The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (562 page)

Citizens had gathered to watch them. Two had walked over to the dead or unconscious guard, crouching to examine the unfortunate man. Another stood nearby, complaining about his shattered cart and pointing at Karsa – although only when the huge warrior wasn't looking.

They made their way down the avenue running parallel to the ancient wall. Samar scowled at the various bystanders who had elected to follow them. ‘I am Samar Dev,' she said loudly. ‘Will you risk a curse from me? Any of you?' People shrank back, then quickly turned away.

Karsa glanced back at her. ‘You are a witch?'

‘You have no idea.'

‘And had I left you on the trail, you would have cursed me?'

‘Most certainly.'

He grunted, said nothing for the next ten paces, then turned once again. ‘Why did you not call upon spirits to heal yourself?'

‘I had nothing with which to bargain,' she replied. ‘The spirits one finds in the wastelands are hungry things, Karsa Orlong. Covetous and not to be trusted.'

‘You cannot be much of a witch, then, if you need to bargain. Why not just bind them and demand that they heal your leg?'

‘One who binds risks getting bound in return. I will not walk that path.'

He made no reply to that.

‘Here is Trosfalhadan Street. Up one avenue, there, see that big building with the walled compound beside it? Inn of the Wood, it's called. Hurry, before the guards reach this corner.'

‘They will find us nonetheless,' Karsa said. ‘You have failed in your task.'

‘I wasn't the one who threw that guard into a cart!'

‘He spoke rudely. You should have warned him.'

They reached the double gates at the compound.

From the corner behind them came shouts. Samar twisted round on the horse and watched the guards rush towards them. Karsa strode past her, drawing free the huge flint sword. ‘Wait!' she cried. ‘Let me speak with them first, warrior, else you find yourself fighting a whole city's worth of guards.'

He paused. ‘They are deserving of mercy?'

She studied him a moment, then nodded. ‘If not them, then their families.'

‘You are under arrest!' The shout came from the rapidly closing guards.

Karsa's tattooed face darkened.

Samar edged down from the horse and hobbled to place herself between the giant and the guards, all of whom had drawn scimitars and were fanning out on the street. Beyond, a crowd of onlookers was gathering. She held up her hands. ‘There has been a misunderstanding.'

‘Samar Dev,' one man said in a growl. ‘Best you step aside – this is no affair of yours—'

‘But it is, Captain Inashan. This warrior has saved my life. My wagon broke down out in the wastes, and I broke my leg – look at me. I was dying. And so I called upon a spirit of the wild-lands.'

The captain's eyes widened as he regarded Karsa Orlong. ‘This is a spirit?'

‘Most assuredly,' Samar replied. ‘One who is of course ignorant of our customs. That gate guard acted in what this spirit perceived as a hostile manner. Does he still live?'

The captain nodded. ‘Knocked senseless, that is all.' The man then pointed towards the severed heads. ‘What are those?'

‘Trophies,' she answered. ‘Demons. They had escaped their own realm and were approaching Ugarat. Had not this spirit killed them, they would have descended upon us with great slaughter. And with not a single worthy mage left in Ugarat, we would have fared poorly indeed.'

Captain Inashan narrowed his gaze on Karsa. ‘Can you understand my words?'

‘They have been simple enough thus far,' the warrior replied.

The captain scowled. ‘Does she speak the truth?'

‘More than she realizes, yet even so, there are untruths in her tale. I am not a spirit. I am Toblakai, once bodyguard to Sha'ik. Yet this woman bargained with me as she would a spirit. More, she knew nothing of where I came from or who I was, and so she might well have imagined I was a spirit of the wild-lands.'

Voices rose among both guards and citizens at the name
Sha'ik
, and Samar saw a dawning recognition in the captain's expression. ‘Toblakai, companion to Leoman of the Flails. Tales of you have reached us.' He pointed with his scimitar at the fur riding Karsa's shoulders. ‘Slayer of a Soletaken, a white bear. Executioner of Sha'ik's betrayers in Raraku. It is said you slew demons the night before Sha'ik was killed,' he added, eyes on the rotted, flailed heads. ‘And, when she had been slain by the Adjunct, you rode out to face the Malazan army – and they would not fight you.'

