The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1267 page)

Fifteen paces back the K'ell Hunter straightened then, and lifted high both swords, and Onos T'oolan felt its reptilian eyes fixed solely upon him. And he raised his own weapon.

One more gift, then, on this final day. I see you, K'Chain Che'Malle, and I call you brother.

 

Gesler wiped at his eyes – he could not fathom the rawness of his emotions. ‘First Sword,' he called out in a roughened voice, ‘how many of your warriors are here?'

Onos T'oolan hesitated, and then said, ‘I do not know.'

Another T'lan Imass, who had been standing behind Onos T'oolan, then spoke, ‘Mortals, we are eight thousand six hundred and eighty-four.'

‘Hood's black breath!' Stormy swore. ‘Gesler – T'lan Imass in the centre? With Ve'Gath to either side, and K'ell screening our flanks?'

‘Aye,' Gesler nodded. ‘First Sword, do you know the Jagged Teeth—'

‘Gesler,' Onos T'oolan cut in, ‘like you, I am a veteran of the Seven Cities campaigns.'

‘Guess you are, aren't you?' Gesler grinned. ‘Stormy, suck some oil and get our lizards back up and moving. I don't see any point in wasting any time on this.'

‘Fine – but what about you?'

‘Me and Sag'Churok – we're riding ahead. I want to see the lay of the land, especially at the base of the Spire. You catch us up, right?'

Stormy nodded. ‘Good enough. How come that winged snake's not around again?'

‘How should I know? Get going – I'll see you on whatever high ground I find. Make sure we draw up in formation – I don't plan on posing for the bastards.'

 

Kalyth stood close to Matron Gunth Mach. The Destriant had crossed her arms and knew the gesture to be protective, though it did little good – not in the face of what was coming. Wars were not part of the Elan heritage – skirmishes, yes, and feuds, and raids. But not wars. But already she had been in the midst of one, and now here she was, about to join another.

The frail woman stumbling from the camp so long ago now would have quailed at the thought, would have wept, helpless with fear.

It was the flavours of the K'Chain Che'Malle that now made her resilient, resolute—

‘You are wrong in that, Destriant.'

She turned in surprise, studied the huge reptilian head hovering at her side, close enough to caress. ‘It is
your
courage,' Kalyth insisted. ‘It has to be. I have none of my own.'

‘You are mistaken. It is your courage that gives
us
strength, Destriant. It is your humanness that guides us into the waiting darkness of battle.'

Kalyth shook her head. ‘But I don't know why we're here – I don't know why we're going to fight this battle. We should have led you away – somewhere far from everyone else. Somewhere you don't have to fight, and die. A place to live. In peace.'

‘There is no such place, Destriant. Even in isolation we were assailed – by our own doubts, by all the flavours of grief and despair. You and the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil, you have led us back into the living world – we have come from a place of death, but now we shall take our place among the peoples of this world. It is right that we do so.'

‘But so many of you will die today!'

‘We must fight to earn our right to all we would claim for ourselves. This is the struggle of all life. There are those who would deny us this right – they feel it belongs to them alone. Today, we shall assert otherwise. Be free this day, Destriant. You have done what was needed – you have guided us here. The Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil shall lead us into battle – and by the wind's scent, we shall be joined by T'lan Imass, in whom the hope for redemption is no stranger.'

Thinking about Stormy and Gesler, Kalyth shivered. ‘Protect them, I beg you.'

‘They shall lead. It is their purpose. This too is freedom.'

Motion in the corner of her eye drew Kalyth's attention – Sinn, slipping down from the back of her Ve'Gath, racing forward a few steps in the manner of any carefree child. And then she whirled, like a dancer, and faced Kalyth.

‘The worm is burning – can't you taste it? Burning!'

Kalyth shook her head. ‘I don't know what you mean, Sinn.'

