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

by Ian C. Esslemont

  It was a broad, heavy-set woman. She was struggling to return to the ruins but was now unable to walk straight. She was obviously in shock. Her face was a mass of torn and bruised flesh; she was practically naked and, bizarrely, her head was unevenly shaved. Nait grasped her shoulders. ‘What's your name? What happened?’

  She blinked, her mouth worked, mumbling, dribbled bloody spit. ‘Stop,’ she managed.

  ‘Stop? Stop what? What do you mean?’

  ‘Stop … him.’ And she sat heavily, her limbs twitching. More survivors appeared, being dragged from the shell, all dressed alike in rags, with hair hacked short or shaved as well. Too intact – they should've all been shredded like the vessel. Must've been protected by magery.

  Two men came running up, dressed just like the ship's crew. One's arm was a lacerated, tattered thing of red flesh, creamy bone, and hanging sinew, but he appeared to be ignoring what would otherwise be an instantly fatal injury to any other human. The other pressed a hand to his side where a length of slivered wood pierced completely through his torso. Blood soaked his front and that leg. Avowed! Must be. ‘Find him!’ this one bellowed, almost weeping his pain. ‘An old man – a Seven Cities native! Find him!’

  ‘Just sit down!’ Nait yelled, running up. Behind them a troop of Wickans was closing.

  ‘Find him! Kill him!’ and he wept, his face contorted in agony. His companion's eyes rolled up all white and he tottered, fell to his knees, then his side. Nait reached the impaled fellow then stopped – he had absolutely no idea what to do. ‘Healer!’ he yelled. Then he yelped as the fellow had somehow closed and yanked Nait's own shortsword from his scabbard. Armed, he started limping for the wreck. ‘Wait! Kill who? Why?’

  From behind the vessel's remains violet fire lashed out to strike the closing Wickans in a swath of incandescent destruction. Horses and men flew, spinning. The ground itself shook with the concussion and Nait staggered.

  ‘Him,’ the man snarled. Cursing, he stopped, grasped hold of the jagged shard of wood as long as a sword, and, with a scream, drew it out.

  ‘Who are you?’ Nait breathed.

  ‘Ho. Now, get your men – kill him, now!’

  Nait signed to the skirmishers to open fire. They hunched, scuttled forward. Violet fire arced into the sky to carve a bright streak across the night. Everyone watched. It hurtled up and over them, curving down to smash into the column. Its churning energies cut a swath some five men wide through the massed ranks. The unit broke like a shattered cup. Knots of men ran in all directions – most back east. Keep runnin lads – seek cover – ‘cause that worst has just arrived.

  Ho held out an arm. ‘Take me to the others.’ Nait took his sword back and helped him walk. May came running up, hunched, hands all wet with blood from treating wounds. ‘Dig in!’ Nait bellowed over the roar of coursing power. She saluted, ran off.

  Nait led the man to where the ship's survivors had been collected. Here lay the resilient heavy-set woman and another woman, an elderly Wickan; the fellow with the savaged arm; a young fellow who was even more battered and twisted; and two other blood-smeared, lacerated and traumatized survivors. Healers from among the Untan volunteer ranks and a few from the Malazan regulars were busy at work on them, stopping bleeding, hands pressed to bruised flesh.

  ‘Is this it?’

  Clenching down on his pain, Ho said in a tight voice, ‘Yes. And many of these here are of the Guard.’

  ‘We happen to be fighting them,’ Nait observed, neutrally.

  ‘We'll need them.’

  Nait didn't bother asking what for. ‘What about you? You need a healer.’

  ‘No – I'm … getting better.’

  Nait stepped up to the man, examined his naked side where beneath the drying blood and fluids only a pink scar remained of what had been a gouge worse than a sword thrust. Who – what – was this fellow?

  Nait helped the man sit in the grass then turned to watch the skirmishers. They'd taken cover around the sides of the wreckage, firing at something a way east ahead of the pile. They popped up from the grass, fired, then dropped back down again. Damned prairie dogs, is what they are. That's it! The Prairie Dogs.

