The Malazan Empire, page 910
Let us play this game of blissful oblivion a little while longer.
‘It’s better this way, Draconus.’
‘This is Kallor’s empire, friend. Will you not reconsider?’
Reconsider. Yes, there is that. ‘The shore seems welcoming enough. If I mind my own business . . .’
He’d smiled at that.
And I smiled back.
Draconus returned to that continent—I felt his footfalls, there inside my seemingly eternal prison. He returned to see for himself the madness of Kallor.
You were right, Draconus. I should have minded my own business. For once.
Can you hear me now? Draconus? Are you listening?
I have reconsidered. At long last. And so I give you this. Find me, and one of us will die.
‘It’s the swirl in the dog’s fur.’
Balm stared. ‘What?’
Widdershins scowled. ‘You want this divination or not?’
‘I ain’t so sure no more.’
The mage stared down at the mangy creature he held by the scruff of the neck, and then snarled and sent it winging through the air.
Deadsmell and Balm and Throatslitter watched the thing twist smartly in the air and manage in the last possible instant to land splayed out wide on its four paws, whereupon with a flick of its bushy tail it bolted, vanishing into the night.
‘Just like a damned cat,’ Throatslitter said.
‘Wasn’t even a dog,’ Deadsmell said.
Widdershins threw up a hand in dismissal. ‘Dog, fox, what’s the difference? Now I’ll need to find something else.’
‘How about a sheepskin?’ Balm asked.
‘Is a sheepskin alive? No. Won’t work. Needs to be breathing.’
‘Because breathing fluffs the swirls,’ Balm said, nodding. ‘I get it.’
Widdershins cast a helpless look upon Deadsmell, who shrugged and then said, ‘This whole thing’s a waste of time anyway. Every seer and diviner in the whole damned world’s got scrambled brains right now.’ He gingerly touched his own neck. ‘I swear I felt that sword’s bite. What was Hood thinking? It’s insane. The whole thing—’
‘Never mind Hood,’ snapped Widdershins. ‘Wasn’t him made me wet my trousers.’
Balm stared with huge eyes. ‘Did you really? Gods below.’
Throatslitter burst out a sudden, piping laugh. Then ducked. ‘Sorry. Just . . . well, never mind.’
Widdershins spat on the ground. ‘None of this is funny, Throatslitter. You don’t get it. That . . . that thing. It didn’t show up on the other side of the world. It showed up here.’
Balm started, looked round. ‘Where? Get me my armour—who—what—’
‘Relax, Sergeant,’ Deadsmell said. ‘He didn’t mean “here” as in right here. He meant it as . . . Wid, what did you mean, exactly?’
‘What’s with the jokes? You’re as bad as Throatslitter. I don’t know why I’m talking to any of you.’
‘We wanted a divination,’ said Throatslitter. ‘I’m changing my mind. It was a stupid idea. You think Fid’s playing with the Deck right now? Not a chance. Forget it, I’m going to bed. Not that I’ll get any sleep. In fact—’
Balm stepped up and punched Widdershins. The man fell in a heap.
Throatslitter yelped again. ‘Sergeant! What did you do that for?’
Frowning, Balm rubbed at his knuckles. ‘He said he wasn’t gonna get any sleep. He’s asleep now. You two, drag him to his tent. It’s time to take charge of things and that’s what I’m doing. Once you get him tucked in, why, we can go find Ebron. We’ll get a divination tonight if it kills us.’
‘I need more corporals,’ Hellian announced to the night sky. She’d been sitting by the hearth, staring into the flames. But now she was on her back, beneath spinning stars. The world could change in an instant. Who decided things like that? ‘One ain’t enough. Ballsgird, you’re now a corporal. You too, Probbly.’
‘It’s Maybe.’
‘No, I made up my mind.’
‘And Balgrid.’
‘Tha’s what I said. As soon as the earthquake’s over, we’ll get right on it. Who am I missing? How many in my squad? Four of ya, right? That last one, he’s a corporal now, too. I want four corporals, t’take my orders.’
‘What orders?’
‘The ones I come up with. Firs’ off, you’re all my bodyguards—I’m done with Skulldumb—keep him away from me.’
‘He’s convinced you’re royalty, Sergeant.’
‘An’ I am, Iffy, so you got to do what I say. Where my ’riginal corporal? Touchy Breath? You here?’
