The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (279 page)

‘Yes, sir.’

Whiskeyjack dismounted and handed the reins of his charger to an aide, then joined Korlat. He resisted an urge to draw her into his arms, and was disconcerted to see a glimmer of prescient knowledge in her eyes.

‘Not in front of the troops, surely,’ she murmured.

He growled. ‘Lead me through, woman.’

*   *   *

Whiskeyjack had travelled a warren only a few times, but his memories of those fraught journeys did little to prepare him for Kurald Galain. Taking him by the hand, Korlat drew him into the ancient realm of Mother Dark, and though he could feel the sure grip of her fingers, he stepped into blindness.

No light. Gritty flagstones under his boots, the air perfectly motionless, scentless, with an ambient temperature that seemed no different from that of his skin.

He was pulled forward, his boots seeming to barely touch the floor.

A sudden streak of grey assaulted his eyes, and he heard Korlat hiss: ‘We are assailed even here – the Crippled God’s poison seeps deep, Whiskeyjack. This does not bode well.’

He cleared his throat. ‘No doubt Anomander Rake has recognized the threat, and if so, do you know what he plans to do about it?’

‘One thing at a time, dear lover. He is the Knight of Darkness, the Son. Mother Dark’s own champion. Not one to shy from a confrontation.’

‘I’d never have guessed,’ he replied wryly. ‘What’s he waiting for, then?’

‘We’re a patient people, us Tiste Andii. The true measure of power lies in the wisdom to wait for the propitious moment. When it comes, and he judges it to be so, then Anomander Rake will respond.’

‘Presumably the same holds for unleashing Moon’s Spawn on the Pannion Domin.’

‘Aye.’

And, somehow, Rake’s managed to hide a floating fortress the size of a mountain
 … ‘You’ve considerable faith in your Lord, haven’t you?’

He felt her shrug through the hand clasped in his. ‘There is sufficient precedent to disregard notions of faith, when it comes to my Lord. I am comforted by certainty.’

‘Glad to hear it. And are you comfortable with me, Korlat?’

‘Devious man. The answer to every facet of that question is yes. Would you now have me ask in kind?’

‘You shouldn’t have to.’

‘Tiste Andii or human, when it comes to males, they’re all the same. Perhaps I shall force the words from you none the less.’

‘You won’t have to work hard. My answer’s the same as yours.’

‘Which is?’

‘Why, the very word you used, of course.’

He grunted at the jab in his ribs. ‘Enough of that. We’ve arrived.’

The portal opened to painful light – the interior of Dujek’s command tent, shrouded in the gloom of late afternoon. They stepped within, the warren closing silently behind them.

‘If all this was just to get me alone—’

‘Gods, the ego!’ She gestured with her free hand and a ghostly figure took form in front of Whiskeyjack. A familiar face – that smiled.

‘What a charming sight,’ the apparition said, eyeing them. ‘Hood knows, I can’t recall the last time I had a woman.’

‘Watch your tongue, Quick Ben,’ Whiskeyjack growled, disengaging his hand from Korlat’s. ‘It’s been a while, and you look terrible.’

‘Why, thanks a whole lot, Commander. I’ll have you know I feel even worse. But I can traverse my warrens, now, more or less shielded from the Fallen One’s poison. I bring news from Capustan – do you want it or not?’

Whiskeyjack grinned. ‘Go ahead.’

‘The White Faces hold the city.’

‘We’d guessed that much, once Twist delivered the news of your success with the Barghast, and once the Pannion army stumbled into our laps.’

‘Fine. Well, assuming you’ve taken care of that army, I’ll add just one more thing. The Barghast are marching with us. South. If you and Dujek found things tense dealing with Brood and Kallor and company – your pardon, Korlat – now you’ve got Humbrall Taur to deal with as well.’

Whiskeyjack grunted at that. ‘What’s he like, then?’

‘Too clever by half, but at least he’s united the clans, and he’s clear-eyed on the mess he’s heading into.’

‘I’m glad one of us is. How fare Paran and the Bridgeburners?’

‘Reportedly fine, though I haven’t seen them in a while. They are at the Thrall – with Humbrall Taur and the survivors of the city’s defenders.’

Whiskeyjack’s brows rose. ‘There are survivors?’

‘Aye, so it seems. Non-combatants still cowering in tunnels. And some Grey Swords. Hard to believe, isn’t it? Mind you, I doubt there’s much fight left in them. From what I’ve heard about Capustan’s streets…’ Quick Ben shook his head. ‘You’ll have to see it to believe it So will I, in fact, which is what I’m about to do. With your leave, that is.’

