The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen, page 865
The Watch is as he must be. Yet see how you hated his strength—but it was nothing more than hating your own weakness. Nothing more than that.
Walk, Yan Tovis. It’s all you need do—
With the sound of a sundered sail, the world tore itself wide open. The road dropped from beneath the two witches, then thundered and cracked like a massive spine as it slammed down atop rolling hills. Dust shot skyward, and sudden sunlight blazed down with blinding fire.
Pully staggered to where Twilight had collapsed, seeing the spatters of blood brown and dull on the road’s cracked, broken surface. ‘Skwish, y’damned fool! We was drunk! Drunk on ’er an now ye look!’
Skwish dragged herself loose from the half-dozen Shake who had tumbled into her. ‘Oh’s we in turble now—this anna Gallan! It’s the unnerside a Gallan! The unnerside! Iz she yor an dead, Pully? Iz she?’
‘Nearby, Skwish, nearby—she went on too long—we shoulda paid attention. Kept an eye on ’er.’
‘Get ’er back, Pully! We can’t be ’ere. We can’t!’
As the two now young women knelt by Yan Tovis, the mass of refugees was embroiled in its own chaotic recovery. Broken limbs, scattered bundles of possessions, panicked beasts. The hills flanking the road were denuded, studded with sharp outcrops. Not a tree in sight. Through the haze of dust, now drifting on the wind, the sky was cloudless—and there were three suns.
Yedan Derryg scanned his troop of soldiers, was satisfied that none had suffered more than bruises and scrapes. ‘Sergeant, attend to the wounded—and stay on the road—no one is to leave it.’
‘Sir.’
He then set out, picking his way round huddled refugees—wide-eyed islanders silent with fear, heads lifting and turning to track his passage. Yedan found the two captains, Pithy and Brevity, directing one of their makeshift squads in the righting of a toppled cart.
‘Captains, pass on the command for everyone to stay on the road—not a single step off it, understood?’
The two women exchanged glances, and then Pithy shrugged. ‘We can do that. What’s happened?’
‘It was already looking bad,’ Brevity said, ‘wasn’t it?’
‘And now,’ added Pithy, ‘it’s even worse. Three suns, for Errant’s sake!’
Yedan grimaced. ‘I must make my way to the front of the column. I must speak with my sister. I will know more when I return.’
He continued on.
The journey was cruel, as the Watch could not help but observe the wretched state of the refugees, islanders and Shake alike. He well comprehended the necessity of leaving the shore, and the islands. The sea respected them no longer, not the land, not the people clinging to it. His sister had no choice but to take them away. But she was also leading them. Ancient prophecies haunted her, demanding dread sacrifices—but her Shake were poor creatures for the most part. They did not belong in legends, in tales of hard courage and resolute defiance—he’d seen as much in the faces of the witches and warlocks he’d cut down. And he saw the same here, as he threaded through the crowds. The Shake were a diminished people, in numbers, in spirit. Generation upon generation, they had made themselves small, as if meekness was the only survival strategy they understood.
Yedan Derryg did not know if they were capable of rising again.
The islanders, he mused, might well prove more competent than the Shake, if Pithy and Brevity were any measure. He could use them. Letherii understood the value of adaptability, after all. And since these were the ones who had chosen Yan Tovis as their Queen, he could exploit that loyalty.
They needed an army. The two captains were right. And they were looking to him to lead it. That seemed plain enough. His task now was to convince his sister.
Of course, their paramount need at the moment was to leave this place. Before its residents found them.
Pushing clear of the last huddle of refugees he saw that a perimeter of sorts had been established by—he noted with a frown—two young women and a half-dozen Shake youths armed with fishing spears. The women were busy scratching furrows in the road with antler picks, spirals and wavy circles—fashioning wards, Yedan realized with a start—in the gap between the guards and a small tent surrounded by a rough palisade of carved poles.
Witching poles. Yedan Derryg walked up to the guards, who parted to let him pass—saving him the effort of beating the fools senseless—and halted before the women. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ he demanded. ‘Such rituals belong to Elder Witches, not their apprentices—where is my sister? In the tent? Why?’
