Return of the Crimson Guard: A Novel of the Malazan Empire

by Ian C. Esslemont

  Into the silence following that Laseen asked, ‘Our options?’

  ‘We have only two. We can await them here and hope to break them, or meet them in the field and hope to break them there.’

  ‘Thank you, High Fist. First Sword, your assessment?’

  Korbolo bared his clenched teeth. ‘To say that we have only two courses of action, to stay or to march, is too much of an oversimplification to be of any use at all! Of course that is true. Any fool can see this.’

  Havva smiled her ironic agreement while Anand merely raised a brow.

  ‘What would be your advice?’

  ‘We must move, Empress. Your pardon, but this slow deliberation is seen by all as hesitation and weakness.’

  ‘Thank you, First Sword. Havva, your evaluation?’

  The Empire's new High Mage steepled her fingers at her broad chest. ‘Empress, if there is any consolation to be gained from the thinning of our mage corps, it is that this sad state extends to our enemies as well. My compatriots and I are of the opinion that no mage of any stature can be fielded by them. Regrettably, they can say the same of us. That is, unless …’

  Laseen's lips tightened white. ‘He is not to be counted on.’

  ‘I thought not. As do they, apparently, else they would not be proceeding. So, I shall strive to do my best. An option, though – perhaps a few of the cadre mages from our overseas holdings …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ This from Korbolo. ‘Why not? They are ours to command. If these nationalists have few mages as Havva claims, then should we not strengthen ourselves in this very regard? Strike them where they are weak. And on the subject – where is the Imperial Navy? Where is Admiral Nok? Why does he not simply land in Quon harbour, take the city?’

  It seemed to Possum that Laseen met this outburst with amazing equanimity. She clasped her hands behind her back, as if mistrusting what she might be tempted to do. She cocked her head to Anand without taking her hooded gaze from Korbolo Dom. ‘Why would that be, High Fist?’

  ‘Because this Duchess would simply turn around, retake her city, and we'd be back to square one.’

  ‘Then Admiral Nok should—’

  ‘Enough!’

  Possum flinched at the snap in that command. Korbolo, however, did not bother to disguise his seething frustration.

  ‘We are on our own, Sword of the Empire,’ Laseen said, her tone final. ‘My commands to Nok cannot be countered. I have given over to him maintenance of our overseas holdings. He is fully committed with the logistics of supply, troop transport, relief and reinforcement. Expect no succour. We must win back the continent, or be destroyed in the attempt.’

  Throughout, Possum noted, Mallick had remained silent, pudgy hands clasped at his stomach, eyes downcast, his thick lips slightly pursed as if in thought. Now he raised his gaze, opened his hands. ‘Your orders, then, Empress?’

  ‘For now, as our military hierarchy suggests – gather forces. I want Unta province back under our control. I want those nobles back in the capital with their forces.’ Her gaze swung to Possum. ‘Clawmaster, take family members hostage to ensure cooperation, starting tonight.’

  Possum smiled his acknowledgement.

  ‘In one sense time is now on our side. Theirs is an uneasy alliance of new rulers jealous of their independence. If we can hold out long enough it will unravel. We will do all we can to help that process along. Havva, Possum, send out missives to all your contacts arguing that Tali intends to reassert its old hegemony. Make overtures to Dal Hon. Send messages to the Bloorian nobles that the Gris have been promised their lands. Begin a campaign of mutual suspicion and disinformation that will leave them unable to recognize the truth.’

  The High Mage and the Clawmaster bowed.

  ‘And Clawmaster,’ Laseen continued, ‘general intelligence?’

  Possum shrugged dismissively. ‘The streets are awash in rumours, of course. But nothing worthy of following. One persistent story does seem to be gathering strength despite its improbability. There's talk of the Crimson Guard's return.’

  Anand barked a laugh. ‘Every year they're supposed to show up. Those old tales resurface any time morale is low. They're like a dose of the clap. We never seem able to shake them off entirely.’

  Laseen smiled thinly. ‘Then let us hope they do oblige us, High Fist. It will give us a chance to finally rid ourselves of them.’

  ‘You're so certain?’ This from Havva.

  ‘Yes. They'd be fools to come back, and K'azz was no fool.’

  Possum noted Mallick watching Laseen more intently than during the entire meeting. The fat man's lips drew down in thought and he lowered his gaze.

  ‘This council has ended. You are dismissed.’

  ‘As the Empress commands,’ all responded, even Korbolo.

  Laseen caught Possum's eye. ‘A word, Clawmaster.’

  Possum held back while the others withdrew. Now his time had come. He could delay no longer. What would it be? Denial? Rage? He had to admit to a certain curiosity, even if he feared the cliched killing of the messenger. The door closed and he and the Empress were alone. She went to the single window, stood facing out, hands clasped at her back.

  ‘Your silence tells me all I need to know, Possum.’ She glanced back, sidelong. ‘You stand distant, close by the door. Am I that terrifying a tyrant?’

  For the life of him, Possum did not know how to respond. Topper, now he would not have had any reservations. How familiar Topper had been with her! Or Pearl … he'd have some glib line. Ever ready with the facile patter that man had been. Like oral flatulence. But not Possum. His expertise was lying low. Now he was being called to creep out into the light. How bright the glare!

