‘Who does?’
‘All of them.’
‘Orchid,’ Corien warned gently from across the room.
‘What? Oh.’
A light kick woke Antsy and he blinked, squinting in the bluish mage-light. It was Corien. The lad waved him up. One of the mercenaries was there; the man gestured him out. After pulling together his gear Antsy followed. Something about the mercenaries struck him then as he walked: they were all damned big fellows, wide and tall, unusually so. And they all had the same broad heavy faces, as if they were related by blood.
The blond man, Cull, motioned to the chiselled-out gap. ‘Good, yes?’
‘Let’s have a look.’ Antsy lay on his stomach to measure the space. Still too tight for his cusser. He pushed himself up to his knees. ‘A touch more yet.’ He reached for the hammer.
‘No, no. We do more. You watch.’
‘It’s all right. I should …’
Cull held up a bloodied hand. ‘No. You need your fingers to get us out, yes? We do this.’
Hunh. How do you like that? He peered around at all the sweaty glistening faces watching from the dark walkways and portals: the tall woman, Seris; the old mage, Hemper; Hesta and Ogule. Typical. They want out but don’t even consider lending a hand. Privileged shits. And as for the Malazans, well, at least they were standing guard down the hall.
While Antsy was crouched, watching the chiselling, Orchid emerged from the dark to come to his side. ‘You should see this,’ she said, sounding unusually subdued.
‘We’re close here, Orchid.’
‘It’ll only take a moment.’
He saw the wonder on her face and grunted. ‘All right. But quick.’
‘This way.’
She led him up an unlit side passage; his mage-sight allowed him to see here away from the lanterns in the main chamber. Through doorways and a short set of stairs down she brought him into another large cavern, this one low-ceilinged and filled with undecorated stone pillars. Crystals glistened on the uneven black rock walls and from where he stood he could see a sort of natural set of terraces descending into the distance. Dirt lay under his feet along with brown withered plant stalks. ‘What’s this?’ he breathed, sharing Orchid’s wonder.
A figure emerged from the gloom: Malakai. He carried a bunch of stalks gathered up in one hand like a bouquet. He sat on the ledge of one of the low terraces, which Antsy now recognized as a kind of planting bed. ‘A garden,’ the man said, inspecting the dead stalks.
Antsy stared, amazed. ‘Not …’
‘Yes,’ Orchid whispered, awed. ‘The legends were true. A garden.’
‘There were flowers here that scholars tell had never seen the sun,’ Malakai said, and he shook his head. ‘Imagine what a single such blossom would have brought. All dead now. This is what Apsalar sought when she came to the Spawn so long ago. The Lady of Thieves came to steal a rose. A black rose. One that poets claimed had been touched by the tears of Mother Dark herself.’ Shrugging, he let the handful of chaff fall. ‘And I sought to best her. To succeed where she had failed.’ He motioned to encompass the wrecked cavern, the spilled soil and overturned beds. ‘So much for my ambitions.’
Antsy kicked at the black dirt underfoot. ‘We still need to get out, Malakai. You can lend a hand.’
The man drew a heavy breath. ‘Yes. Well … we shall see.’
Antsy motioned to Orchid. ‘I have to go,’ he said, low.
She nodded and waved him out.
Back in the main chamber the chiselling had stopped. On the way to the throne room doors Antsy heard ominous popping and cracking that reverberated up through the stone beneath his feet. Time’s runnin’ out, I swear.
The mercenaries were all crouched inspecting the pocket they’d worked. They were arguing. The blond man, Cull, was cuffing the other two and shouting them down. Antsy picked up his pace.
‘What’s this?’
‘Ah, Malazan. I tell these fools no more. We wait for you.’
Antsy pushed through them – a hard task in that each seemed as solid and immobile as the rock itself – he studied the gap beneath the stone doors. ‘Looks good. Let’s try the fit.’ He swung his pannier forward.
The three mercenaries backed away. Antsy took a moment to study them. ‘Who are you anyway? What do I call you?’
Cull thumped his broad armoured chest. ‘We are the Heels!’
