House of Chains

by Steven Erikson

  Cutter frowned. ‘Consecrating. You make it sound as if this ship was a temple.’

  ‘It was. Is. The spilling of blood has done nothing to desecrate it, which is precisely my point. Perhaps even warrens can sink into barbarity.’

  ‘Meaning the wielders of a warren can affect its nature. My late uncle would have found the notion fascinating. Not desecration, then, but denigration.’

  She slowly glanced around. ‘Rashan. Meanas. Thyr.’

  He comprehended the thought. ‘You think all warrens accessible to humans are in fact denigrations of Elder Warrens.’

  She raised her hands then. ‘Even blood decays.’

  Cutter’s frown deepened. He was not sure what she meant by that, and found himself disinclined to ask. Easier, safer, to simply grunt and make his way to the gunnel. ‘We should make use of this breeze. Assuming you’re done here.’

  In answer she walked to the ship’s side and clambered over the rail.

  Cutter watched her climb down to the runner, taking her place at the tiller. He paused for a final look around. And stiffened.

  On the distant strand of Drift Avalii, there stood a lone figure, leaning on a two-handed sword.

  Traveller.

  And Cutter now saw that there were others, squatting or seated around him. A half-dozen Malazan soldiers. In the trees behind them stood Tiste Andü, silver-haired and ghostly. The image seemed to burn in his mind, as of a touch so cold as to feel like fire. He shivered, pulling his gaze away with an effort, and quickly joined Apsalar in the runner, taking the mooring line with him.

  He set the oars in their locks and pushed the craft away from the ship’s black hull.

  ‘I believe they intend to commandeer this Edur dromon,’ Apsalar said.

  ‘What about protecting the Throne?’

  ‘There are demons from Shadow on the island now. Your patron god has clearly decided to take a more active role in defending the secret.’

  ‘Your patron god.’ Thank you for that, Apsalar. And who was it who held your soul cupped in his two hands? A killer’s hands. ‘Why not just take it back to the Shadow Realm?’

  ‘No doubt if he could, he would,’ she replied. ‘But when Anomander Rake placed his kin here to guard it, he also wrought sorcery around the Throne. It will not be moved.’

  Cutter shipped the oars and began preparing the sail. ‘Then Shadowthrone need only come here and plant his scrawny arse on it, right?’

  He disliked her answering smile. ‘Thus ensuring that no-one else could claim its power, or the position of King of High House Shadow. Unless, of course, they killed Shadowthrone first. A god of courage and unassailable power might well plant his scrawny arse on that throne to end the argument once and for all. But Shadowthrone did just that, once before, as Emperor Kellanved.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘He claimed the First Throne. The throne of the T’lan Imass.’

  Oh.

  ‘Fortunately,’ Apsalar continued, ‘as Shadowthrone, he has shown little interest in making use of his role as Emperor of the T’lan Imass.’

  ‘Well, why bother? This way, he negates the chance of anyone else finding and taking that throne, while his avoidance of using it himself ensures that no-one takes notice he has it in the first place—gods, I’m starting to sound like Kruppe! In any case, that seems clever, not cowardly.’

  She studied him for a long moment. ‘I had not thought of that. You are right, of course. Unveiling power invites convergence, after all. It seems Shadowthrone has absorbed well his early residence in the Deadhouse. More so, perhaps, than Cotillion has.’

  ‘Aye, it’s an Azath tactic, isn’t it? Negation serves to disarm. Given the chance, he’d probably plant himself in every throne in sight, then, with all the power accrued to him, he would do nothing with it. Nothing at all.’

  Her eyes slowly widened.

  He frowned at her expression. Then his heart started pounding hard. No. I was only kidding. That’s not just ambitious, it’s insane. He could never pull it off . . . but what if he did? ‘All the games of the gods . . .’

  ‘Would be seriously . . . curtailed. Crokus, have you stumbled onto the truth? Have you just articulated Shadowthrone’s vast scheme? His prodigious gambit to achieve absolute domination?’

  ‘Only if he is truly mad, Apsalar,’ the Daru replied, shaking his head. ‘It’s impossible. He would never succeed. He would not even get close.’