The woman closest to him, curvaceous beneath her rags, her black hair glistening in the sunlight, placed two fingers beneath her large, dark eyes, and then smiled. ‘The Watch sees but remains blind, an yer blind an blind.’ Then she laughed.
Yedan narrowed his gaze, and then shot the other woman a second look.
This one straightened from etching the road. She lifted her arms as if to display herself—the tears and holes in her shirt revealing smooth flesh, the round fullness of her breasts. ‘Hungry, Witchslayer?’ She ran a hand through her auburn hair and then smiled invitingly.
‘See what her blood done t’us?’ the first one exclaimed. ‘Ya didn’t nearby kill us. Leff the two a us, an that made us rich wi’ ’er power, and see what it done?’
Yedan Derryg slowly scowled. ‘Pully. Skwish.’
Both women pranced the opening steps to the Shake Maiden Dance.
Growling under his breath, he walked between them, taking care not to scrape the patterns cut into the packed earth of the road.
The one he took to be Pully hurried up to his side. ‘Careful, ya fat walrus, these are highest—’
‘Wards. Yes. You’ve surrounded my sister with them. Why?’
‘She’s sleepin—don’t asturb ’er.’
‘I am the Watch. We need to speak.’
‘Sleeps!’
He halted, stared at the witch. ‘Do you know where we are?’
‘Do you?’
Yedan stared at her. Saw the tremor behind her eyes. ‘If not,’ he said, ‘the hold of the Liosan, then a neighbouring realm within their demesne.’
Pully flinched. ‘The Watch sees and is not blind,’ she whispered.
As he moved to continue to the tent the witch snapped out a hand to stay him. ‘Lissen. Not sleep. Nearby a coma—she didn’t know to slow ’er own blood, just let it pour out—nearby killt ’er.’
He ground his teeth, chewed silently for a moment, and then asked, ‘You bound her wounds?’
‘We did,’ answered Skwish behind them. ‘But mebbe we was too late—’
‘Too busy dancing.’
Neither woman replied.
‘I will look upon my sister.’
‘An then stay close,’ said Pully, ‘an bring up your soljers.’
Yedan pointed to one of the Shake guards. ‘Send that one back to Captains Pithy and Brevity. They are to take command of the rearguard with their company. Then have your lad lead my troop back here.’
Skwish turned away to comply with his commands.
They were flush, yes, these two witches. And frightened. Two forces he could use to ensure their cooperation. That and the guilt they must now be feeling, having drunk deep when—if not for Yedan’s slaying of the others—they would have but managed a sip with the rest shared out among scores of parched rivals. He would keep them down from now on, he vowed. Serving the Royal Family. ‘Pully,’ he now said. ‘If I discover you ever again withholding information from me—or my sister—I will see you burned alive. Am I understood?’
She paled and almost stepped back.
He stepped closer, permitting her no retreat. ‘I am the Watch.’
‘Aye. You are the Watch.’
‘And until the Queen recovers, I command this column—including you and Skwish.’
She nodded.
‘Make certain your sister witch understands.’
‘I will.’
He turned and made his way to the tent. Crouched at the entrance. He hesitated, thinking, and then reached out to tug aside the hide flap—enough to give him a view inside. Hot, pungent air gusted out. She was lying like a corpse, arms at her sides, palms up. He could just make out the black-gut stitchwork seaming the knife cuts. Reaching in, he took one of her bare feet in his hand. Cold, but he could detect the faintest of pulses. He set the foot down, closed the flap, and straightened.
‘Pully.’
She was standing where he’d left her. ‘Yes.’
‘She might not recover left just as she is.’
‘Na, she might not.’
‘She needs sustenance. Wine, meat. Can you force that into her without choking her?’
Pully nodded. ‘Need us a snake tube.’
‘Find one.’
‘Skwish!’
‘I heard.’
Yedan made his way back through the wards. Four horses were tethered to his sister’s supply wagon. He selected the biggest one, a black gelding with a white blaze on its forehead. The beast was unsaddled but bridled. He drew it out from the others and then vaulted on to its back.
