‘How do we know this is the right way?’ Pyke said, his voice low.
‘We don’t, okay?’ Yana growled. ‘So shut the Hood up.’
Once they entered the canyon-like street the light disappeared. Only a pale shifting glow from the fires in the city offered any details. Echoes of fierce fighting elsewhere came and went. Jogging down the street, Suth felt more exposed than if he were out on the savannah at night blindfolded. Despite the chaos the city seemed to be holding its breath.
‘Where is everyone?’ Pyke hissed. ‘This is stupid. We should all be together.’
‘Everyone just kinda took off,’ Wess said absently, chewing something, and he spat out a stream of brown.
Ahead, Goss stopped, raised a fist. The street dead-ended at a small courtyard. He gave a ‘turn round’ signal.
‘Shit,’ Wess mouthed, and he eased one of the two long-knives he carried.
‘I think—’
‘No one gives a shit what you think, okay, Pyke?’ Yana cut in. ‘Now be quiet. I’m trying to listen.’
‘Listen? Listen to what?’
Yana tilted her head. ‘Something …’
‘Form up!’ Goss bellowed.
Above, all round the square, windows crashed open. Arrow-fire raked the cobbles. The squad hunched, backs to each other, shields out. Goss kicked open a door only to have someone charge out and strike him in the chest with a woodsman’s axe.
It surprised Goss more than damaged him as he was wearing a heavy brigandine. He stabbed the man, pushed him aside, and then urged the squad to follow him in. A horde of Skolati burst from the surrounding doorways. The squad stabbed and thrust from behind their shields as they retreated into the building.
‘Lard, Yana, hold the door,’ Goss yelled.
‘Aye!’
While Lard jabbed, cursing, and Yana shield-bashed, Suth edged to a rear stairway. He watched Goss and Len crouch together in the middle of what were someone’s living quarters. ‘Can’t stay here,’ Len said and he picked up a pot and peered into it, sniffing.
Goss nodded heavily. ‘I know. I know. But there’s too damned many.’ He cocked his head, eyed Len speculatively. ‘You carrying?’
Len pursed his lips, considering, then nodded.
Goss stood. ‘Togg’s teats! Why didn’t you say so, dammit!’ He turned to where Lard and Yana hammered back with their shields, stabbing at those of the clamouring crowd who could push up to the door. He waved his disgust. ‘Clear the street.’
Len stood. ‘Keri! We’re on.’
Steps sounded on the stairs. Goss snapped his fingers at Suth, who was nearest. Suth charged up the stairway. He met a line of bearded men in boiled leather armour. The lead man swung a curved sword in a clumsy panicked arc. Suth let it pass then thrust straight through the man’s inner thigh. The fellow screamed and fell from the stairs into the room, where the rest finished him. The second leapt for Suth but he shifted sideways to let him fall past. The third swung for his head. He ducked, climbed higher and stabbed, severing the fellow’s ankle tendon. This one lost his footing and tumbled into Suth, who shrugged him off the stairs to fall and be finished.
‘Secure those rooms!’ Goss shouted.
‘Aye!’ Suth charged, shield high. He saw no one until he entered one room to find an open trapdoor, a ladder, and four Skolati soldiers. He charged. His shield-bash knocked three off balance. The fourth swung for his head, the blade cracking off his iron helmet, making his head ring and stars burst in his vision. He stabbed this one in the shoulder before spinning to put his back to a wall. They all closed at once, crowding one another. Suth trusted in his shield and concentrated on the one on his right. He parried a swing, sliding his shorter blade along the sword, and thrust low beneath the hauberk. The blade grated along the pelvis bone as it slid in.
Suth turned from that man without waiting to see him fall – the thrust had to be fatal. A blade skittered along the top of his shield; another hit his shoulder, numbing his shield-arm but not piercing the armour. Then the three were down and Len and Keri were there, long-knives bloodied.
‘That was stupid,’ Len told him, his voice low. ‘You tryin’ to win this war all by yourself? Next time you call for support, yes?’
Suth nodded, surprised to find his heart hammering, his throat parched and arms shaking. Keri was kneeling to clean her blade on the headscarf of one man; that casual gesture made Suth re-evaluate the woman.
Len cuffed his shoulder. ‘Now come with us.’
‘Yessir.’