Antsy just stared. Right. The Heels. Okay … He waved them off and returned his attention to the pocket. The fit was too wide in places and too tight in one spot. A last few touches of the chisel fixed that. Stone chips helped keep the cusser in place, then Antsy pulled out a stone of rough unpolished granite. With this he started to abrade the keratin shell of the cusser as close to the top of it as he could reach.
Fiddler and Hedge had perfected this technique – skimming. They used it to time charges. Problem was, he’d never actually had call to do it himself. But they’d all talked it over pretty thoroughly. All the squad saboteurs. Come to think of it – none of them had ever done it themselves neither!
Shit.
He pulled away the granite grinding stone. Well then, he decided. Maybe that’s good enough. Lying on his stomach he turned back to the chamber, yelled: ‘Seris! Get your people ready!’
The tall woman emerged from the gloom. ‘Now? You are prepared?’
‘Yes.’ And he shouted louder. ‘Munitions! Ware!’
He pulled out a small hard case, opened it. Inside rested a glass tube. This he unstoppered, and, reaching awkwardly under the lip of the door’s bottom, let three drops fall into the scar he’d scraped into the shell of the munition.
He pushed himself away as quickly as he could and ran. Across the chamber he spotted Orchid and Corien behind a thick pillar and joined them.
‘How long?’ Corien whispered.
‘Don’t know. Shouldn’t be too—’
The entire structure juddered around them, groaning and snapping in an agony of tortured rock. A stone arch burst overhead sending shards pattering down. The Spawn began to tilt. Equipment, rubbish and broken rubble slid across the floor. Antsy grabbed hold of the pillar together with Orchid and Corien.
He watched, horrified, as something came tumbling out from the tilting threshold before the doors and rolled down the shallow stairs. The cusser. Sweet Soliel, no!
Even as he stared it bounced once, twice, three times, then slid down the polished smooth stone floor to disappear into the great yawning hole in the middle of the chamber.
Hood’s laughter!
Everyone was screaming and shouting and cursing. A piece of what looked like expensive travelling baggage came sliding out of the darkness to follow the cusser down the well. An old man yelled his despair.
Then the stone of the Spawn kicked Antsy. At least that’s what it felt like. The floor jerked, punishing his ankles and knees. A great gust of air came shooting from the well. It stank of the acrid smoke of expended munitions and was heavy with water vapour.
Ponderously, among bursting and grinding complaints of stone, the Spawn began to tilt back in the opposite direction, righting itself. The old woman, Hesta, came staggering out of the dark. Her ribbons and hair had gone, revealing a wrinkled bald scalp. With her pale head and scrawny body she more than ever resembled a vulture.
‘You fool!’ she shrieked, pointing. ‘You’ve killed us all!’ Wordless with fury, she threw her hands up and howled in a cracking, hoarse voice. Then she swung those hands down to Antsy. ‘Die!’
A wall of blindingly bright flame came billowing and churning across the chamber for him.
A stupid Damn was all he managed as he stood there fully expecting to die.
A hand grasped him by the neck of his leather hauberk and yanked him backwards.
Antsy found himself lying in darkness. Gradually his mage-sight gathered itself and he saw that he was in an entirely different room. This one was long, low-roofed, and contained stone sarcophagi. Sitting on one of those stone coff
ins was a familiar figure eyeing him and scowling his disapproval. Mallet.
Antsy carefully stood and dusted himself off. He nodded to Mallet. ‘Thanks.’
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ the dead squad healer said.
‘That’s what Ferret said.’
‘You should’ve listened to him.’
‘Nobody ever listened to Ferret.’
Mallet nodded. ‘That’s what I said.’
Antsy walked the room, peered at the sarcophagi lined up in double rows. As if marshalled at attention. ‘So this is it, hey?’
The big man shrugged his meaty shoulders – and he was big, just not tall. Squat and solid enough to swing that heavy two-handed weapon of his. ‘Yeah. Last resting place.’
‘I was worried, you know … what with all this, maybe someone had gotten in …’
The healer’s voice was sharp: ‘Think we’d allow that?’
Antsy raised his hands. ‘Hey – you’re dead, right?’
Mallet ran a hand along the dust-laden top of one stone slab. ‘And you ain’t Antsy. Which is our point. You’re retired. Go back to … wherever it is. Don’t go looking for trouble no more.’