  Apsalar settled back on the tiller as the sails filled and the runner leapt forward. ‘For two years,’ she said, ‘Dancer and the Emperor vanished. Left the empire for Surly to rule. My stolen memories are vague of that time, but I do know that both men were changed, irrevocably, by all that happened to them during those two years. Not just the play for the Shadow Realm, which no doubt was central to their desires. Other things occurred . . . truths revealed, mysteries uncovered. One thing I know for certain, Crokus, is that, for most of those two years, Dancer and Kellanved were not in this realm.’

  ‘Then where in Hood’s name were they?’

  She shook her head. ‘I cannot answer that question. But I sense that they were following a trail, one that wound through all the warrens, and to realms where even the known warrens do not reach.’

  ‘What kind of trail? Whose?’

  ‘Suspicions . . . the trail had something to do with, well, with the Houses of the Azath.’

  Mysteries uncovered indeed. The Azath—the deepest mystery of them all.

  ‘You should know, Crokus,’ Apsalar continued, ‘that they knew that Surly was waiting for them. They knew what she had planned. Yet they returned none the less.’

  ‘But that makes no sense.’

  ‘Unless she proceeded to do precisely what they wanted her to do. After all, we both know that the assassinations failed—failed in killing either of them. The question then becomes: what did that entire mess achieve?’

  ‘A rhetorical question?’

  She cocked her head. ‘No.’ Surprised.

  Cutter rubbed at the bristle on his jaw, then shrugged. ‘All right. It left Surly on the Malazan throne. Empress Laseen was born. It stripped from Kellanved his secular seat of power. Hmm. Let’s ask it another way. What if Kellanved and Dancer had returned and successfully reclaimed the imperial throne? But, at the same time, they had taken over the Shadow Realm. Thus, there would be an empire spanning two warrens, an empire of Shadow.’ He paused, then slowly nodded. ‘They wouldn’t have stood for that—the gods, that is. Ascendants of all kinds would have converged on the Malazan Empire. They would have pounded the empire and the two men ruling it into dust.’

  ‘Probably. And neither Kellanved nor Dancer was in any position to mount a successful resistance to such a protracted assault. They’d yet to consolidate their claim on the Shadow Realm.’

  ‘Right, so they orchestrated their own deaths, and kept their identity as the new rulers of Shadow a secret for as long as they could, whilst laying out the groundwork for a resumption of their grand schemes. Well, that’s all very cosy, if more than a little diabolical. But does it help us answer the question of what they’re up to right now? If anything, I’m more confused than ever.’

  ‘Why should you be? Cotillion recruited you to see to the true Throne of Shadow on Drift Avalii, the outcome of which could not have proved more advantageous to him and Shadowthrone. Darist dead, the sword Vengeance removed and in the hands of a darkly fated wanderer. The Edur expedition wiped out, the secret thus resurrected and likely to remain unviolated for some time to come. True, it ended up demanding Cotillion’s direct, most personal intervention, which he would have liked to have avoided, no doubt.’

  ‘Well, I doubt he would have bothered had not the Hound balked.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I called upon Blind—you were already down. And one of the Edur mages made the Hound cower with a single word.’

  ‘Ah. Then Cotillion has learned yet another vital fact—he cannot rely upon the Hounds when dealing wit
h the Tiste Edur, for the Hounds remember their original masters.’

  ‘I suppose so. No wonder he was disgusted with Blind.’

  They would have continued, Cutter taking full advantage of Apsalar’s lapse in taciturnity, had not the sky suddenly darkened, shadows rising on all sides, closing and swallowing them—

  A thunderous crash—

  The huge tortoise was the only object to break the flat plain, lumbering with the infinite patience of the truly mindless across the ancient seabed. Twin shadows grew to flank it.

  ‘Too bad there’s not two of them,’ Trull Sengar said, ‘then we could ride in style.’

  ‘I would think,’ Onrack replied, as they slowed their pace to match that of the tortoise, ‘that it feels the same.’

  ‘Hence this grand journey . . . indeed, a noble quest, in which I find a certain sympathy.’

  ‘You miss your kin, then, do you, Trull Sengar?’

  ‘Too general a statement.’

  ‘Ah, the needs of procreation.’

