‘Wait until I have won them,’ Laseen said, her unreadable gaze steady on the man.
* * *
In an urban garden servants brushed ash from laden tree-branches while workers dismantled one of its collapsed brick walls. A man in loose trousers and a long plain maroon shirt stood at a planting bed, examining a potted flower. His long black hair hung loose. A woman with a heart-shaped face and short black hair entered the garden and walked swiftly upon him. Without turning, he said, ‘A rare specimen from Avalli, Kiska. Undamaged, thankfully.’
The woman covered her nose. ‘It stinks.’
‘Its scent imitates the smell of weakness: rot and death. Attracting flies and other insect scavengers. Which it then eats.’
‘Disgusting.’
‘Revelatory. There is a lesson here for anyone who cares to reflect upon it.’
‘Avoid stinking plants.’
Tayschrenn sighed, set down the pot. ‘You are too much the child of the city, Kiska.’ He faced her, set his darkly tanned hands on his waist. ‘Could not stay away, could you? I suppose I should have known better.’
Kiska studied the workmen, the usual local labourers hired to maintain Tayschrenn's home, all cleared by Hattar. ‘I just kept an eye on things.’
‘Good. I see that some wisdom has penetrated your thick stubbornness. But one does not merely “keep an eye” on men such as Cowl.’
‘He left by Warren.’
‘Which?’
‘Hood's.’
Tayschrenn grunted. ‘How appropriate. So, what did you witness – other than futility and waste?’
Flicking back her short bangs, Kiska tilted her head to one side, frowning. ‘I saw a number of Claws fleeing Avowed open ways into the Imperial Warren.’
‘Yes?’
‘They never returned.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I saw an Avowed named Amatt break a barricade of burning wagons and piled timbers simply by walking into it and pushing a section aside. I counted seven crossbow bolts in him. He then walked down to the ships, pulling the bolts out as they struck him.’ She shook her head, amazed. ‘I tell you, I do not want to face those Guardsmen again.’
‘I agree. It would be a great waste.’
‘Waste?’
Tayschrenn merely rubbed his face, gestured for Kiska to continue.
‘Mostly I shadowed a female Claw – or someone who resembled a Claw. She was hunting Avowed. I saw her stalk and kill two, barehanded. I say she looked like a Claw in that their – our – training resembled her skills in the way a child's sketch resembles a masterpiece.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And there was another woman out there as well. One who moved with ease in and out of Warrens. Like nothing I've ever heard of before.’
He stilled, his gaze in the distance. ‘Is that so? Interesting …’
Kiska swung a kick at the planting bed. ‘Is that all you have to say? Interesting? What's going on, damn it all to Trake!’
Dark eyes focused on Kiska; the long shaved jaw writhed, tightening. ‘A trial is approaching us. I ask a difficult thing of you – restraint. I foresee a chance of … chaos … arising out of the coming confrontation. I may have to act quickly and there is someone among us who will try to take advantage. Do you understand?’
Kiska bowed. ‘I will inform Hattar.’
‘My thanks.’ As she turned to go he called after her, ‘Tell me, Kiska, why did you not remain in the Claw? You could be a Hand-commander by now, perhaps more.’
She shrugged. ‘I came to understand that I'd always wanted to serve something greater than myself. It became obvious to me rather quickly that those in the Claw serve only themselves. Why?’
But the tall mage was now bent over regarding his plants. ‘Just wondering.’
Kiska bowed and left. Someone, he says. Well, she had a pretty good idea who that might be. She and Hattar would have to put their heads together to figure out a way to counter that fat conniving priest. As for the Claw who hunted Avowed, Kiska felt a thrill shiver through her. Could it have truly have been her? Tayschrenn hadn't seemed surprised – after all, he'd seen her in action so many years ago. Yet by now everyone seemed to have forgotten, or been deliberately led to forget, that long ago when the fighting had been the thickest, and Dancer guarded Kellanved, it had been Surly, Mistress of the Claw, who had stalked and slain their enemies.
CHAPTER III
See the little blackbird,
Dappled and grey.
See the fallen soldiers,
Dappled and grey.
It hunts a tasty morsel,
Dappled and grey.
It looks in eyes unseeing,
Dappled and grey.
Children's rhyme,
Streets of Heng
AND SO THE SOLDIER OF LIGHT HAS DELIVERED HIMSELF. BUT JUST what does he herald? A hand gentle on the Kite's tiller, Ereko looked down at the calm face of the sleeping lad. His gaze travelled to the sword at his side wrapped in its sheath and belt. Even hidden away its power appalled him. A blade too great to be wielded by any being cognizant of its potential. And so an innocent youth carries it – or perhaps it only allows itself to be carried by such a one. Ereko knew only that he dared not touch it. Thinking back to that delicate meeting on the beach he breathed again a prayer of thanks to Goddess Mother that violence had not visited them. That blade is a match for Traveller's – if only in its singleness of purpose. And these clansmen from Assail, they carry secrets that should never have left that land. Rising, his eyes met the bright steady gaze of Traveller across the length of the vessel. And what of you, my friend? Why do I fear for you even more with every passing league? I suspect the full dregs of what you must endure yet await you. So why such a fell gathering of power and pregnant histories? Are we all here to escort you, my friend, or do you escort us? Who is to know save the Enchantress and Queen of Dreams, T'riss, in the arc of whose vision we all act?