‘With caution, I trust.’

The wizard smiled. ‘No-one will see me unless I want them to, sir. When do you anticipate reaching Capustan?’

Whiskeyjack shrugged. ‘We’ve the Tenescowri to deal with. That could get complicated.’

Quick Ben’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not intending to parley with them, are you?’

‘Why not? Better than slaughter, Wizard.’

‘Whiskeyjack, the Barghast are returning with stories … of what happened in Capustan, of what the Tenescowri did to the defenders. They have a leader, those Tenescowri, a man named Anaster, the First Child of the Dead Seed. The latest rumour is he personally skinned Prince Jelarkan, then served him up as the main course of a banquet – in the prince’s own throne room.’

The breath hissed from Korlat.

Grimacing, Whiskeyjack said, ‘If such crimes can be laid with certainty at the feet of this Anaster – or of any Tenescowri – then Malazan military law will prevail.’

‘Simple execution grants them a mercy not accorded their victims.’

‘Then they will be fortunate that Onearm’s Host captured them, and none other.’

Quick Ben still looked troubled. ‘And Capustan’s surviving citizens, the defenders and the priests of the Thrall – will they have no say in the disposition of the prisoners? Sir, troubled times might await us.’

‘Thank you for the warning, Wizard.’

After a moment, Quick Ben shrugged, then sighed. ‘See you in Capustan, Whiskeyjack.’

‘Aye.’

The apparition faded.

Korlat turned to the commander. ‘Malazan military law.’

He raised his brows. ‘My sense of Caladan Brood is that he’s not the vengeful type. Do you anticipate a clash?’

‘I know what Kallor will advise.’ A hint of tension was present in her tone.

‘So do I, but I don’t think the warlord’s inclined to listen. Hood knows, he hasn’t thus far.’

‘We have not yet seen Capustan.’

He released a long breath, drew off his gauntlets. ‘Horrors to answer in kind.’

‘An unwritten law,’ she said in a low voice. ‘An ancient law.’

‘I don’t hold to it,’ Whiskeyjack growled. ‘We become no better, then. Even simple execution…’ He faced her. ‘Over two hundred thousand starving peasants. Will they stand about like sheep? Not likely. As prisoners? We couldn’t feed them if we tried, nor have we sufficient soldiers to spare guarding them.’

Korlat’s eyes were slowly widening. ‘You are proposing we leave them, aren’t you?’

She’s leading up to something here. I’ve caught glimmers before, the whisper of a hidden wedge, poised to drive itself between us.
‘Not all of them. We’ll take their leaders. This Anaster, and his officers – assuming there are any. If the Tenescowri walked a path of atrocity, then the First Child led the way.’ Whiskeyjack shook his head. ‘But the real criminal awaits us within the Domin itself – the Seer – who would starve his followers into cannibalism, into madness. Who would destroy his own people. We’d be executing the victims –
his
victims.’

The Tiste Andii frowned. ‘By that token, we should absolve the Pannion armies as well, Whiskeyjack.’

The Malazan’s grey eyes hardened. ‘Our enemy is the Seer. Dujek and I agree on this – we’re not here to annihilate a nation. The armies that impede our march to the Seer, we will deal with. Efficiently. Retribution and revenge are distractions.’

‘And what of liberation? The conquered cities—’

‘Incidental, Korlat. I’m surprised at your confusion on this. Brood saw it the same as we did – at that first parley when tactics were discussed. We strike for the heart—’

‘I believe you misunderstood, Whiskeyjack. For over a decade, the warlord has been waging a war of liberation – from the rapacious hunger of your Malazan Empire. Caladan Brood has now shifted his focus – a new enemy – but the same war. Brood is here to free the Pannions—’

‘Hood’s breath! You can’t free a people
from themselves
!’

‘He seeks to free them from the Seer’s rule.’

‘And who exalted the Seer to his present status?’

‘Yet you speak of absolving the commonalty, even the soldiers of the Pannion armies, Whiskeyjack. And that is what is confusing me.’

Not entirely.
‘We speak at cross-purposes here, Korlat. Neither I nor Dujek will willingly assume the role of judge and executioner – should we prove victorious. Nor are we here to put the pieces back together for the Pannions. That’s for them to do. That responsibility will turn us into administrators, and to effectively administrate, we must
occupy.
’

She barked a harsh laugh. ‘And is that not the Malazan way, Whiskeyjack?’

