The Malazan Empire, page 437
‘Precisely, master. To continue. There was no Hold of the Dead. It once existed. That is, the original Tiles of the Hold from the First Empire contained one. As well as a number of other Holds, all of which have been discarded by and by. It would be nice, indeed, were a scholar to address this strange diminishment. The passage of time in a culture invites elaboration, not simplification, unless some terrible collapse triggers a fall of sorts, but the only trauma Lether has suffered came with the original fall of the First Empire and the subsequent isolation of these colonies. There was, at that time, some degradation, leading to a short period of independent city-states. And then there were wars with the tribes south and east of Kryn, and with the atavistic Andii remnants of Bluerose. But none of that was culturally disturbing. Possibly because the Hold of the Dead could not manifest itself here. In any case, the closing of the pathways for the dead was already a fact, frozen in the very earth of this region. Worse yet, it was all an accident—’
‘Hold on, Bugg. Now I do have some pertinent questions.’
‘Your questions are always pertinent, master.’
‘I know, but these are particularly pertinent.’
‘More so than usual?’
‘Are you suggesting that my normal pertinence is less than particular, Bugg?’
‘Of course not, master. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the accident. In the earliest texts—those that came with the Letherii from the First Empire—there is the occasional mention made of a race called the Jaghut—’
‘There is? You are speaking to a man whose head was filled to bursting with classical education, Bugg. I’ve never heard of these Jaghut.’
‘All right, they were mentioned once, and not specifically by name.’
‘Hah, I knew it. Don’t try any sleight of hand with me.’
‘Sorry, master. In any case, in the most proper sense, the Jaghut are represented by those poorly rendered, stylized images you will find on tiles of the Hold of Ice—’
‘Those frog-like midgets?’
‘Only the green skin survived, alas. The Jaghut were in fact quite tall and not in the least frog-like. The point is, they manifested their sorcery with ice, and cold. It remains common to this day to consider only four principal elements in nature. Air, Earth, Fire, and Water. Absolute nonsense, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘There is Light, Dark, Shadow, Life, Death and Ice. There might even be more, but why quibble? The point I am making, master, is that, long ago, a Jaghut did something to this land. Sealed it, in a manner of speaking. Using its aspected sorcery. The effect was profound.’
‘Making the pathways of the dead snowbound, like a mountain pass in winter?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘So the dead loiter in Lether. Ghosts, shades, and people like Shurq Elalle and Kettle.’
‘Indeed. But that is all changing.’
Tehol ceased his pacing and faced Bugg. ‘It is?’
‘Alas, yes, master. The sorcery is…thawing. A Hold of the Dead is manifesting itself. The situation is unravelling. Quickly.’
‘Does this mean Shurq is in trouble?’
‘No. I suspect the curse on her will remain. But the initial efficacy of that curse derives from the fact of the Hold’s having been non-existent in the first place.’
‘All right. It’s all unravelling. Have you visited Kettle lately?’
‘Interesting you should ask, master, for it is at the site of the now-dead Azath tower that the Hold of the Dead is manifesting itself. From that, one might conclude that Kettle is somehow connected with the entire event, but she isn’t. In fact, she’s no longer dead. Not as dead as she was, that is. It is now clear that her purpose is…otherwise. As you know, there’s trouble coming from the barrows.’
‘What’s that smoke? Over there.’
Bugg squinted. ‘Another riot, I think. Counters’ Quarter.’
‘Well, they’ve been a little skittish ever since the ghosts stormed the Tolls Repository. Besides which, the Tolls themselves have been tumbling with all the bad news from the north. In fact, I’m surprised it’s taken this long.’
They could hear bells now, as the city’s garrison began responding to the alarm from various stations near the area.
‘That won’t last long,’ Bugg predicted.
‘Yes, but I am reminded of something,’ Tehol said. ‘The time has come, I think, to see Shand, Hejun and Rissarh on their way.’
‘Will they complain?’
