Orb Sceptre Throne (73 page)

‘It is the only way,’ Morn answered from the front.

Antsy raised his brows to Corien in silent comment. Damned unnatural hearing on that man. The lad merely hefted the crossbow and offered a shallow bow. ‘Very well. Let us grant that for the moment. Why then didn’t we just turn round? Go out the way we came in?’

‘There would be no boats there,’ Morn answered, unperturbed. ‘Easier now to go onwards.’

‘Well …
now
, perhaps, but couldn’t we’ve …’ His voice died off as everyone stilled, peering about. A great juddering blow had shaken the artefact beneath their feet. Stone branches snapped, falling to explode into countless shards all about them. In a deafening avalanche of rock and broken furniture and rubbish the entire structure lurched to one side like a ship broadsided by an immense wave. Antsy tottered, side-stepping to hit the trunk of a stone tree. He reached for Orchid but missed as she rolled past. The Spawn lurched back in the opposite direction and Antsy bashed his head on the stone of the tree. Reverberations of calving rock and tons of falling rubble shook and shuddered the caves all around them.

The drunken rocking of the immense artefact eased slowly. A new equilibrium was reached with the floor pitched sideways at a rather uncomfortable angle. Gems, cups, broken shards of rock and other rubbish rolled and slid between their feet to clatter off into the darkness amid the stone tree pillars.

Orchid’s eyes, black and huge in the mage-light, sought and found Antsy’s. ‘The Gap,’ she called to Morn. ‘
Where is it?
’

The shade led them to a large opening carved to resemble an arch in an arboretum. Orchid stared in silent wonder, obviously awed. She faced Morn. ‘The Processional Way?’

The ghost bowed. ‘Indeed. You are well informed.’

She turned to Antsy and he was rather shaken to see her eyes almost glowing. ‘We are very close.’

‘About time,’ he murmured, clearing his throat. ‘Maybe I should lead now.’ Then he sniffed the air wafting from the broad arched way and cocked his head.
Somethin’ there. Somethin
’ … He pulled Orchid out of view of the opening. She opened her mouth to speak but all it took was one glance at his face for her to snap it closed.
Good. We’re gettin’ tight now
.

He signed
wait
to Corien, then poked his head round the corner to inhale once more. And there it was as before: sweat, oil, stink of clothes and armour too long unwashed. And one other thing: fish sauce. Damned Falaran fish sauce. Once tasted – or smelled – never forgotten. ‘Let go your balls, boys and girls,’ he called. ‘We’ve decided to let you live.’

‘Who’s that pissing uphill there?’ a man called back in Falaran.

‘Antsy. The Second.’

‘What’s a Second loser doing here?’

‘Mustered out last year. Now I got me a backpack so full o’ emeralds and rubies I can’t hardly lift it. Could use a hand.’

‘Put ’em up, lads. Let’s have a look.’

The yellow glow of lanterns bruised Antsy’s eyes and he turned away, wincing. A troop of six Malazan soldiers came down the broad hall; marines. The squattest of them, as broad as a horse, wore a sergeant’s torc. Antsy inclined his head in greeting.

The sergeant rubbed the beard darkening his chin and cheeks while he eyed Antsy up and down. ‘Well, I’ll be damned …’ he breathed. Then he cocked a questioning eye.

Antsy shook a negative. The man blew out a breath and gave a quick nod of assent. ‘So,’ he said, glancing about. ‘You alone?’

‘No.’ He turned and beckoned. ‘Orchid … Corien Lim … Morn.’

The sergeant nodded, then motioned back up the hall. ‘This way.’

As they started off Antsy glanced round to see that once again Morn had disappeared. After a time he asked, ‘What’s the situation?’

‘Damned ugly. Got a damned menagerie o’ mages ’n’ sorcerers ’n’ such all ready to kill one another an’ all jammed together steppin’ on each other’s toes an’ yankin’ each other’s knickers. It’s a wonder any of ’em’s still standing, it is.’

‘How’s your captain holding up?’

The man spat aside. ‘Captain’s dead. Lieutenant’s in charge.’

‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s kept us a seat at the table. But things’re heatin’ up.’ His gaze slid sideways. ‘Could use some help.’