‘This is not a Malazan war!’

‘Isn’t it? Are you sure?’

He studied her through slitted eyes. ‘What do you mean? We’re outlawed, woman. Onearm’s Host is…’ He fell silent, seeing a flatness come to Korlat’s gaze, then realized – too late – that he had just failed a test. And with that failure had ended the trust that had grown between them.
Damn, I walked right into it. Wide-eyed stupid.

She smiled then, and it was a smile of pain and regret. ‘Dujek approaches. You might as well await him here.’

The Tiste Andii turned and strode from the tent.

Whiskeyjack stared after her, then, when she’d left, he flung his gauntlets on the map table and sat down on Dujek’s cot.
Should I have told you, Korlat? The truth? That we’ve got a knife at our throats. And the hand holding it – on Empress Laseen’s behalf – is right here in this very camp, and has been ever since the beginning.

He heard a horse thump to a halt outside the tent. A few moments later Dujek Onearm entered, his armour sheathed in dust. ‘Ah, wondered where you’d got to—’

‘Brood knows,’ Whiskeyjack cut in, his voice low and raw.

Dujek paused but a moment. ‘He does, does he? What, precisely, has he worked out?’

‘That we’re not quite as outlawed as we’ve made out to be.’

‘Any further?’

‘Isn’t that enough, Dujek?’

The High Fist strode over to the side table where waited a jug of ale. He unstoppered it and poured two tankards full. ‘There are … mitigating circumstances—’

‘Relevant only to us. You and I—’

‘And our army—’

‘Who believe their lives are forfeit in the Empire, Dujek. Made into victims once again – no, it’s you and I and no-one else this time.’

Dujek drained his tankard, refilled it in silence. Then he said, ‘Are you suggesting we spread our hand on the table for Brood and Korlat? In the hopes that they’ll do something about our … predicament?’

‘I don’t know – not if we’re hoping for absolution for having maintained this deceit all this time. That would be a motive that wouldn’t sit well with me, even if patently untrue. Appearances—’

‘Will make it seem precisely that, aye. “We’ve been lying to you from the very beginning to save our own necks. But now that you know, we’ll tell you…” Gods, that’s insulting even to me and I’m the one saying it. All right, the alliance is in trouble—’

A thud against the tent flap preceded the arrival of Artanthos. ‘Your pardon, sirs,’ the man said, flat eyes studying the two soldiers in turn before he continued, ‘Brood has called for a counsel.’

Ah, standard-bearer, your timing is impeccable …

Whiskeyjack collected the tankard awaiting him and drained it, then turned to Dujek and nodded.

The High Fist sighed. ‘Lead the way, Artanthos, we’re right behind you.’

*   *   *

The encampment seemed extraordinarily quiet. The Mhybe had not realized how comforting the army’s presence had been on the march. Now, only elders and children and a few hundred rearguard Malazan soldiers remained. She had no idea how the battle fared; either way, deaths would make themselves felt. Mourning among the Rhivi and Barghast, bereft voices rising into the darkness.

Victory is an illusion. In all things.

She fled in her dreams every night. Fled and was, eventually, caught, only to awaken. Sudden, as if torn away, her withered body shivering, aches filling her joints. An escape of sorts, yet in truth she left one nightmare for another.

An illusion. In all things.

This wagon bed had become her entire world, a kind of mock sanctuary that reappeared each and every time sleep ended. The rough woollen blankets and furs wrapped around her were a personal landscape, the bleak terrain of dun folds startlingly similar to what she had seen when in the dragon’s grip, when the undead beast flew high over the tundra in her dream, yielding an echo of the freedom she had experienced then, an echo that was painfully sardonic.

To either side of her ran wooden slats. Their patterns of grain and knots had become intimate knowledge. Far to the north, she recalled, among the Nathii, the dead were buried in wood boxes. The custom had been born generations ago, arising from the more ancient practice of interring corpses in hollowed-out tree trunks. The boxes were then buried, for wood was born of earth and to earth it must return. A vessel of life now a vessel of death. The Mhybe imagined that, if a dead Nathii could see, moments before the lid was lowered and darkness swallowed all, that Nathii’s vision would match hers.

Lying in the box, unable to move, awaiting the lid. A body past usefulness, awaiting the darkness.

But there would be no end. Not for her. They were keeping it away. Playing out their own delusions of mercy and compassion. The Daru who fed her, the Rhivi woman who cleaned and bathed her and combed the wispy remnants of her hair. Gestures of malice. Playing out, over and over, scenes of torture.