The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen, page 563
‘You’ll live?’
A nod, and Fiddler managed to step back. ‘All right, I deserved that—’
‘Goes without saying,’ Braven Tooth replied.
They faced each other in the darkness for a moment, and then they embraced. And said nothing.
A moment later the door swung open behind them. They parted to see Gesler and Stormy, the former carrying two bottles of wine and the latter three loaves of bread.
‘Hood’s breath!’ Braven Tooth laughed. ‘The old bastards one and all come home!’
As Gesler and Stormy set their victuals down on a small table, Fiddler examined the fiddle that had been strapped to his back. No damage beyond the old damage, he was pleased to see. He drew out the bow, looked round as Braven Tooth ignited a lantern, then walked over to a chair and sat down.
A moment, then all three men were staring across at him.
‘I know,’ Fiddler said. ‘Braven Tooth, you remember the last time I played—’
‘That was the last time?’
‘It was, and there’s been a lot who’ve fallen since then. Friends. People we grew to love, and now miss, like holes in the heart.’ He drew a deep breath, then continued, ‘It’s been waiting, inside, for a long time. So, my old, old friends, let’s hear some names.’
Braven Tooth sat down on the cot, scratching at his beard. ‘Got a new one for you. A soldier I sent off this very night who got himself killed. Name of Gentur. His friend Mudslinger nearly died himself but it looks like the Lady pulled. And we found him in time to help things along.’
Fiddler nodded. ‘Gentur. All right. Gesler?’
‘Kulp. Baudin. And, I think, Felisin Paran – she had no luck at all, and when good things showed up, rare as that was, well, she didn’t know what to do or say.’ He shrugged. ‘A person hurts enough inside, all they can do is hurt back. So, her as well.’ He paused, then added, ‘Pella, Truth.’
‘And Coltaine,’ Stormy said. ‘And Duiker, and the Seventh.’
Fiddler began tuning the instrument. ‘Good names, one and all. I’ll add a few more. Whiskeyjack. Hedge. Trotts. And one more – no name yet, and it’s not so bad as that. One more…’ He grimaced. ‘Could sound a little rough, no matter how much rosin I use. No matter. Got a sad dirge in my head that needs to come out—’
‘All sad, Fid?’
‘No, not all. I leave the good memories to you – but I’ll give you a whisper every now and then, to tell you I know what you’re feeling. Now, settle down – pour them cups full, Gesler – this’ll take a while, I expect.’
And he began to play.
The heavy door at the top of Rampart Way opened with a squeal, revealing a massive, humped form silhouetted on the threshold. As the Adjunct reached the level, the figure stepped back. She strode into the gatehouse, followed by T’amber, then Fist Tene Baralta. Kalam entered the musty room. The air was sweet with the cloying fumes of rum.
The assassin paused opposite the keeper. ‘Lubben.’
A heavy, rumbling reply, ‘Kalam Mekhar.’
‘Busy night?’
‘Not everybody uses the door,’ Lubben replied.
Kalam nodded, and said nothing more. He continued on, emerging out into the keep’s courtyard, tilted flagstones underfoot, the old tower off to the left, the hold itself slightly to his right. The Adjunct had already traversed half the length of the concourse. Behind Kalam the escort of Untan Guard now separated themselves from the group, making for the barracks near the north wall.
Kalam squinted up at the murky moon. A faint wind brushed across his face, warm, sultry and dry, plucking at the sweat on his brow. Somewhere overhead, a weather vane squealed momentarily. The assassin set off after the others.
Two Claws flanked the keep entrance – not the usual guard. Kalam wondered where the resident Fist and his garrison were this night. Probably in the storehouse cellars, blind drunk. Hood knows, it’s where I would be in their boots. Not old Lubben, of course. That hoary hunchback was as old as the Rampart Gate itself – he’d always been there, as far back as the Emperor’s time and even, if rumours were true, back to Mock’s rule of the island.
As Kalam passed between the two assassins, both tilted their hooded heads in his direction. A mocking acknowledgement, he concluded, or something worse. He made no response, continuing on into the broad hallway.
Another Claw had been awaiting them, and this cowled figure now led them towards the staircase.