The lad shifted, stretched and awoke blinking in the early light. ‘Sleep yet,’ Ereko told him.
Kyle rubbed his eyes. ‘It's all I seem to do these days, sleep.’ He rubbed his arm where Ereko's High Denul had mended torn ligament and ruptured flesh. ‘What of you? You man that tiller day and night. Won't you rest?’
Ereko lightly laughed the suggestion aside. ‘No, lad. I am so old now that sleeping and waking have melded together into one and I know not which I inhabit.’
Watching the lad struggle through that, Ereko shifted course slightly to avoid a looming ice-spire.
Truly? So old? As old as the mountains?’
Ereko raised his brows. ‘Goodness, no. Not that old. Only half so old, I should think.’
The lad pulled his blanket closer, eyed him sidelong as if gauging the degree of his sincerity. Unsure, he raised his chin to the ice-dotted waves. ‘What is that light to the south?’
Ereko did not turn his gaze. Even yet the power of that ritual bruises! ‘That pale bluish light?’
‘Yes.’
‘A great field of ice, Kyle. Quite perilous. To travel there is to risk wandering accidentally into another Realm. A place of eternal cold. The home of another race.’
‘And these ice mountains?’ Kyle indicated the largest one nearest them: a towering peak of deep sapphire blue, wind and water sculpted into sweeping arcs and blade-like curves.
‘Yes. Children of the ice field. They break off and wander the seas. Some say they each carry some small part of the power that binds the ice here in the world. And so does it diminish over the ages.’
‘Well, it's a good thing we have all this ice.’
‘Why?’
‘We're getting low on water.’
‘Burn Forefend, lad! We mustn't touch this ice.’
‘No? Why ever not?’
‘Why ever—’ Ereko ducked his head. Lowering his voice, he continued, ‘Haven't you been listening? Have your people forgotten everything, lad? Don't you know that such ice is the feat of the Jaghut?’
> The lad looked away. ‘We know of them.’
‘Yes. Your people are their enemy though they are not yours. In any case, such ice fields on land and at sea are the highest accomplishment of their arts. Omtose Phellack crystallized here upon the world. Your people spread in great migrations over land and sea. Such fields of ice were raised as barriers against your expansion. We skirt now the remnants of one such.’
‘And how do you know this?’ the lad asked with the bluntness of youth.
‘Because I saw it happen.’
A snort confirmed the lad's disbelief. Ereko fully expected the reaction. He shifted into a more comfortable position, crossed his arms on the tiller. ‘I will tell you a story.’ Kyle said nothing but Ereko noted the Assail native, Stalker, shift to turn an ear to the stern. ‘Know you not that Elder Night, Kurald Galain, possesses its children, the Tiste Andii? Well, what of the world and its many races and beings? Who are its children? Are they what some name the “Founding Races”? Or can some other kind lay claim to being the true children of the earth? Myself, I believe the term “founding” refers to those races that established civilizations or societies complete with writing and tools, either flint knives or the complex mechanisms of the K'Chain Che'Malle. In any case, the question is, were any of those the children of the earth? Well, of course, all are to one degree or another. Any beings of bone, muscle and blood partake of Mother Earth. Only those of the Eldest, those of most ancient lineage, entities born of pure energy such as some believe the Elder Gods, or the Eleint, what you call “dragons”, may stand apart in that. Aside from such beings, what of the Thelomen, the Toblakai, the Teblor or Trell? What of their many kinds? Well, these are the varied descendants of one common ancestor. The first children of the earth. Those of my race, the Thel Akai. Those Who Speak.’
‘Quite the story,’ Kyle said, again with the unthinking innocence of youth.
Ereko gave an easy shrug. ‘Oh, yes. I may be lying, or more likely self-deluded by memories twisted over the ages. But I lived through those times. I was there when an isolated flowering of civilization of your people arose on Jacuruku. And I suppose it was my people's nurturing that helped things along – not that I say we gave you civilization as some Jaghut claim they have – no, we merely advised and supported. In any case, in time a warlord arose. One who showed a genius and a lust for conquering all his surrounding states. We were not a warlike people, not in the least, but we lent our support against him. We raised our voices in opposition, gave succour to his enemies. For that we earned his eternal enmity. He swore to wipe us from the face of the earth. And he almost succeeded. Of my people only I remain.’
‘I'm sorry,’ Kyle breathed. He was staring out over the waves, squinting against the glitter of dawn's light from the ice. Ereko thought him half-awake.
‘Thank you. Since then, for the most part, your race has been kind to me.’
‘Who was this warlord?’
‘Who was he? Ah, yes. He became King, of course. Eventually even his own people became so sickened by his cruelty that they attempted to rid themselves of him. And thereby they brought great misery to this world. But that is a story too long to be told now. Let us say he anointed himself with the name High King. Originally, his name was Kallor.’
