Return of the Crimson Guard, page 60
‘I’d curse their manhoods – if they still had them.’
‘It’s just water. A quick dunk and they’ll leave you alone.’
‘I’m too old for too many things, including dunking.’ The hull groaned around them. Rat claws scratched on wood. Ho felt the dark pressing in upon him, damp and gravid. ‘And what of you,’ Su said, tilting her head back to eye him. ‘They are all so much less than you – why fear them at all?’
‘We’re not talking about that, Su. We could lower you in a net.’
‘A net? Am I a fish? Does your friend Blues know the real reason why you did not tell him of Heng? Why you are so frightened to return?’
‘Quiet, witch.’
‘Let us make a pact, magus—’
‘No pacts, witch. Just washing.’
‘A washing for me and a reunion for you.’
‘You’re going under regardless, witch. It’s just a question of coercion.’
‘Yes, it is always a question of coercion in the end, is it not?’
Ho sighed his impatience. ‘Su, I told you already I’m not impressed by these vague empty pronouncements you toss off hoping people will think they’re wise.’
She smiled. ‘Is that what I do?’
‘Su…’
The old woman lifted a crooked finger. ‘Wisdom lives only in hindsight.’
Ho pushed his head back to hit the hull planking.
‘Is that anger I’m seeing, Ho? A temper, perhaps?’
‘Right, that’s it.’ He stood, gestured Su up. ‘Let’s go. On deck. Right now. There’s something going on you should see. C’mon.’
She stared up at him, fiddled with her walking stick. ‘What? Right this minute?’
‘Yes. Come on!’
‘Well! Give an old woman a moment, would you?’ She struggled to rise, slapped away his offered hand. ‘As if anything could be so pressing! You would think Hood’s Paths themselves had opened up above vomiting up all the dead!’ She grasped the steep gangway in one gnarled hand. ‘Just a trick, I’m sure,’ she grumbled, climbing.
On deck, torches and a bright moon in a clear night sky lit a crowd of inmates gathered around the Avowed at the larboard side of the Forlorn. Fingers sat gripping the sides of a slat seat perched atop the gunwale. By turns he peered down with pure dread and at Blues with pure venom. Treat and another of the Avowed, Reed, were tying ropes to the seat and to Fingers – who was already tightly strapped in.
‘It ain’t gonna work!’ Fingers was shouting. ‘You’re taking advantage of me right now is what you’re doing! I’ll drown.’
‘We’ll keep a close watch,’ Dim assured him. ‘Don’t you worry now.’
Fingers glared bloody fury at the man.
‘OK,’ Blues said. ‘All secure?’
Treat slapped Fingers’ back. ‘All secure.’
‘Bastards!’
‘Over we go,’ Blues ordered.
Treat and Reed lowered the stretcher by the ropes, backed up by Blues and Dim. Fingers had stopped cursing them all and, sinking out of sight, his pale white face stretched even tauter over his sharp cheekbones. The crowd of inmates pressed forward to line the side.
‘Room, dammit,’ Blues complained, raising his elbows. ‘Room!’
Ho observed aside to Su, ‘We’re a little short on entertainment out here.’
‘Somehow this is not reassuring, Ho.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He waved to a solid woman, her greying hair hacked short, who had come to his side. ‘Su, this is Devaleth. She’s been over already but she and you and Inese – and Opal also – can wash at the stern. We’ll put up a spare canvas or blankets. It’s that or they’ll throw you over in a net.’
The old witch’s thin mouth curled in condescension. ‘If I must.’
Whoops and laughter sounded from the gathered inmates. Treat and Dim were hauling on the ropes. A sodden, shivering Fingers appeared at the gunwale. His torn linen shirt hung from his lank form. He stuttered something – curses probably – as they lowered his stretcher to the deck. Dim held out a blanket that he snatched and wrapped around himself. Ho watched, wondering, how could anyone be so skinny?
‘This does nothing for the traces we’ve ingested, or are ground into our calluses, or under our nails, or such,’ Su observed.
‘We’ve used the pumice stones on our flesh and knives under our nails,’ Devaleth said. ‘Myself, I would cut off my left hand to regain my gifts.’
‘Yes, well, let us hope it does not come to that,’ Su observed, turning away to limp to the stern.