  He was about to congratulate himself when the ground wavered beneath him and he staggered. A curved wall of the dark-blue fire billowed out towards the vessel, scattering the irregulars, erupting the grasses in flame. Nait dived for cover. Something cast an eerie shadow over everything, climbing higher, and he gaped up at a dark mar or bruise in the night sky, coalescing, darkening, seeming to flow inward.

  Nait yelled to the men and women staring, gaping upwards, ‘Dig in!’

  * * *

  Kyle and the Lost brothers did not relinquish their line. They remained standing, weapons ready, while the Kanese likewise stood ready, spears and halberds standing tall. Each force eyed the other. The mounted officers sat examining the north sky, the invigilator still and intent, the commander sighing his boredom and brushing at his surcoat. Kyle stole quick glances as well, seeing nothing more than strange lights in the sky. After a time, the invigilator, Durmis, sucked a loud breath through his teeth, his face puckering his alarm. Even the commander's face appeared troubled. Kyle risked a look. Some kind of dark aura flickered in the lightening sky. No stars were visible through it. Renewed thunder reached them and the bridge shook ever so slightly.

  ‘Remain here if you wish,’ the invigilator called out, ‘but we will not take our forces into that’ To the commander: Order the men back, set up a line of defence on the south shore.’

  The commander tapped his gauntlets to his thigh, frowning. On your authority?’

  ‘Yes, on my authority!’

  An insouciant shrug. ‘Very well. If we must.’ He raised a hand, signalling. Horns blew from the rear. Among the massed forces on the shore signal flags rose, waving. The commander saluted Lean, tilted his head in acknowledgement of their stand. Lean bobbed her own, her face pained.

  After a great deal of trouble and reshuffling, the commander, the invigilator and their guards succeeded in turning their mounts. They bulled their way back across the bridge while the ranks closed behind.

  Kyle heard Lean ask, ‘Should we go?’

  ‘We'll wait,’ K'azz replied.

  Coots and Badlands sat, took out stones and began cleaning up the edges of their weapons. Coots even whistled a tune. Kyle examined his: unmarred, the blade a thin curve of some dark yellow material, not metal, almost translucent at its edge. He sheathed it, wrapped the cords around its long grip – he'd have to get a new scabbard damned soon.

  Stalker came up, examining his dented domed helmet in his hands. ‘A hard fight. Well done.’

  ‘Thanks. Now what?’

  The scout motioned to the north. ‘That thing – something's got to be done about it.’

  Kyle was puzzled. ‘You a mage?’

  A snort. ‘Great Darkness, no. Just have a feel for these things. Runs in my family.’

  ‘So? What do we do?’

  ‘Us?’ He shook his head. His long dirty-blond hair hung lank and tangled with sweat. ‘Nothing. This is for the mages. But they might need cover.’

  The Kanese continued to retreat. The rear ranks backed away, spears levelled, watching them closely as they went. The Avowed, Kyle and the Lost brothers all cast quick glances to K'azz, waiting. Skins of water made the rounds. A pinpoint of light suddenly appeared on the bridge and everyone straightened, hands going to weapons. The pinpoint swelled to a swirling, glowing whirlpool out of which stepped a short, skinny fellow in dirty tattered robes with wild kinky hair. Kyle smiled to see Smoky again.

  The mage went to embrace K'azz but stopped short. His broad smile twisted down into anxious puzzlement. K'azz waved the man's concern aside. ‘It looks worse than it is.’ He squeezed the mage's shoulders. ‘Good to see you again.’

  ‘And you.’

  ‘What news?’

  ‘It's ugly. Shimmer's gathered all the remaining mages. Good news is that Blues and Finge
rs are with us – they're battered but alive.’

  K'azz froze, his smile faltering. ‘I … I didn't know they were missing.’

  Smoky cursed himself. ‘Sorry—’

  ‘It's all right. I know I have a lot of catching up to do.’ He turned to Lean. ‘Well done. What do you think? Detail dismissed?’

