The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1169 page)

The healer slumped to the ground. His head sank and the others waited for the man to be sick. Instead, they heard something like a sob. Balm stared at Throatslitter, and then at Widdershins, but by their expressions they were as baffled as he was. He crouched down, one hand resting lightly on Deadsmell's back – he could feel the shudders pushing through.

The healer wept for some time.

No one spoke.

When the sobs began to subside, Balm leaned closer. ‘Corporal, what in Togg's name is going on with you?'

‘I – I can't explain, Sergeant.'

‘The healing worked,' said Balm. ‘We all saw it.'

He nodded, still not lifting his head.

‘So…what?'

‘She let down her defences, just for a moment. Let me in, Sergeant. She had to, so I could heal the damage – and gods, was there damage! Stepping into view – that must have taken everything she had. Standing, talking…' he shook his head. ‘I saw inside. I saw—'

He broke down all over again, shaking with vast, overwhelming sobs.

Balm remained crouched at his side. Widdershins and Throatslitter stood forming a kind of barrier facing outward. There was nothing to do but wait.

 

In the moments before the Fists trooped inside, Lostara Yil stood facing Tavore. She struggled to keep her voice steady, calm. ‘Welcome back, Adjunct.'

Tavore slowly drew a deep breath. ‘Your thoughts, High Priest?'

To one side, Banaschar lifted his head. ‘I'm too cold to think, Adjunct.'

‘Omtose Phellack. Have you felt the footfalls of the Jaghut, Banaschar?'

The ex-priest shrugged. ‘So Hood had a back door. Should we really be surprised? That devious shit of a god was never one for playing straight.'

‘Disingenuous, High Priest.'

His face twisted. ‘Think hard on where your gifts come from, Adjunct.'

‘At last,' she retorted, ‘some sound advice from you, High Priest. Almost…sober.'

If he planned on a reply, he bit it off when Kindly, Sort and Blistig entered the chamber.

There was a stretch of silence, and then Faradan Sort snorted and said, ‘And here I always believed a chilly reception was just a—'

‘I am informed,' cut in the Adjunct, ‘that our guests are on their way. Before they arrive, I wish each of you to report on the disposition of your soldiers. Succinctly, please.'

The Fists stared.

Lostara Yil glanced over at Banaschar, and saw something flickering in his eyes as he studied the Adjunct.

 

Their approach took them down the north avenue of the Malazan encampment, winding down the crooked track between abattoir tents, where the stench of butchered animals was rank in the fly-swarmed air. Atri-Ceda Aranict rode in silence beside Commander Brys, hunched against the bleating of myrid and lowing of rodara, the squeal of terrified pigs and the moaning of cattle. Creatures facing slaughter well understood their fate, and the sound of their voices crowding the air was a torment.

‘Ill chosen,' muttered Brys, ‘this route. My apologies, Atri-Ceda.'

Two soldiers crossed their path, wearing heavy blood-drenched aprons. Their faces were flat, expressionless. Their hands dripped gore.

‘Armies bathe in blood,' said Aranict. ‘That is the truth of it, isn't it, Commander?'

‘I fear we all bathe in it,' he replied. ‘Cities permit us to hide from that bleak truth, I think.'

‘What would it be like, I wonder, if we all ate only vegetables?'

‘We'd break all the land and the wild animals would have nowhere to live,' Brys replied.

‘So we should see these domesticated beasts as sacrifices in the name of wildness.'

‘You could,' he said, ‘if it helps.'

‘I'm not sure it does.'

‘Nor am I.'

‘I think I am too soft for all this,' she concluded. ‘I have a sentimental streak. Maybe you can hide from the slaughter itself, but if you possess any imagination at all, well, there's no real hiding, is there?'

They drew closer to a broad intersection, and opposite them a sizeable troop of riders was converging on the same place, coming up from the south track. ‘Well now,' said Brys, ‘are those Bolkando royal standards?'

‘Seems the queen has taken her escort duties well beyond her kingdom's borders.'

‘Yes, most curious. Shall we await them?'

‘Why not?'

They reined in at the intersection.