‘Aye, Sergeant.’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’
‘I can’t be looking at this mess any longer. Take me to my tent—no, quit that, don’t help me up, you idiots. Take my feet. Nice an’ slow now—ow, who put rocks under me? Corperl Marble, clear them rocks, will ya? Gods, where’s my tent? Letheras?’
‘We’re looking, Sergeant—didn’t you put it up?’
‘Me? You’re my corperl, that was your job.’
‘Hold on, Sergeant. Just rest here—we’re on it.’
‘So I should think. Derliction of duty. Gi’me a wax and a stick, someone, got to write you up. I’m bustin’ you down, to . . . to, uh, undercorperl. What’s that pounding?’
‘Putting the stakes down, Sergeant. Not long now.’
‘Hey! Look at those green things! In the sky! Who put those there—get rid of ’em!’
‘Wish I could, Sergeant.’
‘You’re now an unnerunnercorperl—for disobeying unners. Orners. Oars. Udders. Hold on.’ She rolled on to her side and was sick, but in a lazy way. ‘Orders. Hah. Hey, where you dragging me to? I wasn’t done there. Something’s in the sky—I saw it—cut right across those greens. Saw it, corperls, you lissinin’? Big wings—I saw . . . oh, whatever. Someone’s in turble, but it ain’t me. Check that tent now—no spiders allowed—stupid stars, how’d they get in here?’
Gesler brought the lantern close. ‘Look at that, will you? One of Bottle’s rats did that, I bet. Chewed right through the Hood-damned strap. If I catch ’im, I’m going to twist his tiny head right off.’
‘The rat or Bottle?’ Stormy asked.
‘Either. Both. I knew it was hanging funny, down on one shoulder—’
‘Aye,’ Stormy said, ‘you looked ridiculous. Lopsided. Like some green recruit ain’t figured out how to wear the slingwork.’
Gesler glared across at his corporal. ‘And you didn’t say nothing all day—some friend you are. What if I got snot smeared across half my face—you just going to stand there?’
‘Count on it,’ Stormy said, ‘assuming I can keep a straight face.’
‘Next time I see you with bark-hair hanging from your back end, I ain’t saying a thing.’
‘Pays to check twice—I learned that much. Think we should go find Flashwit? She’s way overdue.’
‘Send Mayfly and Shortnose.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
Gesler paused in his tugging loose the chewed-through strap. ‘Huh. Right. Off you go, then.’
‘Sure you don’t need any help there?’
‘Naw, you done too much already.’
‘That’s just it—I’m all wore out, Ges. I’m too old to march the way we’re marching right now. I’ll be walking on stumpy knees if this goes on much longer.’
‘Thus matching your intellectual height. Know what your problem is, Stormy? You’ve gone all edgy.’
The huge Falari snorted. ‘Ges, we just saw a hundred or so squad mages fall out of line, leaking every which way, eyes rolling up inside their skulls, kicking and gagging. And our scary High Mage reeled like a damned drunk and nearly brained himself on a wagon’s edge. Fid lost his last five meals.’
‘None of that’s got anything to do with you going round saying someone’s spyin’ on us, Stormy.’
‘I’m just telling you what I’m feeling, that’s all. Like an itch between my shoulder-blades, you know the kind. And it’s only got worse since whatever happened . . . happened.’
‘Fid said you’re just imagining things—’
‘No he didn’t. He didn’t say anything—he wouldn’t even meet my eyes—you were there, you saw.’
‘Well, maybe he didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t have to.’
‘I been having strange dreams, Ges.’
‘So?’
‘Stuff falling out of the sky. I look up and I’m right under it and there’s no way to escape. Can’t run far enough or fast enough, can’t do anything, except watch it come down on me.’ He leaned forward and slapped his hand on the ground, making Gesler jump. ‘Like that. You’d think I’d wake up then. But I don’t. I just lie there, crushed, feeling all that weight. Can’t move a muscle, can’t even breathe.’
Gesler tossed down his hauberk and harness. ‘Stand up, Stormy, you’re coming with me.’
‘Where?’
‘Walk, Corporal, it’s an order.’
Gesler led Stormy through the camp, passing cookfires with their huddled, muttering circles of soldiers. They threaded through the cutters’ station, where weary healers worked on soldiers suffering blistered feet, ankle sprains and whatnot, and then out past the first of the horse corrals. Ahead was a trio of laden wagons, an oversized carriage, and fifteen or so tents.
