Stonewielder (36 page)

Kiska held out her empty hands. ‘Barring one of those. A stave, I think, to hold them off.’

‘You’ve already gone mad if you think you could hold one of them off.’

Kiska began pulling lengths of blackened metal pipe from slim pockets in her cloak and at her belt and vest. She spoke while she worked: ‘I’ve seen them before, you know. These hounds. They’re strong, but they have their limitations.’ The sections screwed together and latched, locking.

Jheval watched closely without saying a thing. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Their limitations, I think, have nothing to do with us poor mortals. And that toy … it’s of no use. Let me go.’

‘This toy is as strong as, if not stronger than, any staff. It was custom built for me by the Moranth.’

‘I’m sure the hounds will pause to admire it.’

Kiska gave what she hoped was a carefree smile. ‘We shall see.’ And she edged out of the crack. She heard behind her a stifled call and was relieved.
Good. At least he knew enough not to shout
. Straightening to a fighting stance, she peered about, listened, and then sensed outwards with an awareness now long attuned to these surroundings. The bare rocky slope appeared empty, as did the sandy hillsides to either flank.
Nothing so far. No swift ambush. Now comes, as they say, the weighing of the gold. How far dare I
venture from our bolthole? Surely they are watching, waiting tensed for that one step too many
.

Kiska bounded out three steps then immediately spun and raced back as fast as she could then spun again, crouched, stave ready.
Nothing. Seen that one before perhaps
.

A slight scrape snapped her attention to the rear. Jheval was there, edging out to the far side of the crack. His hands were clasped at the morningstars tied to his waist, ready to pull them free.

What was the fool doing? Offering himself up? Didn’t he trust her to do this right? She waved him back.
All for naught, probably. Surely these hounds have better things
—

‘Kiska!’

She spun and there one was: bounding in the air, almost upon her. She had the impression of a tawny blur, the red maw, wet fangs, then she yanked her stave between them and the blow knocked her backwards. Sharp rocks slammed into her back, taking the breath from her. She lay dazed for what she was sure was her last moment.

Her awareness cleared and she saw Jheval fending off the hound. The morningstars spun almost invisible from his hands. The hound’s every effort to bull forward or lunge was met by a smashing blow from the flanged iron heads that sent it flinching, snarling and rumbling like the very stones grinding. Kiska put off her amazement at what she was seeing and jumped to her feet. Then it was a chaotic blur of images: her stave thumping the beast’s broad chest, Jheval’s feet clawed from beneath him in a red spray; the stave, twisted, sliding a blade and slashing beneath an eye, buying the time for the man to leap upright. The two retreated, scrambling, alive only because they could cover each other. Then a stumbling collapse backwards into the slim gap to fall over one another.

The beast howled an ecstasy of rage, sprayed froth and blood. Blows shuddered the rock face. Only then could Kiska relax her chest enough to draw a full breath. They lay immobile, limbs entwined, both watching the opening.

Low rumbling as the beast eyed them through the gap; its bulk almost completely occluded the dim half-light. It padded off.

Jheval started laughing. It began as a low chuckle but built to a loud full release of unreserved relief, exhilaration, and frank amazement. Kiska could smile and share an embrace but that was all.

Now she understood that this narrow cave could very well become her tomb. She sat with her knees tight to her chest and covered her face to wipe away hot tears that she could not stop.

*    *    *

Devaleth went to a side of the
Star of Unta’s
deck, grasped hold of the cold wet wood. Greymane had left for the final troop vessel while his Adjunct, the young Kyle, had taken a launch out to the Blue transport that would lead the shore assault, there to represent the High Fist. She wondered if the lad was up to it; he appeared to be a savage warrior, but could one so young command the respect of these hardened troops?

