The Malazan Empire, page 564
Now it was Laseen’s turn to speak without inflection. ‘Most certainly not, Kalam Mekhar.’
The entire Claw, under my control. Gods, who would fall first? Mallick Rel. Korbolo Dom…
And she knows that. She offers that. I can cut the cancers out of the flesh…but first, some Wickans need to die. And…not just Wickans.
Not trusting himself to speak, and not knowing what he might say if he did, Kalam simply bowed to the Empress, then followed Tavore and T’amber as they strode from the chamber.
Into the corridor.
Twenty-three paces to the antechamber – no Red Blades remained – where Tavore paused, gesturing to T’amber who moved past and positioned herself at the far door. The Adjunct then shut the one behind them.
And faced Kalam.
But it was T’amber who spoke. ‘Kalam Mekhar. How many Hands await us?’
He looked away. ‘Each Hand is trained to work as a unit. Both a strength and a flaw.’
‘How many?’
‘Four ships moored below. Could be as many as eighty.’
‘Eighty?’
The assassin nodded. You are dead, Adjunct. So are you, T’amber. ‘She will not let you get back to the ships,’ he said, still not meeting their gazes. ‘To do so invites a civil war—’
‘No,’ Tavore said.
Kalam frowned, glanced at her.
‘We are leaving the Malazan Empire. And in all likelihood, we will never return.’
He walked to a wall, leaned his back against it, and closed his eyes. Sweat streamed down his face. ‘Don’t you understand what she just offered me? I can walk right back into that room and do precisely what she wants me to do – what she needs me to do. She and I will then walk out of there, leaving two corpses, their heads sawed off and planted on that damned table. Damn this, Tavore. Eighty Hands!’
‘I understand,’ the Adjunct said. ‘Go then. I will not think less of you, Kalam Mekhar. You are of the Malazan Empire. Now serve it.’
Still he did not move, nor open his eyes. ‘So it means nothing to you, now, Tavore?’
‘I have other concerns.’
‘Explain them.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
T’amber said, ‘There is a convergence this night, Kalam, here in Malaz City. The game is in a frenzy of move and countermove, and yes, Mallick Rel is a participant, although the hand that guides him remains remote, unseen. Removing him, as you intend to do, will prove a deadly blow and may well shift the entire balance. It may well save not just the Malazan Empire, but the world itself. How can we object to your desire?’
‘And yet…’
‘Yes,’ T’amber said. ‘We are asking you. Kalam, without you we stand no chance at all—’
‘Six hundred assassins, damn you!’ He set his head against the wall, unwilling, unable to look upon these two women, to see the need in their eyes. ‘I’m not enough. You have to see that. We all go down, and Mallick Rel lives.’
‘As you say,’ Tavore replied.
He waited for her to add something more, a final plea. He waited for a new tack from T’amber. But there was only silence.
‘Is it worth it, Adjunct?’
‘Win this battle, Kalam, or win the war.’
‘I’m just one man.’
‘Yes.’
With a shaved knuckle in the hole.
His palms itched against the damp leather of his gloves. ‘That Jhistal priest holds a grudge.’
‘A prolonged one, yes,’ said T’amber. ‘That, and a lust for power.’
‘Laseen is desperate.’
‘Yes, Kalam, she is.’
‘Why not stay right here, the both of you? Wait for me to kill them. Wait, and I will convince the Empress that this pogrom needs to be stopped. Right now. No more blood spilled. There’s six hundred assassins in the city below – we can crush this madness, scour away this fever—’
‘No more blood, Kalam Mekhar?’
T’amber’s question stung him, then he shook his head. ‘Ringleaders, nothing more will be required.’
‘It is clear that something has not occurred to you,’ T’amber said.
‘What hasn’t?’
‘The Claw. They are infiltrated. Extensively. The Jhistal priest has not been idle.’
‘How do you know this?’
Silence once more.
Kalam rubbed at his face with both hands. ‘Gods below…’
‘May I ask you a question?’
He snorted. ‘Go ahead, T’amber.’
‘You once railed at the purging of the Old Guard. In fact, you came to this very city not so long ago, intending to assassinate the Empress.’