The queen's entourage was oversized, yet as it drew closer Brys frowned. ‘Those are Evertine regulars, I think,' he said. ‘Not an officer among them.'

In addition to these hardened soldiers, three Barghast warriors rode close to Abrastal, while off to the right rode two Khundryl women, one of them seven or eight months pregnant. On the left was a pair of armoured foreigners – the Perish? Aranict drew a sharp breath. ‘That must be Mortal Sword Krughava. She alone could command a palace tapestry.'

Brys grunted. ‘I know what you mean. I have seen a few hard women in my time, but that one…formidable indeed.'

‘I doubt I could even lift that sword at her belt.'

With a gesture Queen Abrastal halted the entire troop. She said something to one of her soldiers, and suddenly the veterans were all dismounting, lifting satchels from their saddle horns and setting out into the Malazan camp. Aranict watched the soldiers fanning out, apparently seeking squad camps. ‘What are they doing?'

Brys shook his head. ‘I'm not sure.'

‘They've brought…bottles.'

Brys Beddict grunted, and then tapped his horse's flanks. Aranict followed suit.

‘Commander Brys Beddict,' said Queen Abrastal, settling back in her saddle. ‘We finally meet. Tell me, does your brother know where you are?'

‘Highness, does your husband?'

Her teeth flashed. ‘I doubt it. But isn't this better than our meeting in anger?'

‘Agreed, Highness.'

‘Now, barring this Gilk oaf at my side and of course you, it seems this will be a gathering of women. Do you quake in your boots, Prince?'

‘If I am, I am man enough to not admit it, Highness. Will you be so kind as to perform introductions?'

Abrastal removed her heavy gauntlets and gestured to her right. ‘From the Khundryl, Hanavat, wife to Warleader Gall, and with her Shelemasa, bodyguard and One of the Charge.'

Brys tilted his head to both women. ‘Hanavat. We were witness to the Charge.' His gaze momentarily flicked to Shelemasa, then back to Hanavat. ‘Please, if you will, inform your husband that I was shamed by his courage and that of the Burned Tears. Seeing the Khundryl stung me to action. I would he understand that all that the Letherii were subsequently able to achieve in relieving the Bonehunters is set in humble gratitude at the Warleader's feet.'

Hanavat's broad, fleshy face remained expressionless. ‘Most generous words, Prince. My husband shall be told.'

The awkwardness of that reply hung in the dusty air for a moment, and then Queen Abrastal gestured to the Perish. ‘Mortal Sword Krughava and Shield Anvil Tanakalian, of the Grey Helms.'

Once again Brys tilted his head. ‘Mortal Sword. Shield Anvil.'

‘You stood in our place six days ago,' said Krughava, her tone almost harsh. ‘This is now an open wound upon the souls of my brothers and sisters. We grieve at the sacrifice you suffered in our stead. This is not your war, after all, yet you stood firm. You fought with valour. Should the opportunity ever arise, sir, we shall in turn stand in your place. This the Perish Grey Helms avow.'

Brys Beddict seemed at a loss.

Aranict cleared her throat and said, ‘You have humbled the prince, Mortal Sword. Shall we now present ourselves to the Adjunct?'

Queen Abrastal collected up her reins and swung her mount on to the track leading to the camp's centre. ‘Will you ride at my side, Prince?'

‘Thank you,' Brys managed.

Aranict dropped her mount just behind the two, and found herself riding alongside the ‘Gilk oaf'.

He glanced across at her and his broad, scarified face was solemn. ‘That Mortal Sword,' he muttered low, ‘she comes across with all the soft sweetness of a mouthful of quartz. Well done to your commander for recovering.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Don't turn round, but if you did you would see tears on the face of Hanavat. I think I like your commander. I am Spax, Warchief of the Gilk Barghast.'

‘Atri-Ceda Aranict.'

‘That means High Mage Aranict, yes?'

‘I suppose it does. Warchief, those Evertine soldiers who have gone out among the Malazans – what are they doing?'

Spax reached up and made a clawing gesture beneath his eyes. ‘What are they doing, Atri-Ceda? Spirits below, they are being human.'

