The Malazan Empire, page 450
Trull saw Fear take a step forward, halting as Rhulad’s sword shot upward, the point hovering at Fear’s throat.
‘Oh no, brother, we want nothing from you. We want nothing from any of you. Except obedience. An empire must be shaped, and that shaping shall be by the emperor’s hands. Warlock King!’
‘Sire?’
The sword slid away from Fear’s throat, waved carelessly towards the soldiers blocking the bridge. ‘Get rid of them.’
Binadas among them, the K’risnan shambled forward at Hannan Mosag’s gesture. Behind them were four slaves with two large leather sacks which they dragged over the cobbles to where the K’risnan waited in a row. Noting the sacks, the Warlock King shook his head. ‘Not here, I think. Something…simpler.’ He faced the emperor. ‘A moment, sire, in which to prepare. I shall do this myself.’
Uruth tugged Trull round again. ‘It is more than just Udinaas,’ she said. ‘Mayen has escaped.’
He stared at her, not quite comprehending. ‘Escaped?’
‘We must find her…’
‘She ran away…from us? From her own people?’
‘It is the hunger, Trull. Please.’
After a moment, he pulled away, looked round until he saw a company of warriors grouped behind Theradas and Midik Buhn. Trull walked over to them.
Theradas scowled. ‘What do you want, Trull Sengar?’
‘The emperor’s mother has orders for you and your warriors, Theradas.’
His expression lost its ferocity, was replaced with uncertainty. ‘What are they?’
‘Mayen is lost, somewhere in the city. She must be found. As for Udinaas…if you see him…’
‘If we see him he will die terribly, Trull Sengar.’
He betrayed Rhulad. When I warned him…Trull glanced over at Rhulad. A return from this madness? Not likely. It was too late. ‘As you like, Theradas. Just find Mayen.’
He watched them head off, then turned and met Uruth’s eyes. She nodded.
The soldiers on the bridge knew what was coming. He saw them duck lower behind their shields. Pointless. Pathetic, yet there was courage here, among these Letherii. Udinaas, I did not…did not think you would—
A seething, spitting grey wave rose suddenly at the foot of the bridge, churning higher.
The shield wall flinched back, contracted.
The wave plunged forward.
From the banks of the canal to either side citizens shrieked and scattered—
—as the sorcery rushed over the bridge, striking the soldiers in a spray of blood and strips of flesh. A heartbeat, then past, spreading out to wash over the fleeing citizens. Devouring them in writhing hunger.
Trull saw it strike nearby buildings, smashing down doors and bursting through shuttered windows. Screams.
‘Enough!’ Rhulad roared, stepping towards Hannan Mosag, who lowered his arms, which looked twisted and gnarled.
The sorcery vanished, leaving only heaps of bones, polished shields and armour on the bridge. From the sundered buildings, silence. Hannan Mosag sagged, and Trull saw how misshapen he had become beneath his furs.
The emperor suddenly giggled. ‘So eager, Hannan Mosag! Your secret god is so eager!’
Secret god? Trull looked over at Fear, and found his brother staring back.
‘Brothers,’ the emperor cried, waving his sword, ‘we march to the Eternal Domicile! To the throne! None can deny us! And should they dare, their flesh shall be rendered from their bones! They will know pain. They will suffer! Brothers, this shall be a day of suffering’—he seemed to find sweetness in tasting the word—‘for all who would oppose us! Now, walk with your Sire!’
He is…transformed. Lost to us. And all for the treachery of a slave…
An overgrown yard, just visible through the old, battered stones of the gateway. From the skeletal, twisted branches of leaning trees, something like steam billowed upward. There was no-one about. Iron Bars slowed his steps and looked back up the street. That manservant had yet to appear from beyond the corner of the building he had jogged round moments earlier.
‘Fine, then,’ the Avowed muttered, drawing his sword, ‘we’ll just have to see for ourselves…’ He approached the gateway, strode onto the winding stone path. The squat, square tower was opposite, stained and leaning and dead. From his left, the sounds of stones grinding together, the snap of wood, and thumps that trembled the ground beneath his feet. Over there, then.