Gesler called out as they approached. ‘Hedge?’
A figure came round one end of the carriage and walked over. ‘Gesler? You deserting the Bonehunters? Come to join the Bridgeburners? Smart lads—the legend’s right here and nowhere else. I got these soldiers stepping smart, but they could do with your learnin’ and that’s a fact.’
‘Enough of the rubbish,’ Gesler said. ‘Where’s your two beauties?’
‘Aw, Gesler, they’re beat, honest—’
‘Wake ’em up, both of them. Stormy here’s got a need.’
‘You got a need, you mean—’
‘No, both of them for him. By the time I come to collect my corporal, I want this man’s rope so stretched it’s tangled round his ankles. I want to see bludgeoned bliss in his tiny blue eyes and curly black hairs in his beard. Tell the lovelies I’ll pay triple the going rate.’
‘Fine, only you got to consider what I said. About deserting, I mean.’
‘Capital offence, Hedge.’
‘Unofficial transfer, then.’
‘Keneb would never allow it.’
‘Fine, then just march with my squads for a week or so, alongside like, right? Give ’em advice and stuff—’
‘Advice?’ Gesler snorted. ‘Like what? “Don’t die, soldiers.” “First hint of trouble, strap on and belt up.” “Your weapon’s the thing strapped to your web.” How’s that?’
‘That’s perfect!’
‘Hedge, what in Hood’s name are you doing here?’
The sapper glanced round, and then grasped Stormy by an arm. ‘See those tents, those big ones there? Go on, Corporal, tell the lasses it’s a special order.’
Stormy scowled across at Gesler, who scowled back.
‘I never rolled with real fat women before—’
‘Nothing like it,’ Hedge said. ‘Get one under ya and one over ya and it’s all pillows. Go on, Stormy, me and Ges got to talk.’
‘Pillows, huh?’
‘Aye. Nice warm pillows. Step smartly now, Corporal. There you go.’
As the Falari trundled off, Hedge looked round suspiciously once more, and then gestured for Gesler to follow.
‘Bottle’s using bats,’ Hedge muttered as they walked away from the firelight. ‘Almost skewered one of his rats, y’see, so now he’s gone more cagey.’
‘What’re you up to that’s got him so curious, Hedge?’
‘Nothing. Honest.’
‘Gods below, you’re a bad liar.’
‘Just comes from being a legend, Ges, all that fawning and spying. Y’get used to it, so the precautions, they come natural now. All right, this will do.’
They had walked a dozen or so paces past the ornate carriage, out beyond the faint glows from the fires, and then Hedge had led him into a circle of low stones which Gesler assumed was an old tipi ring. They now stood within it.
‘Bottle could use anything out here, Hedge—’
‘No he can’t. I got my company mage to seal this circle. We do this every night, for our staff meetings.’
‘Your what?’
‘Me, my sergeants, corporals and Bavedict. Daily reports, right? To stay on top of things.’
‘What things?’
‘Things. Now, listen, you heard anything yet about what happened earlier?’
Gesler shrugged. ‘Some. There was a gate and someone came through it. Someone stinking with power.’
Hedge was nodding and then he changed it to shaking his head. ‘That’s nothing—so some nasty’s shown up—that means he’s here, in the real world. Anyone here in the real world can die from a damned rotten tooth, or a knife, or whatever. I ain’t shaking in my boots, and if I have to, I’ll kiss a quarrel’s point and whisper the fool’s name. A bolt in the eye can fuck up even a god’s day. No, what really matters is what happened before he showed up.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s Hood.’
‘What about him? Oh, right, you and he are best friends these days—or bitter enemies—how does he take you coming back, anyway?’
‘Probably not well, but it don’t matter any more. I won.’
‘You won what?’
‘I won! The Harrower’s gone and gotten killed! The God of Death is dead! Head chopped right off! A carcass but no grin, a bouncer down the hill, a roll and wobble and blink, a mouth mover, a hat stand—’
‘Hold on, Hedge! What—who—but that doesn’t make sense! How—’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care! Details? Squat and shit on ’em! Hood’s dead! Gone!’
‘But then, who’s taking the Throne?’
‘Nobody and everybody!’