‘There is some truth in what you have spoken,' Karsa said, ‘barring the words I exchanged with the Malazans—'

‘One of Sha'ik's own,' Samar quickly said, sensing the warrior was about to say something unwise, ‘how could we of Ugarat not welcome you? The Malazan garrison has been driven from this city and is even now starving in Moraval Keep on the other side of the river, besieged with no hope of succour.'

‘You are wrong in that,' Karsa said.

She wanted to kick him. Then again, look how that had turned out the last time?
All right, you ox, go and hang yourself.

‘What do you mean?' Captain Inashan asked.

‘The rebellion is broken, the Malazans have retaken cities by the score. They will come here, too, eventually. I suggest you make peace with the garrison.'

‘Would that not put you at risk?' Samar asked.

The warrior bared his teeth. ‘My war is done. If they cannot accept that, I will kill them all.'

An outrageous claim, yet no-one laughed. Captain Inashan hesitated, then he sheathed his scimitar, his soldiers following suit. ‘We have heard of the rebellion's failure,' he said. ‘For the Malazans in the keep, alas, it might well be too late. They have been trapped in there for months. And no-one has been seen on the walls for some time—'

‘I will go there,' Karsa said. ‘Gestures of peace must be made.'

‘It is said,' Inashan muttered, ‘that Leoman still lives. That he leads the last army and has vowed to fight on.'

‘Leoman rides his own path. I would place no faith in it, were I you.'

The advice was not well received. Arguments rose, until Inashan turned on his guards and silenced them with an upraised hand. ‘These matters must be brought to the Falah'd.' He faced Karsa again. ‘You will stay this night at the Inn of the Wood?'

‘I shall, although it is not made of wood, and so it should be called Inn of the Brick.'

Samar laughed. ‘You can bring that up with the owner, Toblakai. Captain, are we done here?'

Inashan nodded. ‘I will send a healer to mend your leg, Samar Dev.'

‘In return, I bless you and your kin, Captain.'

‘You are too generous,' he replied with a bow.

The squad headed off. Samar turned to regard the giant warrior. ‘Toblakai, how have you survived this long in Seven Cities?'

He looked down at her, then slung the stone sword once more over his shoulder. ‘There is no armour made that can withstand the truth…'

‘When backed by that sword?'

‘Yes, Samar Dev. I find it does not take long for children to understand that. Even here in Seven Cities.' He pushed open the gates. ‘Havok will require a stable away from other beasts…at least until his hunger is appeased.'

 

‘I don't like the looks of that,' Telorast muttered, nervously shifting about.

‘It is a gate,' Apsalar said.

‘But where does it lead?' Curdle asked, indistinct head bobbing.

‘It leads out,' she replied. ‘Onto the Jen'rahb, in the city of Ehrlitan. It is where I am going.'

‘Then that is where we are going,' Telorast announced. ‘Are there bodies there? I hope so. Fleshy, healthy bodies.'

She regarded the two ghosts. ‘You intend to steal bodies to house your spirits? I am not sure that I can permit that.'

‘Oh, we wouldn't do that,' Curdle said. ‘That would be possession, and that's difficult, very difficult. Memories seep back and forth, yielding confusion and inconsistency.'

‘True,' Telorast said. ‘And we are most consistent, are we not? No, my dear, we just happen to like bodies. In proximity. They…comfort us. You, for example. You are a great comfort to us, though we know not your name.'

‘Apsalar.'

‘She's dead!' Curdle shrieked. To Apsalar: ‘I knew you were a ghost!'

‘I am named after the Mistress of Thieves. I am not her in the flesh.'

‘She must be speaking the truth,' Telorast said to Curdle. ‘If you recall, Apsalar looked nothing like this one. The real Apsalar was Imass, or very nearly Imass. And she wasn't very friendly—'

‘Because you stole from her temple coffers,' Curdle said, squirming about in small dust-clouds.

‘Even before then. Decidedly unfriendly, where this Apsalar, this one here, she's kind. Her heart is bursting with warmth and generosity—'

‘Enough of that,' Apsalar said, turning to the gate once more. ‘As I mentioned earlier, this gate leads to the Jen'rahb…for me. For the two of you, of course, it might well lead into Hood's Realm. I am not responsible for that, should you find yourselves before Death's Gate.'