They went to a room overlooking the street. Suth peered out. The street was jammed with Skolati citizens. Their screaming and cursing was an unintelligible roar. Soldiers fought to force their way through the mob, weapons held high. Len and Keri shrugged off their shoulder bags and knelt. They straightened, holding small dark green orbs in each hand.
Len used his elbow to nudge Suth back from the window. ‘Munitions!’ he yelled back towards the interior of the building.
‘Aye,’ came Goss’ answering shout.
Len leaned out to throw his, one to each side of the doorway, and ducked away from the window. Twin explosions shocked Suth, popping his ears and knocking him backwards. Dust streamed down from the roof. Keri leaned out, tossed her munitions farther, one after the other, and then went to one knee. Those eruptions echoed like hammer-strokes in the courtyard.
Len faced the interior, hands cupped to his mouth: ‘Clear!’ He scooped up his bag, grabbed Suth’s shoulder to propel him to the stairs. ‘Go!’
Downstairs the squad was formed up at the smoke-shrouded doorway, ready. ‘Go!’ Yana shouted, and they charged. Suth brought up the rear, covering Len and Keri. Outside he nearly tripped on men and women lying cut down on the street, or hobbling, soaked in blood from the countless minor slashing wounds of the munitions Keri called ‘sharpers’. A low moaning rose from countless wounded and dying. They escaped the courtyard, charged back up the way they’d come. After a few turns Keri shouted, pointing up a side alley, ‘This way!’
Goss signed a halt then came to her. ‘What is it?’
‘This should lead to a main way.’
Pyke waved his dismissal. ‘How would she know?’
‘Shut up,’ Suth told the man. Pyke glared his rage.
‘Okay.’ Goss pointed up the alley. ‘Let’s go.’
Suth kept to the rear behind the saboteurs. As they jogged along the narrow twisting way, he asked Keri, his voice low, ‘How do you know?’
She smiled, her teeth bright in the gloom. ‘Acoustics.’
‘What?’
‘Sounds. These sounds belong to a big space.’
All he could hear was the distorted clash and snarl of countless engagements all melded together into one rumbling as of a mid-night thunderstorm. He shook his head – he was not used to cities. Ahead the squad was crouched where the alley opened on to a broad, treed boulevard that appeared to lead up from the waterfront. In the moonlight and shifting yellow glow of fires Suth glimpsed citizens running across the way carrying bundled possessions in their arms. Len tapped him, pointed up the boulevard. A squad of Moranth Blue marines. Goss waved an advance. They jogged up to the Blues.
As they went someone straightened among the Moranth: the young Adjunct. He’d been kneeling to examine dark shapes that resolved into a number of fallen Malazan soldiers. Goss offered the Adjunct a very truncated salute that he answered with a nod.
A gasp from Dim brought Suth’s attention to the fallen. They looked strange, skeletal, flesh drawn in and wrinkled, pulled back from grinning teeth. It was as if they were desiccated.
‘What is it, sir?’ Goss asked.
‘Looks like magery.’
‘We were told to expect none.’
‘That’s true, Sergeant.’ The Adjunct’s gauntleted hand went to the bright ivory grip of his sword, as if the movement were an unconscious habit of his while thinking. ‘I’m told there’s only one kind here.’ He was gazing up the boulevard to a tall buildin
g, spired, its arched roof silver in the moonlight.
‘Shit,’ Keri murmured, aside.
‘What is it?’ Suth asked, low.
‘Their Hood-spawned local cult.’
‘You’re with me,’ the Adjunct told Goss. He signed to the Blue commander, who jerked a nod and waved to his marines. They spread out, advancing. Goss motioned for his squad to take the centre behind the Adjunct.
More Malazan dead littered the stairs leading up to the building’s open door. It looked as though a squad had come to investigate something and been cut down by magery. Not one corpse of a defender could be seen. The Adjunct drew his blade and entered first. Half the Blue squad followed, then Goss motioned his in, and the remaining Blues brought up the rear. Within, braziers on tripods and lamps hanging from the distant ceiling lit a broad open chamber. Pillars ran in double rows along a centre aisle. Some sort of bright ornament, shaped like a starburst, hung on the far wall. Dark tapestries hinted at scenes of storm-racked waters and a woman in white flowing robes.