Antsy felt his mouth tighten. ‘Can’t guarantee anything, Sergeant.’ He jerked his head back the way they’d come. ‘And there’s a whole army out there that wants in.’

The man spat again. ‘Faugh! Them! Fucking also-rans. Nothing to worry about there.’

‘And you boys? What do you want?’

‘Us?’ He snorted. ‘Togg’s tits, man. We just want out. Friend … we just want the Abyss outta here.’

~

The sergeant, Girth, led them to the lieutenant. They found him amidst the Malazan encampment, which occupied a set of rooms off a large high-roofed assembly chamber, like an immense cavern, where numerous halls and stairs led into darkness. Antsy caught a glimpse of the two mages they’d followed standing near the centre of the room, speaking to a striking slim woman dressed in a white silk shirt, tight trousers, and tall leather boots that came up to her knees. With them was their damned guide, the gangly Jallin.

The lieutenant, it turned out, was a very young fellow with the heavy build and curly hair of a north Genabackan. After Girth spoke to him he approached to give Antsy a welcoming nod. ‘A veteran, yes?’ Antsy nodded. ‘Good. Could use your help.’ He looked to Corien. ‘Darujhistani. Trained?’

Corien bowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Very good.’

He bowed to Orchid. ‘You are Dal Honese? A talent, perhaps?’

She waved a hand, embarrassed. ‘Dal Honese? No. But I do have some small skills.’

The lieutenant returned to Antsy. ‘Girth reported another with you. Someone in dark robes.’

‘A mage. He joined us partway up. Comes and goes as he pleases. We are not answerable for him.’

‘Ah. A shame. We could use the help. Welcome, regardless. I am Lieutenant Palal. Hengeth Palal.’

They introduced themselves. Then Antsy said, ‘We’ve come for the Gap. That’s all. We just want to get out of here.’

‘I understand. Truth be told, so do we. Problem is, that lot bar the way.’

Antsy stroked his jaw with the back of his fingers. ‘Block the way? Why’re they doing that?’

The lieutenant crossed his arms. It was clear he was rather overwhelmed, but it was also equally clear that he was aware of it and accepted it.
No bluster or denial here
, Antsy reflected.
Just doing what he can
.

‘What are their terms?’ Antsy asked.

‘Terms? Their terms are … frankly insane.’ The young officer shook his head, mystified. ‘I’ve told them again and again – we have no munitions. None at all. We can’t blow their damned door for them.’

Orchid gasped. Or at least Antsy thought she did; he was having trouble hearing over the roaring gathering in his ears. Hands steadied him and above the wind he thought he heard someone laughing. He recognized the mad laughter: it was his own. He was having a good time at his own expense.
Forgot your philosophy, Ants. They’ll get ya. In the end they’ll always find a way to get ya
.

‘All right?’ Corien asked, his head close. Blinking, Antsy squeezed the youth’s hand. ‘Yeah. Just thrown. That’s all.’

From the centre of the large cavern came the sharp slap of hands clapping. The explosive reports echoed from the walls and distant ceiling. A woman’s voice shouted: ‘A meeting! Everyone! I call a general meeting!
Now
!’

Palal uncrossed his arms, sighing. ‘Well, best see what the witch wants.’ He raised his chin, calling, ‘Sergeant. See to their billeting.’

‘Aye, sir.’ Girth closed, flanked by troopers. Antsy glared.

‘Thanks a lot!’

He shrugged his wide humped shoulders. ‘Sorry. Got over forty men and women who want out of this trap. That’s all I answer to. Maybe your friends can help.’

‘They’re dead.’

‘Hasn’t stopped others.’

‘Yeah, well. That’s the deal.’

The man spat again. ‘Too bad. Now, let’s take a walk, all of us. Nice an’ quiet.’

‘Him too!’ the woman yelled again, pointing from the distance. ‘The newcomer. The soldier. That one too!’

While he was sick inside Antsy made a point of arching a brow at the sergeant. ‘Gotta go. Things to do.’

Girth snorted. ‘Out of the frying pan, friend. Out of the pan.’

As Antsy walked away the man called: ‘We’ll just look after your friends here, right?’

Antsy raised a hand over his shoulder in a gesture that needed no explanation.