‘Less than one might expect. This is a nervous city. The few non-Letherii remaining are being subjected to harassment, and not just by citizens. The authorities are showing their racist underpinnings with all these suspicions and the eagerness to tread over hard-won rights.’
‘Proof that the freedoms once accorded non-Letherii peoples were born of both paternalism and a self-serving posturing as a benign overseer. What is given is taken away, just like that.’
‘Indeed, Bugg. Is it because, do you think, at the human core, we are naught but liars and cheats?’
‘Probably.’
‘With no hope of ever overcoming our instinctive nastiness?’
‘Hard to say. How have we done so far?’
‘That’s not fair. Oh, fine, it’s perfectly fair. But it doesn’t bode well, does it?’
‘Few things do, master.’
‘Well, this is uncharacteristically glum of you, Bugg.’
‘Alas, I fear the Tiste Edur won’t be any better. Coin is the poison, after all, and it infects indiscriminately.’
‘As I suspected,’ Tehol mused, ‘clearly, now is not the time to destroy the economy.’
‘Either way, you’re right, master.’
‘Of course I am. Furthermore, it seems incumbent that, for the moment at least, we should do nothing. About anything. The Rat Catchers’ Guild has done a fine job thus far; we need make no adjustments there. I know the details of who owes what from the Tolls Repository and Shand has acted with impressive facility on that information. We know the dire state of the royal treasury. You have been paid for your work on the Eternal Domicile, haven’t you?’
‘Just yesterday, master.’
‘Excellent. Well, that was exhausting. I think I’ll go back to bed.’
‘Good idea, master.’
‘After all, this rooftop is probably the safest place in Letheras now.’
‘Indeed. Best stay here.’
‘And you, Bugg?’
‘I thought I’d take a walk.’
‘More rumours to track down?’
‘Something like that, master.’
‘Be careful, Bugg, they’re press-ganging recruits with some ferocity.’
‘I was wondering about that, master. No-one’s paid you a visit?’
‘Why, they have. But our silent bodyguard sent them away.’
‘He said something?’
‘No, it was just a look, I think. They scurried.’
‘Impressive. As for me, master, I have ways of making myself unpalatable, even for desperate recruiters.’
‘You have always been unpalatable, it’s true,’ Tehol noted as he gingerly lowered himself onto his bed. ‘Even the fleas avoid you. Just one more of those eternal mysteries, Bugg, that so endears you to me. Or is it endears me to you?’
‘The former, I think, master.’
‘Oh, no. You don’t like me. I discover this after all this time?’
‘I was only commenting on your usage of the appropriate phrase in the context of your statement and the sentiment you presumably wished to express. Of course I like you, master. How could I not?’
‘You have a point there, Bugg. Anyway, I’m going to sleep now, so if you don’t want me for anything else…’
‘Right, master. I’ll see you later, then.’
Turudal Brizad was just outside the throne room, leaning against a column, his arms crossed. Brys nodded to him and was about to pass when the Queen’s First Consort gestured him over. The Finadd hesitated, then approached.
Turudal smiled. ‘Relax. I am no longer as dangerous as I once was, Brys Beddict. Assuming that I was dangerous in the first place.’
‘First Consort. Please permit me to express my sympathy—’
‘Thank you,’ Turudal cut in, ‘but it’s not necessary. The prince was not the only precipitous member of the royal family. My dear queen was, it is worth recalling, at the forefront of inviting this war against the Tiste Edur. She has the arrogance of her people, after all…’
‘And are they not your people as well, First Consort?’
The man’s smile broadened. ‘So much of my life, Brys Beddict—here in this palace—can be characterized as fulfilling the role of objective observer in the proceedings of state, and in the domestic travails upon which, it must be said, my fortune depends. Rather, depended. In this, I am no different from my counterpart, the First Concubine. We were present as symbols, after all. And so we behaved accordingly.’
‘And now you find yourself without a role,’ Brys said.
‘I find myself even more objective as an observer than I have ever been, Finadd.’
‘To what end?’
‘Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? To no end. None at all. I had forgotten what such freedom felt like. You realize, don’t you, that the Tiste Edur will conquer this kingdom?’