But the girl was smiling. ‘You can't leave fire behind. Once you've found it, you carry it with you – it's in the swords in your hands. It's in the armour you wear, and the food you eat, and the warmth of the night and the way to see through the dark. And it never sits still – it's always moving. It moved away from the Imass when they turned from it. But now they'll see that the fire they once knew didn't
leave
them – it just
spread out.
But maybe they won't understand anyway – they're not even alive, after all. You forget so much when you stop living.' She waved her arms in her excitement. ‘That's what was wrong with the lizard camps! No fires!' She jabbed a finger at the Matron, hissed, ‘
You need reminding about fire.
'

The words were bitter as ice, and Kalyth found her arms wrapping yet tighter about her chest. And from beside her the flavour of Gunth Mach's oil suddenly soured – and the Destriant knew it for what it was.

She is afraid. The Matron is afraid.

 

Sister Reverence stared to the south.
At last, the enemy shows its face.
Still too far to make out anything more than the solid, dark mass of advancing legions.
Those numbers are paltry. They need fifty or sixty thousand to even hope to break the defences. And from the looks of it, these are cavalry – imagine the forage they must have carried with them!

She glanced to the left, but the storm in the bay was unchanged, the cauldron ferocious yet striking her as strangely…impotent.
The one hiding there can come no closer. Akhrast Korvalain is too powerful, drinking deep of the Fallen One's heart. It is too late for all of them – we have grown too strong. We have achieved what we sought.

A Watered was on the stairs below, using both feet and hands to make his way up, his gasps sounding torn and raw. Sister Reverence awaited him with impatience.
Even with our blessed blood – their humanness makes them so weak!

‘Beloved Sister!'

‘I am here,' she replied.

‘Our scouts have returned! The army to the south!'

‘I see it, yes.'

‘They are giant lizards! Thousands of giant lizards!'

Sister Reverence staggered back a step. Then, in a surge of suddenly febrile power, she quested out towards that army – her mind reaching, reaching,
there! A presence…a little further, reaching…touch—
She cried out. ‘A Matron!
But there are no matrons left! The Nah'ruk promised! The K'Chain Che'Malle are destroyed!
' She realized that she was shouting out loud, and looked down into the wide eyes of the man kneeling at the edge of the stairs. ‘Return to the defences – have the onagers loaded. The Che'Malle will waste no time – they never do. Go!'

Alone once more, Reverence closed her eyes, sought to slow the savage twin beats of her hearts that now seemed to clash in discordant panic.
Brother Diligence, hear my cry. We are deceived! The foe you face is but a feint – ignore them. I summon you and as much of the army as you can relinquish – we face K'Chain Che'Malle!
Releasing her power, she waited, breath held, for her brother's reply.

And received…nothing.

 

With hooded eyes, Setoc crouched atop a berm, facing upslope, and watched the descent of Brother Diligence. ‘This is not your place,' she whispered. ‘Can you feel that yet? The Wolves have claimed this den – this den you so kindly made for us. And here we will wait, until the chosen time.'

She pivoted and scanned the brothers and sisters. She could smell their distress, rising up rank and sour from the maze of trenches, from these dusty holes carved down through stone and dead soil. Many were looking out, across the width of the valley, to where the Bolkando and Letherii armies were even now beginning the descent. She saw how the soldiers reacted in dismay upon seeing no enemy element positioning itself at the centre. Well, not all dismay – she saw quickly hidden expressions of relief, and the scent of that was a looser, thinner emanation.

When the wolf becomes you, you hear and taste and smell so much more, making vision seem like a lesser power, a weakling subject to blindness in the face of truths. No, it is better with the ghosts gathered within me now. So much better.

Down came Brother Diligence, and there was Tanakalian, climbing into view, turning first to study the approaching Forkrul Assail, and then facing Setoc. He made his way closer – but not so close that should she leap, her fangs would find his throat. She noted that, and was not surprised.

‘Destriant Setoc. We are about to be challenged.'

She bared her teeth.

His face knotted in a scowl. ‘Listen to me! It is of no use if you can do little more than lift hackles and growl! He will use Akhrast Korvalain – do you understand me?'

‘And what is it about that to cause fear, Shield Anvil?'

‘The Assail know nothing of the K'Chain Che'Malle – do you see? I have kept that from them.'

‘Why?'

