The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (108 page)

“There's caves,” Heboric said. “You can reach them when the water level's low…ask Baudin, since he's been hiding in one for a week.”

“We have to take Beneth,” Felisin pronounced.

“Now, lass—”

“No! You owe me—both of you! You wouldn't be alive to even do this, Heboric, if it wasn't for me. And for Beneth. I'll find him, meet you at the lakeshore—”

“No, you won't,” Baudin said. “I'll get him.” He handed Felisin the bladder.

She watched him slip out through a back door she hadn't known was there, then slowly turned to regard Heboric. He was crouched down, examining the loose netting wrapped around the packs. “I wasn't part of your escape plan, was I, Heboric?”

He glanced up, raised his brows. “Until tonight, it seemed you'd made Skullcup your paradise. I didn't think you'd be interested in leaving.”

“Paradise?” For some reason the word shook her. She sat down on the cot.

Eyeing her, he shrugged. “Beneth provided.”

She held his gaze until, after a long moment, he finally pulled away, hefting the pack as he rose with a grunt. “We should get going,” he said gruffly.

“I'm not much in your eyes any more, am I, Heboric? Was I ever?”
Felisin, House of Paran, whose sister was Adjunct Tavore, whose brother rode with Adjunct Lorn. Nobleborn, a spoiled little girl. A whore
.

He did not reply, making his way to the gap in the back wall.

 

The western half of Skullcup was in flames, lighting the entire bowl a grainy, wavering red. Heboric and Felisin saw evidence of clashes as they hurried down Work Road toward the lake—downed horses, dead Malazan and Dosii guards. Bula's Inn had been barricaded, then the barriers breached. From the darkness of the doorway, as they passed, came a faint moaning.

Felisin hesitated, but Heboric hooked her arm. “You don't want to go in there, lass,” he said. “Gunnip's men hit that place early on, and hard.”

Beyond the town's edge, Work Road stretched empty and dark all the way to the Three Fates fork. Through the rushes on their left was the glimmer of Sinker Lake's placid surface.

The ex-priest led her down into the grasses, bade her crouch down, then did the same. “We'll wait here,” he said, wiping sweat from his wide, tattooed forehead.

The mud under her knees was clammy, pleasantly cool. “So we swim to the cave…then what?”

“It's an old mineshaft, leading up beyond the rim, well past Beetle Road. There will be supplies left for us at the other end. From there, it's out across the desert.”

“Dosin Pali?”

He shook his head. “Straight west, to the inside coast. Nine, ten days. There's hidden springs—Baudin has memorized their locations. We'll get picked up by a boat and taken across to the mainland.”

“How? Who?”

The ex-priest grimaced. “An old friend with more loyalty than is probably good for him. Hood knows, I'm not complaining.”

“And Pella was the contact?”

“Aye, some obscure connection to do with friends of fathers and uncles and friends of friends or something like that. He first approached you, you know, but you didn't catch on. So he found me himself.”

“I don't remember anything like that.”

“A quote, attributed to Kellanved and recorded by the man arranging our escape—Duiker.”

“A familiar name…”

“The Imperial Historian. He spoke on my behalf at the trial. Then, afterward, arranged to be sent to Hissar by warren.” He fell silent, slowly shook his head. “To save a bitter old man who more than once denounced his written histories as deliberate lies. If I live to stand face to face with Duiker, I think I owe the man an apology.”

A buzzing, frenzied sound reached them, coming from the smoky air above the town. The sound grew louder. Sinker Lake's smooth surface vanished beneath what seemed a spray of hailstones.

Felisin crouched lower in fear. “What is it? What's happening?”

Heboric was silent a moment, then he hissed, “Bloodflies! Drawn, then driven, by the fires. Quickly, lass, scoop up mud—cover yourself! And then me. Hurry!”

Glittering clouds of the insects swept into view, racing like gusts of fog.

Frantic, Felisin dug her fingers into the cool mud between the red stems, slapping handfuls against her neck, arms, face. As she worked she crawled forward on her knees until she sat in the lake water, then she turned to Heboric. “Come closer!”

He scrambled to her side. “They'll dive through the water, girl—you need to get out of there—cover your legs in mud!”