THE BLACK LACQUERED AMPHORA EMERGED FROM THE SIDE DOOR AND
skidded, rather than rolled, diagonally across the corridor. It struck the base of the marble banister at the top of the stairs, and the crack echoed sharp as a split skull before the huge vessel tilted and pitched down the steps. Shattering, it flung its shards in a glistening spray down the stone flight all the way to the main floor. Sparkling dust spun and twisted for a time, before settling like flecks of frost.

Withal walked over to the edge of the steps and looked down. ‘That,' he said under his breath, ‘was rather spectacular.' He turned at a sound behind him.

Captain Brevity was leaning out from the doorway, glancing round until she spotted Withal. ‘You'd better come in,' she said.

‘I was doing just that,' he replied. ‘Five strides closer and she'd be a widow.'

Brevity made a face he couldn't quite read, and then edged to one side to let him pass.

The throne room was still a chamber of ghosts. Black stone and black wood, the crimson and onyx mosaic of the floor dulled with dust and dried leaves that had wandered in from some high window. It seemed to hold nothing of the now brimming power of the Teronderai, the holy sepulchre of Mother Dark, yet for all that Withal felt diminished as he stepped through the side entrance and edged out towards the centre of the room.

The throne was on his right, raised on a knee-high dais that was, he realized, the vast stump of a blackwood tree. Roots snaked down to sink into the surrounding floor. The throne itself had been carved from the bole, a simple, almost ascetic chair. Perhaps it had once been plush, padded and bold in rich fabrics, but not even the tacks remained.

His wife stood just to the other side of the throne, her arms crossed, now dragging her glare from Yan Tovis – who stood facing the throne as would a supplicant – to Withal. ‘Finally,' she snapped, ‘my escort. Take me out of here, husband.'

Yan Tovis, queen of the Shake, cleared her throat. ‘Leaving solves nothing—'

‘Wrong. It solves
everything
.'

The woman facing her sighed. ‘This is the throne of the Tiste Andii, and Kharkanas is the capital of the Hold of Darkness. You are home, Highness—'

‘Stop calling me that!'

‘But I must, for you are of royal blood—'

‘We were all of
royal
blood in this infernal city!' Sandalath Drukorlat pointed a finger at Yan Tovis. ‘As were the Shake!'

‘But our realm was and is the Shore, Highness, whereas Kharkanas is yours. But if it must be that there be only one queen, then I freely abdicate—'

‘You will not. They are
your
people! You led them here, Yan Tovis. You are their queen.'

‘Upon this throne, Highness, only one of royal Tiste Andii blood can make a true claim. And, as we both well know, there is only one Tiste Andii in this entire realm, and that is you.'

‘Fine, and over whom do I rule? Heaps of dust? Mouldy bones? Blood stains on the floor? And where is my High Priestess, in whose eyes Mother Dark shines? Where is my Blind Gallan, my brilliant, tortured court fool? Where are my rivals, my hostages, my servants and soldiers? Handmaidens and— Oh, never mind. This is pointless. I don't want that throne.'

‘Nonetheless,' said Yan Tovis.

‘Very well, I accept it, and my first act is to abdicate and yield the throne and all of Wise Kharkanas to you, Queen Yan Tovis. Captain Brevity, find us a royal seal – there must be one lying around here somewhere – and parchment and ink and wax.'

The queen of the Shake was smiling, but it was a sad smile. ‘“Wise Kharkanas.” I had forgotten that honorific. Queen Sandalath Drukorlat, I respectfully decline your offer. My duties are upon the Shore.' She nodded to Brevity. ‘Until such time that other Tiste Andii return to Kharkanas, I humbly submit Captain Brevity here to act as your Chancellor, Palace Guard Commander, and whatever other duties of organization as are required to return this palace to its former glory.'

Sandalath snorted. ‘Oh, clever. And I suppose a few hundred of your Shake are waiting outside with mops and buckets.'

‘Letherii, actually. Islanders and other refugees. They have known great privation, Highness, and will view the privilege of palace employment with humility and gratitude.'