From the broken wall of what was once one of a series of outlying gatehouses, hostelries and pilgrim inns for the sprawling complex that was the Great Sanctuary of Burn, Shimmer watched the envoy of the Talian League mount and ride off. The doubts and small suspicions that had gnawed at her since their return had lately coalesced into one dark, smothering feeling of wrongness that seemed to choke her. She turned back to the other two occupants of the room, Skinner and Cowl. ‘Was that wise?’ she asked, though she knew nothing would come of her objection – yet again the sensation struck her of being a player in a charade, of merely going through the motions in some tired play. Had she been here before? Done this countless times? Whence came this mood?
Skinner, his helm under one arm, revealing his scarred face and matted reddish-blond hair, waved her concerns aside. ‘This League is no different from the Malazans. I no more credit their offers of territory than I would any from Laseen.’
‘They may unite against us.’
The swordsman’s gaze slid aside to Cowl. The High Mage, who had been looking off across the plain to the south, frowned a negative. ‘Unlikely for the near future – but a growing threat admittedly. Yet more forces are approaching.’
‘Laseen’s?’ Shimmer asked.
A sly smile pulled at the curled tattoos beneath his mouth. ‘Who is to say? The choice is their commander’s, I should think.’
‘It would precipitate matters, would it not,’ Skinner rumbled, ‘if Choss believed them Laseen’s?’
‘Indeed.’
Skinner waved Cowl away. ‘I leave it to you.’
A curt bow from Cowl. The High Mage backed into shadow and disappeared. Shimmer turned to Skinner, surprised. ‘I thought Warren travel was extraordinarily dangerous these days.’
Heading to the shattered door jamb, the commander paused, considering. ‘So is Cowl.’
Alone, Shimmer suddenly felt the heat of the day seep into her – as if the commander’s presence drained something vital from her. Catching his eyes still made her wince. What had become of the man who had led the First Company into the diaspora? He had been ambitious and fierce, yes, but not – inhuman. Now, something else looked out of those eyes. Something that felt more terrifying and menacing than anything that might be awaiting in the field.
‘Captain?’
Blinking, Shimmer turned. Greymane stood there along with Smoky and a regular, Ogilvy. ‘Yes?’
‘Turned them down, didn’t he,’ Smoky said.
‘Yes.’
A sour nod. ‘Thought so. Makes sense.’
Shimmer straightened, ill at ease once more. ‘Explain yourself, mage.’
‘Me ’n’ Grey been talking. Got us a theory.’
‘Yes?’ Shimmer said calmly, though her breath seemed to die in her throat.
‘First, though, this Guardsman here has something to say.’ Smoky urged Ogilvy forward with a curt jerk. Saluting, bobbing his bald bullet-head, the regular saluted.
‘’Pologies, ma’am, sir. Kept my drink-hole shut I did, sorry. Seemed most discretionary. Circumstances as they was, ’n’ all.’
Shimmer blinked again, her brow crimping. ‘Sorry, Guardsman…?’
‘Was first at the scene of Stoop’s killin’ there in Stratem. Saw tracks – tracks that was later smoothed away. By spell.’
‘And those tracks told you what?’
‘Accordin’ to those tracks the lad never entered that clearing.’
‘I…see.’ Shimmer swallowed a tightening sickness. ‘Is there anyone else who saw these tracks? Who could corroborate your testimony?’
The Guardsman glanced to Greymane, then down. ‘No, sir.’
‘No. Well then, Guardsman, I suggest you continue to keep this to yourself until such time as further information comes forward.’
Ogilvy saluted. ‘Yes, ma’am, sir.’
‘You are dismissed.’
‘Yes, ma – sir.’
Ogilvy left. Shimmer turned on Smoky. ‘You presume too much, mage.’
Smoky’s long face hardened. ‘I got more to presume. The men won’t say, but there’s a lot of grumbling. Skinner’s gathering Avowed to himself, treating everyone else like servants, not brothers or sisters. There’s sides drawing up. Everyone’s looking to you to do something. You or—’ he stopped himself, then barrelled on, ‘Greymane.’
Shimmer finally faced the massive ex-High Fist. ‘I would take great care if I were you, Malazan. You are not of the Avowed.’