The Spawn rocked about them, stone grinding and moaning. Dust sifted down through the still air of the burial chamber. Antsy snorted, gesturing. ‘Looks like I might as well stay. I’m dead anyway.’
Mallet shook his head. ‘No you aren’t.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says us. And we can see these things now. Whose end is near. Whose isn’t. We decide. And you know what? None of us ever liked you, Antsy – so you’re just gonna have to kick around for quite a while yet.’
Antsy fell on to one of the sarcophagi as the Spawn rocked around him. ‘What?’
‘You heard me. All that moanin’ all the time about how we’re all gonna die and Hood will get us all in the end. Well, look at you and look at us. You was no fun alive – imagine how you’ll be dead! We’ve about had it, I tell you.’
Antsy straightened to hold his legs wide against the pitching while he cursed under his breath. ‘Fine! To think I was worried ’bout you. You can all rot! Get me outta here.’
‘Done!’ and Mallet gave a backhanded wave. The darkness closed about Antsy and he was gone.
A moment later another figure walked up behind Mallet; this one taller, bearded, wearing a helmet with wide cheek-guards. ‘Think he bought all that?’ he asked.
‘I dunno. I think so. I mixed it up with half-truths. Never could stand his groaning. A bucket of cold water he was all the time.’
‘And none of us had any faults,’ the figure murmured. He waved a goodbye, like a blessing. ‘Go live, Antsy. Sour doomsayer that you are. Sometimes the only thing that gives me grace is the knowledge that some of us are still out there.’
‘We’re going where none will disturb us now,’ Mallet observed.
‘Four fathoms down we will rest.’
Antsy stepped out of darkness into pandemonium. From all sides about the great chamber, from portals, halls and doors, the ragged army of Torbal Loat was pushing in against a cordon of Malazans aided by the foreign mercenaries, Corien, and a few others. Behind Loat’s robber army pressed a further horde of surviving Spawn looters. Even as Antsy watched, more kept arriving to throw their weight against the marines. Crossbows fired indiscriminately. Tossed furniture flew back and forth.
Orchid appeared to take his arm. ‘We thought you were dead!’ she shouted.
‘I ducked.’
‘We’re sinking! Everyone’s gone berserk.’
‘I don’t blame them.’
‘Malazan,’ a strong voice called from the dark.
Antsy glanced over, seeing nothing, but Orchid’s breath caught. ‘Morn.’ She pulled and Antsy allowed himself to be dragged along.
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded.
‘These are powerful mages. I am but a reflection of a shadow. I dare not show myself yet.’
‘Where is the Gap?’ Orchid demanded.
‘It’s too late for that now. The Gap is submerged. The waters are rising.’
‘Then we’re lost!’
‘No. There is a way out but only you, Orchid, can open it. As the last of the blood here in these halls you are the mistress of the Spawn. Those doors will open for you.’
‘What?’
Antsy’s gaze slitted his suspicion. ‘You mean all along … Then why …’
‘All alternatives had to be exhausted, Malazan. Now they will listen to Orchid. And within, child, the only exit is through Night Imperishable. And only you can open the Path.’
Antsy took hold of Orchid’s arm. ‘Fine. Let’s go. Our thanks, shade. And by the way, my charge … would it have worked?’
The figure of dark shook its hooded head.
Antsy pulled Orchid after him. ‘Yeah, well. That’s what you think,’ he muttered as he marched away.
The cordon was shrinking, giving ground before the hundreds pushing in upon it. It looked as though the last stand would take place before the great tall doors of black stone themselves, where the mages had gathered together on the raised steps. With the elegant fellow, Bauchelain, was an ugly squat man, pale and bloated, an idiotic grin on his face. And behind them hunched an old man loaded with baggage – well, perhaps not so old, just looking extremely careworn.
Antsy caught the eye of one of the foreign lads, the Heels, who waved and pushed forward, tossing people from his path to make way for them. Antsy squeezed through with Orchid, nodded his thanks, then ran for the doors.
‘You!’ snarled Hesta, her wig askew.