Four men stepped out from behind pillars to meet the Adjunct. They wore long priestly robes, were bearded, and carried stout staves. ‘You are a fool to have entered here,’ said one.
‘Surrender, and you can keep your religion,’ the Adjunct answered.
‘Fool! You cannot take our faith! The Lady is with us now. All those who dare to invade are doomed.’
The four struck their staves to the polished stone floor. Suth felt something strike him like a hand at his chest, or a gust of wind. Blue marines on either side clutched at their throats and helms, gagging. They fell to their knees. All those near the Adjunct, including Goss’s squad, remained standing. The four priests gaped at them, astonished. It might have been a trick of the uncertain light but the young Adjunct’s blade seemed to shine more brightly then. The Adjunct stepped up and swung. The priest raised his stave and the sword sliced right through the iron-braced dark wood. The priest staggered back, then his eyes blazed with an inner light and his lips twisted back from his teeth. ‘I see you now,’ he grated, his voice changed, somehow torn from his throat. ‘The Bitch Queen would send her soldier. But it will take more than you. I will drink your heart-blood.’
The Adjunct swung again and the man’s head spun from his neck. At that the spell seemed to shatter and everyone charged, cutting down the priests in a frenzy of loathing. They hacked the corpses long after they’d fallen, then Suth crossed to where the Adjunct was on his haunches, his blunt tribesman features drawn down in a frown. The youth was examining the decapitated corpse. Not one drop of blood could be seen pooled at the severed neck. Suth’s heart lurched in his chest and his gorge rose sour in his mouth. He turned away, staggered outside the temple to suck deep the warm smoke-tinged air. Wess emerged, clapped him on the back. ‘Fucking butcher’s work, hey? Not proper soldiering.’
‘You’ve – seen – things like that before?’
He gave a curt nod. ‘Yeah. There’s nothing you can do. Either it gets you or you get it.’
Suth drew in a deep breath. Distant fighting still rumbled from the waterfront. ‘What now?’
‘What now?’ Wess adjusted his helmet. ‘Now the real fighting starts. We’re headed to one of the gate towers!’ and he laughed, spitting.
Goss came out, followed by the rest of the squad. ‘Form up. We’re for the east gate. Double-time.’
The Adjunct emerged as well. The remaining Blue marines took up positions around him. He signed to Goss, who shouted, ‘Move out!’
It was long past mid-night when Rillish’s two captured Marese galleys, one rammed and listing, limped down the coast. He was certain they must be the last vessels and would arrive too late for the assault. That they still floated at all was enough, of course, but still, he was disappointed.
A Skolati merchant caravel, fat and slow, crossed ahead of them, bows to the south. The Skolati were not alarmed; for all they knew they were crippled Marese struggling home. Rillish was willing to let them go. It had been a night of alarms and excursions, flight and chase, and they were all exhausted. A figure walked to the stern of the distant cargo vessel, set a foot on the low rail to peer back at them. He was armoured, and the orange pre-dawn light caught at bright silver filigree adorning his cuirass and headgear, and tracing the longsword sheath.
Rillish’s breath caught in his throat. Burn deliver them! He ran back to the sailing master. ‘Take that ship!’
The man blinked sleepily. ‘What?’
‘Come aside of it! Take it! Now!’
The sailing master squinted at the vessel. ‘It isn’t even a warship!’
‘Do it!’ Rillish gripped his sword. ‘Or I’ll force you.’
The man scowled behind his beard. ‘Very well!’ He leaned on the tiller arm and the galley began to heave to. Rillish faced the crowded vessel and shouted: ‘Row! Row now with all your strength! One last charge!’
The troopers groaned, protesting, but the galley picked up speed. The Malazan sailors with them adjusted the sail to cut closer to the weak wind. Rillish watched for a time then turned on the sailing master. ‘We’re barely gaining. Can’t you do more?’
‘Your soldiers row like retards. They are not in time. It takes years of training. Still,’ and he shrugged, ‘we are gaining.’
Rillish shaded his gaze to look behind. The other captured galley was following, but at a great distance. The sailing master saw his gaze. ‘He is cursing you very much right now, I think.’
‘Yes. I expect so.’
He found Captain Peles at the bows. She eyed him, puzzled. ‘A prize of war, Fist?’