How does she know this? How could she know any of this? Who is she? ‘Go on.’
‘You were driven by outrage, by indignation. Your own memories had been proclaimed nothing but lies, and you wanted to defy those revisionists who so sullied all that you valued. You wanted to look into the eyes of the one who decided the Bridgeburners had to die – you needed to see the truth there, and, if you found it, you would act. But she talked you out of it—’
‘She wasn’t even here.’
‘Ah, you knew that, then. Well, no matter. Would that alone have stopped you from crossing to Unta? From chasing her down?’
He shook his head.
‘In any case, where now is your indignation, Kalam Mekhar? Coltaine of the Crow Clan. The Imperial Historian Duiker. The Seventh Army. And now, the Wickans of the Fourteenth. Fist Temul. Nil, Nether. Gall of the Khundryl Burned Tears, who threw back Korbolo Dom at Sanimon – cheating Korbolo’s victory long before Aren. The betrayers are in the throne room—’
‘I can make that stay shortlived.’
‘You can. And if you so choose, the Adjunct and I will die possessing at least that measure of satisfaction. But in dying, so too will many, many others. More than any of us can comprehend.’
‘You ask where is my indignation, but you have the answer before you. It lives. Within me. And it is ready to kill. Right now.’
‘Killing Mallick Rel and Korbolo Dom this night,’ T’amber said, ‘will not save the Wickans, nor the Khundryl. Will not prevent war with the Perish. Or the destruction of the Wickan Plains. The Empress is indeed desperate, so desperate that she will sacrifice her Adjunct in exchange for the slaying of the two betrayers in her midst. But tell me, do you not think Mallick Rel understood the essence of Laseen’s offer to you?’
‘Is that your question?’
‘Yes.’
‘Korbolo Dom is a fool. Likely he comprehends nothing. The Jhistal priest is, unfortunately, not a fool. So, he is prepared.’ Kalam fell silent, although his thoughts continued, following countless tracks. Potentials, possibilities. ‘He may not know I possess an otataral weapon—’
‘The power he can draw upon is Elder,’ T’amber said.
‘So, after all we’ve said here, I may fail.’
‘You may.’
‘And if I do, then we all lose.’
‘Yes.’
Kalam opened his eyes, and found that the Adjunct had turned away. T’amber alone faced him, her gold-hued eyes unwavering in their uncanny regard.
Six hundred. ‘Tell me this, T’amber: between you and the Adjunct, whose life matters more?’
The reply was immediate. ‘The Adjunct’s.’
It seemed that Tavore flinched then, but would not face them.
‘And,’ Kalam asked, ‘between you and me?’
‘Yours.’
Ah. ‘Adjunct. Choose, if you will, between yourself and the Fourteenth.’
‘What is the purpose of all this?’ Tavore demanded, her voice ragged.
‘Choose.’
‘Fist Keneb has his orders,’ she said.
Kalam slowly closed his eyes once more. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, a faint, ever faint sound. Music. Filled with sorrow. ‘Warrens in the city,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘Many, seething with power – Quick Ben will be hard-pressed even if I can get through to him, and there’s no chance of using gates. Adjunct, you will need your sword. Otataral out front…and to the rear.’
Strange music, the tune unfamiliar and yet…he knew it.
Kalam opened his eyes, even as the Adjunct slowly turned.
The pain in her gaze was like a blow against his heart.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
The assassin drew a deep breath, then rolled his shoulders. ‘All right, no point in keeping them waiting.’
Pearl stepped into the chamber. Mallick Rel was pacing, and Korbolo Dom had uncorked a bottle of wine and was pouring himself a goblet. The Empress remained in her chair.
She wasted no time on small talk. ‘The three are nearing the Gate.’
‘I see. So, Kalam Mekhar made his choice, then.’
A flicker of something like disappointment. ‘Yes, he is out of your way now, Pearl.’
You bitch. Offered him the Claw, did you? And where would that have left me? ‘He and I have unfinished business, Empress.’
‘Do not let that interfere with what must be done. Kalam is the least relevant target, do you understand me? Get him out of the way, of course, but then complete what is commanded of you.’