Ascending two levels, then down a corridor, into an antechamber, where Tene Baralta ordered his Red Blades to remain, barring his captain, Lostara Yil. The Fist then sent off two of his soldiers after a brief whispered set of instructions. The Adjunct watched all of this without expression, although Kalam was tempted to call Baralta out on what was obviously an act of pointed independence – as if Tene Baralta was divesting himself and his Red Blades of any association with the Adjunct and the Fourteenth Army.
After a moment, the Claw led them onward, through another portal, into another corridor, then down its length to a set of double doors. Not the usual room for official meetings, Kalam knew. This one was smaller – if the approach was any indication – and situated in a quarter of the keep rarely frequented. Two more Claws stood guard at the entrance, and both turned to open the doors.
Kalam watched the Adjunct stride in, then halt. As did T’amber and Tene Baralta. Beside the assassin, Lostara Yil’s breath caught.
A tribunal awaited them, and seated opposite them were Empress Laseen, Korbolo Dom – attired as a High Fist – and another person Kalam did not recognize. Round-faced and full-featured, corpulent, wearing blue silks. His hair was colourless, cut short and oiled. Sleepy eyes regarded the Adjunct with an executioner’s avarice.
The tables were arranged in an inverted T, and three chairs waited, their high backs to the newcomers.
After a long moment, the Adjunct stepped forward, drew out the centre chair, and sat, her back straight. T’amber took the chair to Tavore’s left. Tene Baralta gestured Lostara Yil to accompany him and moved off to the far right side, where he stood at attention, facing the Empress.
Kalam slowly sighed, then walked to the remaining chair. Sitting down, he settled both gloved hands on the scarred tabletop before him.
The oily fat man fixed his gaze on the assassin and leaned forward slightly. ‘Kalam Mekhar, yes? Great pleasure,’ he murmured, ‘in meeting you at last.’
‘Is it? I’m happy for you…whoever you are.’
‘Mallick Rel.’
‘Here in what capacity?’ Kalam asked. ‘Chief snake?’
‘That will be enough from you,’ the Empress said. ‘Sit if you must, Kalam, but be silent. And understand, I did not request your presence here this night.’
Kalam sensed a hidden question in that statement, to which he but shrugged. No, Laseen, I’m not ready to give you anything.
Laseen shifted her attention to the commander of the Red Blades. ‘Tene Baralta, I understand you assisted in escorting the Adjunct and her retinue through the city. Noble of you. I assume the Adjunct did not invite you, nor compel you in any manner. Accordingly, it seems clear that you wish to speak to me on behalf of the Red Blades.’
The man with the ravaged face bowed, then said, ‘Yes, Empress.’
‘Go on.’
‘The Red Blades were conscripted by the Adjunct in Aren, Empress, whereupon I was made a Fist in the Fourteenth Army. I respectfully request that you countermand that order. The Red Blades have ever served the Malazan Empire in an independent capacity, as befitting our unique status the first and foremost Imperial Guardians in Seven Cities.’
The Empress nodded. ‘I see no reason not to grant your request, Commander. Does the Adjunct wish to make comment?’
‘No.’
‘Very well. Commander Tene Baralta, the Red Blades can be quartered here in Mock’s Hold for the time being. You may leave.’
The man bowed again, then, turning about, he marched from the chamber. His captain followed.
The doors closed once more behind them.
Laseen fixed her attention on the Adjunct. ‘Welcome home, Tavore,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Empress.’
‘The transports in the harbour display the flag of plague – you and I both know that no plague is present among the soldiers of your army.’ She tilted her head. ‘What am I to make of this attempt at deception?’
‘Empress, Fist Keneb has evidently concluded that, regardless of Captain Rynag’s views, Malaz City is in a state of civil unrest, sufficient to make Keneb fear for the well-being of the Fourteenth, should the army disembark. After all, I have with me Wickans – whose loyalty to the Empire, I might add, is beyond reproach. In addition, we have a substantial force of Khundryl Burned Tears, who have also served with distinction. To land such troops could invite a bloodbath.’
‘A bloodbath, Adjunct?’ Laseen’s brows rose. ‘Captain Rynag was given specific orders to ensure that the soldiers of the Fourteenth disarm prior to disembarking.’
‘Thus leaving them at the mercy of an enflamed mob, Empress.’
Laseen waved dismissively.