  Lean bowed, grinning. She raised her helmet and very slowly, and with great care, pulled it over her bloodied head. ‘Detail stand down!’

  Cole scooped up Black in his arms. Amatt gently lifted Turgal. Lean gathered up gear, as did Stalker, Badlands and Coots. Smoky came to Kyle, looked him up and down while nodding his approval. ‘We owe you an apology and our gratitude.’ He held out a hand. Kyle took it, feeling self-conscious. ‘And we owe you more than we could ever repay.’

  Kyle winced. ‘Don't say that.’

  Smoky laughed. ‘Ah, yes, right. Very good. All the same, thank you.’ He returned to the swirling Warren portal, waved everyone through. Kyle came through last. As he lifted a foot in and leant forward all he had was a fleeting impression of bright blinding light, heated dry air, then he stepped down clumsily on to crackling, dry, trampled grasses. The noise of a crowded camp under siege assaulted him.

  Dawn was just a short time away yet darkness clung to the battered and churned slopes around him. It seemed to be concentrated over the far side of the field, clinging to its edges as if reluctant to yield to the gathering light. Another smear or dark cloud occluded the centre. It hovered over ruins that appeared to have been tossed across the entire slope.

  Kyle peered around, uncertain where to go or what to do. Everyone seemed to have disappeared. What he wanted to do was sleep, but it looked as if there was little chance of that for anyone. Ogilvy jogged up, a toothy grin twisting his round face. He grasped Kyle's shoulders and shook him. ‘Well done, lad! Well done. Glad to see you back with us!’

  His old sergeant, Trench, appeared to wave him forward. The man squeezed his shoulder. ‘Sorry, lad – had no idea.’ Kyle waved it aside. ‘Anyway, you've been promoted. K'azz wants you. This way.’

  Trench led him across the hill. As they walked a shout went up and the Crimson Guard soldiery hunched, ducking for cover. Kyle looked around, surprised, and saw an arcing blue catapult-like fireball or lance streaking for their position. Trench pulled him down. The assault appeared to have originated from the dark occlusion marring the air in the middle of the field.

  The lightning, or whatever it was, hammered down just short of their position. It impacted, searing the ground, throwing up a storm of smoke and dust. It gouged through ranks of the besieging force, throwing bodies, doll-like, into the air, spinning to disappear consumed by its awesome raw energies. Its roaring assaulted Kyle's hearing like a firestorm and waterfall combined. Just as suddenly it snapped away, making Kyle stagger as he'd been bracing himself against it. It left behind a great ragged scar of burnt black ash and scoured dirt. Great Spirits! What can one do against such an awesome thing? Was this the much vaunted Malazan firepower of which he'd heard so much? Yet it had struck a Malazan entrenchment. As Kyle stared, another of the lashes arced out to the opposite side, descending to the far edge of the field. Trench touched his elbow, starting him from his trance. The sergeant motioned ahead.

  It was a meeting at which Kyle felt completely out of place. Stalker and the Lost brothers were gone – ducked out, probably. The only one he knew even vaguely was Smoky. It was a meeting of mages and commanders. Shimmer presided, K'azz next to her. Mages Kyle barely knew were in evidence. He learned names as they talked: Lor-Sinn, Shell and Opal, all female and hardened-looking veteran battle mages. Gwynn, also, whom Kyle knew as one of Skinner's mages. Bald with a goatee and gold earrings, all in black. Apparently he'd parted ways with his old commander. In all, some six Avowed mages.

  Over the course of conversation it became clear that they were just holding their own. Deflecting the assaults was taking all their effort. In fact, Shimmer had made an overture to the Imperials regarding a pooling of resources and was expecting an answer. Seemed last night the Malazans had unveiled a High Mage whom no one had known of, but who had impressed everyone mightily.