‘Our forces were divided before, First Consort.’
‘So were theirs, Finadd.’
Brys studied the man before him, wondering what was so strange about him, this vague air of indifference and…what? ‘Why did she want this war, Turudal Brizad?’
He shrugged. ‘The Letherii motive was, is and shall ever be but one thing. Wealth. Conquest as opportunity. Opportunity as invitation. Invitation as righteous claim. Righteous claim as preordained, as destiny.’ Something dark glittered in his eyes. ‘Destiny as victory, victory as conquest, conquest as wealth. But nowhere in that perfect scheme will you find the notion of defeat. All failures are temporary, flawed in the particular. Correct the particular and victory will be won the next time round.’
‘Until a situation arises where there is no second opportunity.’
‘And future scholars will dissect every moment of these days, assembling their lists of the particulars, the specifics from which no generalization threatening the prime assumptions can ever be derived. It is, in truth, an exquisite paradigm, the perfect mechanism ensuring the persistent survival of an entire host of terrible, brutal beliefs.’
‘You do seem to have achieved objectivity, Turudal Brizad.’
‘Do you know how the First Empire collapsed, Brys Beddict? I don’t mean the revised versions every child is taught by tutors. I mean the truth. Our ancestors unleashed their own annihilation. Through a ritual run wild, the civilization tore itself apart. Of course, in our version, those who came afterwards to clean up were transformed into the aggressors, the outside agency that wrought such destruction as to obliterate the First Empire. And here is another truth: our colonies here were not immune to the effects of that unfettered ritual. Although we succeeded in driving away the threat, as far as we could, into the ice wastes. Where, we hoped, the bastards would die out. Alas, they didn’t. And now, Brys Beddict, they’re coming back.’
‘Who? The Tiste Edur? We share nothing with them, Turudal—’
‘Not the Tiste Edur, although much of their history—that of their path of sorcery in particular—is bound with the succession of disasters that befell the First Empire. No, Finadd, I am speaking of their allies, the savages from the ice wastes, the Jheck.’
‘An interesting story,’ Brys said after a moment, ‘but I am afraid I do not comprehend its relevance.’
‘I am offering explanation,’ the First Consort said, pushing himself from the column and walking past Brys.
‘For what?’
Without turning, he replied, ‘For the imminent failure, Finadd, of my objectivity.’
Moroch Nevath slowed his lathered horse as he neared the gates. To either side of the raised road, what had once been a sprawling confusion of huts and shacks had been razed, leaving only mud, postherds and slivers of wood. Stains on the city’s wall were all that remained of the countless buildings that had leaned against it for support.
The crowds of refugees on the road had thinned the last few leagues, as Moroch outdistanced the leading edges. He’d seen deserters among them, and had struggled against an urge to deliver summary justice upon the cowards, but there would be time for that later. The gates ahead were open, a squad of soldiers from the Merchants’ Battalion standing guard.
Moroch reined in before them. ‘This road will be packed by dusk,’ he said. ‘You will need at least four more squads to manage the flow.’
A sergeant scowled up at him. ‘And who in the Errant’s name are you?’
‘Another deserter,’ muttered a soldier.
Moroch’s uniform was covered in dust and patches of old blood. He was bearded, his hair filthy and unbound. Even so, he stared at the sergeant, shocked that he had not been recognized. Then he bared his teeth, ‘There will be deserters, yes. They are to be pulled aside, and all those refugees of acceptable age and fitness are to be recruited. Sergeant, I am Finadd Moroch Nevath. I led the survivors from High Fort down to Brans Keep, where we were attached to the Artisan Battalion. I go now to report to the Preda.’
He was pleased at the sudden deference shown once he identified himself.
The sergeant saluted, then asked, ‘Is it true, then, sir? The prince and the queen are prisoners of the Edur?’
‘A miracle that they survived at all, sergeant.’