‘Of course, Empress.’
‘When you return,’ Laseen said, with a small smile on her plain features, ‘I have a surprise for you. A pleasant one.’
‘I doubt I shall be gone long—’
‘It is that overconfidence that I find most irritating in you, Pearl.’
‘Empress, he is one man!’
‘Do you imagine the Adjunct helpless? She wields an otataral sword, Pearl – the sorcery by which the Claw conduct their ambushes will not work. This will be brutal. Furthermore, there is T’amber, and she remains – to all of us – a mystery. I do not want you to return to me at dawn to inform me that success has left two hundred dead Claws in the streets and alleys below.’
Pearl bowed.
‘Go, then.’
Mallick Rel turned at that moment, ‘Clawmaster,’ he said, ‘when the task is done, be sure to dispatch two Hands to the ship, Froth Wolf, with instructions to kill Nil and Nether. If opportunity arrives thereafter, they are to kill Fist Keneb as well.’
Pearl frowned. ‘Quick Ben is on that ship.’
‘Leave him be,’ the Empress said.
‘He will not act to defend the targets?’
‘His power is an illusion,’ Mallik Rel said dismissively. ‘His title as High Mage is unearned, yet I suspect he enjoys the status, and so will do nothing to reveal the paucity of his talents.’
Pearl slowly cocked his head. Really, Mallick Rel?
‘Send out the commands,’ Laseen said.
The Clawmaster bowed again, then left the chamber.
Kalam Mekhar. Finally, we can end this. For that, Empress, thank you.
They entered the gatehouse at the top of Rampart Way. Lubben was a shadow hunched over a small table off to one side. The keeper glanced up, then down again. A large bronze tankard was nestled in his huge, battered hands.
Kalam paused. ‘Tilt that back once for us, will you?’
A nod. ‘Count on it.’
They moved to the opposite gate.
Behind them, Lubben said, ‘Mind that last step down there.’
‘We will.’
And thanks for that, Lubben.
They stepped out onto the landing.
Below, buildings were burning here and there across the city. Torches scurried back and forth like glow-worms in rotted flesh. Faint shouts, screams. Centre Docks was a mass of humanity.
‘Marines on the jetty,’ the Adjunct said.
‘They’re holding,’ T’amber noted, as if to reassure Tavore.
Gods below, there must be a thousand or more in that mob. ‘There’s barely three squads there, Adjunct.’
She said nothing, and began the descent. T’amber followed, and finally, with a last glance at the seething battle at Centre Docks, Kalam set off in their wake.
Tene Baralta strode into the well-furnished room, paused to look around for a moment, then made his way to a plush high-backed chair. ‘By the Seven,’ he said with a loud sigh, ‘at last we are done with the cold-eyed bitch.’ He sat down, stretched out his legs. ‘Pour us some wine, Captain.’
Lostara Yil approached her commander. ‘That can wait. Allow me to help you out of your armour, sir.’
‘Good idea. The ghost of my arm pains me so – my neck muscles are like twisted bars of iron.’
She drew the lone gauntlet off his remaining hand and set it on the table. Then moved to behind the chair, reached over and unclasped the man’s cloak. He half-rose, allowing her to pull it away. She folded it carefully and set it on top of a wooden chest near the large, cushion-piled bed. Returning to Tene Baralta she said, ‘Stand for a moment, sir, if you will. We will remove the chain.’
Nodding, he straightened. It was awkward, but they finally managed to draw the heavy armour away. She placed it in a heap at the foot of the bed. Baralta’s under-quilting was damp with sweat, pungent and stained under the arms. She pulled it away, leaving the man bare above the hips. The scars of old burns were livid weals. His muscles had softened with disuse beneath a layer of fat.
‘High Denul,’ Lostara said, ‘the Empress will not hesitate in seeing you properly mended.’
‘That she will,’ he said, settling back into the chair. ‘And then, Lostara Yil, you will not flinch when looking upon me. I have had many thoughts, of you and me.’