‘Hood's Realm? Death's Gate?' Telorast began moving from side to side, a strange motion that Apsalar belatedly realized was pacing, although the ghost had sunk part-way into the ground, making it look more like wading. ‘There is no fear of that. We are too powerful. Too wise. Too cunning.'

‘We were great mages, once,' Curdle said. ‘Necromancers, Spiritwalkers, Conjurers, Wielders of Fell Holds, Masters of the Thousand Warrens—'

‘Mistresses, Curdle. Mistresses of the Thousand Warrens.'

‘Yes, Telorast. Mistresses indeed. What was I thinking? Beauteous mistresses, curvaceous, languid, sultry, occasionally simpering—'

Apsalar walked through the gate.

She stepped onto broken rubble alongside the foundations of a collapsed wall. The night air was chill, stars sharp overhead.

‘—and even Kallor quailed before us, isn't that right, Telorast?'

‘Oh yes, he quailed.'

Apsalar looked down to find herself flanked by the two ghosts. She sighed. ‘You evaded Hood's Realm, I see.'

‘Clumsy grasping hands,' Curdle sniffed. ‘We were too quick.'

‘As we knew we'd be,' Telorast added. ‘What place is this? It's all broken—'

Curdle clambered atop the foundation wall. ‘No, you are wrong, Telorast, as usual. I see buildings beyond. Lit windows. The very air reeks of life.'

‘This is the Jen'rahb,' Apsalar said. ‘The ancient centre of the city, which collapsed long ago beneath its own weight.'

‘As all cities must, eventually,' Telorast observed, trying to pick up a brick fragment. But its hand slipped ineffectually through the object. ‘Oh, we are most useless in this realm.'

Curdle glanced down at its companion. ‘We need bodies—'

‘I told you before—'

‘Fear not, Apsalar,' Curdle replied in a crooning tone, ‘we will not unduly offend you. The bodies need not be sentient, after all.'

‘Are there the equivalent of Hounds here?' Telorast asked.

Curdle snorted. ‘The Hounds are sentient, you fool!'

‘Only stupidly so!'

‘Not so stupid as to fall for our tricks, though, were they?'

‘Are there imbrules here? Stantars? Luthuras – are there luthuras here? Scaly, long grasping tails, eyes like the eyes of purlith bats—'

‘No,' Apsalar said. ‘None of those creatures.' She frowned. ‘Those you have mentioned are of Starvald Demelain.'

A momentary silence from the two ghosts, then Curdle snaked along the top of the wall until its eerie face was opposite Apsalar. ‘Really? Now, that's a peculiar coincidence—'

‘Yet you speak the language of the Tiste Andii.'

‘We do? Why, that's even stranger.'

‘Baffling,' Telorast agreed. ‘We, uh, we assumed it was the language you spoke. Your native language, that is.'

‘Why? I am not Tiste Andii.'

‘No, of course not. Well, thank the Abyss that's been cleared up. Where shall we go from here?'

‘I suggest,' Apsalar said after a moment's thought, ‘that you two remain here. I have tasks to complete this night, and they are not suited to company.'

‘You desire stealth,' Telorast whispered, crouching low. ‘We could tell, you know. There's something of the thief about you. Kindred spirits, the three of us, I think. A thief, yes, and perhaps something darker.'

‘Well of course darker,' Curdle said from the wall. ‘A servant of Shadowthrone, or the Patron of Assassins. There will be blood spilled this night, and our mortal companion will do the spilling. She's an assassin, and we should know, having met countless assassins in our day. Look at her, Telorast, she has deadly blades secreted about her person—'

‘And she smells of stale wine.'

‘Stay here,' Apsalar said. ‘Both of you.'

‘And if we don't?' Telorast asked.

‘Then I shall inform Cotillion that you have escaped, and he will send the Hounds on your trail.'

‘You bind us to servitude! Trap us with threats! Curdle, we have been deceived!'

‘Let's kill her and steal her body!'

‘Let's not, Curdle. Something about her frightens me. All right, Apsalar who is not Apsalar, we shall stay here…for a time. Until we can be certain you are dead or worse, that's how long we'll stay here.'

‘Or until you return,' Curdle added.

Telorast hissed in a strangely reptilian manner, then said, ‘Yes, idiot, that would be the other option.'

‘Then why didn't you say so?'

‘Because it's obvious, of course. Why should I waste breath mentioning what's obvious? The point is, we're waiting here. That's the point.'