Iron Bars walked into the yard.
Round a mud-smeared barrow, over a fallen tree, to come to a halt ten paces from what had once been an extensive, elongated mound, now torn apart and steaming, mud sliding down as five huge figures dragged themselves free. Flesh darkened by peat, skin mapped by the tracks of countless roots, dangling hair the colour of copper. Tugging weapons free—massive two-handed swords of black, polished wood.
The five were chanting.
Iron Bars grunted. ‘Tartheno Toblakai. Hood-damned Fenn. Well, this won’t be fun.’
One of the warriors heard him and fixed black, murky eyes on the Avowed. The chant ceased, and it spoke. ‘A child, my brothers.’
‘The one who spoke through the earth?’ another asked.
‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’
‘It would not help us, that child. We have promised a terrible death.’
‘Then let us—’
The Toblakai’s words were cut short as Iron Bars rushed forward.
A roar, a keening sweep of a wooden sword flung into the path of the Avowed’s own weapon, which slid under, point gliding back round and over the warrior’s enormous wrist, following in its swishing wake, to intercept the instinctive back-swing. Slashing through hard, thick skin, the edge scoring against muscle tough as wood.
A huge presence lunging in from the Avowed’s right. But Iron Bars continued forward, ducking beneath the first Toblakai’s arm, then pivoting round as the second attacker slammed into the first warrior. Disengaging his sword, thrusting upward, seeking the soft space between the lower mandibles—a jerk of the giant’s head, and the Avowed’s sword point speared its right eye, plunging deep in a spurt of what seemed to be swamp water.
A shriek.
Iron Bars found himself scrambling over the ruined barrow, the other Toblakai stumbling as they swung round to face him again—with a heap of boulders, mud and ripped-up roots in the way.
The Avowed leapt down onto level ground once more.
Black blood dripping from one arm, a hand pressed over a gouged socket and burst eye, the Toblakai he had attacked was staggering back.
The other four were spreading out, silent now, intent.
Until they could edge round the entire barrow, their approach would be difficult, the footing treacherous.
One down. Iron Bars was pleased—
And then the fifth one shook itself and straightened. One-eyed, but turning to face the Avowed once more.
‘You hurt our brother,’ one said.
‘There’s more to come,’ Iron Bars said.
‘It’s not good, hurting gods.’
Gods?
‘We are the Seregahl,’ the lead Toblakai said. ‘Before you hurt us, you might have begged for mercy. You might have knelt in worship, and perhaps we would have accepted you. But not now.’
‘No,’ the Avowed agreed, ‘I suppose not.’
‘That is all you would say?’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing else comes to mind.’
‘You are frowning. Why?’
‘Well, I’ve already killed a god today,’ Iron Bars said. ‘If I’d known this was going to be a day for killing gods, I might have paced myself better.’
The five were silent for a moment, then the first one said, ‘What god have you killed this day, stranger?’
‘The Pack.’
A hiss from the Toblakai on the far right. ‘The ones that escaped us! The fast ones!’
‘They were fast,’ Iron Bars said, nodding. ‘But not, it seems, fast enough.’
‘D’ivers.’
‘Yes,’ the Avowed said. ‘Six of them…and only five of you.’
The first Toblakai said to its brothers, ‘Careful with this one, then.’
‘We are free,’ the one-eyed one growled. ‘We must kill this one to remain so.’
‘True. This is cause enough.’
They began advancing again.
Iron Bars inwardly sighed. At least he’d made them nervous. And that might serve to keep him alive a little while longer. Then again, he reminded himself, he’d faced worse.
Well, maybe not. Maybe? Who am I kidding?
He shifted his weight, rising to the balls of his feet, readying himself to begin the dance. The dance of staying alive.
Until help came.
Help…from a short, pudgy, balding man. Oh, Hood, Iron Bars, just try and stay alive as long as you can—maybe they’ll die of exhaustion.