Pully was watching him. ‘Can’t ride through the wards!’
‘I don’t mean to,’ he replied, gathering the reins.
The witch stared, baffled. ‘Then where?’
Yedan chewed for a time, and then brought his horse round to face the nearest hills.
Pully shrieked and then leapt to block his path. ‘Not off the road, ya fool!’
‘When I return,’ he said, ‘you will have her awake.’
‘Don’t be stupid! They might not find us at all!’
He thought about dismounting, walking up and cuffing her. Instead, he simply stared down at her, and then said in a low voice, ‘Now who is being the fool, witch? I go to meet them, and if need be, I will slow them down. Long enough for you to get my sister back on her feet.’
‘And then we wait for you?’
‘No. As soon as she is able, you will leave this realm. This time,’ he added, ‘you will help her. You and Skwish.’
‘Of course! We was just careless.’
‘When my troop arrives, inform my sergeant that they are to defend the Queen. Detail them to surround the tent—do not overcrowd them with your wards, witch.’
‘Hold to yourself, Witchslayer,’ said Pully. ‘Hold tight—if your mind wanders, for e’en an instant—’
‘I know,’ Yedan replied.
She moved to one side, then stepped close and set a hand upon the gelding’s head. ‘This one should do,’ she muttered with eyes closed. ‘Wilful, fearless. Keep it collected—’
‘Of that I know far more than you, witch.’
Sighing, she edged back. ‘A commander does not leave his command. A prince does not leave his people.’
‘This one does.’
He kicked his horse into motion. Hoofs thumped on to the hard-packed ground beyond the road.
This was dependent on his sister reviving—enough to lead them away from this infernal place—a prince must choose when he is expendable. Yedan understood the risk. If she did not awaken. If she died, then well and truly his leaving had damned his people—but then, if his sister did not recover, and quickly, then the entire column was doomed anyway. Yes, he could let his own blood, and the witches could take hold of it and do what must be done—but they would also try to enslave him—they could not help it, he knew. He was a man and they were women. Such things simply were. The greater danger was that they would lose control of the power in their hands—two witches, even ancient, formidable ones, were not enough. Ten or twenty were needed in the absence of a Queen to fashion a simulacrum of the necessary focus demanded upon the Road of Gallan. No, he could not rely on Pully and Skwish.
Skwish came up alongside her sister witch. They watched Yedan Derryg riding up the slope of the first hill. ‘That’s bad, Pully. A prince does not—’
‘This one does. Listen, Skwish, we got to be careful now.’
Skwish held up the snake tube. ‘If we left her t’ jus live or die like we planned afirst—’
‘He’ll know—he will cut her open an check.’
‘He ain’t comin’ back—’
‘Then we do need ’er alive, don we? We can’t use ’im like we planned—he’s too ken—he won’t let us take ’im—I lookt up inta his eyes, him on that ’orse, Skwish. His eyes an his eyes, an so I tell ya, he’s gonna be bad turble if he comes back.’
‘He won’t. An’ we can keep ’er weak, weak enough, I mean—’
‘Too risky. She needs t’get us out. We can try something later, once we’re all safe—we can take ’em down then. The one left or e’en both. But not this time, Skwish. Now, best go an feed ’er something. Start with wine, that’ll loosen ’er throat.’
‘I know what I’m about, Pully, leave off.’
The gelding had a broad back, making for a comfortable ride. Yedan rode at a canter. Ahead, the hills thickened with scrub, and beyond was a forest of white trees, branches like twisted bones, leaves so dark as to be almost black. Just before them and running the length of the wooded fringe rose dolmens of grey granite, their edges grooved and faces pitted with cup-shaped, ground-out depressions. Each stone was massive, twice the height of a grown man, and crowding the foot of each one that he could see were skulls.
