The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire)

by Ian C. Esslemont

  He stood, groaning and stretching, and kicked May’s sandalled foot. The slight woman sprang up into a fighter’s crouch, a belt-knife in her hand. More than just beat on by her da, most likely. He waved for her to follow him. She picked up her padded gambeson and weapons to follow.

  ‘Finally worked up the guts to run off?’ she said as they crossed the encampment.

  ‘Kept us all alive so far,’ he answered from the side of his mouth.

  ‘Well, I haven’t decided whether we’d all be better off with or without you, frankly.’

  ‘Well, you’re corporal, so you are officially now part of the problem.’

  ‘Thank you so much.’

  They came to a crowd of officers and noncoms – a general briefing for Braven Tooth’s command, now 7th Battalion. Nait pushed his way into the circle. He searched for familiar faces – saw Least and Lim Tal, and Heuk with two very nervous-looking old gaffers he presumed to be the sum total of the company’s mage cadre. Poor bastards – soon to be smeared by the Guard Avowed.

  Braven Tooth, his hair a black and curly tangle standing in all directions, was talking: ‘So, a new kind a battle so a new strategy. Truth is, it’s an old strategy – one we used to use when confronting mage-heavy enemies. Been a while since we faced such so it must seem new to everyone here.’ He cracked his hairy knuckles, scanned their faces. ‘Main order of battle is this: no concentrations of forces! Any big mass is an invitation to the mages. Stay broke up in small units, companies and squads ideally. Circle yourselves, watch all directions. Keep any eye on the flow of the field – move towards any strong resistance to blunt it – but don’t bunch up! Wait your turn!’

  ‘What’s to stop them from overwhelming, encircling?’ one officer asked.

  ‘Because we’ll be moving within the screen of our own skirmishers tryin’ to do the exact same thing to them, only we’ll succeed! That’s why, right? OK. Now, the Guard veterans will be doing the same – moving in small units, their “Blades”. The new recruits they’ll probably have form line and flanking phalanx. OK?’

  ‘What about the Kanese in the south? They helpin’?’ asked another officer Nait didn’t know. In fact Nait knew none of them, only his own, Tinsmith, who was keepin’ quiet and not asking any damn-fool questions that Braven Tooth would be getting to answering anyway, in good time.

  ‘Right, the Kanese,’ said Braven Tooth with a look that said the same thing Nait was thinking. ‘If we can be said to have an objective – that’s it. We want that bridge! There’s twenty thousand Kanese infantry on the other side just wettin’ themselves to prove how loyal they are to the Empress. We want to let them through and the Guard wants to stop us. Simple as that. All right? OK.’ The commander adjusted the soft leather shirt that served as an armour under-layer, crossed his arms tucking his hands up under his armpits. ‘Dismissed! Except for you saboteur sergeants. Want a word with you.’

  Nait waited for the crowd to thin. Lieutenants and captains passing gave him a nod of approval – some a shake of their heads – in acknowledgement of last night’s action. Apparently, word going around was that he’d snuck out with his men to try to ambush Ryllandaras. Come on! How could anyone be so stupid?

  Not that he was gonna disabuse them.

  Least passed, cuffed his shoulder in a gesture of consolation; Nait was surprised and touched – he didn’t think his past behaviour warranted anything like that. It must have been damned ugly in that phalanx.

  Braven Tooth cast a gimlet eye over the slouching, grimed, disreputable assortment left behind. Nait knew none of them. One greasy fellow was slumped under a dirt-smeared wool cloak; a fat Dal Hon wore a rusted iron pot helmet and a shirt of rent mail that was nothing more than a ragged patchwork of wire, leather ties and cloth knots. The last was a swarthy, skinny woman who had the look of a constipated stork.

  ‘Introductions, I suppose,’ Braven Tooth rumbled. He waved to the fellow in the cloak, ‘Gant,’ the Dal Hon, ‘Bowl,’ the woman, ‘Urfa. This here’s Sergeant Jumpy.’

  ‘So you’re the guy,’ Urfa said, studying him like he was something she’d found growing inside a damp felt boot.

  ‘The guy who what?’

  ‘Stupid enough to go after Ryllandaras.’

  ‘I ain’t that stupid.’

  She nodded, squinting cross-eyed. ‘Good. I hoped you weren’t.’