There on deck she might have thought of herself as alone when in truth she was far from it: sailors dashed back and forth setting out leather buckets of sand and water, readying ropes and repelling poles. Marines assembled the ship’s armoury of weapons, checked the crossbows, and oiled the large stone-throwing onager at the bows. Amid all this chaos and preparation Devaleth felt at home. She’d grown up spending more time at sea than on land. Her school had been sitting cross-legged next to a ship’s mage, old canny Parell, where she learned her trade through storms, battles, and calm nights when the sea became so still one could see all the way down to Ruse’s infinite gateways.

Nok was at the tall sterncastle, where he would oversee the coming battle. Next to him a Blue liaison coordinated with Swirl by way of a fire in a tall brazier that could be made to flare differing colours, sometimes intense orange, or a brilliant blood red, or green, or even sea blue.

‘The coming battle’ –
listen to yourself, woman. As if what is to come can in any way be termed a battle. What is to come will be a slaughter. I may reach land by way of my Ruse talents, but for most of this force it will be the ancient sea god’s cold welcome below
.

So why am I here, as this Betrayer so rightly challenged? Because something has to be done. I must make some effort, no matter how feeble it may prove to be
.

I, too, am a betrayer
.

A marine stopped at her side. ‘High Mage, the Admiral wishes your counsel.’

She nodded. ‘Of course.’

Ever courtly, the Admiral bowed as she joined him. Devaleth was grateful though she knew herself to be a far from courtly figure. Nok waved a long wing-like arm to encompass the night. ‘I would have your impressions, Devaleth. What’s going on?’

‘They have been waiting for a sufficient number of vessels.’

‘To do what?’

‘Attack en masse.’

‘And have they achieved this threshold?’

She shrugged. ‘I have no way of telling. Though I will know it when the order is given.’

He cocked a greying brow. ‘Oh?’

‘It will be given through Ruse,’ she said dully. ‘I will sense it.’

The Admiral glanced at her sharply then smiled behind his thick silver moustache. ‘You do not think much of our chances, do you?’

‘I’m sorry, Admiral. I do not see how this expedition can end any differently from its predecessors.’

He accepted that. His gaze scanned the distant low shapes of the Mare war galleys just visible in the gathering night. An aide came to his side, murmured something. He responded, ‘In a moment’; then, addressing Devaleth, said, ‘You in Korel do not really know the Moranth, do you?’

Uncertain of the Admiral’s tack, the High Mage was slow to respond. ‘No. Not really.’

‘We have been allies for decades now. We’ve achieved great things with what minor alchemies they were willing to trade with us.’

‘I have heard that the Malaz–Moranth alliance has cooled, of late.’

The flagship struck a particularly large wave, the bows rising very tall. Everyone on the sterncastle braced for the pitch forward. The vessel slammed down into the trough, the bows disappearing in spray. Nok had taken hold of the ship’s tiller. Devaleth alone stood with her hands held behind her back. Amazingly, the charcoal fire still burned in its brazier. A kind of foreign magic? And what
was
everyone waiting for? This time her Mare compatriots seemed slow to the attack, while the Moranth–Malaz expedition held back as well. She sensed her brethren’s uncertainty. These alien Moranth vessels … what hidden menace was deployed here? They were wary.

‘It is true that our alliance seems to be paper-thin these days,’ Nok said, resuming their conversation. ‘We’ve been unable to get any further soldiers out of them. It may be internal for all we know.’ He gestured to the Blue liaison with him. ‘But our deal with the Blue here is very different. A contract, cut and dried. Nothing political. So now we shall see what the Moranth themselves can accomplish when a task is given over to them wholly.’ He nodded to his liaison. ‘Give the order.’

‘Aye, sir.’ The Moranth Blue dropped a packet on to the brazier. It took a moment to catch, but then it flared, sizzling and popping, to send up a tall silvery-white flame that cast the sterncastle into fierce relief and flashed from the surrounding waters.

Devaleth was forced to turn away, shielding her eyes.
Order for what? Engagement? Surely not!

After the blinding actinic-bright flare died down, she straightened, blinking, willing back her night vision. At first she saw nothing, heard only the ship groaning in the high seas.
Of course, fool! It will take time for these two unwieldy giants to embrace
.

‘Order the transports to move,’ Nok told the liaison.

