He extended a hand and Seel gave over a knife of keen knapped obsidian, the handle leather-wrapped. Ussü felt down along the ribs of the subject – yes, just between these – and made an incision up over the barrel of the torso, beginning at the side and ending at the sternum.
Before he came to Korel none of these elaborate preparations would have been necessary. Indeed, he would have been repulsed by the idea. One merely had to reach out and there would be the Warren at one’s fingertips. Yet here he and all the other lesser Malazan practitioners had been rendered impotent. Some had been driven mad; others had killed themselves, directly or indirectly, through concoctions or drugs meant to facilitate access.
He held out the knife and Temeth took it away and another instrument was placed in his hand: a tool of wooden wedges and metal screws. Ussü eased the slim leading tips of the wooden wedges into the incision between the ribs. Seel daubed at the blood welling up.
‘Gently here,’ he warned the two, who nodded and leaned forward to peer more closely. He began working the screws, one by one. The wedges parted. Turn by turn, a hair’s-breadth at a time, Ussü created a cavity at the body’s side where the ribs curved.
He, however, had chosen a different path …
Power existed here in the Korelri subcontinent. The followers of the Lady had access. And the source of that potential, he had discovered, lay in … sacrifice.
When he judged the opening large enough he nodded and Seel took hold of the spacer. Leaning forward over the subject, almost hugging him, Ussü slipped his hand into the gap at the side. Gently, reverently almost, he eased inward, fingers straight. He felt his way around organs, slipped past ligaments, parted layers of fat, until the tips of his fingers brushed the vibrating, quivering, seat of life. With one last push he cradled the heart and with his other hand he reached out for his Warren.
Steady pressure on the heart brought to his summoning a tenuous ghost-image of Mockra. He eased his grip tighter; the heart laboured, pulsed in his fist like a terrified animal. He sought out a vision at the limits of the Warren’s divinatory potential – of prescience.
Grant me a vision of what is to come!
And he saw – he saw … desolation. Shores scoured clean by a tidal wave invasion of the sea-borne demon Riders. The land poisoned, lifeless. Cities inundated, corpses lolling in the surf in numbers beyond comprehension.
Annihilation.
No! How could this be?
A mere hand’s breadth from his face the eyes of the subject snapped open. The apprentices flinched away, yelping their terror. Yurgen charged forward.
‘Halt!’ Ussü returned the corpse’s dead stare, for dead it was, the organ immobile in his hand. ‘Greetings, Lady.’
A smile, the eyes rolling all white. ‘I have tolerated your heresies, Ussü,’ the corpse barely mouthed, ‘because I sense in you a great potential. Set aside your disbelief. Cleave to the True Path.’
‘They are coming, Blessed Lady. New Imperial forces are on their way. We must …’ he wet his lips, ‘join forces.’
‘You have seen this? How strong you are, Ussü. Stand at my side.’
She knows nothing of our prisoner. She is not omniscient.
Again the dead smile. ‘I allowed you Malazans to land because you brought a renewed vitality to the true faith. You have strengthened me in so many ways. There is nothing like a challenge to inspire and confirm a faith. And so I welcome you again.’
‘Yet the true enemy awaits. What of the Riders?’
The lips twisted, snarling. ‘I have no vision of them. She stymies me yet. That Queen bitch has ever stood in my way!’ The body eased beneath Ussü, the fit seeming to pass. ‘Kneel before me, Ussü. Embrace me as your Goddess.’
The corpse raised its head to whisper at his ear, intimately close: ‘Let me touch your heart.’
Revolted, Ussü threw himself from the body. Yurgen swung, the blade passing through the neck to slam into the table. Ussü pushed aside Seel and Temeth to stand swaying, his heart hammering as if brushed by ghostly fingers. Hood preserve them! What were they dealing with here? He crossed to a washbasin and rubbed the gore from his arms. Temeth passed him a towel and he dried himself then rolled down his sleeves.
He eyed the three. ‘A gag will be the order of the day, next time, Yurgen.’
All nodded, faces pale as snow.