He slowed his mount, reined in a half-dozen paces from the nearest standing stone. Sat motionless, flies buzzing round the horse’s flickering ears, and studied those grisly offerings. Cold judgement was never short of pilgrims. Alas, true justice had no reason to respect secrets, as those close-fisted pilgrims had clearly discovered. A final and fatal revelation.
Minute popping sounds in the air announced the approach of dread power, as the buzzing flies ignited in mid-flight, black bodies bursting like acorns in a fire. The horse shied slightly, muscles growing taut beneath Yedan, and then snorted in sudden fear.
‘Hold,’ Yedan murmured, his voice calming the beast.
Those of the royal line among the Shake possessed ancient knowledge, memories thick as blood. Tales of ancient foes, sworn enemies of the uncertain Shore. More perhaps than most, the Shake rulers understood that a thing could be both one and the other, or indeed neither. Sides possessed undersides and even those terms were suspect. Language itself stuttered in the face of such complexities, such rampant subtleties of nature.
In this place, however, the blended flavours of compassion were anathema to the powers that ruled.
Yet the lone figure that strode out from the forest was so unexpected that Yedan Derryg grunted as if he had been punched in the chest. ‘This realm is not yours,’ he said, fighting to control his horse.
‘This land is consecrated for adjudication,’ the Forkrul Assail said. ‘I am named Repose. Give me your name, seeker, that I may know you—’
‘Before delivering judgement upon me?’
The tall, ungainly creature, naked and weaponless, cocked his head. ‘You are not alone. You and your followers have brought discord to this land. Do not delay me—you cannot evade what hides within you. I shall be your truth.’
‘I am Yedan Derryg.’
The Forkrul Assail frowned. ‘This yields me no ingress—why is that? How is it you block me, mortal?’
‘I will give you that answer,’ Yedan replied, slipping down from the horse. He drew his sword.
Repose stared at him. ‘Your defiance is useless.’
Yedan advanced on him. ‘Is it? But, how can you know for certain? My name yields you no purchase upon my soul. Why is that?’
‘Explain this, mortal.’
‘My name is meaningless. It is my title that holds my truth. My title, and my blood.’
The Forkrul Assail shifted his stance, lifting his hands. ‘One way or another, I will know you, mortal.’
‘Yes, you will.’
Repose attacked, his hands a blur. But those deadly weapons cut empty air, as Yedan was suddenly behind the Forkrul Assail, sword chopping into the back of the creature’s elongated legs, the iron edge cutting between each leg’s two hinged knees, severing the buried tendons—Repose toppled forward, arms flailing.
Yedan chopped down a second time, cutting off the Assail’s left arm. Blue, thin blood sprayed on to the ground.
‘I am Shake,’ Yedan said, raising his sword once more. ‘I am the Watch.’
The sudden hiss from Repose was shortlived, as Yedan’s sword took off the top of the Forkrul Assail’s head.
He wasted little time. He could hear the pounding of hoofs. Vaulting on to his horse’s back, he collected the reins in one hand and, still, gripping his blue-stained sword, wheeled the beast round.
Five Tiste Liosan were charging towards him, lances levelled.
Yedan Derryg drove his horse straight for them.
These were scouts, he knew. They would take him down and then send one rider back to gather a punitive army—they would then ride to the column. Where they would slaughter everyone. These were the ones he had been expecting.
The line of standing stones lay to Yedan’s left. At the last moment before the gap between him and the Tiste Liosan closed, Yedan dragged his horse in between two of the stones. He heard a lance shatter and then snarls of frustration as the troop thundered past. The gelding responded with alacrity as he guided it back through the line, wheeling to come up behind the nearest Tiste Liosan—the one who’d snapped his lance on one of the dolmens and who was now reaching for his sword even as he reined in.
Yedan’s sword caught beneath the rim of his enamelled helm, slicing clean through his neck. The decapitated head spun to one side, cracking against a dolmen.
The Watch slapped the flat of his blade on the white horse’s rump, launching it forward in a lunge, and then, driving his heels into his own horse’s flanks, he pulled into the other horse’s wake.
The remaining four Liosan had wheeled in formation, out and away from the standing stones, and were now gathering for a second charge.