  ‘Names, Clawmaster.’

  Possum cleared his throat, tried to speak, found his mouth too dry. He wondered distantly at this: fear for himself? Or pity for the pain he must convey? ‘Amaron,’ he managed. Toc the Elder, Choss and … Urko.’

  ‘So – Toc. He is this Seti warlord, is he not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yet Anand does not know.’

  ‘No. Very few are aware – bad for morale, yes?’

  Silence. A back so tense Possum imagined it incapable of flexing. Watching her standing there all alone taking this news of the betrayal of so many old companions, Possum settled on pity.

  ‘Leave me,’ she said, her voice still under ruthless control.

  Possum bowed and exited pulling the door tight behind him. To the guards outside he said, ‘The Empress does not wish to be disturbed.’

  * * *

  On board Urko's flagship, the Genabackan barque Keth's Loss, Ullen watched the latest wave of Moranth Silver quorls, exhausted, come scudding in low over the waves to set down ever so daintily on shore. Made of spun glass, the giant dragonfly-like monsters seemed to him. Yet surprisingly sturdy. Each carried two riders, a handler and passenger, plus one small box – one exceedingly precious box. The riders dismounted and unloaded the quorl. The passenger, a Moranth Gold warrior, would assemble for transport in one of the ten contracted Moranth Blue galleys while the handler would take his mount to rest and eat. So elegant, Ullen reflected, the flying creatures with their four tissue-thin wings and long segmented tails. Until you see them eat. The damned monsters ate live prey.

  A messenger presented papers for his inspection – objections regarding space for water requisition. Ullen scrawled ‘Maximum!’ and handed back the orders then returned to studying the foreigners. Forty more Gold warriors for Urko's grand alliance of the disaffected. Some two thousand of them now. And the last wave of recruitment, too. Word had come from Quon; events were far ahead of schedule. The fleet had to move now or risk becoming a footnote.

  Further out to sea, beyond the anchorage, swift scout vessels already scoured the sea-lanes southward, securing the route of the hundred-vessel convoy that would sail this very night.

  ‘Watching our Genabackan allies, aren't you?’ came a woman's rich contralto. Ulle
n turned. Dominating the mid-deck beneath a shading canopy sat Urko's new mage cadre leader, the ample, midnight-hued Dal Honese witch, Bala Jesselt.

  Ullen allowed himself a guarded nod. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can we trust them, hmm? Why are they with us, yes? What are their goals?’

  ‘Yes? What are they? You are the mage.’

  Bala shrugged her thick shoulders, fanned her face. ‘Well, who can say? Their minds work in strange ways.’

  ‘Strong allies for now though.’

  ‘Yes … for now.’

  Ullen chose to overlook the opening – Bala was notorious for her innuendo and constant scheming for self-advancement. Her unbridled ambition had had her eliminated from the cadre long ago. No doubt Urko believed he could keep her in check, but Ullen wondered. Further messages arrived. Bala continued fanning her glistening sweaty face while Ullen answered each. ‘What of you?’ she asked as he struggled with the final order of sailing.

  ‘I'm sorry?’

  Once Adjutant to Choss, now a mere staff-chief. A demotion, yes?’

  Ullen returned the orders. He gave the new mage cadre leader his best smile. ‘I think of it as more of a sideways move.’

  She sighed her disappointment, flicked her fan. ‘I suppose one must make the best of what little one can manage.’

  ‘Speaking of what little one can manage – what word from Li Heng or Dal Hon?’

  The fan snapped shut. ‘Do not mock me! All of you should be grateful for my presence! If it were not for me shielding this fleet Admiral Nok would have sunk the lot of you.’

  ‘Nok is wholly preoccupied by the Seven Cities pacification. He is wise enough to keep to one war at a time.’

  Bala's laugh shook her wide bosom. ‘What could you know of the mind of a commander as great as he?’

  Ullen almost explained that he was Choss's adjutant and that Choss had been Nok's prote´ge´, but he realized the effort would be lost on one such as this. He gratefully accepted the distraction of a Gold Moranth messenger arrived by launch. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Commander V'thell once again asks to be informed of our destination.’

  ‘Inform V'thell that for reasons of security no one but Urko knows our destination. Not even I know. Word will be given once the fleet is at sea.’

  ‘Very well. What of storms scattering the fleet?’

  ‘We will communicate by flag, lantern and,’ he nodded to Bala, ‘mage. What of your quorls?’

  ‘All the quorls will be returned. They hate the water.’

  ‘A shame that.’

  The messenger bowed and climbed down the side to the waiting launch. Idly, Ullen wondered if a Moranth in all his armour would sink just as swiftly as any normal armoured man, and whether they were insane not to bow in any way to the altered circumstances of travel at sea.

  A half-bell later he decided, reluctantly, that now was as good a time as any. He called to a flagman, ‘Signal for the larger vessels, the Blues, and the dromonds, to begin exiting the anchorage.’ The Dal Hon witch now had her sleepy-eyed attention on the captain's cabin containing Urko. The man was probably staying in there solely to avoid her. ‘What can you do to speed our passage?’ he asked her. ‘Events are moving faster than we.’