‘It does us no good if the Assail win on this day, does it?'

She cocked her head. ‘It doesn't?'

‘We remain balanced on the knife's edge – or have you forgotten? By what we do, by what we say or do not say, it all falls to us. Here. Now.'

‘Shield Anvil' – she paused to yawn – ‘Shield Anvil, why did you banish the Mortal Sword?'

‘She broke our holy vow, Destriant. I have already told you this.'

‘By swearing fealty to this Adjunct woman.'

‘Yes.'

‘And these Letherii and Bolkando – they are her allies? This Adjunct's allies?' She could see the growing frustration in the man, and was unmoved.

‘I told you this!'

‘Do you fear Brother Diligence? I see that you do. Should he…compel us. But, Shield Anvil, I want to know, which do you fear the most? The Adjunct or the Brother? Think of it as a contest if that helps. Which one is it?'

Tanakalian looked back up the slope, to where Diligence was coming ever nearer to their earthen fort, and then back again. ‘The Adjunct is dead.'

‘You do not know that, and besides, that doesn't matter – it's not relevant to the question I asked.'

A sneer curled his lips. ‘If it is a question of immediacy, then it must be Brother Diligence.' His tone dripped venom, and she understood that as well – all the reasons, all the emotions raging back and forth in this man.

Setoc nodded, and then straightened from her crouch. She arched her back, stretched out her limbs. ‘Immediacy, it's such a lie. One is close, the other is far away. So…fear more the one who is close. But, you see, there are two sides to immediacy. The one you're seeing is the one now, but there is another one, the one you only find at the end of things.'

Tanakalian's eyes narrowed on her, and she could see that he was startled, that he was thinking, and thinking hard now.

‘So,' Setoc continued, ‘let's forget the now for the moment, and go to the end of things. At the
end
of things, Shield Anvil, whom will you fear the most? Yon Brother Diligence, or the Adjunct?' Hearing voices from the trenches – filled with surprise and something like excitement – she smiled and added, ‘Or our Mortal Sword, who even now rides for us?'

Suddenly white, Tanakalian climbed the nearest berm, faced the valley called Blessed Gift. For a dozen heartbeats, he made no move. And then he looked back down at Setoc. ‘Where will you stand in this, Destriant?'

‘I stand with the Wolves.'

Triumph flashed in his eyes.

‘But,' she continued, ‘that is only half the question, isn't it?'

He frowned.

‘You must then ask me, where stand the Wolves?'

He half snarled –
and all the beasts beneath now awaken! –
and said, ‘I know well their position, Destriant.'

‘Well,' Setoc corrected, ‘you thought you did.' She leapt down then, crossed the back edge of the fort to come opposite the narrow stepped track down which the Forkrul Assail was descending. Lifting her gaze, she held out her arms and shouted, ‘Brother! Come no closer! You are not welcome here!'

Diligence was still fifty or more steps away, but he halted in obvious surprise.

She felt him awakening the sorcery in his voice.

And in the moment that he released it, Setoc opened her own throat to the howl of ten thousand ghost wolves.

The sound was a detonation, rising up to slam Diligence down on to his back on the earthen steps. In the numbed silence that followed, Setoc shouted again, ‘You are not welcome! Go back to your slaves, Brother!'

There was no sign that the Forkrul Assail had heard. He was lying sprawled on the track, unmoving. Shriven were rushing towards him from both sides and from above. In moments they had closed, and then were lifting him up, carrying him back up the steps.

Satisfied, Setoc turned round.

The entire Perish army was facing her, every soldier. Among those closest to her, she saw blood at their ears, and trickling down from nostrils. She saw faces that looked bruised, and eyes shot with red. When Setoc spread out her arms again, they visibly flinched back. ‘No foreign magic can compel us,' she said, and then she pointed. ‘The Mortal Sword approaches. We shall welcome her. And in the making of this day, we shall know our fates.'

‘Destriant!' someone shouted from one of the trenches. ‘Who do we choose? Who do we follow?'

Tanakalian wheeled round at that, but there was no way to find the speaker amidst the press.