  ‘Naw,’ Gant opined, leaning back. ‘You was just out hunting dropped munitions, weren’t cha? An’ Ryllandaras jumped ya…’ and he winked.

  ‘Yeah. Something like that.’

  Bowl’s bulging eyes narrowed to slits. ‘How many did you find…?’

  ‘All right,’ Braven Tooth cut in. ‘You’ll all get your fair share. But I have to warn you – the Gold keep most of it. They know it best. Now, as to you sorry-assed excuses. We’re short on mages – that’s no secret – so you’re going hunting. That’s your assignment and the assignment of the saboteur squads in all the other companies. You keep your heads down and wait for an Avowed to show him- or herself then you let them have it. You got it?’

  Nods all around. A chorus of slovenly ‘Ayes’.

  Braven Tooth scowled his disappointment from under his matted tangled brows. ‘All right. Dismissed – all except you, Jumpy. A word.’

  The other saboteur sergeants sauntered off, Gant offering a mocking laugh to Nait. Braven Tooth waved him close. ‘Met someone out there, did you?’ he said, his voice low. So close was the man Nait flinched back – he stank of rancid animal fat, old sweat and stale beer. Gods! Has he never washed?

  ‘Yeah. Met the master sergeant, Temp.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, right?’

  ‘That’s what no one out there told me.’

  ‘Good…Now, what was he doin’?’

  ‘He met up with some old Seti veteran he knew from before.’

  Braven Tooth’s bhederin-like brows climbed his blunt forehead to his greasy tangled mane. ‘This Seti,’ he rumbled, his voice oddly faint, ‘what did he call him?’

  ‘Called him his “sword-brother”.’

  The commander stepped backwards as if reeling. ‘Hood’s bony prang!’ he breathed, awed. ‘Two! Two of Dassem’s old bodyguard here with us now! The Avowed have no idea what they’re facin’.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Nait asked.

  The man’s faced clouded over. ‘Nothin’. You saw nothin’– heard nothin’. Clear?’

  Nait shrugged his indifference. ‘Fine. Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah. You’ve got munitions. They’re all supposed to be handed in for distribution. Return ’em.’

  ‘I’ll return half.’

  ‘Half!’

  ‘Deal?’

  Nait swore he could hear his commander’s teeth splintering and grinding. ‘Deal,’ Braven Tooth spat. ‘Now get outta my sight before I throw you in the brig.’

  Nait saluted and sauntered away. Out on the compound grounds May edged up and said aside: ‘I’m comin’ around to thinking maybe you’re not so bad for the unit after all.’

  ‘All this lovin’s making me just dippy,’ Nait grumbled. ‘Now let’s take a look to the south.’

  They climbed the south palisade wall. Far out of sight beyond the gently rolling hills the Guard were deploying. Within the compound horns blared to sound formation. Laseen’s combined forces, the remaining Talian, Moranth and Falaran soldiery all now serving beneath the Imperial sceptre, were gathering to march south.

  ‘All open ground,’ Nait said, thinking aloud. He stroked a thumb across his lips. ‘Lousy for us.’

  ‘At least they got no cavalry to speak of,’ said May.

  ‘Who does? Horses are as rare as gold these days.’

  ‘So won’t be much manoeuvring, then, maybe.’

  ‘No. Toe-to-toe. It’ll be ugly. Nothin’s gonna be held back today. Say – remember that siege equipment in the train? Take a few of the lads and get a hold of one of those stone arbalests. Biggest you can find. Break it down if you have to. I want to b
e able to reach anywhere on that field.’

  May’s thin lips crept upwards at the images that came to mind. She tilted her head in agreement. ‘Aye, Sarge.’

  Silk had settled Storo in a better-class inn. That dawn Hurl paced the hall outside the door. She was leaving, nominally commanding a Hengan detachment of volunteers to join the Empress’s forces to the east. It seemed probable to her that she’d never return so now was her only chance to say goodbye. Still, she could not bring herself to enter. It had been days and all this time she hadn’t yet come to see the man. Now maybe it was just too late…

  ‘C’mon in, Hurl,’ he called through the door. She froze, cursed the noisy floorboards. She opened the door. He lay on the bed. An open window let in the early morning light and air. She stood in the entrance. He waved her in. ‘C’mon, I don’t smell so bad now.’