A strange expression flitted across the sergeant’s features, quickly disguised, yet Moroch had understood it. Why didn’t you fall defending them, Finadd? You ran, like all the others…
‘We will get them back, sir,’ the sergeant said after a moment.
‘Send for your reinforcements,’ Moroch said, kicking his horse into motion once more. You’re right. I should have died. But you were not there, were you?
He rode into the city.
Champion Ormly and Chief Investigator Rucket were sitting on the steps of the Rat Catchers’ Guild, sharing a bottle of wine. Both scowled when they saw Bugg, who approached to stand before them.
‘We know all about you now,’ Rucket said. She sneered, but added nothing more.
‘Well,’ said Bugg, ‘that’s a relief. What more have you heard from your agents in the occupied cities?’
‘Oh,’ Ormly said, ‘and we’re to reveal all our intelligence to you, simply because you ask for it?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘He has a point, the bastard,’ Rucket said to the Champion.
Who looked at her in disbelief. ‘No he doesn’t! You’re smitten, aren’t you? Tehol and his manservant—both of them!’
‘Don’t be absurd. It’s in the contract, Ormly. We share information—’
‘Fine, but what’s this man shared? Nothing. The Waiting Man. What’s he waiting for? That’s what I want to know?
‘You’re drunk.’
Bugg said, ‘You haven’t heard anything.’
‘Of course we have!’ Ormly snapped. ‘Peace reigns. The shops are open once more. Coins roll, the sea lanes are unobstructed.’
‘Garrisons?’
‘Disarmed. Including local constabulary. All protection and enforcement is being done by the Edur. Empty estates have been occupied by Edur families—some kind of nobility exists with them, with those tribes. Not so different after all.’
‘Curious,’ Bugg said. ‘No resistance?’
‘Their damned shades are everywhere. Even the rats don’t dare cause trouble.’
‘And how close to Letheras are the Edur armies?’
‘That we don’t know. Days away, maybe. The situation is pretty chaotic in the countryside north of here. I’m not answering any more questions and that’s that.’ Ormly took the bottle from Rucket and drank deep.
Bugg looked round. The street was quiet. ‘Something in the air…’
‘We know,’ Rucket said.
The silence lengthened, then Bugg rubbed at the back of his neck. Without another word, he walked away.
A short time later, he approached the Azath tower. As he began crossing the street towards the front gate, a figure emerged from a nearby alley. Bugg halted.
‘Surprised to see you here,’ the man said as he drew nearer to the manservant. ‘But a momentary surprise. Thinking on it, where else would you be?’
Bugg grunted, then said, ‘I wondered when you’d finally stir yourself awake. If.’
‘Better late than never.’
‘Here to give things a nudge, are you?’
‘In a manner of speaking. And what about you?’
‘Well,’ Bugg considered, ‘that depends.’
‘On?’
‘You, I suppose.’
‘Oh, I’m just passing through,’ the man said.
Bugg studied him for a long moment, then cocked his head and asked, ‘So, how much of you was at the heart of this mess, I wonder? Feeding the queen’s greed, the prince’s estrangement from his father. Did the notion of the Seventh Closure simply amuse you?’
‘I but watched,’ the man replied, shrugging. ‘Human nature is responsible, as ever. That is not a burden I am willing to accept, especially from you.’
‘All right. But here you are, about to take a far more active role…’
‘This goes back, old man. Edur or human, I do not want to see a revisiting of the T’lan Imass.’
After a moment, Bugg nodded. ‘The Pack. I see. I have never liked you much, but this time I am afraid I have to agree with you.’
‘That warms my heart.’
‘To be so benignly judged? I suppose it would at that.’
He laughed, then, with a careless wave, walked past Bugg.
The problem with gods, Bugg decided, was the way they ended up getting dragged along. Wherever their believers went. This one had vanished from memory everywhere else, as extinct as the Holds themselves.
So. T’lan Imass, the Pack, and the coming of the Jheck. Soletaken worshippers of their ancient lord, and, from the potential resurrection of that ancient cult, a possible return of the T’lan Imass, to expunge the madness.