  A messenger ran up, spoke with Shimmer who nodded. She addressed the group: ‘The Malazan representatives.’ Room was made in the circle. The contingent was only three: two adolescents, skinny with long gangly limbs, long mussed black hair, almost identical. Twins? They were young, yes, but their lined guarded faces spoke of experiences and a maturity far beyond their years. The third was a broad, thickly-muscled older man with short grey hair bearing the bruising and gashes of many treated wounds. His wide brutal features were set in a savage scowl. K'azz, Shimmer and other Avowed all bowed to the man. ‘Commander Urko. Welcome.’

  The older man gestured to his companions: ‘Nil and Nether. Now, what do you propose?’

  ‘Cooperation. Together we can defend all our people from these attacks. But we must pull together.’ Shimmer nodded to the youngsters. ‘You have two Wickans with you, what of your mage cadre?’

  ‘They defend the east redoubt and all the soldiers who have taken shelter there.’

  ‘I see. So, just us.’

  Urko cracked the knuckles of his large scarred hands. ‘I hear talk of defence. What about offence? I understand that thing must be closed. But just what is it?’

  ‘A rent,’ Shell answered. ‘Sources tell of the remnant of one in south Genabackis. There are others. They are tears in the fabric of the barriers between Realms. No sane theurgist would dare create one. Only the Great Matrons of the K'Chain Che'Malle could master them.’

  That odd name, K'Chain Che'Malle, lowered a silence upon the gathered mages. Even Kyle felt within it echoes of the oldest of his people's legends: formless terrors of the night.

  Pausing to be certain that point sank in, Shell continued, ‘This one appears to open upon Chaos. And it is growing. It may never stop. Yes, it must be closed, and at all cost.’

  Urko grunted his understanding. ‘What's the plan?’

  Shimmer's gaze lingered upon the east. ‘We understand a single mage is responsible and is feeding its growth. Right now it is not self-sustaining but time is running out. Killing the mage should cut it off.’

  ‘If he can be,’ the dour-looking Gwynn, near Kyle, commented beneath his breath.

  The hill shook and everyone ducked as another lash of pulsing blue-black power hammered the grounds amid the Malazan lines. The distant shrieks and screams audible even through its roar made Kyle shiver. Urko's fists snapped up quivering as if he would break something or someone that instant. ‘Bastard!’ He pointed to the twins, ‘Make the arrangements!’ To Shimmer: ‘We're comin’ up!’ and he ran.

  ‘A large party would only attract attention,’ the girl, Nether, said.

  Helmet under her arm, Shimmer pushed back her long, straight black hair, nodded curt agreement. ‘A small party.’

  ‘How to approach?’ asked the young male twin, Nil.

  ‘You will need the element of surprise,’ said a new voice from nearby. Everyone turned. There stood a slim fellow in dark clothes, a smirk on his narrow, pinched face. Shimmer raised a hand to forestall any action. ‘Possum. What word?’

  ‘For such a purpose I am empowered to offer Imperial cooperation.’

  ‘Such as?’ Smoky asked, his voice acid.

  ‘Passage through the Imperial Warren.’

  ‘That Warren is a death-trap,’ said Gwynn.

  The smirk returned: ‘Only for those not authorized to access it.’

  Heads among the mages turned, eyes narrowing. ‘Laseen …’ Smoky breathed.

  The Claw sketched a courtly bow. ‘I am only a humble messenger.’

  The Wickan twins, Nil and Nether, volunteered. After much debate among the Avowed mages it was decided that Gwynn and Smoky would go as their contribution. Possum would bring them through.

  As the mages prepared themselves, Kyle went to Smoky's side. ‘Good luck.’

  The mag
e smiled, showing his small, sharp, rat-like teeth. ‘Just like old times, eh? Speaking of that – let's see that new sword.’

  Kyle drew it and held it out. Smoky went to take it but jerked his hands away. He stared, obviously amazed, raised his eyes to Kyle. ‘This blade is not metal. Wouldn't dare try to mark that. Take my word for it – don't show it to anyone.’

  Kyle sheathed it. ‘Thank you. I'd come if I could.’

  A snort, then the mage wiped a sleeve across his grimed brow. ‘Might have to. No one says we'll succeed.’ He waved goodbye. Kyle saw that Stalker had come to watch. He went to his side.