* * *
They had been at sea for two weeks when Sergeant Goss came down to the jammed quarters below decks and crouched amid the hammocks. It was the beginning of their squad’s sleeping shift and some were bedding down while others were watching games of troughs and dice. Len gestured the squad close. Suth was lying in his hammock and he folded an arm under his head. Wess was snoring above him.
‘Guess you been hearing the rumours,’ Goss said when most had gathered round.
‘Which rumours? There’s been nothin’ but all this time,’ Pyke said.
Suth agreed. There was a plague of rumours aboard: that they would yet strike east for Genabackis; that they were headed for Stratem to pursue some mercenary company; that the expedition could not possibly succeed because the Empire had run out of cadre mages; that Greymane was commanding and he was bad luck; that the Emperor had struck a pact with the Stormriders; that Mare vessels had been sighted shadowing them and the sea would take them all. For his part Suth was unperturbed. To him this was just a particularly obvious example of how all talk was, in point of fact, useless.
‘First, it’s about Greymane. It’s official. He has command.’
‘Oponn’s luck!’ said Pyke. ‘Where’d they dig him up? I heard the man was so incompetent his own officers got rid of him. We’re better off without him.’
‘That’s not what I heard,’ Len growled. ‘The old veterans spoke well of him.’
‘Nothing we can do about it,’ Yana said from where she knelt, steadying herself on a hammock.
That observation struck Suth as extraordinarily wise and he nodded his sombre agreement.
‘The other’s about fighting alongside the Blues,’ Goss went on.
‘Yeah, we heard,’ Pyke said. ‘Some damn thing about volunteering to fight with them. Volunteer? What for? Not for damned honour ’n’ glory or any damned shit like that, I hope.’
‘Shut that anus you call a mouth,’ Yana murmured – she had less and less time for the man as the days wore on.
Unperturbed, Goss raised and let fall his shoulders. ‘There’s some as see it that way. But, no. This is for places on the Blues’ vessels that will lead the shore assault. So, you could say it’s a chance for some loot.’
‘Loot,’ Pyke snorted, scornful. ‘A gut full of iron more like.’
Fighting on land. To Suth that sounded preferable to fighting at sea. ‘How are they choosing? Do you just ask?’
Goss nodded, accepting the question. He leaned aside, clearing his throat into his fist. ‘Well, there’s to be what you might call tryouts. Them Blues is mighty selective. They won’t let just anybody on board.’
Lard looked up from juggling his dice. One eye was still black and his bald head still bruised from his last fit of brawling. ‘What’s that? Fighting?’
Pyke rolled his eyes. Goss rubbed the bristles at his cheeks, smiling. ‘Yeah. ’Gainst the Blues themselves.’
Blowing out a breath, Lard sat back down. Pyke’s laugh was a sneer. ‘Hard lumps. And for what? A chance to get yourself killed? No, the rule is don’t volunteer for nothin’.’
But Kyle leaned back to stare at the sweat-stained canvas hammock above. He’d been watching these armoured Moranth. Clearly worthy opponents. And he’d been too long without testing himself against anyone.
Far too long.
When the Lasana’s turn came and the volunteering squads were called to ready themselves for the next morning, the 17th was one of five named. Pyke was furious. Below decks he first pinned Lard: ‘Was you, wasn’t it? You Hood-damned fat fool.’ Lard waved the man away. He turned on Dim next: ‘Or you – d
imwit?’
Dim just looked confused.
‘Shut up,’ said Yana from nearby. ‘Look to your kit.’
‘My kit? My kit! There’s no way I’m turning out for this! No way. You lot are the fools.’ And he stormed off.
‘Good riddance,’ Lard called after him, and aside, to Dim: ‘Was it you?’
Dim blinked at the man. ‘Was it me what?’
Lard caught Suth’s eye and raised his glance to the timbers above. ‘Never mind.’
Every soul on board the Lasana jammed the decks that morning. The sailors hung in the rigging, arms crossed under their chins. It was overcast, and a strong cold wind was blowing off the Strait of Storms. Two squads of Moranth Blue marines had come over by launch. The five Malazan squads had the stern deck to ready themselves while amidships was being cleared. The sergeants huddled together to draw lots to determine order. The 17th picked second. When Goss came back with the news Suth leaned close to his ear.
