Assail

by Ian C. Esslemont

  She turned a warm gaze upon him. ‘You will return to Ieleen on board the Dawn and sail south, Jute of Delanss. You have lingered here too long.’

  ‘But will you be safe?’

  ‘Never mind about us. See the evacuees safe. Enjoy your life. Give your love to Ieleen. She is very worried for you.’

  ‘But what of you?’

  ‘Go. Now. Leave me here at the wall. I wish to … study the storm for a time.’

  He was unwilling to abandon her, or Cartheron for that matter. She had arguably saved his life twice now. Thinking of the Malazan gave him an idea. He bowed his leave and went to find the old commander.

  It took him a long time to track the man down. Eventually he was pointed to the cliff edge and there found the fellow peering down at the sea. He had the look of a man who’d forgotten something he suspected was important. He nodded a distracted greeting to Jute. ‘Damned thorough, those Imass,’ he muttered. ‘Took out our access to the water. Now I know what it’s like to be on the other end of their stone swords.’

  ‘Sir,’ Jute began, attempting to grab his attention, ‘you have to talk sense into Malle. Something tells me she wouldn’t ignore a direct command from you.’

  The fellow lifted his chin in assent. ‘Once, aye. But there’s a new regime now, and I’m not welcome. In fact, I’m officially drowned.’

  ‘The sorceress has asked Tyvar to escort all the newcomers south. I believe he’ll do it.’

  ‘Sounds like an impossible task. I’m sure he’ll relish it.’

  ‘We can get the women and children into the vessels.’

  Cartheron nodded approvingly. ‘And you go with them, Jute. But not the Ragstopper.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’s full of water. Won’t sail no more. And I have to admit I’m kinda curious ’bout what’s coming. I have my suspicions.’

  It took some time for Jute to accept what he was hearing. ‘So … you’re saying you’re going to stay?’

  ‘Aye. I believe it could be quite a sight.’

  ‘And the crew?’

  He shrugged. ‘They can choose, o’ course.’

  Jute let out a long breath. He didn’t know what to say. He discovered himself plucking at the edge of his shirt. ‘Well, then,’ he sighed. ‘I guess I’d best go help.’

  Cartheron gave him the old salute of a hand to the chest, then waved him away. A few paces off, Jute turned back and called: ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The old emperor.’

  Cartheron pulled a hand down his greying jowls, nodded his understanding of Jute’s interest. ‘I could never make up mind if he was the biggest fool I’d ever met, or the most cunning bastard.’

  The answer wasn’t what Jute had expected, but the commander, once a High Fist, turned away to stare out over the waters of the Sea of Gold, and so he went to find Tyvar.

  The vessels, it turned out, were wisely allowing none to approach. Early in the morning, Jute went out alone in the battered old skiff that the invaders’ commander, Lyan, had sent out through the night to beg for berths. He arranged for the young and the wounded to be taken out to the Resolute and the Silver Dawn. Lady Orosenn also offered up the Supplicant. Jute was wary, but when he climbed a rope ladder, one-handed, and inspected the vessel, he found it completely empty of any crew. He did not know where the silent figures he’d glimpsed had gone now that the sorceress had no more use for them. He had his ideas, of course, but these he kept to himself.

  The Genabackan pirate, Enguf, offered berths to the highest bidders, and in this manner did well out of the venture after all. He was the first to sail off, if rather sluggishly, with a perilously slim freeboard, as he’d taken on far too many passengers. Greed, Jute reflected, seemed immune to all setbacks.

  Next went the Resolute. As passenger on board this vessel went a crippled youth who seemed to be family to the Genabackan shield-maiden officer. The woman, however, remained with the camp; she seemed satisfied with the protection that the Blue Shields offered, sending five of their number with the vessel, together with their pledge to reunite her and the boy in south Genabackis.

  The Supplicant followed slowly, its crew of veteran sailors from among the invaders doing their best with the unfamiliar lines of the strange vessel.

  This left the Ragstopper and the Silver Dawn. Jute clapped his hands on young Reuth’s shoulders and looked him up and down. The lad appeared to be prospering; gone were the bruises of his escape – at least those apparent in the flesh. He was eating well and even occasionally smiled. Jute had noticed that he asked almost every new passenger for news of Whiteblade, the ex-Malazan swordsman.