‘A hunch. We’re going to board. Do not charge ahead. Form a line, shields out. Yes?’
She saluted. ‘As you order, sir.’
‘Very good.’
Their progress was agonizing. A pale pre-dawn glow gathered to the east. Arrow-fire flew from the cargo ship but it was thin and uninspired. As they drew aside, Rillish saw that he’d been right. Three men in dark armour, silver-detailed, awaited them at mid-deck. Three Korelri Chosen – veterans of the wall. He was glad to have more than a hundred heavy infantry backing him up.
Eventually, the sailing master was content with their relative positions and the bow of the galley swung over towards the bow of the cargo vessel, cutting it off. ‘Toss grapnels,’ he called. ‘Ship oars!’
Marines threw the pronged iron grapnels, heaved on the ropes. The vessels swung together. Oars that were slow to be drawn were snapped. Their ends swung, hammering troopers flat.
‘Board!’ Rillish yelled, stepping up on to the railing and leaping. The troopers followed, shields at their backs. Rillish fell, rolling, then jumped up to retreat to the infantry now lining the ship’s side. The sailors of the cargo vessel stood empty-handed, surrendering. The three armoured men calmly faced them alone, weapons undrawn. ‘Ready shields,’ Rillish ordered. The troopers complied, forming line. He drew his duelling swords, pointed to one of the Korelri Stormguard. ‘Surrender and you will be spared.’
‘Do you know who we are?’ the man asked from behind the narrow slit of his chased blue-black helm.
‘Yes. I know.’
‘Then you know our answer.’
‘Yes.’
‘We cannot allow you to boast of our defeat, invader. You will not have our swords or armour to spit upon as spoils of war. It would be an insult to Our Lady. That cannot be permitted. And so—’
Rillish took a breath to shout, lurched forward. ‘NO!’
The three turned and vaulted over the side. Rillish threw himself to the rail, staring down. Three dark shapes sinking from sight, blades drawn, glinting in the slanting light, held upright before their helms. Gods! It was inconceivable. Such fervour. Such dedication. Such waste. He found tears starting from his eyes and he turned away.
Captain Peles was there, peering down, troubled. ‘So those were Korelri, yes?’
Rillish cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice thick.
‘And we a
re to invade their lands?’
Rillish almost laughed at the thought. ‘Yes.’
The woman said nothing; her sceptical look was enough.
‘Captives, sir!’ A trooper ran up, saluted. ‘The cargo – human captives. Hundreds jammed in down there.’
Rillish answered the salute. ‘Thank you, soldier.’
‘Slaves?’ Peles said, surprised. ‘They are slavers?’
‘Of a kind, Captain. Bodies. Hundreds of bodies destined for the wall. Warm bodies to man it and defend it against the Stormriders.’ Rillish could see that the woman was shaken. ‘We’ll sail the vessel for Aamil. We’ll free them there – if we have the port. Have the master send over what sailors he can spare.’
Captain Peles saluted. ‘Aye, sir.’
Just after the sun cleared the horizon Rillish’s captured Skolati vessel bumped up against the stone pier at Aamil in one of the last available berths. Malazan sailors threw down ropes. The mage of Ruse, Devaleth, was there waiting to greet him. After last orders to the ship’s master, he went to the gangway and found Captain Peles there with a detachment of Malazan heavies. ‘No need, Captain.’
‘Every need, sir.’ She saluted. ‘You are an Imperial Fist. You should be treated as such.’
Rillish answered the salute, nodded his exhausted acquiescence. ‘Very well, Captain.’ He climbed the gangway to bow to Devaleth, who gave wry, but pleased, acknowledgement.
‘Good to see you made it,’ he said.
‘And you.’ She gestured up the pier. ‘This way.’
She led him to a tall thick gateway. Peles followed with his guard. The detritus of war was piled high here and teams came and went, still pulling bodies from the heaped wreckage and carting them off to be buried or burned. Rillish was surprised that the broad stone archway was still intact. As they walked beneath it, the stones marred by dark stains, Rillish observed, ‘Why didn’t the Blues just blow the gate?’
Devaleth walked with her hands clasped at her back. She was frowning at the ground, her face drawn, her eyes bruised. ‘Yes, why not? They’ve burned and blown up everything else.’
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) Page 146