‘A condition that perhaps allows me the proper perspective.’
‘Proper – explain yourself, soldier.’
‘It is plain that Skinner intends to defeat both Laseen and this Talian League. And once both are crushed, what then?’
Brows wrinkled, Shimmer shrugged. ‘Why, then, the terms of the Vow will have been fulfilled – the shattering of the Empire.’
Greymane and Smoky exchanged troubled glances. ‘And yet not. Any new force could then step into the vacuum, such as an alliance of Dal Hon and Kan forces, or any other such, yes?’
‘Possibly…’
‘Unless this position were already occupied by another organization, another force ready to act. Is that not so?’
‘I do not see what you are getting at, Malazan.’
Smoky gave an impatient snarl. ‘The Vow has you in too tight a grip, Shimmer. Open your eyes! Skinner intends to occupy the throne himself!’
Shimmer could only stare. Then she laughed outright at the absurdity of the assertion. ‘Smoky, you know as well as I that the terms of the Vow would never allow such a thing.’
‘You’re not a mage, Shimmer. Even I can see a few possible ways around it and Cowl is leagues ahead of me. One way to construe it is that the Malazan Empire remains an impossibility so long as the Avowed occupy the throne. There? How’s that? Life and power eternal. Worth a throw, wouldn’t you say?’
Shimmer felt almost dizzy. She steadied herself at a wall. ‘But that would be—’
‘A monstrous perversion? Yes.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Smoky. You are inventing threats, conspiracies. Seeing enemies everywhere. Perhaps that is the Vow affecting you. You’ve never made a secret of your distaste for Cowl. Have you considered that?’
The mage was silent for some time. His stare was hard, gauging, and Shimmer was shaken to see disappointment colour the man’s eyes. ‘Greymane is not Avowed, Shimmer,’ he said, and pushed his way past. Greymane remained, but Shimmer would not face him. She turned her back. After a time he bowed and left.
We are so close. Queen’s Prophecies, the completion of the Vow is within reach! We can break them! Why then these doubts, these worries? None afflicted at the beginning. Everything was so clear then. The sides so cleanly drawn, our cause so pressing. Now, though, I can hardly muster the effort to go through with it. For whom did they fight? Not the Untans, nor the Cawnese. Then who? Skinner on the throne, and through him, what else?
Riding out alone into the night from the remains of the Sanctuary of Burn, Lieutenant-Commander Ullen felt extremely ill at ease until the detachment of Talian cavalry escortinging him rode up to rendezvous. Leading them was Commander Amaron, accompanied by Toc’s new aide, Captain Moss.
‘They rejected the offer?’ Amaron called.
‘Yes.’
A sour shake of the head. ‘The fools. They’re going to get themselves wiped out.’
‘You’re so sure?’
Amaron smiled knowingly, signed for a return to the fortified encampment – Fort Urko, some called it. ‘You are not?’
Ullen merely raised a brow; he motioned to the ruins. ‘I’ve just come away from speaking with Skinner, Amaron. I never did meet him before, and I have to say he looks every bit as nasty as his reputation.’
‘Oh, I don’t doubt that.’ The commander shifted his considerable broad weight on his tall horse. ‘I’m not saying we’ll pull down the Avowed. What I’m saying is that if they are so foolish as to take to the field their regular force will be broken and the surviving Avowed will have to withdraw alone. Then what can they do? A handful of men and women cannot hold territory. They will have to flee once again. No, the whole thing, their recruiting and return, will all have been for nothing. A sad waste, really.’
Behind the commander’s mount, Ullen and Moss shared a glance, saying nothing. Moss flicked his eyes to indicate the fifty troopers walking their mounts along behind and Ullen nodded. Amaron was not speaking to them; he was speaking to the men, fulfilling one of the obligations of command, bolstering morale.
The Napan turned to Moss. ‘So, Captain, served in Genabackis, did you?’
‘Yes, Commander.’
‘With Dujek?’
‘No, sir. Not directly. I remained up north. Rotated out.’
‘Up north? Why, so you’ve faced the Guard before, then! Didn’t they have a contract with a warlord there, that fellow named Brood?’
‘Yes, sir. I’ve faced them.’