‘Swap for last.’
Goss eyed him. ‘What if they don’t want no swap?’ ‘Tell them we need time, we’re short, whatever you must.’ The sergeant grunted his agreement; you could say they were short. Faro, Pyke and Wess hadn’t shown. And it was clear from their usual plain leather jerkins that Len and Keri weren’t planning on fighting.
Yana joined them. She stood even taller and broader in her full shirt of thick padded scale, boots, broadsword at her wide leather belt, full helm under one arm. ‘Minimum is five,’ Goss said, as he rubbed his jaw and eyed the squads readying their arms. ‘If we can’t field five, we’re out.’
‘Where’s Pyke?’ Suth asked.
Goss’ jaws clenched. ‘Out. Says he fell down a companionway ladder. Twisted his knee.’
‘Dead-weight useless shit,’ Yana snarled. ‘We don’t need him. We have five with you anyway.’
‘No sergeants. Just regulars.’
‘Shit.’
‘And Wess?’ Suth asked.
‘I think he’s around here somewhere,’ Yana answered.
‘Dig him up – I’ll see what I can swing.’
Suth searched the crowds nearby. When he returned Goss was back. The sun was warming the decking and the wind had picked up. The sailors were busy trimming the canvas to steady the ship. ‘We’re fourth,’ Goss said.
‘Good.’
The sergeant eyed him; he brushed his fingers over his greying bristles. ‘You want to watch them fight …’
‘And they’ll be tired.’
Goss laughed. ‘Don’t count on that.’ He watched Suth again, a small tight smile pulling at his lips. ‘It was you, hey? Put our name in. I thought maybe Yana did it just to get Pyke’s goat.’
‘I’m bored.’
The sergeant leaned his elbows on the railing. ‘Well, you won’t be real soon.’
Suth motioned to the two squads of Moranth marines waiting amidships. The plates of their head-to-toe armour had taken on the iron-blue of the clouds, or were reflecting it. They were readying large oval shields and the weapons they’d brought: some sort of wooden shortswords. ‘They’re that good?’
‘These could be among their best. Veterans of years of warfare. I’ve even heard it said that alone among the Genabackan peoples the Moranth will fight the Seguleh. And it’s the Blues who meet them at sea. They’re good all right.’
Dim pushed through the crowd, shepherding along a mussed and irritated-looking Wess. ‘Here he is.’
‘Where’d you find him?’ Suth asked.
Dim’s thick brows clenched in their usual expression of befuddlement. ‘In a hammock, of course.’
Wess stuck his hands into his belt and lifted his chin amidships. ‘What’s all this?’
Goss shook his head in awed disbelief. ‘Just get kitted up,’ he said.
The 11th was first up. Everyone had to use the wooden weapons the Moranth provided. While they were no doubt dull-edged Suth imagined you could still easily maim someone with the vicious things. He, Yana, Lard and Dim watched; Wess lay down on his jack of banded armour and promptly went back to sleep, or pretended to. Len stood with Goss next to Suth. One of the Moranth squads squared off against the 11th’s picked troopers, three male and three female heavy infantry. The captain of the Lasana ordered the start by giving the nod to a trumpeter.
It was over far more swiftly than Suth’s worst fears. Not because of any weakness in the 11th. Rather, it was because of a terrible tactical choice: they decided to take the fight to the Moranth. When the trumpeter blew his blast the troopers charged.
Their rush was magnificent. A great shattering roar went up from the assembled men and women of the 4th Company and the Lasana seemed to shudder. Even Suth felt the hair on his neck rise and he mouthed his encouragement: Yes! Get ’em!
But they charged as individuals, shields unlocked. The Blues held easily and picked them off one by one. It was a brutal and efficient lesson in what a disciplined wall of shields can accomplish. Suth was especially sobered; less than six months ago that individual bellowing all-out attack would have been his. And he would have gone down just as swiftly. Having had the discipline of holding the line beaten into him, he now understood something neither he nor his brothers and sisters growing up on the Dal Honese plains could puzzle out. How was it that man for man, or woman for woman, no Kanese or Talian was a match for the Dal Hon warrior, yet years ago their tribal armies crashed like surf against the Malazan legion? How could that be? Poor generalship had been the judgement against the chieftains of their grandfather’s time.