Stalker sat up, draped his long forearms across his folded legs. ‘I've heard the name Kallor.’
Ereko shrugged. ‘No doubt there are others named such.’
‘He was mentioned among the Guard. An ally of Brood against the Malazans in Genabackis. They called him the “Warlord”.’
Again an easy shrug. ‘This world has seen too many warlords.’
* * *
Crouched on his haunches, Toc the Elder took up a handful of the dark rich prairie soil and rubbed it in his hands. He held it to his nose and inhaled the rich scent of humus. No matter what might come, success or failure of this toss of the bones, he was thankful that he would see it here in his adopted homeland. He would offer up a blessing for that gift to Wind, Earth and the ancient spirits of the land. At some point in his younger days – he wasn't sure when it had happened – but at some time he'd fallen in love with the plains landscape. Some he knew found it empty and desolate – the Great Central Desert, many called it in Tali and Unta, even Heng, here right upon its doorstep. Yet to him it was far from empty. To him it was in fact full of a grim yet enthralling grandeur. This, to his mind, was the key to why so many professed their dislike. The simple truth was that it was too big for those small people.
He stood, stretched his back and nodded his assent to the waiting atamans and message riders. Choss waited at the flaps of the command tent and they embraced. ‘Almost all together again,’ Choss said, grinning behind his thick gold and russet beard.
‘Almost.’
Toc greeted the atamans and they all reclined on the blankets within. Trays of sweetmeats and flatbreads made the rounds. ‘Firstly,’ Toc said, dipping his hands in a water bowl, ‘may I thank the gathered atamans for the trust and honour they have been generous enough to place upon me. And secondly, may I apologize that the walls of Heng yet stand.’
The atamans spoke all at once, dismissing any need for an apology. Ataman Ortal, of the Black Ferret Assembly, raised his hands to speak. ‘Warlord, it was understood from the beginning that we would not take the city immediately. You asked us to wait for allies to arrive. And now they are here – now we need wait no longer. Now we will attack together.’
Toc exchanged a glance with Choss, shifted his seat and selected a handful of grapes. ‘I wish it were so simple, Ortal. Our allies from Tali have brought many men, yes, but not enough to take Heng.’
Gazes moved to Choss. ‘Not enough?’ said Ortal. ‘Then why come at all? Explain.’
‘We ask for further patience,’ Choss said with a grimace. ‘We have more men coming.’
‘More? From where?’ asked the Plains Lion Assembly ataman, Redden Brokeleg. ‘Wait, you say. This is your answer for everything. Where can these warriors be coming from? There are no more in all your lands. You may have as many men and women as there are blades of grass, yet they would be useless when there is no will to fight.’
The other atamans all shouted their disapproval of such harsh words. Toc raised his hands to speak. ‘… If I may … Redden, your words are strong but I hear them. Are they yours or do you speak for other voices that I have heard are raised against our alliance?’
All eyes turned to Redden. He shrugged his indifference, dug at the bare earth with a stick. ‘I merely speak openly what others only dare tell their Hands.’
‘And what are these things?’ Toc asked.
‘There are those who heard promises of great booty but have found none. Promises of honour in fighting but who sully themselves riding down women and children. Who see Seti blood spilled to further the ambitions of outlanders … as it was in the past.’
‘The Wildman of the foothills,’ sneered Imotan, the White Jackal shaman sitting cross-legged to one side.
Redden nodded his agreement. ‘Yes. The Wildman. He speaks against all alliances.’ He raised his gaze to Toc. ‘Especially those with Malazans.’
‘He should have been slain long ago,’ Imotan growled.
‘You are welcome to try,’ Redden said with an easy shrug. ‘He is coming.’
The shaman's face darkened. ‘What? Here?’
‘Yes.’ The stick scoured a line in the dirt. ‘He calls for all warriors to rally to him. Some say he means to challenge for leadership …’
‘Of what Assembly is he?’ Toc asked.
An insouciant shrug. ‘Who is to know? He renounces all such bonds – he names them chains upon the mind and body.’
For a time no one spoke. Toc shook his head. ‘I wish it were so easy, but you cannot turn your back upon the world – it will not go away. You must adjust to change. Or be consumed by it … In any case,‘ he bowed to Redden, ‘my thanks, friend, for bringing this news to us. We all have much to think about. I ask for furt
her patience and I promise you this, many more men are close. Very close. Enough to take Heng. They will be arriving soon.’ He bowed to the gathering and all answered in kind.
After the hugs and assurances of loyalty, Toc was left with Choss and Imotan, the White Jackal shaman. Servants lit lamps against the gathering darkness. Toc listened to the susurrus of the field crickets.
‘What more do we know about this Wildman?’ Choss asked Imotan.
The shaman waved a clawed hand dismissively. His sun-darkened face puckered in distaste. ‘Very little. He is called this because he emerged from the woods and they say he's as hairy as a wild bhederin.’
Return of the Crimson Guard: A Novel of the Malazan Empire Page 44