‘Look,’ one whined, ‘he’s smiling.’
Unseen storms, raging through the streets, battering the city. Bugg’s head was aching with the chaos of power, of the clash of fierce wills. He could still feel the impotent fury, of the ancient god trapped beneath the ice of Settle Lake—the Ceda’s trap had worked well indeed, and even now the ice was slowly thickening, closing in around the creature in the sealed cavern, and before the sun set it would find itself encased in the ice, feeling the unbearable cold, seeping into its being, stealing sensation, stealing its life.
Good things came of being nice to a Jaghut, something the T’lan Imass never understood.
Bugg made his way towards the end of the alley beyond which the old Azath tower was visible. He hoped Iron Bars had not done anything precipitous, such as entering the yard alone. Kettle would have warned him against that in any case. With luck, the child’s buried ally was buried no longer. The Avowed was intended to give support, that was all, and only if necessity demanded it. This wasn’t that man’s fight, after all—
His steps slowed suddenly, as a cold dread swept through him. He quested out with his senses, and detected movement where there should not be movement, an awakening of wills, intentions burning bright, threads of fate converging…
The manservant turned round, and began running.
Four of his ablest killers approached Gerun Eberict from up the street. The Finadd raised a hand to halt those behind him.
‘Finadd,’ the squad leader said upon arriving, ‘we had some luck. The brother at the far lookout was flushed out into the street by a pack of Edur. He took six of the bastards down with him. Once the Edur left I sent Crillo out to make sure he was dead—’
‘He was cut to pieces,’ Crillo interrupted, grinning.
‘—and he was at that,’ the squad leader resumed, with a glare at Crillo, whose grin broadened.
‘And the other?’ Gerun asked, scanning the vicinity. It wouldn’t do to run into a company of Tiste Edur right now.
The squad leader scowled. ‘Crillo got ’im. A damned lucky knife-throw—’
‘No luck at all,’ Crillo cut in. ‘Poor bastard never knew it was coming—’
‘Because he’d caught out the rest of us—’
‘They’re both dead?’ Gerun asked. Then shook his head. ‘Luck indeed. It should not have been that easy. All right, that leaves the one on the roof. He’ll have been looking for signals from his brothers and he won’t be seeing them now. Meaning, he’ll know we’re coming.’
‘It’s just one man, Finadd—’
‘A Shavankrats, Crillo. Don’t get overconfident just because the Errant’s nudged our way so far. All right, we stay as a group now—’ He stopped, then gestured everyone low.
Thirty paces ahead and coming from a side alley, a lone figure ran into the street. A Tiste Edur woman. Like a startled deer she froze, head darting. Before she had a chance to look their way, she heard something behind her and bolted. A metallic flash in her right hand revealed that she carried a knife of some sort.
Gerun Eberict grunted. She was heading the same direction as he was. An undefended Tiste Edur woman. He would enjoy her before killing her. Once his other business was out of the way, of course. Might let the lads have a go, too. Crillo first, for the work he’d already done getting rid of Brys’s damned guards.
The Finadd straightened. ‘After her, then, since it’s on the way.’
Dark laughs from his troop.
‘Take point, Crillo.’
They set out.
Faces behind shutters at second floor windows—the whole city cowered like half-drowned rats. It was disgusting. But they were showing him, weren’t they, showing him how few deserved to live. This new empire of the Tiste Edur would be little different, he suspected. There would need to be controllers, deliverers of swift and incorruptible justice. People would continue to be rude. Would continue to litter the streets. And there would still be people who were just plain ugly, earning the mercy of Gerun’s knife. He would have his work, as before, to make this city a place of beauty—
They had reached the place where the woman had emerged from the alley. Crillo was turning round, pointing in the direction she had run, when a spear struck his head, spinning him round in a mass of blood, brain and shattered bone.
From the alley rushed a score or more Tiste Edur warriors.
‘Take them!’ Gerun Eberict commanded, and was pleased to see his men surge forward.
