Bonehunters

by Steven Erikson

  Leoman glanced back at him, considering, then he shook his head. ‘No, friend. I need you for a far more important task.’

  ‘What will that be, Great Warrior? I am equal to it.’

  ‘You’d better be,’ Leoman said.

  Dunsparrow snorted.

  ‘Command me, Commander.’

  This time she laughed outright. Corabb scowled at her.

  Leoman replied, ‘Your task this night is this, my friend. Guard my back.’

  ‘Ah, we shall be leading the fight, then, in the very frontmost ranks! Glorious, we shall deliver unto the Malazan dogs a judgement they shall never forget.’

  Leoman slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Aye, Corabb,’ he said. ‘That we shall.’

  They continued on, into the palace.

  Dunsparrow was still laughing.

  Gods, how Corabb hated her.

  Lostara Yil swept back the tent-flap and marched inside. She found Pearl lounging on looted silk pillows, a hookah of wine-flavoured durhang settled like a bowl in his lap. Through the smoke haze, he met her fury with a lazy, fume-laden regard, which of course made her even angrier.

  ‘I see you’ve planned out the rest of this night, Pearl. Even as this damned army prepares to assault Y’Ghatan.’

  He shrugged. ‘The Adjunct doesn’t want my help. I could have snuck into the palace by now, you know – they have no mages to speak of. I could be at this very moment sliding a knife across Leoman’s throat. But no, she won’t have it. What am I to do?’

  ‘She doesn’t trust you, Pearl, and to be honest, I’m not surprised.’

  His brows lifted. ‘Darling, I am offended. You, more than anyone else, know the sacrifices I have made to protect the Adjunct’s fragile psyche. Needless to say,’ he added, pausing for a lungful of the cloying smoke, ‘I have of late been tempted to shatter that psyche with the truth about her sister, just out of spite.’

  ‘Your restraint impresses me,’ Lostara said. ‘Of course, if you did something as cruel as that, I’d have to kill you.’

  ‘What a relief, knowing how you endeavour to protect the purity of my soul.’

  ‘Purity is not the issue,’ she replied. ‘Not yours, at least.’

  He smiled. ‘I was attempting to cast myself in a more favourable light, my sweet.’

  ‘It is clear to me, Pearl, that you imagined our brief romance – if one could call it that – as indicative of genuine feelings. I find that rather pathetic. Tell me, do you plan on ever returning me to my company in the Red Blades?’

  ‘Not quite yet, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Has she given us another mission?’

  ‘The Adjunct? No, but as you may recall, what we did for Tavore was a favour. We work for the Empress.’

  ‘Fine. What does our Empress command?’

  His eyes were heavy-lidded as they studied her for a moment. ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘She commands us to wait and see?’

  ‘All right, since you insist, you are temporarily detached from me, a notion that should give you untold satisfaction. Go join the marines, or the sappers, or whoever in Hood’s name is attacking tonight. And if you get a limb lopped off don’t come crawling back to me – gods, I can’t believe I just said that. Of course you can come crawling back to me, just be sure to bring the limb along.’

  ‘You don’t possess High Denul, Pearl, so what point in bringing back the limb?’

  ‘I’d just like to see it, that’s all.’

  ‘If I do come crawling back, Pearl, it will be to stick a knife in your neck.’

  ‘With those cheery words you can go now, dear.’ She wheeled and marched from the tent.

  Fist Keneb joined Tene Baralta in the mustering area just inside the north pickets. Moths and biting flies were swarming in the crepuscular air. Heaps of rocky earth rose like modest barrows where the soldiers had dug their trenches. As yet, few squads had assembled, so as not to reveal the army’s intentions too early, although Keneb suspected that Leoman and his warriors already knew all that needed to be known. Even so, the Fist noted as he stared at the distant, uneven wall, topmost among the tiers of earth and rubble, there seemed to be no activity. Y’Ghatan was deathly quiet, virtually unlit as darkness spread its cloak.

  Tene Baralta was in full armour: scaled vest, chain skirt and camail, greaves and vambraces of beaten bronze rimmed with iron. He was adjusting the straps of his helm as Keneb came to his side.

  ‘Blistig is not happy,’ Keneb said.

  Baralta’s laugh was low. ‘Tonight belongs to you and me, Keneb. He only moves in if we get in trouble. Temul was wondering… this plan, it matches his own. Did you advise the Adjunct?’