  ‘Hardly. My needs have nothing to do with engendering whelps with my hairline, nor, gods forbid, my ears.’ He reached down and tapped the tortoise’s dusty shell. ‘Like this fellow here, there’s no time to think of eggs it won’t even lay. Singular intent, disconnected from time—from those messy consequences that inevitably follow, if only to afflict whatever lass tortoise our dogged friend here happens to pounce upon.’

  ‘They are not wont to pounce, Trull Sengar. Indeed, the act is a far more clumsy endeavour—’

  ‘Aren’t they all?’

  ‘My own memories—’

  ‘Enough of that, Onrack. Do you think I want to hear of your supple prowess? I will have you know that I have yet to lie with a woman. Thus, I am left with naught but my sparsely seeded imagination. Inflict no luscious details upon me, I beg you.’

  The T’lan Imass slowly turned its head. ‘It is your people’s custom to withhold such activities until marriage?’

  ‘It is. It wasn’t among the Imass?’

  ‘Well, yes, it was. But the custom was flouted at every opportunity. In any case, as I explained earlier, I had a mate.’

  ‘Whom you gave up because you fell in love with another woman.’

  ‘Gave up, Trull Sengar? No. Whom I lost. Nor was that loss solitary. They never are. From all you have said, I assume then that you are rather young.’

  The Tiste Edur shrugged. ‘I suppose I am, especially in my present company.’

  ‘Then let us leave this creature’s side, so as to spare you the reminder.’

  Trull Sengar shot the T’lan Imass a look, then grinned. ‘Good idea.’

  They increased their pace, and within a few strides had left the tortoise behind. Glancing back, Trull Sengar gave a shout.

  Onrack halted and swung round.

  The tortoise was turning back, stumpy legs taking it in a wide circle.

  ‘What is it doing?’

  ‘It has finally seen us,’ Onrack replied, ‘and so it runs away.’

  ‘Ah, no fun and games tonight, then. Poor beast.’

  ‘In time it will judge it safe to resume its journey, Trull Sengar. We have presented but a momentary obstacle.’

  ‘A humbling reminder, then.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  The day was cloudless, heat rising from the old seabed in shimmering waves. The odhan’s grassy steppes resumed a few thousand paces ahead. The salt-crusted ground resisted signs of passages, though Onrack could detect the subtle indications left behind by the six renegade T’lan Imass, a scrape here, a scuff there. One of the six dragged a leg as it walked, whilst another placed more weight on one side than the other. They were all no doubt severely damaged. The Ritual, despite the cessation of the Vow itself, had left residual powers, but there was something else as well, a vague hint of chaos, of unknown warrens—or perhaps familiar ones twisted beyond recognition. There was, Onrack suspected, a bonecaster among those six.

  Olar Ethil, Kilava Onas, Monok Ochem, Hentos Urn, Tern Benasto, Ulpan Nodost, Tenag Ilbaie, Ay Estos, Absin Tholai . . . the bonecasters of the Logros T’lan Imass. Who among them are lost? Kilava, of course, but that is as it has always been. Hentos Ilm and Monok Ochem have both in their turn partaken of the hunt. Olar Ethil seeks the other armies of the T’lan Imass—for the summons was heard by all.

  Benasto and Ulpan remain with Logros. Ay Estos was lost here on the Jhag Odhan in the last war. I know naught of the fate of Absin Tholai. Leaving Tenag Ilbaie, whom Logros sent to the Kron, to aid in the Laederon Wars. Thus. Absin Tholai, Tenag Ilbaie or Ay Estos.

  Of course, there was no reason to assume that the renegades were from the Logros, although their presence here on this continent suggested so, since the caves and the weapons caches were not the only ones to exist; similar secret places could be found on every other continent. Yet these renegades had come to Seven Cities, to the very birthplace of the First Empire, in order to recover their weapons. And it was Logros who was tasked with the holding of the homeland.

  ‘Trull Sengar?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What do you know of the cult of the Nameless Ones?’

  ‘Only that they’re very successful.’

  The T’lan Imass cocked its head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, their existence has remained hidden from me. I’ve never heard of them.’

  Ah. ‘Logros commanded that the First Throne be removed from this land, because the Nameless Ones were drawing ever closer to discovering its location. They had come to realize that its power could be claimed, that the T’lan Imass could be made to bow in service to the first mortal to seat him or herself upon it.’