‘And if I turn them all away? Oh yes, I see the traps you've set around me, Yan Tovis. You intend to guilt me on to that accursed throne. But what if I am a harder woman than you?'

‘The burden of rule hardens us both, Highness.'

Sandalath cast Withal a beseeching look. ‘Talk her out of this, husband.'

‘I would if I thought I had any chance of swaying her, beloved.' He strode to the base of the dais, eyeing the throne. ‘Needs a cushion or two, I should think, before you could hope to sit there for any length of time.'

‘And you as my consort? Gods, don't you think I could do better?'

‘Undoubtedly,' he replied. ‘For the moment, however, you are stuck with me, and,' he added with a wave at the throne, ‘with this. So sit down and make it official, Sand, so Yan Tovis can kneel or curtsey or whatever it is she has to do, and Brevity can get on with scrubbing the floors and beating the tapestries.'

The Tiste Andii woman cast about, as if seeking another amphora, but the nearest one stood perched on a stone cup near the side door – now an orphan, Withal saw, noting the unoccupied stone base on the entrance's other side. He waited to see if she'd make the fierce march to repeat her gesture of frustration and anger, but all at once his wife seemed to subside.
Thank Mael. That would have made her look ridiculous. Decorum, beloved, as befits the Queen of Darkness. Aye, some things you can't run from.

‘There will be two queens in this realm,' Sandalath said, coming round to slump down in the throne. ‘Don't even think of curtseying, Tovis.' She eyed the Shake woman with something close to a glower. ‘Other Tiste Andii, you said.'

‘Surely they have sensed Mother Dark's return,' Yan Tovis replied. ‘Surely, they too understand that the diaspora is at last at an end.'

‘Just how many Tiste Andii do you imagine are left?'

‘I don't know. But I do know this: those who live shall return here. Just as the Shake have done. Just as you have done.'

‘Good. First one gets here can have this throne and all that goes with it. Husband, start building us a cottage in the woods. Make it remote. No, make it impossible to reach. And tell none but me where it is.'

‘A cottage.'

‘Yes. With a drawbridge and a moat, and pitfalls and sprawl-traps.'

‘I'll start drawing up plans.'

Yan Tovis said, ‘Queen Sandalath, I beg your leave.'

‘Yes. Sooner the better.'

The ex-Letherii officer tilted her head, wheeled and strode from the chamber.

Captain Brevity stepped forward to face the throne and settled on one knee. ‘Highness, shall I summon the palace staff?'

‘In here? Abyss take me, no. Start with all the other rooms. Go on. You are, er, dismissed. Husband! Don't even think of leaving.'

‘The thought had not even occurred to me.' And he managed to hold his neutral expression against her withering scepticism.

As soon as they were alone, Sandalath sprang from the throne as if she'd just found one of those ancient tacks. ‘That bitch!'

Withal flinched. ‘Yan—'

‘No, not her – she's right, the cow. I'm stuck with this, for the moment. Besides, why should she be the only one to suffer the burden of rule, as she so quaintly put it?'

‘Well, put it that way, and I can see how she might be in need of a friend.'

‘An equal of sorts, yes. The problem is, I don't fit. I'm not her equal. I didn't lead ten thousand people to this realm. I barely got
you
here.'

He shrugged. ‘But here we are.'

‘And she knew.'

‘Who?'

‘That bitch Tavore. Somehow, she knew this would happen—'

‘There's no proof of that, Sand,' Withal replied. ‘It was Fiddler's reading, not hers.'

She made a dismissive gesture. ‘Technicalities, Withal. She trapped me is what she did. I should never have been there. No, she knew there was a card waiting for me. There's no other explanation.'

‘But that's no explanation at all, Sand.'

The look she threw him was miserable. ‘You think I don't know that?'

Withal hesitated. ‘Listen,' he said, ‘your kin are coming. Are you really certain you want me standing there at your side when they do?'

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What you're really saying is: do I want to be standing at her side when they arrive? A mere human, a shortlived plaything to the Queen of Darkness. That's how you think they'll see you, isn't it?'