‘Empress,’ the Adjunct continued, ‘I believe there is now the misapprehension, here in the heart of the empire, that the events commonly known as the Chain of Dogs – and those that followed at Aren – are somehow suspect.’ She paused, then resumed, ‘I see that Korbolo Dom, who commanded the renegade Dogslayers, and who was captured and arrested in Raraku, is once more a free man, and, indeed, a High Fist. Furthermore, the Jhistal priest and likely instigator in the slaughter of the Aren Army, Mallick Rel, now sits as your adviser in these proceedings. Needless to say, I am confused by this. Unless, of course, the Seven Cities Rebellion has succeeded beyond its wildest dreams, regardless of my own successes in Seven Cities.’
‘My dear Tavore,’ Laseen said, ‘I admit to some embarrassment on your behalf. You appear to hold to the childish notion that some truths are intransigent and undeniable. Alas, the adult world is never so simple. All truths are malleable. Subject, by necessity, to revision. Have you not yet observed, Tavore, that in the minds of the people in this empire, truth is without relevance? It has lost its power. It no longer effects change and indeed, the very will of the people – born of fear and ignorance, granted – the very will, as I said, can in turn revise those truths, can transform, if you like, the lies of convenience into faith, and that faith in turn is not open to challenge.’
‘In challenging,’ the Adjunct said after a moment, ‘one commits treason.’
The Empress smiled. ‘I see you grow older with every heartbeat, Tavore. Perhaps we might mourn the loss of innocence, but not for long, I’m afraid. The Malazan Empire is at its most precarious moment, and all is uncertain, hovering on the cusp. We have lost Dujek Onearm to plague – and his army appears to have vanished entirely, likely also victims of that plague. Events have taken a turn for the worse in Korel. The decimation of Seven Cities has struck us a near-mortal blow with respect to our economy and, specifically, the harvests. We may find ourselves facing starvation before the subcontinent can recover. It becomes imperative, Tavore, to force a new shape upon our empire.’
‘And what, Empress, does this new shape entail?’
Mallick Rel spoke: ‘Victims, alas. Spilled blood, to slacken the thirst, the need. Unfortunate, but no other path presents. All are saddened here.’
Tavore slowly blinked. ‘You wish me to hand over the Wickans.’
‘And,’ Mallick Rel said, ‘the Khundryl.’
Korbolo Dom suddenly leaned forward. ‘One other matter, Tavore Paran. Who in Hood’s name are on those catamarans?’
‘Soldiers of a people known as the Perish.’
‘Why are they here?’ the Napan demanded, baring his teeth.
‘They have pledged allegiance, High Fist.’
‘To the Malazan Empire?’
The Adjunct hesitated, then fixed her gaze once more upon Laseen. ‘Empress, I must speak with you. In private. There are matters that belong exclusively to the Empress and her Adjunct.’
Mallick Rel hissed, then said, ‘Matters unleashed by an otataral sword, you mean! It is as I feared, Empress! She serves another, now, and would draw cold iron across the throat of the Malazan Empire!’
Tavore’s expression twisted, unveiling disgust as she looked upon the Jhistal priest. ‘The empire has ever refused an immortal patron, Mallick Rel. For this reason more than any other, we have survived and, indeed, grown ever stronger. What are you doing here, priest?’
‘Who do you now serve, woman?’ Mallick Rel demanded.
‘I am the Adjunct to the Empress.’
‘Then you must do as she commands! Give us the Wickans!’
‘Us? Ah, now I see. You were cheated of some of your glory outside Aren. Tell me, how long before an arrest writ is issued for Fist Blistig, the once-commander of the Aren Guard who defied the order to leave the city? Because of him and him alone, Aren did not fall.’
Laseen asked, ‘Were not the Red Blades in Aren arrested by Blistig, Tavore?’
‘At Pormqual’s command. Please, Empress, we must speak, you and I, alone.’
And Kalam saw then, in Laseen’s eyes, something he thought he would never see. A flicker of fear.
But it was Korbolo Dom who spoke. ‘Adjunct Tavore, I am now High Fist. And, with Dujek’s death, I am ranking High Fist. Furthermore, I have assumed the title and responsibilities of First Sword of the Empire, a post sadly vacant since Dassem Ultor’s untimely death. Accordingly, I now assume command of the Fourteenth Army.’