  ‘I did. Inform Temul that she was pleased that his strategy matched her own in this matter.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Have your company’s mages begun?’ Keneb asked.

  A grunt, then, ‘They say there’s no-one there, no-one waiting to counter them. Nil and Nether have made the same discovery. Could Leoman have lost all his mages, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. Seems unlikely.’

  ‘I trust you’ve heard the rumours, Keneb.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Plague. From the east. It has swept through Ehrlitan. If we fail tonight and find ourselves bogged down outside this city…’

  Keneb nodded. ‘Then we must succeed, Tene Baralta.’

  A rider was galloping on the road behind and to their right, fast approaching. Both men turned as the pounding hoofs reverberated through the ground at their feet. ‘An urgent message?’ Keneb wondered, squinting to make out the grey-cloaked figure, face hidden by a hood. A longsword at his side, the scabbard banded in white enamel. ‘I do not recog—’

  The rider rode straight for them. Bellowing in anger, Tene Baralta leapt to one side. Keneb followed, then spun as the rider flew past, his white horse reaching the trenches, and launching itself over. The picket guards shouted. A crossbow discharged, the quarrel striking the stranger on the back, then caroming off into the night. Still riding at full gallop, the figure now leaning forward over the horse’s neck, they sailed over the narrow inside trench, then raced for the city.

  Where a gate cracked open, spilling muted lantern light.

  ‘Hood’s breath!’ Tene Beralta swore, regaining his feet. ‘An enemy rides right through our entire army!’

  ‘We’ve no exclusive claim on bravery,’ Keneb said. ‘And I admit to a grudging admiration – I am glad to have witnessed it.’

  ‘A rider to bring word to Leoman—’

  ‘Nothing he doesn’t already know, Tene Baralta. Consider this a lesson, a reminder—’

  ‘I need none, Keneb. Look at this, my helm’s full of dirt. Light grey cloak, white horse and white-banded sword. A tall bastard. I will find him, I swear it, and he will pay for his temerity.’

  ‘We’ve enough concerns ahead of us this night,’ Keneb said. ‘If you go off hunting one man, Tene Baralta…’

  He emptied the dirt from the helm. ‘I hear you. Pray to Treach, then, that the bastard crosses my path one more time this night.’

  Treach, is it? Fener… gone so quickly from men’s minds. A message no god would dare to heed, I think.

  Lieutenant Pores stood with Captain Kindly and the Korelri Faradan Sort, within sight of their respective companies. Word of a spy in the army’s midst, boldly riding into Y’Ghatan, had everyone more on edge than they already were, given that at any moment would come the order to move. Sappers in the lead, of course, disguised within gloomy magic.

  Magic. It’s all gloomy. Worse than sappers, in fact. In combination, well, this night was headed straight into the Abyss, as far as Pores was concerned. He wondered where old Ebron was, and if he was participating in the rituals – he missed his old squad. Limp, Bell, and that new lass, Sinn – now there was a scary creature. Well, maybe he didn’t miss them all that much. Dangerous, one and all, and mostly to each other.

  Captain Kindly had been trying to take th
e measure of the woman standing beside him – a choice of phrase that brought a small smile to the lieutenant’s mouth. Take her measure. But ain’t nobody’s got that close, from what I hear. In any case, it was frustrating being unable to get a sense of a fellow officer. Cold iron, probably – you don’t stand the Wall long enough to survive without something icy, brutal and calculated wrapped round the soul – but this one was cold in every other way besides. Rarest of all, a woman of few words. He smiled again.

  ‘Wipe that grin off your face, Lieutenant,’ Kindly said, ‘or I’ll conclude you’ve lost your mind and promote you.’

  ‘Apologies, Captain, I promise I won’t do it again. Please don’t promote me.’

  ‘You two are idiots,’ Faradan Sort said.

  Well, that’s one way to halt a conversation.

  Sergeant Hellian looked on the wavering scene, comforted by an overwhelming sense of propriety, although the way everyone was swaying was making her nauseous. Corporal Urb separated himself from the squad and came up to her.

  ‘You ready for this, Sergeant?’