  He waved the lad off and turned to Ieleen, who sat in her usual place next to the tiller arm, hands on her short walking stick, her head tilted to the wind. It seemed to him that she’d been watching him out of the edge of her snow-white orbs. He rubbed a hand over his unshaven cheeks and cleared his throat.

  ‘You’re staying, then,’ she said, and he jumped, startled.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I know that throat-clearing.’

  He continued to brush his fingers over a cheek. ‘I have to see this through to the end, love.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He gazed about the deck, now crowded with evacuees. ‘Curiosity, I guess. I have to see how it ends.’

  She banged the stick to the deck. ‘It could end in your death!’

  ‘Don’t let’s fight, dear. Not during my leave-taking.’

  ‘I’m supposed to like it?’

  ‘Don’t worry. The Ragstopper remains. We can evacuate in that, if we must.’

  She shook her head in a knowing negative. ‘That hulk sounds as full of water as a bathtub.’

  ‘Well … it’s still afloat. In any case, we can always run for it.’

  She continued shaking her head. Her grey curls blew about in the wind. ‘I’ve always feared your curiosity will be the death of you.’

  ‘I’ll be careful, dearest.’

  Her silver orbs narrowed, promising her wrath. ‘You’d better be.’

  ‘Of course I will. I’ll await your return. If not here, then further south down the coast. Yes?’

  She tapped the stick to the deck thoughtfully. ‘I do not want you to go. But if you must …’ She shook her head. Sadly, this time.

  ‘Thank you, my chick.’ He pecked her on the cheek.

  She urged him off with the stick. ‘Go on, then.’

  He saluted the ship’s weapons master, Letita, who appeared miserable herself, her eyes red and her cheeks wet. He recalled that Lieutenant Jalaz was remaining with Cartheron. Then he climbed down one of the rope ladders to a waiting skiff.

  The shore was now empty. Where a temporary encampment of thousands had arisen, only smoking fire pits and the trash of torn canvas, abandoned boots and broken tools and mining equipment remained. The unruly mob of civilians had been urged, cajoled, and plain browbeaten by Tyvar and his remaining Blue Shields, plus the Shieldmaiden and her Genabackan veterans, into marching south down the coast.

  Walking back up the slope of the rise topped by Mantle, Jute noted the closing storm from the north. The cloud front had rolled down the upper heights of the Salt range and was now obscuring the vales immediately above. The constant roar of thunder shook the ground and the strong winds lashed the branches. He spotted elk and deer bounding along the treeline just above the fields. Flights of birds came peeling out of the fog: ravens, gulls, ducks, and apart from these, soaring higher, the outlines of prey-birds: eagles and falcons.

  Something was driving all before it. The thing Lady Orosenn spoke of. All that Jute could imagine was a sort of huge landslide or avalanche, churning its way down the slopes.

  He found Cartheron and Lady Orosenn in conversation at the wall, also looking north. Cartheron was gesturing, explaining something. ‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked, approaching up the earthen ramp.

  ‘Always welcome,’ La
dy Orosenn greeted him. ‘Commander Cartheron was just explaining the geography of this location.’

  ‘Commander Cartheron?’

  ‘Considering his experience, King Voti has placed him in charge of Mantle’s defences.’

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ the man grumbled.

  ‘It is worth a great deal,’ Lady Orosenn corrected him. ‘I myself had hoped to reach the north and there kneel before my mother and beg her forgiveness. But,’ she pressed a hand to her wounded thigh, ‘it was not to be. Now we must weather the coming storm from here.’

  ‘And this storm,’ Jute now dared ask, ‘what is it exactly?’

  The Jaghut shared a glance with Cartheron. ‘You know the great ice cliffs we passed to the south?’ Jute nodded; he had seen such along many shores. ‘Like that, only moving across the land.’ Jute blew out a breath – he couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. Nothing, it seemed to him, would be spared such a grinding passage. ‘And Commander Cartheron has some ideas on this front.’

  The old Napan held his hands out over the wall as if describing an inverted V. ‘This is bedrock we’re built on. Been here for ages. This is the highest piece of land across the entire north coast. See how we’re atop a wedge that slopes down away before us and off to either side?’ Jute nodded. ‘We can use that natural rock incline.’