Now he knew better. For the warrior fights as one, while the soldier fights all as one. No single warrior, no matter how skilled, can defeat ten, or fifty. Or in this case, five. But he, Suth, could defeat two … if he could just count on his fellows to hold long enough. Yana and Lard would hold, he believed. But Dim – the big man was just too good-natured, nothing ever seemed to rouse him. While Wess … all the gods of the plains … how many campaigns had the man slept through?
The 6th was up next. No dash and thrust for them. Seven rectangular Malazan-issue heavy-infantry shields lined and locked. The Moranth squads traded out. The trumpeter loosed a blast. Two shieldwalls carefully edged towards one other across the decking. Shouting went up; running odds on the match – three to one against the 6th.
‘A good lesson here,’ said Len at Suth’s side.
‘A good many,’ Suth answered absently, a finger brushing his lips, intent on the Blues’ swordplay, the shields grating and sliding along each other.
‘Including the hardest of all …’ Puzzled, Suth glanced to the man, who lifted his chin to the other selected four from the squad. ‘Trust.’
Suth almost snorted, dismissing the ridiculous claim, but caught himself. Trust. Yes, he could see that … yes, he could trust Yana. But a useless fool like Wess, or Dim? How could he possibly trust them? That would take …And his shoulders slumped. Mocking gods … it would take trust.
So. He was stuck with them. Was this the canny old saboteur’s lesson? He caught the man’s eye and nodded, then turned to his squadmates. If I am stuck with them, then if I just complain or am sullen or resentful I am no better than Pyke. The obvious step, then, is if I want the squad to work, it is up to me to do everything I can to make it work.
‘I want an edge,’ Lard demanded, his gaze fixed on the fight below. A groan sounded from all around as a trooper fell, screaming and clutching at his gut.
Suth considered. At least if Lard broke the centre wouldn’t be compromised. He shrugged. ‘Fine with me.’
Yana nodded.
‘What about me?’ asked Dim.
‘Yana and I will flank you.’
The big man brightened like a child. ‘That’s great!’
Suth and Yana shared a look: either she or he would have the best chance of recovering when he went down.
‘Wess!’ Yana bellowed. ‘You have one edge!’
A muted grumble answered her.
Soon after the first trooper fell the Mala
zan line disintegrated and the infantrymen lowered their arms as it was clear they’d been overborne. The Moranth disengaged and saluted.
The 20th was next. If the 4th Company had a heavy elite the 20th was the closest thing to it. The men and women were all veterans, none unblooded recruits. They formed up and waited, silent. The trumpet blew and they charged, taking everyone, including the Moranth, by utter surprise.
This was no disorganized rush. Shields remained locked and smashed as a line into the unprepared Blues. The Moranth fell back nearly to the ship’s side. A roar erupted such as never before. Troopers of the 4th jumped up and down, buffeting one another; the sailors shook the rigging.
Even Goss managed a full smile and muttered, ‘Nicely done.’ But he added aside to Suth, ‘They won’t fall for that again.’
After some fierce swordplay the Blues righted themselves, leaning away from being pressed into the side. Step by step they began edging round to circle back to the mid-deck. Cannily, the 20th matched the sidelong shift of shieldwall to abut against the mainmast. Both squads chose to use the mainmast to anchor their flank and now the fight shifted to the opposite flank. Whoever could turn that would win.
Though the weapons were blunted wood, blood now flowed on to the decking. Suth winced at the thought of the force it would take to break skin. With a great heave the Blues turned the open flank, bringing down that trooper. Unlike the 6th, however, the 20th formed a square of four and grimly fought on. The men and women of the 4th Company, quietened by the turning of the flank, now gained their voices, shouting their encouragement.
But the engagement was long past any question; it was just a matter of time. The 20th shrank to a triangle of three, then the remaining two back to back, and finally the last cut down by thrusts from all sides.
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