‘Tavore,’ Laseen said quietly, ‘it was never the function of an Adjunct to command armies. Necessity forced my hand with the rebellion in Seven Cities, but that is now over. You have completed all that I asked of you, and I am not blind to your loyalty. It grieves me that this meeting has become so overtly hostile – you are the extension of my will, Tavore, and I do not regret my choice. No, not even now. It seems I must make the details of my will clear to you. I want you at my side once more, in Unta. Mallick Rel may well possess talents in many areas of administration, but he lacks in others – I need you for those, Tavore, I need you at my side to complement the Jhistal priest. You see before you the restructuring of the imperial high command. A new First Sword now assumes overall command of the Malazan Armies. The time has come, Tavore, to set aside your own sword.’
Silence. From Tavore, no movement, not a single twitch of emotion. ‘As you command, Empress.’
Beneath his clothes, Kalam felt his skin grow hot, as if close to blistering flames. Sweat ran down his body; he could feel it beading on his face and neck. He stared down at his leather-clad hands, motionless on the worn wood of the tabletop.
‘I am pleased,’ Laseen said.
‘It will be necessary,’ Tavore said, ‘for me to return, briefly, to the docks. I believe Fist Keneb will doubt the veracity of the change of command if informed by anyone but me.’
‘A most loyal man,’ Mallick Rel murmured.
‘Yes, he is that.’
‘And these Perish?’ Korbolo Dom demanded. ‘Are they worth the trouble? Will they submit to my authority?’
‘I cannot speak for them in that matter,’ Tavore said tonelessly. ‘But they will not reject any overtures out of hand. As for their prowess, I believe it will suffice, at least in an auxiliary function to our regulars.’
‘There is nothing more to them?’
The Adjunct’s shrug was careless. ‘They are foreigners, First Sword. Barbarians.’
Barbarians sailing the finest warships on the damned ocean, aye.
But Korbolo Dom, in all his percipience and razor-honed judgement, simply nodded.
Another moment of silence, in which so many things could have been said, in which the course of the Malazan Empire could have found firmer footing. Silence, and yet to Kalam it seemed he could hear the slamming of doors, the clatter and crunch of portcullis dropping, and he saw hallways, avenues, where the flickering light dimmed, then vanished.
If the Empress were to speak then, with words for the Adjunct alone – anything, any overture that did not ring false—
Mallick Rel said, ‘Adjunct, there is the matter of two Wickans, a warlock and a witch.’
Tavore’s eyes remained on Laseen. ‘Of course. Fortunately, they are ineffectual, a consequence of the trauma they experienced with Coltaine’s death.’
‘Nonetheless, the Claw will effect their arrest.’
The Empress said, ‘It cannot be helped, Tavore. Even with a remnant of their old power, they could unleash slaughter upon the citizens of Malaz City, and that we cannot have.’
‘The blood this night belongs to the Wickans and the Khundryl.’ A statement from the Adjunct, devoid of all emotion.
‘It must be so,’ the Jhistal priest murmured, as if struck anew by grief.
‘Tavore,’ Laseen said, ‘will the Khundryl prove recalcitrant in yielding their arms and armour? Do they not number two thousand, or more?’
‘A word from me will suffice,’ the Adjunct said.
‘I am greatly relieved,’ the Empress said, with a faint smile, ‘that you now comprehend the necessity of what will occur this night. In the broader scheme of things, Tavore, the sacrifice is modest. It is also clear that the Wickans have outlived their usefulness – the old covenants with the tribes must be dispensed with, now that Seven Cities and its harvest have become so thoroughly disrupted. In other words, we need the Wickan Plains. The herds must be slaughtered and the earth broken, crops planted. Seven Cities has provided us a harsh lesson when it comes to relying upon distant lands for the resources the empire consumes.’
‘In this way,’ Mallick Rel said, spreading his hands, ‘necessity is an economic matter, yes? That an ignorant and backward people must be eradicated is sad, indeed, but alas, inevitable.’
‘You would well know of that,’ Tavore said to him. ‘The Gedorian Falari cult of the Jhistal was eradicated in a similar manner by Emperor Kellanved, after all. Presumably you are among the very few survivors from that time.’