“Once I'm done with you,” she said.

But it was too late. All at once the air was almost unbreathable as a cloud engulfed them. Bloodflies shot down into the water like darts. Pain lanced through her thighs.

Heboric pushed her hands away, then ducked down. “Mind yourself, lass!”

The command was unnecessary, as all thoughts of helping Heboric had vanished with the first savage bite. Felisin leaped from the water, clawed gouges of mud free and slapped them down on her blood-smeared thighs. She quickly added more down to her calves, her ankles and feet. Insects crawled through her hair. Whimpering, she clawed them away, then covered her head with mud. Bloodflies rode her drawn gasps into her mouth, biting as she gagged and spat. She found herself biting down, crunching them, and their bitter juices burned like acid. They were everywhere, blinding her as they gathered in frenzied clumps around her eyes. Screaming, she scraped them away, then reached down and found more mud. Soothing darkness, yet her screaming did not stop, would not stop. The insects were at her ears. She filled them with mud. Silence.

Handless arms wrapped tight around her, Heboric's voice reaching her as if from a great distance away. “It's all right, lass—it's all right. You can stop screaming, Felisin. You can stop.”

She had curled into a ball amidst the reeds. The pain of the bites was passing to numbness—on her legs, around her eyes and ears, and in her mouth. Cool, soft numbness. She heard herself fall silent.

“The swarm's passing,” Heboric said. “Fener's blessing too fierce a touch for them. We're all right, lass. Wipe clear your eyes—see for yourself.”

She made no move. It was too easy to lie still, the numbness spreading through her.

“Wake up!” Heboric snapped. “There's an egg in every bite, each secreting a poison that deadens, turns your flesh into something soft. And dead. Food for the larvae inside those eggs. You understanding me, lass? We need to kill those eggs—I've a tincture, in the pouch at my belt—but you'll need to apply it yourself, right? An old man without hands can't do it for you—”

She moaned.

“Wake up, damn you!”

He struck her, pushed, then kicked. Cursing, Felisin sat up. “Stop it, I'm awake!” Her words slurred passing through her numbed mouth. “Where is that pouch?”

“Here. Open your eyes!”

She could barely see through the puffed swelling, but a strange blue penumbra rising from Heboric's tattoos illuminated the scene. He was unbitten.
Fener's blessing too fierce a touch
.

He gestured at the pouch at his belt. “Quickly, those eggs are about to hatch, then the larvae will start eating you—from the inside out. Open the pouch…there, the black bottle, the small one. Open it!”

She removed the stopper. A bitter smell made her recoil.

“One drop, on your fingertip, then push that drop right into the wound, push it hard. Then the next one and the next—”

“I—I can't feel the ones around my eyes—”

“I'll guide you, lass. Hurry.”

The horror did not end. The tincture, a foul, dark-brown juice that stained her skin yellow, did not kill the emerging larvae, but drove them out. Heboric directed her hands to the ones around her eyes and ears as each sluggishly wriggled free, and she plucked them from the holes made by the bites, each larva as long as a nail clipping, limp with the soporific effect of the tincture. The bites she could see illustrated what was happening around her eyes and ears. In her mouth, the tincture's bitterness overrode the bloodfly larvae's poison, making her head spin and her heartbeat alarmingly fast. The larvae fell like grains of rice onto her tongue. She spat them out.

“I'm sorry, Felisin,” Heboric said after she had done. He was examining the bites around her eyes, his expression filled with compassion.

A chill ran through her. “What's wrong? Will I go blind? Deaf? What is it, Heboric!”

He shook his head, slowly sat back. “Bloodfly bites…the deadening poison kills the flesh. You'll heal, but there will be pockmarks. I'm so sorry, lass. It's bad around your eyes. It's bad…”

She almost laughed, her head reeling. Another shiver rippled through her and she hugged herself. “I've seen those. Locals. Slaves. Here and there—”

“Aye. Normally, bloodflies don't swarm. It must have been the flames. Now listen, a good enough healer—someone with High Denul—can remove the scarring. We'll find ourselves such a healer, Felisin. I swear it, by Fener's tusks, I swear it.”

“I feel sick.”