‘Indeed.’ She moved up behind him yet again, and began kneading the rock-hard tension gripping the muscles to either side of his neck.
‘Yes. It is, I believe now, meant to be.’
‘Do you recall, sir,’ she said, ‘a visit I made, long ago now, when on Kalam Mekhar’s trail. A visit to a garrison keep. I sat at the very same table as the assassin. A Deck was unveiled, rather unexpectedly. Death and Shadow predominated the field, if my memory serves – and that, I admit, I cannot guarantee. In any case, following your instructions precisely, I later conducted a thorough slaughter of everyone present – after Kalam’s departure, of course.’
‘You have always followed orders with impressive precision, Lostara Yil.’
She brought her left hand up along his jaw-line, stroking softly. ‘That morning of murder, Commander, remains my greatest regret. They were innocents, one and all.’
‘Do not let such errors weigh on you, my love.’
‘That is a difficult task, sir. Achieving the necessary coldness.’
‘You have singular talents in such matters.’
‘I suppose I have,’ she said, as her palm brushed his mangled lips, then settled there, against his mouth. And the knife in her other hand slid into the side of his neck, behind the windpipe, then slashed out and down.
Blood flooded against the palm of her hand, along with gurgling sounds and bubbles of escaping air. The body in the chair twitched a few times, then slumped down.
Lostara Yil stepped away. She wiped the knife and her hands on the silk bedding. Sheathing the weapon once more, she collected her gloves, and walked to the door.
She opened it only wide enough to permit her passage through, and to the two Red Blades standing guard outside, she said, ‘The commander sleeps now. Do not disturb him.’
The soldiers saluted.
Lostara closed the door, then strode down the corridor.
Very well, Cotillion, you were right about him after all.
And once again, the necessary coldness was achieved.
Uru Hela was down, screaming and curling up round the spear transfixing her torso. Swearing, Koryk pushed hard with his shield, driving the attackers back until he could step over her. Smiles edged in behind him, grasped the downed soldier by the belt and pulled Uru Hela back.
Another sharper exploded, bodies whirling away in sheets of blood, the spray striking Koryk’s face beneath the helm. He blinked stinging heat from his eyes, took a mace blow against his shield, then thrust upward from beneath it, the sword-point ripping into a groin. The shriek that exploded from the crippled attacker nearly deafened him. He tugged the sword loose.
There were shouts behind him, but he could make little sense of them. With Uru Hela out of the fight, and Shortnose getting crippled by a sword through a thigh in the last rush, the front line was desperately thin. Both Galt and Lobe had joined it now. Deadsmell worked on Shortnose’s bleeder, and Widdershins was frantically trying to deflect assaults of Mockra – the sorcerous attacks seeking to incite confusion and panic – and the squad mage was fast weakening.
What in Hood’s name was Quick Ben up to? Where was he? Why hadn’t he emerged onto the deck of the Froth Wolf?
Koryk found himself swearing in every language he knew. They couldn’t hold.
And who was playing that damned music, anyway?
He fought on.
And saw nothing of what was happening behind him, the sliding out of darkness of the enormous wolf-headed catamaran, closing on the end of the jetty. The broad platforms scraping outward, thumping down on the solid stone. Units of heavily armoured soldiers marching across those platforms, archers among them, long arrows nocked to bowstrings.
Koryk slashed with his sword, saw some poor Malazan citizen’s face split in half, the jaw torn away, a torrent of blood – the white gleam of exposed bone beneath each ear – then, reeling away, eyes filled with disbelief, horror—
Killing our own – gods below – our own—
A sudden ringing command from Sergeant Balm behind him. ‘Disengage! Marines disengage!’
And discipline took hold – that command, echoing a hairy Master Sergeant’s bawled orders on a drill field years ago – Koryk, snarling, lurched back, bringing up his shield to fend off an out-thrust spear—
All at once, soldiers were moving past him on either side, a new shield-wall clashing closed in front of him.
A chorus of screams as arrows whispered into the heaving mob, thudding into flesh.
Wheeling away, sword’s point dragging then skipping across the uneven cobbles, Koryk staggered back.
The Perish.
They’re here.
And that’s that.
