change. We do not resist it. The Barghast must accept that growth is necessary, even if painful. They must learn what the Moranth learned long ago, when we did not draw our swords and instead spoke with the Tiste Edur—the grey-skinned wanderers of the seas. Spoke, to discover they were as lost as we were, as weary of war, as ready for peace.'
'Tiste Edur?'
'Children of the Shattered Warren. A fragment had been discovered, in the vast forest of Moranth that would become our new homeland. Kurald Emurlahn, the true face of Shadow. There were so few Tiste Edur left, we chose to welcome them. The last of them are gone now, from Moranth Wood, long gone, but their legacy is what has made us as we are.'
'Achievant, it may take me a while to make sense of what you've just described. I have questions—'
Twist shrugged again. 'We did not slay the Tiste Edur. In Barghast eyes, that is our greatest crime. I wonder, however, if the Elder Spirits—now gods—see it in similar light.'
'They've had a long time to think,' Paran murmured. 'Sometimes, that's all that's needed. The heart of wisdom is tolerance. I think.'
'If so, Captain, then you must be proud.'
'Proud?'
The achievant slowly turned away as soft calls announced the troop was ready. 'I now return to Dujek Onearm.' He paused, then added, 'The Malazan Empire is a wise empire. I think that rare, and precious. And so I wish it—and you—well.'
Paran watched Twist stride away.
It was time to go.
Tolerant. Maybe. Keep that word in mind, Ganoes—there's a whisper that it will prove the fulcrum in what's to come…
Kruppe's mule carried him swiftly up the embankment, through a press of marching marines on the road—who scattered from its path—then down the other side and out onto the plain. Shouts and helpful advice followed him.
'Brainless beast! Blind, stubborn, braying creature of the Abyss! Stop, Kruppe cries! Stop! No, not that way—'
The mule charged a tilting path back round, fast-trotted smartly for the nearest clan of White Face Barghast.
A dozen savagely painted children raced out to meet them.
The mule balked in sudden alarm, pitching Kruppe forward onto its neck. The animal then wheeled, and slowed to a placid walk, tail switching its rump.
The Daru managed to right himself with a succession of grunts. 'Exercise is madness!' he exclaimed to the children who jogged up alongside. 'Witness these frightening urchins, already so musclebound as to laugh with stupid delight at Kruppe's woeful fate! The curse of vigour and strain has addled them. Dear Kruppe, forgive them as befits your admirable nature, your amiable equanimity, your effortlessly estimable ease among the company of those sadly lacking in years. Ah, you poor creatures, so short of leg yet self-deluded into expressions witlessly wise. You strut in step with this confounded mule, and so lay bare the tragic truth—your tribe is doomed, Kruppe pronounces! Doomed!'
'They understand not a word, Man of Lard!'
Kruppe twisted round to see Hetan and Cafal riding to join him. The woman was grinning.
'Not a word, Daru, and a good thing, too. Else they tear your heart from your chest at such damnations!'
'Damnations? Dear woman, Kruppe's deadly temper is to blame. His white hot rage that so endangers all around him! It is this beast, you see—'
'Not even worth eating,' Hetan noted. 'What think you, brother.'
'Too scrawny,' Cafal agreed.
'None the less, Kruppe pleads for forgiveness on behalf of his worthy self and the conversely worthless beast he rides. Forgive us, somewhat longer-legged spawn of Humbrall Taur, we beg you!'
'We've a question for you, Man of Lard.'
'You need onl
y ask, and Kruppe shall answer. Shining with truth, his words smooth as oil to scent your unblemished skin—there, just above the left breast, perhaps? Kruppe has in his possession—'
'No doubt,' Hetan interrupted. 'And were you to carry on this war would be over before I'd the chance to ask you the question. Now shut up, Daru, and listen. Look, if you will, upon the Malazan ranks on yonder road. The tent-covered wagons, the few foot-dragging companies who walk alongside them and between them, raising skyward clouds of dust—'
'Dear lass, you are one after Kruppe's own heart! Pray, resume this non-interrogative question, at length, wax your words into the thickest candle so that I may light an unquenchable flame of love in its honour.'
'I said look, Daru. Observe! Do you find nothing odd about our allies at present?'
'At present. Past and no doubt future, too, Kruppe asserts. Malazan mysteries, yes! Peculiar people, Kruppe proclaims. Discipline in said march approaching dishevelled dissolution, dust rising to be seen for leagues yet what is seen—well, naught but dust!'
'Just my point,' Hetan growled.
'And a sharp one it is.'
'So you'd noticed, then.'
'Noticed what, my dear? The sumptuous curves of yourself? How could Kruppe not notice such wondrous, if slightly barbaric, beauty? As a prairie flower—'
'—about to kill you,' Hetan said, grinning.
'A prairie flower, Kruppe observes, such as blooms on prickly cactus…'
'Ware the misstep, Man of Lard.'
'Kruppe's wares are without misstep, for he wears wariness well uh…'
'This morning,' Hetan resumed after a moment, 'I watched one j, you mean.
'There is no "none the less". It is the reason why we're the best. And when time comes for the hard orders, you'll see the discipline—you may not have seen it here and now, but it's there, under the surface, and it's solid.'
'As you say,' Artanthos replied with a shrug.
Whiskeyjack resumed leading his horse to the kraal. The sun was already pulling the last of its lurid light below the horizon. On all sides, soldiers hurried to pitch tents and prepare cook fires. They were, he could see, a weary lot. Too many doubletime shifts through the day, then the added bell's worth of marching through dusk. He realized he'd need to tail that off over at least three days then add two more bells of stationary rest before reaching Coral, to give his infantry sufficient recovery time. An exhausted army was a defeated army.
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