  ‘Ready for what?’ she demanded. Then scowled, all sense of propriety vanishing. ‘If that bastard hadn’t disappeared the way he did, I wouldn’t be trading my sword for a jug of that local rot, would I?’ She reached down for the weapon, her hand groping as it found only air, then the empty scabbard. ‘Why didn’t you stop me, Urb? I mean, it was my sword, after all. What am I s’posed to use?’

  He shifted nervously, then leaned closer. ‘Get a new one from the armoury, Sergeant.’

  ‘And that’ll get back to the captain and we’ll get shipped off somewhere even worse.’

  ‘Worse? Where is worse than this, Sergeant?’

  ‘Korel. Theftian Penins’la. Black Coral, under the empty eyes of the Tiste Andii. The Wreckers’ Coast on North Assail—’

  ‘Ain’t no Malazan forces there.’

  ‘No, but it’s worse than this.’

  ‘One story from some addled sailor in Kartool and you’re now convinced that Hood himself strides the shadows—’

  ‘He’s stridin’ our shallows – shadows, I mean.’

  ‘Listen, Sergeant, we’re about to head into battle—’

  ‘Right, where’s that jug?’ She looked round, found it lying on its side near somebody’s bedroll. ‘Hey, who in my squad ain’t packed up their kit?’

  ‘That’s yours, Sergeant,’ Urb said.

  ‘Oh.’ Collecting the jug, she gave it a shake and was pleased at the sloshing sounds within. She glanced over to stare at her… squad. There were two soldiers. Two. Some squad. Captain had said something about a few newcomers on the way. ‘Well, where are they?’

  ‘Who?’ Urb asked. ‘Your squad? They’re right in front of you.’

  ‘Touchy and Brethless.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, where are the rest? Didn’t we have more?’

  ‘Had four marching with us the last day, but they were reassigned.’

  ‘So my squad is a corporal and two soljers.’

  ‘Twins, Sergeant,’ Touchy said. ‘But I’m older, as I’m sure you can tell.’

  ‘And mentally underdeveloped, Sergeant,’ Brethless said. ‘Those last few minutes were obviously crucial, as I’m sure you can tell.’

  Hellian turned away. ‘They look the same to me, Urb. All right, has the word come yet? We s’posed to be mustering somewhere right now?’

  ‘Sergeant, you might want to pass that jug around – we’re about to get in a fight and I don’t know about you and them two, but I joined the local city guard so’s I wouldn’t have to do any of this. I been to the latrines four times since supper and I’m still all squishy inside.’

  At Urb’s suggestion Hellian clutched the jug tight to her chest. ‘Getyerown.’

  ‘Sergeant.’

  ‘All right, a couple mouthfuls each, then I get the rest. I see anybody take more’n two swallows and I cut ’em down where they stand.’

  ‘With what?’ Urb asked as he pulled the jug from her reluctant hands.

  Hellian frowned. With what? What was he talking about? Oh, right. She thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’ll borrow your sword, of course.’ There, what a pleasing solution.

  Sergeant Balm squatted in the dirt, studying the array of pebbles, stone discs and clay buttons resting on the elongated Troughs board. He muttered under his breath, wondering if this was a dream, a nightmare and he was still asleep. He glanced across at Sergeant Moak, then looked back down at the game-board.

  Something was wrong. He could make no sense of the pieces. He’d forgotten how to play the game. Straws, discs,buttons, pebbles – what were they all about? What did they signify? Who was winning? ‘Who’s playing this damned game?’ he demanded.

  ‘You and me, you Dal Honese weasel,’ Moak said.

  ‘I think you’re lying. I never seen this game before in my life.’ He glared round at all the faces, the soldiers all looking down to watch, all looking at him now. Strange expressions – had he ever seen any of them before? He was a sergeant, wasn’t he? ‘Where’s my damned squad? I’m supposed to be with my damned squad. Has the call come? What am I doing here?’ He shot upright, making sure one foot toppled the game-board. Pieces flew, soldiers jumping back.

  ‘Bad omen!’ one hissed, backing away.

  Growling, Moak rose, reaching for the knife at his belt. ‘Swamp scum, you’ll pay for that. I was winning—’

  ‘No you weren’t! Those pieces were a mess! A jumble! They didn’t make sense!’ He reached up and scratched at his face. ‘What – this is clay! My face is covered in clay! A death mask! Who did this to me?’

  A familiar but musty-smelling man stepped close to Balm. ‘Sergeant, your squad’s right here. I’m Deadsmell—’

  ‘I’ll say.’