The ‘meeting’ was one of the oddest gatherings of fearsome individuals Antsy had ever attended. And that included a few command gatherings of Malazan Imperial mages and Claws. He took his place next to Lieutenant Palal. Opposite waited the tall slim woman who had called the meeting. Her complexion was olive-hued and her hair dark and straight, pinned up in a complex design. Her dark eyes watched Antsy with a look that seemed to enjoy his discomfort. The large loose circle also included the carmine-wearing old woman and her fat companion, together with Jallin, who glared his hatred. Antsy noted that the fat fellow seemed to spend most of his time with his gaze narrowed on the tall woman.

To one side waited the armoured figure of the blond-haired mercenary who had preceded them on to the Spawn. He was flanked by two of his men. All still carried canvas covers over their shields. Antsy wondered if these might be members of the Grey Swords. Yet they carried no symbols of the Wolves of Winter, nor any other god that he could recognize.

An old man, his thin hair a mussed cloud around his uneven skull, came shuffling up on his slippered feet. Also emerging from the gloom came the slim dark form of Malakai.

Antsy could not believe he was seeing him again. He thought the man dead, or long escaped from the Spawn. ‘Look what turned up,’ he drawled, giving him a hard stare.

The thief bowed, one brow quirked. ‘So you made it. Congratulations. I am
very
surprised.’

‘No thanks to you, you Hood-damned piece of—’

‘So you two know each other,’ the tall woman cut in, loud and firm. ‘How nice. Yet introductions are in order, I imagine.’

‘We are not yet all gathered,’ the old fellow observed in a quavering breathless wheeze.

‘Did someone call a meeting?’ a man’s voice enquired from the dark. ‘Is attendance mandatory?’ The owner of the smooth voice came forward: a man dressed in expensive silks over a fine blackened mail coat that hung to his shins. His midnight hair was slicked back and a goatee beard and moustache framed his mouth. A wide heavy two-handed sword hung at his side.

The tall woman, Antsy noted, eyed this well-dressed fellow with obvious distaste.

‘Introductions?’ the old woman squawked. She tossed her head, her ribbons rustling. ‘There need not be any introductions. I do not want introductions. Damn all of you. I care nothing for you.’

‘Quite,’ the fat fellow at her side supplied, like a punctuation ending her rant.

‘Thank you, Hesta and Ogule.’

‘Ogule Tolo Thermalamerkanerat,’ the fat fellow corrected. ‘Do please get it right. You know our dialect, Seris.’

The tall woman, Seris, smiled, revealing sharp white teeth. ‘Yes. Ogule.’

‘Hemberghin,’ the old man sneezed at Antsy.

Antsy leaned down to him. ‘What was that? Hemdergin?’

‘Hemper!’ the old man repeated angrily. ‘Hemper. Hemper Grin!’

Antsy flinched away from the spray of spittle. He wiped his sleeve. ‘Right. Hemper.’

The elegant fellow inclined his head to Antsy in an ironic salute. ‘Bauchelain.’ He gestured vaguely to his rear. ‘My companion, Korbal Broach, is, ah, currently … preoccupied.’

It may have been the poor light, but it appeared to Antsy as if at the man’s words everyone present turned a shade more pale. He cleared his throat in an effort to find his voice. ‘Ah, Antsy. Antsy’s the name.’

All this time Jallin had been whispering fiercely and pulling on the old woman’s rags. Whispering and pointing. She cuffed him now and shot out a withered crooked finger. ‘What is in your bag, soldier?’

‘To the Paths of the Dead with you, y’ damned hag.’

The woman jerked so sharply the ribbons hanging from her hair snapped like whips. Her eyes widened in disbelief then slitted almost closed. A sort of creamy smile came to her wrinkled lips. ‘So … you wish to challenge old Hesta, do you? Scream very prettily as you burn I think you will …’

‘Hesta …’ Seris warned. ‘Soldier. We know you carry munitions.’

Antsy glanced to Malakai. ‘How in the name of all the forgotten gods would you know that?’

The woman brought her long-fingered hands together to her lips then let out a loud breath as if exhausted. ‘Soldier. All of us here are close to many very great powers. Many of us have seen in the deck what you carry. We have terms to offer you for their use. For example – there are very many people here who wish to leave this crippled artefact. We will allow that … once our terms are met.’

‘What’s the job?’