‘Well…'

‘You're wrong. It will be the opposite and that might be just as bad. They'll see you for what you are: a threat.'

‘A
what
?'

She regarded him archly. ‘Your kind are the inheritors – of everything. And here you are, along with all those Letherii and blood-thin Shake, squatting in Kharkanas. Is there anywhere you damned bastards don't end up sooner or later? That's what they'll be thinking.'

‘Mael knows, they've got a point,' he said, looking away, down the length of the throne room, imagining a score or more regal Tiste Andii standing there, eyes hard, faces like stone. ‘I'd better leave.'

‘No you won't. Mother Dark—' Abruptly she shut her mouth.

He turned his head, studied her. ‘Your goddess is whispering in your ear, Sand? About me?'

‘You'll be needed,' she said, once more eyeing the lone amphora. ‘All of you. The Letherii refugees. The Shake. And it's not fair.
It's not fair!
'

He took her arm as she moved to assault the crockery. Pulled her round until she was in his arms. Startled, terrified, he held her as she wept.
Mael! What awaits us here?

But there was no answer, and his god had never felt so far away.

 

Yedan Derryg dragged the tip of the Hust sword, making a line in the crumbled bones of the Shore. The cascading wall of light flowed in reflection along the length of the ancient blade, like tears of milk. ‘We are children here,' he muttered.

Captain Pithy hawked phlegm, stepped forward and spat into the wall, and then turned to face him. ‘Something tells me we'd better grow up fast, Watch.'

Yedan clenched his teeth, chewed on a half-dozen possible responses to her grim observation, before saying, ‘Yes.'

‘The faces in the wash,' said Pithy, nodding at the eternally descending rain of light rearing before them, ‘there's more of 'em. And seems they're getting closer, as if clawing their way through. I'm expecting t'see an arm thrust out any time now.' She hitched her thumbs in her weapon belt. ‘Thing is, sir, what happens then?'

He stared into the Lightfall. Tried remembering memories that weren't his own. The grinding of molars sounded like distant thunder in his head. ‘We fight.'

‘And that's why you've recruited everyone with arms and legs into this army of yours.'

‘Not everyone. The Letherii islanders—'

‘Can smell trouble better than anyone. Convicted criminals, almost the whole lot. It's a case of the nerves all around, sir, and soon as they figure things out, they'll start stepping up.'

He eyed the woman. ‘What makes you so sure, Captain?'

‘Soon as they figure things out, I said.'

‘What things?'

‘That there's nowhere to run to, for one,' she replied. ‘And that there won't be any bystanders, no – what's the word? Non-combatants. We got us a fight for our very lives ahead. Do you deny it?'

He shook his head, studied the play of light on the blade again. ‘We will stand on the bones of our ancestors.' He glanced at Pithy. ‘We have a queen to protect.'

‘Don't you think your sister will be right here in the front line?'

‘My sister? No, not her. The queen of Kharkanas.'

‘It's her we're gonna die protecting? I don't get it, sir. Why her?'

He grimaced, lifted the sword and slowly sheathed it. ‘We are of the Shore. The bones at our feet are
us
. Our history. Our meaning. Here we will stand. It is our purpose.' Memories not his own, yet still they stirred. ‘Our purpose.'

‘Yours maybe. The rest of us just want to live another day. Get on with things. Making babies, tilling the ground, getting rich, whatever.'

He shrugged, eyes now on the wall. ‘Privileges, Captain, we cannot at the moment afford to entertain.'

‘I ain't happy about the thought of dying for some Tiste Andii queen,' Pithy said, ‘and I doubt I'm alone in that. So maybe I take back what I said earlier. There could be trouble ahead.'

‘No. There won't.'

‘Plan on cutting off a few heads?'

‘If necessary.'

She muttered a curse. ‘I hope not. Like I said before, so long as they all realize there's nowhere to go. Should be enough, shouldn't it?' When no answer was forthcoming she cleared her throat and said, ‘Well, it comes down to saying the right things at the right time. Now, Watch Derryg, you might be an Errant-shitting warrior, and a decent soldier, too, but you're lacking the subtleties of command—'