  ‘And Logros didn’t want one of these Nameless Ones to be that mortal. Why? What terrible purpose drives them? And before you answer, Onrack, I should tell you that as far as I am concerned, “terrible purpose” has rather dire measure, given both your kind and my own.’

  ‘I understand, Trull Sengar, and it is a valid point you make. The Nameless Ones serve the Houses of the Azath. Logros believed that, had a priest of that cult taken the First Throne, the first and only command given to the T’lan Imass would be to voluntarily accept eternal imprisonment. We would have been removed from this world.’

  ‘So the throne was moved.’

  ‘Yes, to a continent south of Seven Cities. Where it was found by a mage—Kellanved, the Emperor of the Malazan Empire.’

  ‘Who now commands all the T’lan Imass? No wonder the Malazan Empire is as powerful as it seems to be—then again, by now, it should have conquered the whole world, since he could have called upon all the T’lan Imass to fight his wars.’

  ‘The Emperor’s exploitation of our abilities was . . . modest. Surprisingly constrained. He was then assassinated. The new Empress does not command us.’

  ‘Why didn’t she just sit on the First Throne herself?’

  ‘She would, could she find it.’

  ‘Ah, so you are free once more.’

  ‘So it seems,’ Onrack replied after a moment. ‘There are other . . . concerns, Trull Sengar. Kellanved was resident in a House of the Azath for a time . . .’

  They reached the slope beyond the salt flat, began making their way upward. ‘These are matters of which I know very little,’ the Tiste Edur said. ‘You fear that the Emperor was either one of these Nameless Ones, or had contact with them. If so, then why didn’t he issue that one command you so dreaded?’

  ‘We do not know.’

  ‘How did he manage to find the First Throne in the first place?’

  ‘We do not know.’

  ‘All right. Now, what has all this to do with what we are up to right now?’

  ‘A suspicion, Trull Sengar, regarding where these six renegade T’lan Imass are heading.’

  ‘Well, southward, it seems. Oh, I see.’

  ‘If there are among them kin of Logros, then they know where the First Throne will be found.’

  ‘Well, is there any reason to b
elieve that you are unique among the T’lan Imass? Do you not think others of your kind may have arrived at the same suspicion?’

  ‘I am not sure of that. I share something with the renegades that they do not, Trull Sengar. Like them, I am unburdened. Freed from the Ritual’s Vow. This has resulted in a certain . . . liberation of thought. Monok Ochem and Ibra Gholan pursue a quarry, and the mind of a hunter is ever consumed by that quarry.’

  They reached the first rise and halted. Onrack drew out his sword and jammed it point first into the ground, so deep that it remained standing upright when he walked away from it. He took ten paces before stopping once more.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘If you do not object, Trull Sengar, I would await Monok Ochem and Ibra Gholan. They, and Logros in turn, must be informed of my suspicion.’

  ‘And you assume that Monok will spare us the time to talk? Our last moments together were less than pleasant, as I recall. I’d feel better if you weren’t standing so far away from your sword.’ The Tiste Edur found a nearby boulder to sit on, and regarded Onrack for a long moment before continuing, ‘And what about what you did in the cave, where that Tellann Ritual was active?’ He gestured at Onrack’s new left arm and the melded additions to the other places where damage had occurred. ‘It’s . . . obvious. That arm’s shorter than your own, you know. Noticeably. Something tells me you weren’t supposed to do . . . what you did.’

  ‘You are right . . . or would be, were I still bound by the Vow.’

  ‘I see. And will Monok Ochem display similar equanimity when he sees what you have done?’

  ‘I do not expect so.’

  ‘Didn’t you proclaim a vow to serve me, Onrack?’

  The T’lan Imass lifted its head. ‘I did.’

  ‘And what if I don’t want to see you put yourself—and me, I might add—at such risk?’

  ‘You make a valid point, Trull Sengar, which I had not considered. However, let me ask you this. These renegades serve the same master as do your kin. Should they lead one of your mortal kin to take the First Throne, thus acquiring mastery over all the T’lan Imass, do you imagine they will be as circumspect in using those armies as was Emperor Kellanved?’