  She didn’t want to and didn’t mean to but she flushed, embarrassed. She came and sat at the end of his bed. The man’s face was torn, a great ragged zig-zag that had taken an eye, cheek and edge of his mouth – he now spoke with a slur. That side’s arm was gone as well, amputated. An abdominal wound was covered by the sheets. ‘I hear you’re headin’ out. Wish you wouldn’t. The Seti will probably attack – it’s their last chance.’

  ‘Rell’s staying, and Silk and Liss. And the city’s full behind us now. You have full cohorts and Captain Gurjan. More than enough men and women for the walls.’

  ‘Still don’t like it.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. Got a good sergeant in Banath.’

  ‘You won’t be safe. You’re safe here in the city. And you’re takin’ those three. I don’t trust them.’

  ‘Can’t say I like them myself but they fought for the city and Silk agrees Laseen’s short on mages – these three could make a real difference.’

  He took a laboured breath – was this tiring him? He was weaker than she thought. ‘Still don’t trust ’em. Why go? Why’re they all so eager to go?’

  ‘I don’t know. But they are. So we’re going. Now take care – heal up.’ She stood.

  He struggled to straighten himself higher. She came and gently eased him back. ‘What…?’

  ‘Come back. Y’hear? Come back. I don’t want…this fight to take you.’

  ‘All right. I’ll keep my head down. Now, we’ll see you later.’

  His hand on the sheet rose to her, opened, fell away. ‘Yeah. Be careful out there. Real careful.’

  ‘I will.’ She backed away, closed the door. Pressing her back to it, she considered the very real possibility that they were both of them damned cowards.

  Outside, her escort of twenty waited; she was, after all, second in command of the city. They rode to the Gate of the Dawn where six hundred cavalry were assembling in a double column. The call had gone out some time ago and, with Rell’s very vocal support, six hundred viable mounts had been selected from the city’s remaining horses. Many were on their last legs, hardly better than swaybacked nags. But they would do for a day’s ride on a good road. At the gate, a sliver of dawn’s light still slanting through, Hurl pulled up short. There waited the three brothers, but also Rell and Liss, both mounted. Near them stood Silk, his arms crossed over his still unmended tattered shirt, and Sunny, his glower even more sour than usual.

  ‘What’s this?’ Hurl asked of Rell.

  ‘We’re coming,’ said Liss.

  ‘I asked them not to,’ Silk cut in.

  ‘You shouldn’t. The city—’

  ‘He won’t come here this night,’ Rell said from behind his visor, his voice still harsh and distorted from his scarring. ‘We know where he’s going to be.’

  Hurl nodded. True, from all she’d heard there was no way the monster could resist all the blood about to be spilled. Obviously Rell and Liss wanted to be there when he came. So be it. At this point, with so few, she wouldn’t turn anyone away. She raised her shoulders to Silk who hugged himself tighter, frowning his helpless disapproval.

  Sunny came to her side. ‘I ought to be the one goin’,’ he growled.

  ‘One of us has to stay and I seem to be the field commander.’

  ‘You weren’t such a week ago.’

  ‘No, but somehow suddenly I am. Keep any eye on the north wall.’

  His sneer told her not to tell him his job. She signed to Sergeant Banath who raised himself in his stirrups, waving. The banner-men dipped their colours forward and the column slowly made its way out of the east-facing Gate of the Dawn. Hurl raised a hand in farewell. The mage bowed, arms tight about himself, a strained smile of encouragement at his lips. Sunny raised a fist.

  Lieutenant-commander Ullen’s brigades had already marched, but he rode with his aides to the battlefield where a detail was piling corpses for burning. The bonfire nearest the compound contained wounded who had succumbed since the engagement. And among these was the body of Commander Choss, once High Fist under Laseen.

  Ullen reined in, crossed his mail-backed hands before him on the pommel of his saddle. Such a damned waste. So much knowledge, cunning and experience gone now just when it was needed so vitally. The Empire was marching to face its oldest – possibly its most dangerous – foe and it had lost one of its most gifted commanders of men in what now seemed to him useless internal squabbling. Nothing like an external foe to put things into perspective, hey, Choss? He’d probably appreciate the irony.