  ‘I? I am no Chem priestess. And the Warren of Mael is a mystery to me, thank Thesorma.’

  Ullen rubbed his eyes. Why have the Gods cursed him so? ‘Do you know anyone who can be of help? Any of our associates or sympathizers?’

  The fan slid open and resumed fluttering. ‘I will make inquiries.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  As the day's light faded Ullen kept in communication with the fleet through the flag signalmen for as long as he could. Lanterns appeared more and more often, flashing their coded responses. All the while Bala's fan fluttered as a blur. Sometimes she seemed to whisper into it while at other times she wafted its wind over the side of her face. Ullen shaded his gaze to take in the distant huge Blue transports far out to sea. Impatient, that Gold commander, V'thell.

  At one point Bala jerked as if pinched, biting back a gasp, and Ullen swung on her. ‘Yes?’

  The fan resumed its blurred flashing. The puffed lazy eyes slid to the darkening horizon. ‘Strange scents from Stratem. Something there. Something very powerful. I smell it; even this far across the world.’

  Stratem? Who gave a damn about Stratem? ‘Any word on who could help us with the crossing?’

  She nodded. ‘A hint. A sympathizer in Unta. His representatives are open to the possibility. I think they want gold or political influence in return.’

  Tell them that if they speed our passage they will get whatever they ask for.’

  The Dal Hon witch appeared doubtful; she pursed her full lips. ‘I shall. But a dangerous promise. Who knows what they might ask for?’

  ‘I don't care if they ask for Hood himself. We've dawdled here assembling long enough. We must move.’

  ‘Very well. I will negotiate with this mage of Ruse.’

  * * *

  The refugees came streaming into Heng like drips of blood leaking down from the Seti plains. Atop the wall next to the Northern Plains Gate, the Gate of Doleful Regards, Captain Storo Matash, now Interim-Fist of the Malazan Garrison, watched the dusty knots of men, women and families while a sour ulcerous pain ate at his stomach. More mouths to feed. More souls to house. More voices to complain. And more potential traitors to watch. How many among this latest train of displaced settlers and traders were Seti agents and spies? Too many, no doubt. As if that new tribal warlord they've got out there needed any more spies in this leaking tub of a city.

  A scrape of boots on stone and Silk stood next to him. ‘You should still be in bed recuperating,’ the mage told him.

  ‘I have no reason to complain. How's Rell doing?’

  Silk grimaced in sympathetic pain. ‘Recovering. It's a miracle he's alive at all, let alone healing. I've requisitioned and pressed every skilled healer in the city into helping out. But even if he does recover completely there's nothing to be done for the scarring. The man lost most of the skin of his arms and face. High Denul can do only so much. For all that, though, he actually doesn't seem to mind. He's even practising to keep limber as he heals.’ Silk raised his hands in wonderment. ‘Simply amazing.’

  ‘Well, you move my bed up here and I'll lie down in it. In any case,’ Storo eyed the pale, sunken-eyed mage, ‘you look worse off than me.’

  Silk shrugged, leant his weight against the stone crenellations. ‘Up all night with the saboteurs, helping to hide their work. They're making miracles all up and down the walls. Shaky's actually working. I don't think I've ever seen him work before.’

  ‘You too. Back in Genabackis, I always had the feeling you had one hand behind your back. That you weren't committed.’

  A dry wind off the prairie tousled the mage's long blond hair. He pushed it back from his face. ‘Not my battle. This is.’

  ‘You proved that last week. Going to finally tell me what you did? I was out of it by then. Sunny claims the sun shone out of your arse and you farted everyone away.’

  Silk could not keep a grin away. ‘Colourful. And not too inaccurate. No, all I did was summon the power of the old city temple and it responded with one last glow of its old reflected glory. That's all.’

  ‘And I'm Dessembrae the Lord of Tragedy.’

  The mage shaded his gaze and studied the plain and distant dun-brown hills along the horizon. Storo shifted his own hard stare to share the view. ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘There's the real worry.’ He rubbed his chest beneath his shirts, grimaced his pain. ‘Truth is I'm blind, Silk. I've no idea what's going on out there. Don't know how many men they have. Even where they are. There might be fifty thousand Seti tribesmen just over those damned hills and I haven't the faintest idea of it. Or at Unta. What's going on at the capital? Are reinforcements on their way? How much support can I expect?’ He spat over the wall. ‘It's a mess. A Hood-spawned bitch's-whelp of a mess.’

&nb
sp; The mage gave a slow shrug of commiseration. ‘I'm sorry. I wish I could be more of a help. But that sort of scrying and communication over great distances is not my forte.’

  ‘Well, who in Utter Night can help? Isn't there another battle mage in the city? Have they found the garrison cadre mages yet?’

  ‘No. One was thought to have joined Orlat. The other disappeared that night, fled or killed by them. That leaves me.’ Silk paused; his gaze flicked to Storo. ‘There is one other who could be of help – if you'd accept.’

  ‘Who? Gods, I hope you don't mean that hag you got to help us before.’