Past the Finadd, who then stepped back.
I can always get more men.
And ran.
Onto the trail of the woman. Coincidentally, of course. His real target was Tehol Beddict. He’d take her down first, leave her trussed and gagged close by, to await his return. More difficult, now, since he was alone. Tehol’s bodyguard would be a challenge, but when one’s sword edges were painted with poison, even the slightest cut would be sufficient to kill the man. Quickly.
There!
The woman had been hiding in a niche twenty paces ahead. She bolted at his approach.
Gerun broke into a sprint.
Oh, he wanted her now. She was beautiful. He saw the knife in her hand and laughed. It was a fish knife—he’d seen the Letherii slaves using them in that Hiroth village.
Running hard, he quickly gained on her.
Across another street, into another alley.
Close, now, to Tehol Beddict’s home. But he could reach her in time—five more steps—
‘There’s trouble.’
Stunned, Tehol Beddict turned. ‘Not mute after all…’ His words trailed away at seeing the unease in the bodyguard’s eyes. ‘Serious trouble, then.’
‘My brothers are both dead. Gerun Eberict is coming.’
‘This city’s full of Edur,’ Tehol said, throwing both hands up to encompass a vast sweep of rooftops, tiers and bridges. ‘Ranging round like wolves. And then there’s those real wolves—’
‘It’s Gerun.’
Tehol studied the man. ‘All right. He’s on the way for a visit. What should we do about it?’
‘They can come up the walls, the way your thief friend does. We need to get below. We need a place with one door and only one door.’
‘Well, there’s the warehouse opposite—I know it quite well—’
‘Let’s go, then.’
The guard went to the hatch, knelt at its edge and cautiously looked down into the room below. He waved Tehol forward, then began the descent.
Moments later they stood in the room. The guard headed to the entrance, tugged the hanging back a fraction and peered outside. ‘Looks clear. I’ll lead, to that wall—’
“The warehouse wall. There’s a watchman, Chalas—’
‘If he’s still there I’d be surprised.’
‘You have a point. All right. When we get to the wall, we head right. Round the corner and in through the office door, the first one we’ll come to. The main sliding doors will be barred.’
‘And if the office door is locked?’
‘I know where the key’s hidden.’
The guard nodded.
They stepped into the narrow corridor, turned left and approached the street.
Three more strides.
She threw a desperate look over her shoulder, then lunged forward in a sudden burst of speed.
Gerun snarled, reaching out with one hand.
A whimpering sound escaped her, and she raised the knife just as she reached the mouth of the alley.
And thrust it into her own chest.
Gerun was a hand’s width behind her, coming opposite a side corridor between two warehouses, when he was grasped hard, pulled off his feet, and yanked into the dark corridor.
A fist crashed into his face, shattering his nose. Stunned, he was helpless as the sword was plucked from his hand, the helmet dragged from his head.
The massive hands lifted him and slammed him hard against a wall. Once, twice, three times, and with each impact the back of Gerun’s head crunched against the cut stone. Then he was smashed onto the greasy cobbles, breaking his right shoulder and clavicle. Consciousness slipped away. When it returned a moment later he was vaguely aware of a huge, hulking figure crouched over him in the gloom.
A massive hand snapped down to cover Gerun’s mouth and the figure froze.
The sound of running feet in the alleyway, a dozen, maybe more, all moccasined, the rasp of weapons. Then past.
Blearily, Gerun Eberict stared up at an unfamiliar face. A mixed blood. Half Tarthenal, half Nerek.
The huge man crouched closer. ‘For what you did to her,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘And don’t think it’ll be quick…’
The hand over his mouth, Gerun could say nothing. Could ask no questions. And he had plenty of those.
It was clear, however, that the mixed blood wasn’t interested.
And that, Gerun said to himself, was too bad.
Tehol was three paces behind the guard, who was nearing the warehouse wall, when a scraping noise alerted him. He looked to his right, in time to see an Edur woman stagger out from an alley. A knife handle jutted from her chest, and blood was streaming down.