  ‘How so?’ Jute asked, still mystified.

  Lady Orosenn was examining the slope. Free of her headscarf and veil, her features were rather harsh, Jute thought – the jaw too square and heavy, the cheekbones too jutting. But her wide expressive eyes still held their glamour for him. They carried sceptical calculation now. ‘Why are we discussing this? You would need some sort of immense push even to get the motion going.’

  Cartheron winked. ‘Oh, I got me a big motivator.’ He looked around, found Lieutenant Jalaz where she waited nearby for orders, and waved her to him. ‘Send word to the Ragstopper. I want it brought in to shore and Orothos up here.’ Jalaz saluted and jogged off. ‘Now we wait.’ He peered round again and shouted to a nearby local spearman: ‘Hey, how about a meal? I’m starving up here.’

  A meal eventually appeared, comprising a trencher of bread, cold venison, a block of hard cheese and a leather tankard of beer. With the meal came Malle. She shot Cartheron a knowing glare and raised her chin to the cloud front descending the forested vales amid a now constant reverberating booming. ‘What’s the plan?’ she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the din. ‘Do we jump into the sea?’

  ‘Might come to that,’ Cartheron agreed. Then, aside, ‘Ah! Here we are.’

  His first mate, Orothos, came walking up the dirt ramp. His shirt hung in tatters from his emaciated form, as did his trousers of canvas, which were tied up with a worn hemp rope. ‘What now?’ the mate grumbled in a manner far from respectful. ‘I’m busy bailing.’

  Cartheron ignored the tone – or possibly it meant nothing to him. ‘I want the springals and scorpions mounted on the wall here. And I want all the consignment brought up for use.’

  The first mate blinked his incredulity. ‘What? All of it?’

  ‘It’s of no use to us at the bottom of the Sea of Gold.’

  The man gaped at his captain. He spluttered, ‘But that’s our nest egg. Our retirement fund! What’re we gonna do without it?’

  ‘The king here has offered us a place. I understand I’m takin’ over as foreign adviser once Malle here leaves.’ The wiry old woman tilted her head in agreement.

  ‘If there’s anything left!’

  Cartheron finally snapped: ‘Then let’s see to it! Now do as I say!’

  The first mate glared his defiance, which Cartheron met with a scowl, and then the man slapped a hand to his forehead, spun on his heels, and slouched his way down the ramp, muttering to himself, ‘… now he drops anchor? … not Nathilog? … damned nowhere … not one tavern to be found …’

  In the silence following the mate’s departure, Malle clasped her hands and stepped up to Cartheron. ‘I, too, must express my concern. I mean – must you use all of it?’

  ‘It’s it or us, Malle. And I intend to hit it with all I got.’

  A strange smile crept up one edge of her thin lips. ‘Well … that is the old Crust I remember.’

  The ex-High Fist snorted, then gestured Lieutenant Jalaz to him. ‘Take the lads and lasses and see to the unloading.’ She saluted again, and offered a savage grin.

  All the Malazans, including Malle’s guard, lent a hand. As the light darkened to the honey-yellow of late afternoon, the four siege weapons were mounted and test shots were executed with weighted stones to measure distance. A steady train of black wooden chests were carried up from the Ragstopper, each sealed with a silver sigil. Lieutenant Jalaz came to Jute as he studied the chests and she pointed out the seals. ‘See the sceptre? Sign of the imperial arsenal at Unta.’ She ran a caressing hand across the wet black wood. ‘When K’azz’s Crimson Guard attacked the capital they blew the main imperial depot. All the Moranth munitions were supposed to have been lost. But look at this. A cache such as no one will ever see again.’

  ‘So this is rare – even for you Malazans.’

  The lieutenant choked down a laugh. ‘Rare? Captain … you could buy a kingdom with this.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what Cartheron aims to do with it.’

  To her credit as a one-time servant of the throne, Jalaz flinched from such frank language. ‘He sees a chance to defend an ally and he does not shrink from it.’

  Jute would not release her from his steady gaze. ‘Lieutenant, you are from Genabackis. I am from Falar. Our fathers or grandfathers were conquered by the Malazans, yet here we are. Why?’