  ‘Corporal Deadsmell. And that’s Throatslitter, and Widdershins, Galt and Lobe—’

  ‘All right, all right, be quiet, I ain’t blind. When’s the call coming? We should’ve heard something by now.’

  Moak closed in. ‘I wasn’t finished with you – that was a curse, what you did, Balm, on me and my squad – since I was winning the game. You cursed us, you damned warlock—’

  ‘I did not! It was an accident. Come on, Deadsmell, let’s make our way to the pickets, I’m done waiting here.’

  ‘You’re headed the wrong way, Sergeant!’

  ‘Lead on, then! Who designed this damned camp, anyway? None of it makes any sense!’

  Behind them, Sergeant Moak made to step after them, but his corporal, Stacker, pulled him back. ‘It’s all right, Sergeant. I heard about this from my da. It’s the Confusion. Comes to some before a battle. They lose track – of everything. It should settle down once the fighting starts – but sometimes it don’t, and if that’s the case with Balm, then it’s his squad that’s doomed, not us.’

  ‘You sure about all that, Stacker?’

  ‘Yeah. Remember Fist Gamet? Listen. It’s all right. We should check our weapons, one last time.’

  Moak sheathed his knife. ‘Good idea, get them on it, then.’

  Twenty paces away, Deadsmell fell in step alongside his sergeant. ‘Smart, all that back there. You was losing bad. Faking the Confusion, well, Sergeant, I’m impressed.’

  Balm stared at the man. Who was he again? And what was he blathering on about? What language was the fool speaking, anyway?

  ‘I got no appetite,’ Lutes said, tossing the chunk of bread away. A camp dog closed in, collected the food and scampered off. ‘I feel sick,’ the soldier continued.

  ‘You ain’t the only one,’ Maybe said. ‘I’m in there first, you know. Us sappers. Rest of you got it easy. We got to set charges, meaning we’re running with cussers and crackers over rough ground, climbing rubble, probably under fire from the walls. Then, down at the foot of the wall and Hood knows what’s gonna pour down on us. Boiling water, oil, hot sand, bricks, offal, barrack-buckets. So it’s raining down. Set the munitions. Acid on the
wax – too much and we all go up right there and then. Dozens of sappers, and any one of ’em makes a mistake, or some piece of rock drops smack onto a munition. Boom! We’re as good as dead already, if you ask me. Bits of meat. Tomorrow morning the crows will come down and that’s that. Send word to my family, will you? Maybe was blown to bits at Y’Ghatan, that’s all. No point in going into the gory details – hey, where you going? Gods below, Lutes, do your throwing up outa my sight, will you? Hood take us, that’s awful. Hey, Balgrid! Look! Our squad healer’s heaving his guts out!’

  Gesler, Strings, Cuttle, Truth and Pella sat around the dying coals of a hearth, drinking tea.

  ‘They’re all losing their minds with this waiting,’ Gesler said.

  ‘I get just as bad before every battle,’ Strings admitted. ‘Cold and loose inside, if you know what I mean. It never goes away.’

  ‘But you settle once it’s begun,’ Cuttle said. ‘We all do, ’cause we’ve done this before. We settled, and we know we settle. Most of these soldiers, they don’t know nothing of the sort. They don’t know how they’ll be once the fighting starts. So they’re all terrified they’ll curl up into cringing cowards.’

  ‘Most of them probably will,’ Gesler said.

  ‘I don’t know about that, Sergeant,’ Pella said. ‘Saw plenty of soldiers just like these ones at Skullcup. When the rebellion hit, well, they fought and they fought well, all things considered.’

  ‘Outnumbered.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So they died.’

  ‘Most of them.’

  ‘That’s the thing with war,’ Gesler said. ‘Ain’t nearly as many surprises, when all’s said and done, as you might think. Or hope. Heroic stands usually end up with not a single hero left standing. Held out longer than expected, but the end was the same anyway. The end’s always the same.’

  ‘Abyss below, Gesler,’ Strings said, ‘ain’t you a cheery one.’

  ‘Just being realistic, Fid. Damn, I wish Stormy was here, now it’s up to me to keep an eye on my squad.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cuttle said, ‘that’s what sergeants do.’

  ‘You suggesting Stormy should’ve been sergeant and me corporal?’