‘And they were beaten there, weren’t they?’
Moss shot Ullen a glance of veiled amusement. ‘Oh yes, sir,’ he responded loudly. ‘They were beaten.’
Half of the cavalry officer’s expression told Ullen that he could play Amaron’s game too – and had said what the men would be helped to hear. The other half of the expression told Ullen just how far from the truth were the man’s words.
The Wickan camp occupied a stretch of the east shore of the River Jurd, just north of Unta. Circular yurts dotted hillsides in a sudden new township of some four thousand. The surrounding Untan villages and hamlets supplied fodder for horses, firewood and staples. Nil and Nether promised eventual payment in trade goods. Rillish and his Malazan command occupied a large farmhouse and compound in the middle of vineyards where bunches of white grapes hung heavy on the stems. Since his night foray with Nether, his sergeant, Talia, had been even more insistent on their intimacy – to his great relief and pleasure, he had to admit.
So it was they lay in bed together one morning when a discreet knock sounded on the door of his room. He pulled on his trousers, while Talia dressed as well, quickly strapping on her swordbelt. ‘What is it?’ he called.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir. Riders from the south.’
‘Yes?’
‘They carry the Imperial banner.’
‘I see. Thank you, sergeant. I’ll be down shortly.’
He turned to Talia and she laughed at the embarrassment that must have been obvious. He splashed his hot face in a basin. Outside in the courtyard, horses readied by Chord waited. Rillish mounted, invited Chord to attend him, gave command of the compound over to him, and rode off with a troop of ten.
Wickan horsemen had already met and stopped the small column, which consisted of some twenty Untan cavalry. Room was made for Rillish to edge to the front. He inclined his head to the man leading the column, who, by the markings on his helmet, held the rank of Imperial Fist, though Rillish did not recognize him. The man’s dark eyes glanced to him but in no other way did he acknowledge Rillish’s presence. Eventually, Nil and Nether arrived from their more distant camp. They pushed through to the front, nodded to the Fist who saluted, bowing. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fist Tazil Jhern. I am come as envoy from the capital, empowered to discuss terms.’
Nether inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘I am Nether, this is my brother Nil. And this is Lieutenant Rillish Jal Keth. Greetings.’ The man continued to studiously ignore Rillish.
‘What terms, may I ask?’ Nil inquired. ‘Terms of your surrender?’
‘Terms of cessation of hostilities. You have grievances, conditions you wish to discuss, surely?’
The twins exchanged narrowed glances. ‘We have demands and conditions, Fist,’ Nil corrected.
‘You say you are empowered, Fist,’ Rillish asked. ‘Empowered by whom?’
The envoy said nothing, continued to stare straight ahead. Nether’s brow furrowed. ‘The lieutenant asked you a question, Fist.’
‘I am sure you understand that I feel in no way obligated to speak with a traitor,’ the man told her.
Nil flinched, stung, and tightened his reins. ‘Then I am sure you understand that we—’
So, the day has come when I am repudiated. Rillish raised a hand. ‘It is all right. Please, take no offence. I will go.’
‘Stay where you are!’ Nether ordered, startling Rillish. ‘You will remain and listen to all this envoy has to say. Then, my brother and I will expect you to advise us afterwards.’
Struggling to keep his astonishment from his face, Rillish bowed stiffly. ‘As you order.’
Nil invited the Fist onward. ‘This way, envoy.’
Later that day, the Fist begged off early to retire to the quarters prepared for his party. Once the man left the large tent a fury of debate leapt to life among the gathered clan representatives, elders and surviving warlocks. The twins sat quietly, letting the storm blow itself out. Rillish was alarmed by some opinions he overheard: sacking the province, ravaging the countryside, even claiming the Throne. When that suggestion, taking the Throne, was called across the tent to Nil, he merely observed, ‘What would we do with it? It’s too heavy to sit on a horse.’
A new round of debate began, this time peppered by escalating retorts, condemnations and insults. It seemed to Rillish that the discussion was veering further and further into the territory of past transgressions, slights and ages-old grudges. He glanced to Nil and saw him watching – the lad winked, tilted his head to invite him outside. Rillish uncrossed his numb legs, bowed to the assembly and ducked out of the tent.