  Giana Jalaz turned away to stare off at the thick cloud that hung overhead like a hand about to crush them. She hugged herself against the chill wind, tucking her hands under her arms. ‘When I was child,’ she said, after a time, ‘my world was very small. Just my village and the valley we and the neighbouring villages occupied. To travel beyond it was unthinkable. You would be robbed or enslaved or killed out of hand as a stranger – an interloper. But then the Empire came and my world broadened beyond measure. I could travel from Cat in the north to Pale or even to Darujhistan if I wished … all under the aegis of the imperial sceptre. I was treated as equal, able to sign up to serve. I could hold what was mine under the law and the law held. That was what the Malazans brought. Granted, there were abuses, corruption, just as there had been under the old provincial rulers – human nature doesn’t change. But the opportunity was there. Hope was there. At least a chance.’ She lowered her gaze to him. ‘And now the new emperor is from Falar, isn’t he?’

  Jute pulled away, but not because of the rearing head of imperial politics. ‘We don’t speak of him in Falar.’

  ‘No? Why not?’

  Jute straightened from the stacked chests, glanced about. ‘You have been frank, and I thank you. That is a rare gift. I am only a ship’s captain, a small-time recovering raider. But we of the sea trade in Falar know of the old blood-cult, the Jhistal. Its followers terrorized our islands for generations. He—’ Jute broke off as a gang of Malle’s guards arrived to carry the chests up to the top of the wall. Once they were gone, he turned back to Giana and lowered his voice: ‘You speak of limited horizons. We in Falar had squirmed in the grip of those priests for generations. To speak up was to find one’s children selected as the next sacrifices to the sea. The Malazans broke that grip and for that I will be for ever grateful, despite the cost. But the new emperor … he tries to rewrite the history of it, but there are those who still dare to whisper that he came out of that hierarchy. That he was once a priest of the Jhistal. And so as long as he may rule we will never speak his name.’

  The lieutenant blew out a long ragged breath and held out her hand. He took it in a tight grip. ‘Honesty is a rare gift among strangers,’ she said with feeling.

  ‘An easy gift, since we may not see the morrow.’

  She lowered her gaze t
o the chest at their feet. ‘Well then … let’s get to it.’

  They each took a handle, and together they carried it up to the top of the wall.

  Lady Orosenn was on the catwalk speaking to Voti and Malle. Beyond, up the valley, the fog appeared to be breaking up. The rumbling was not diminishing, however. Even atop the wall, Jute felt the vibrations hammering through his boots.

  ‘This is your people’s last chance,’ Lady Orosenn was saying. ‘There will be no escape once it is upon us.’

  The young king’s mouth pulled down, accentuating his long jaw. ‘We will not abandon what is ours.’

  Lady Orosenn simply dipped her head in acceptance. ‘Very well. I have to confess – I hold little hope.’

  Voti bowed. ‘Thank you for that frank admission. I will go to tell my council.’

  Lady Orosenn answered the bow and he descended the ramp, followed by his bodyguard of ten spears. Malle remained; she leaned against the shaking stone blocks of the wall, peering out.

  Cartheron arrived and nodded to Lieutenant Jalaz. ‘Time,’ he said. She gave a curt bob of her head. ‘You’ll need eight veterans.’

  Malle turned from the wall. ‘Riley and his boys are up for it.’

  Cartheron gave his assent.

  ‘Time for what?’ Jute asked, feeling a strange sort of growing unease.

  Lieutenant Jalaz squeezed his shoulder, grinning. ‘Wish me luck, Jute of Delanss.’ She jogged off down the ramp. Malle leaned out over the catwalk and snapped her fingers. The majority of her remaining guards rose where they’d been squatting below among the chests.

  ‘What is going on?’ Jute asked everyone.

  Cartheron shouted down: ‘Open the gates!’

  ‘Open the gates? What for?’

  But Cartheron ignored him, going to the wall to lean out, peering down. Jute went to his side. Below, the gates of bronze-sheathed timber swung open and Lieutenant Jalaz appeared, jog-trotting north at the head of a train of four munition chests, each carried by two men and piled with shovels and picks.

  ‘What is this?’ Jute demanded.

  Cartheron finally turned to him. He was rubbing a hand over his balding pate. ‘A gamble.’