‘Aye, sir.’ The Blue reached for another packet.

This time Devaleth was ready; she flinched away, an arm across her eyes. As it was, a brilliant gold glow dazzled her vision, fading to leave afterimages of dancing stars.

She straightened, temporarily blind.
This was it. Now would be the clash. How many of Greymane’s transports would push through to reach the shore? All you foreign gods, please not the pitiful few of before
.

*

Crammed into the hold of the Blue vessel, his knees drawn up to his chest, Suth was pressed in thigh to thigh with his fellow Malazan infantry. It was hot, clammy and damp, and the least comfortable he’d been all journey – especially with Wess asleep on his shoulder. The sergeants stood at small openings in the sides, peering out and passing on information. Other than the greater roominess and general cleanliness, the main difference between the Blue vessel and the one they had left was that the former didn’t stink nearly as foully as the Malazans’. In fact, it was nearly odourless. Ignoring the vile sour sweat of the men and women crowded in the hold, the main scents Suth could detect were very strange. One Len told him was sulphur, while another reminded him of honey, and another of pine sap. It was all very unnerving.
And these Korelri think their Stormriders are alien
.

A flash of brilliant white light cast a clear image of the hold, the troops sitting jammed together like firewood, their eyes and sweaty faces gleaming. Darkness returned just as instantly. Everyone clamoured to know what it was.

‘Some kind of signal,’ came the rather unhelpful explanation.

Then Moranth armoured boots tramped the decking, trapdoors
crashed open. Orders to climb. Waiting in line, frigid seawater pouring down the steep stairs. Up on the pitching deck, ordered to sit alongside Blue marines. Suth steadied himself with a ratline to gaze out over the night-dark waters. Ahead, a line of Blue dromonds parting. Low dark Marese war galleys swarmed around them like dogs worrying tired Thanu. The strikes of ramming reached Suth like the reports of distant explosions.

A golden-amber flash lit the night like a reflection of the sun, searing the vessels into silhouettes against the dark waters, only to snap away instantly. The Blue marines surged to their feet. Orders were bellowed from the after-deck. Suth found Len amid the crowd of troopers. ‘What is it?’ he shouted over the thumping of boots and the crash of the sea.

‘We’re off the leash,’ the saboteur answered. ‘Now we’ll see if we came all this way to any purpose,’ he added grimly.

Suth gave his private agreement. He wore only his padded gambeson, trousers and helmet, sword at his side. His armour lay wrapped below. The order seemed a useless precaution given the freezing waters and distance from shore. Still, perhaps it served to reassure some. He saw the Adjunct at the rail, his long dark hair blowing loose. He too wore only hide pants and sheepskin jacket; the ivory or bone grip and pommel of his sword shone with a near unnatural brightness.

Fire lit the night, flickering out of the distance ahead. Everyone gaped, staring. Even the Adjunct turned, his dark eyes narrowed. Another burst of flame illuminated a scene out of the Harrower’s realm: a Blue man-of-war, rammed, and down from the tall tower at its bows poured not arrows or javelins, but a stream of liquid fire. While Suth watched, dark shapes on board the Mare vessel writhed amid the flames. Some threw themselves overboard. He thought he could almost hear their screams of agony.

‘Sorcery!’ rose a shout from nearby.

‘No,’ murmured someone – Len. ‘Alchemy. Moranth incendiary. It even burns on water – see!’ He pointed, urgent. Indeed, the flames were spreading across the waters, pooling and wave-tossed, to engulf yet another Mare war galley. ‘So this is their answer,’ the saboteur continued, awed. ‘Come close all you like … ram, and burn.’

*

As more fires burst to life in the darkness all around, Devaleth stared, horrified.
Her countrymen!
She lurched to the side of the sterncastle,
clenched the wood to keep from falling.
Torched like vermin! This was outrageous!
She turned on Nok. ‘You knew …’

The Admiral had the grace to appear pained. ‘I knew their intent, yes. But whether it will be enough …’ He shrugged.