  An aide’s mount nickered in what Ullen hoped was inadvertent impatience. To these youths just beginning their officer training this man was nothing more than a name, a last remnant of legendary times as distant to them as the T’lan Imass. What did they know of campaigns more than twenty years old – before some were even born? But Ullen had been there. He’d been younger than they on his first posting, just a messenger attached to Choss’s staff during the final conquests.

  To one side two soldiers stood up from where they’d been sitting in the grass and pulled on their helmets. Come to offer their own respects no doubt – old-looking veterans – men whose memories go back even further with Choss, perhaps back to the earliest campaigns. The urge to speak with them washed over Ullen, to share memories of the man they’d come to see off, but they didn’t seemed eager for company and so he had to respect that. Still, watching them go, there was something familiar about seeing the two of them together. Perhaps they’d crossed paths more than once over the years.

  One of his staff cleared his throat and Ullen tightened his lips, exhaling. The smoke from all the burning was thick and he had to fight his own urge to cough. Goodbye, old friend and mentor. You deserved better. But then, so may we all. He clicked his tongue to urge his mount onward and pulled the reins aside.

  They rode alongside the main line of march south, passing first the laden wagons of the train and the camp-followers on foot, a ragged mob of the combined Talian and Malazan noncombatants. Wives with children in tow waved, as did girlfriends and prostitutes, even husbands of some female officers who held down a trade, smithing or leatherworking, or cooking. Then came the rear guard and the Empress’s personal train surrounded by its own guard of Malazan heavies and troops of noble cavalry. Securely ensconced within rolled the Imperial carriage, pulled by a team of eight oxen. Idly, Ullen wondered whether Laseen was even in the damned thing and whether it was all just for show. What little he knew of her made him suspect such to be the case. After this they came to the columns of the reserve elements; here was to be Ullen’s assignment, coordinating with High Fist Anand. But he was curious to see the grounds ahead and so continued on. Crossing the east-west trader road they next came upon elements of the main body, spreading out, forming up. Ahead, the ground sloped gently downward. Here awaited the Guard, straddling the south pilgrim road. Beyond, the slope continued on to meet the cliffs of the Idryn River valley.

  The mercenaries had deployed themselves in a broad arc, widely spread, with large phalanxes holding their extreme flanks. Clearly they were inviting a thrust down the middle. The Avowed appeared supremely confident in their c
apability to blunt and pin down any advance. Ullen was inclined not to doubt them. He cast a glance to the sun – close to noon and the day was humid, fast heating up. Not a good day for any long-drawn-out struggle. To the east rose the enormous eroded butte upon which the ruins of the Great Sanctuary of Burn could just be made out. Idly, he wondered whether the Guard intended it as a retreat and rallying point – but they did not seem the type to set contingencies for defeat.

  The Imperial skirmishers, the Untan Militia, call them what you like – the murderous midges, his own heavies named them – had already spread out over the hillsides of tall sun-browned grass. Ground-nesting birds took flight, disturbed by their movement. Stooping down, many of the crossbowmen disappeared entirely from sight and Ullen had to smile: yes, good cover, but it won’t last. The Guard’s mages will burn it away. He’d seen it before. Unlike most here he’d witnessed full-scale mage clashes where Warren battled Warren and swaths of ground and men were churned under. He’d been there when the Falaran island capitals fell and his stomach clenched in dread of what was to come. Still, he consoled himself with the knowledge that such a full-on field engagement was not to the Guard’s style; they never were a stand-alone force. More an attachment to any main army, a special service good for narrow, specific objectives or duties. He hoped this less than ideal position would help even the odds.

  Lead elements of Malazan, Talian and Falaran infantry spread themselves out. They had already broken down into units of just one or two or three companies. They pushed their way through the irregulars like ships through a heaving sea. Many of the units had organized themselves with hollow centres – a good strategy when facing battle-mages. Urko was down there somewhere on the west flank with his Talians, V’thell on the east with the Gold. He studied the distant Crimson Guard formations: they too followed such dispersal, mixed with lines. Yet the Guard must know that Laseen was weak in mages. The Claws remain! Don’t forget them! Simply because she elected to spare the League officers such culling doesn’t mean that her forbearance would extend to the Guard. No, on the contrary, the Avowed will no doubt find themselves swamped. And thinking of that Ullen suddenly knew why not one Claw had assaulted him or any other League officer. She needed them for this! All this time! She’d been planning even for this!