Gesler’s right hand twitched. Gods, how he wanted to punch this grinning fool! But that nose had seen a few dozen breaks already—he doubted Hedge would even notice. ‘What,’ he said carefully, ‘do you mean, Hedge?’
‘I mean, there’s a whole crew of ’em. Holding the gate. Nothing’s shaken out yet. It’s all hazy. But one thing I can tell you—and you can ask Fid if you want—he won’t say any different unless he lies to you. One thing, Ges. I can feel them. I can feel him.’
Gesler stared at the man’s glittering eyes. ‘Who?’
‘The Fallen Bridgeburners, Ges. And aye, Whiskeyjack. It’s him—I’d know that sour look anywhere, no matter how dark it is around him. He’s astride a horse. He’s in the Gate, Gesler.’
‘Wait. That’s who stepped through?’
‘Naw, never mind that one. That one ain’t got a thought that ain’t ten thousand years outa touch. Different gate, anyway. I’m talking about Whiskeyjack. Go and die, Ges, and who’d you rather meet at the Gate? Hood or Whiskeyjack?’
‘So why ain’t you cut your own throat, if you’re so excited about it all?’
Hedge frowned. ‘No reason t’get all edgy. I was a sapper, remember. Sappers understand the importance of patience.’
Gesler choked back a laugh. From the tents someone squealed. He couldn’t tell who.
‘Laugh all you want. You’ll be thankful enough when it’s your head rolling up to that gate.’
‘I thought you hated worshipping anyone, Hedge.’
‘This is different.’
‘If you say so. Now, anything else you wanted to tell me about?’
‘Nothing you’d care about either way. You can hand over the coins now, though. Triple the going rate, right? Dig it out, Ges, it’s getting late.’
______
Commander Brys threw on his cloak and fastened the breast clasp. ‘I walk through camp before settling in, Atri-Ceda. Join me, if you please.’
‘Honoured, my Prince.’
He stepped out of the command tent and she followed. They set out for the nearest row of legionaries’ tents. ‘That title just won’t sit comfortably, Atri-Ceda,’ he said after a moment. ‘ “Commander” or “sir” will do. In fact, when it’s just the two of us, “Brys” ’.
She wondered if he caught her faint gasp, or noted the momentary wobble in her knees as she moved up alongside him.
‘Assuming,’ he continued, ‘you will permit me to call you Aranict.’
‘Of course, sir.’ She hesitated, could feel him waiting, and then said, ‘Brys.’ A wave of lightheadedness followed, as if she’d quaffed a tumbler of brandy. Her mind spun wildly for a moment and she drew a deep breath to calm herself.
This was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Infuriating. She itched to light a smoker, but that would likely breach protocol.
‘At ease, Aranict.’
‘Sir?’
‘Relax. Please—you’re starting to make me jumpy. I don’t bite.’
Try the right nipple. Oh gods, shut up, woman. ‘Sorry.’
‘I was hoping your stay with the Malazan High Mage might have calmed you some.’
‘Oh, it has, sir. I mean, I’m better.’
‘No more fainting?’
‘No. Well, almost once.’
‘What happened?’
‘At day’s end, I made the mistake of being in his tent when he pulled off his boots.’
‘Ah.’ And then he shot her a startled look, his face lighting in a sudden smile. ‘Remind me to send you out before I do the same.’
‘Oh, sir, I’m sure you don’t—uh, that is, it’s not the same—’
But he was laughing. She saw soldiers round campfires turn, looking over at the two of them. She saw a few mutter jests and there were grins and nods. Her face burned hot as coals.
‘Aranict, I assure you, after a day’s fast march as we’ve been experiencing since the landing, my socks could stun a horse. None of us are any different in such matters.’
‘Because you choose to march alongside your soldiers, Brys. When you could ride or even sit in one of the grand carriages, and no one would think ill of you—’
‘You would be wrong in that, Aranict. Oh, they might not seem any different, outwardly, saluting as smartly as ever and all the rest. Certain to follow every order I give, yes. But somewhere deep inside every one of them, there’s a stone of loyalty—when it comes to most of those giving them orders, that stone stays smooth and nothing sticks, it all washes off. And so it would be with me as well, were I to take any other path than the one they happen to be on. But, you see, there may come a time when I must demand of my soldiers something . . . impossible. If the stone was still smooth—if it did not have my name carved deep into it—I could lose them.’