“That's the tincture. Rapid heart, chills, nausea. It's the juice of a plant native to Seven Cities. If you drank down what's left in that tiny bottle you'd be dead in minutes.”

This time she did laugh, the sound shaky and brittle. “I might welcome Hood's Gates; Heboric.” She squinted at him. The blue glow was fading. “Fener must be very forgiving.”

He frowned at that. “I can make no sense of it, to be honest. I can think of more than one High Priest to Fener who'd choke at the suggestion that the boar god was…forgiving.” He sighed. “But it seems you're right.”

“You might want to offer thanks. A sacrifice.”

“I might,” he growled, looking away.

“It must have been a great offense that drove you from your god, Heboric.”

He did not reply. After a moment he rose, eyes on the flame-wracked town. “Riders coming.”

She sat up straighter, still too dizzy to stand. “Beneth?”

He shook his head.

Moments later a troop of Malazans rode up, halting directly opposite Heboric and Felisin. At the head was Captain Sawark. A Dosii blade had laid open one cheek. His uniform was wet and dark with blood. Felisin involuntarily shrank back from his cold lizard eyes as they fixed on her.

He finally spoke, “When you're up on the rim…look south.”

Heboric cursed softly in surprise. “You're letting us go? Thank you, Captain.”

His face darkened. “Not for you, old man. It's seditious bastards like you that are the cause of all this. I'd rather spit you on a spear right now.” He made as if to say something more, his eyes finding Felisin once again, but instead he simply reined his mount around.

The two fugitives watched the troop ride back into Skullcup. They were heading for a battle. Felisin knew this instinctively. Another sourceless certainty told her, in a whisper, that they would all die. Captain Sawark. Pella. Every Malazan. She glanced over at Heboric. The man looked thoughtful as he watched the troop reach the edge of town, then vanish into the smoke.

A moment later Baudin rose from a bed of reeds nearby.

Felisin clambered to her feet and stepped toward him. “Where's Beneth?”

“Dead, lass.”

“You—you…” Her words were drowned out in a flood of pain rising up within her, an anguish more thorough in shattering her than anything she'd yet suffered. She staggered back a step.

Baudin's small, flat eyes held steady on her.

Heboric cleared his throat. “We'd best hurry. Dawn's not far off, and while I doubt our crossing the lake is likely to be noticed, there's no point in making our intentions obvious. After all, we're Malazan.” He strode down to the waiting bladders. “The plan is to wait out the coming day at the other end of the reach, then set out after sunset. Less likely that any roving bands of Dosii will see us.”

Dully, Felisin followed the two men to the lake's edge. Baudin strapped one of the packs against Heboric's chest. Felisin realized she would have to share the other bladder with Baudin. She studied the big man as he checked the netting one last time.

Beneth's dead. So he says. He probably didn't even look for him. Beneth's alive. He must be. Nothing more than a bloodied face. Baudin's lying
.

Sinker Lake's water washed the last of the mud and tincture from Felisin's skin. It was not nearly enough.

 

The cliff face bounced back the echoes of their harsh breaths. Chilled and feeling the water striving to pull her down, Felisin tightened her grip on the netting. “I see no cave,” she gasped.

Baudin grunted. “Surprised you can see anything at all,” he said.

She made no reply. The flesh around her eyes had swollen until only slits remained. Her ears felt like slabs of meat, heavy and huge, and the flesh inside her mouth had closed around her teeth. She was having difficulty breathing, constantly clearing her throat without effect. The discomforts left her feeling dislocated, as if she had no vanity left to sting, bringing an almost amused relief.

Surviving this is all that counts. Let Tavore see all the scars she's given me, the day we come face to face. I need say nothing, then, to justify my revenge
.

“The opening is under the surface,” Heboric said. “We need to puncture these bladders and swim down. Baudin will go first, with a rope tied to his waist. Hold on to that rope, lass, else you'll be pulled to the bottom.”

Baudin handed her a dagger, then laid the rope over the bobbing pack. A moment later he pushed himself toward the cliff wall and vanished beneath the lake's surface.

Felisin snatched at the rope, gripping it hard as she watched the coils play out. “How far down?”

“Seven, eight feet,” Heboric said. “Then about fifteen feet through the cave until you'll find your next breath. Can you manage it, lass?”