‘Another time, perhaps,’ her companion, Ogule, murmured. He pointed, and a swath of desperate Spawn fortune-hunters clutched at their throats, gurgling and flailing.
‘Not quite the outcome I foresaw,’ Seris shouted to Antsy over the clash of battle.
‘Let Orchid here try,’ he called to her.
She shook her head. ‘We’ve all tried. Not even those two could manage.’ She gestured to Bauchelain and his obese companion.
‘What’s to lose?’ He helped Orchid forward.
Though obviously sceptical Seris still helped make room before the doors. Orchid turned to Antsy. ‘What do I—’
‘Just push,’ he told her impatiently.
‘Fine!’ Piqued, she threw her weight against the doors.
They swung open smoothly and silently. The gang of mages, mercenaries and servants half tumbled tripping over each other into the throne room.
‘Cover the doors!’ Sergeant Girth bellowed as he brought up the rear with the remaining Malazan marines. Corien and the mercenaries backed them up.
Antsy peered about. It was a smaller chamber. Circular, domed ceiling. He’d never been in a throne room proper so he didn’t know if this was how they were supposed to look. But this one had more of the feel of a shrine. It even had some sort of an inner arc of pillars surrounding … nothing, as far as he could make out.
‘Aiiya!’ Hesta screeched. ‘I see no throne. We are betrayed!’
‘Quiet,’ Seris commanded as she scanned the room. ‘You, Orchid, what now?’
Orchid did not answer. She had crossed to the rear wall behind the arc of slim stone pillars. Antsy went to her. She was studying a painting on the wall: a long broad fresco that ran all round this broad niche. He took her arm. ‘Orchid.’
‘Stunning …’ she breathed, intent.
‘Orchid!’
She turned to him. ‘Just as the legends portray,’ and she gestured to the fresco.
Antsy spared it a glance: a dark outdoor night-time scene under stars. Some sort of lit parade or procession approaching, light shafting in after it.
‘The Great Union.’
‘What?’
‘The marriage of Night and Light.’
Antsy took a step backwards. Fener’s balls! That’s … terrifying.
Further shudders shook the chamber. The reports of falling rock burst from nearby. The floor canted to a
slightly sharper angle.
An orange flame-like light burst to life. ‘Attend!’ Hesta yelled. She had raised an arm and her hand was aflame as a burning brand. ‘No more delay. We must escape now! Where is …’ Her voice dwindled away as she stared down.
Antsy pushed forward through the ring of gathered mages. At their feet lay a rectangle flush with the floor at the centre of the pillars. While all the chamber was now lit this rectangle remained as utterly night black as a solid pool of pitch. Oddly enough, though the floor was angled, the surface of the darkness remained flush within its containment.
‘The Throne?’ Ogule offered.
‘Shut up!’ Hesta snapped.
‘Well, a throne,’ Seris murmured.
‘A gate,’ Bauchelain said.
Giggling, the man’s companion, Korbal, Antsy assumed, knelt to thrust an arm in. His pudgy hand met some sort of barrier just beneath the surface of night. He snarled his frustration.
The noise of battle at the door died away and everyone turned to look. ‘What is going on?’ the old mage, Hemper, yelled.
‘They’ve backed off,’ Girth shouted. ‘Someone’s coming. Someone … Sacred shit!’
‘I must open it,’ Orchid said, musing, as if dreaming.
‘Well – do so!’ Hesta screeched.
She knelt and passed a hand over the rectangle. ‘I’m not sure …’ she began, just touching the rippling liquid-like barrier. Then she fell in. Or was grabbed. Or sucked. But she suddenly disappeared without a splash into the murk as if it were a pool of black water. Antsy stared, stunned. Was that supposed to happen?
‘The way appears open,’ Seris remarked.
‘Then now is the time,’ Ogule murmured, and he smiled, dimpling.
A blazing pain lanced Antsy’s back. He clutched there and found the hilt of a dagger. Turning, he saw Jallin dancing away. ‘Gonna die!’ the youth sang as he backed off. Antsy took a step to follow him but something was wrong and he staggered, almost falling.
Behind him chaos erupted. Flames burst to life. Someone shrieked. He heard the old man Hemper bellow: ‘You will not profane it!’
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 245
