‘It was only chance, then, that it was the very option the First least wished to pursue. And because of that the mask did not come to you …’
Lo nodded again. ‘I merely presented the choice. Choices surround us every day, son. The test is in the choosing.’
Sall’s breath caught. ‘He passed your test.’
‘Yes. Sall, the truth of it is that once you are competent enough in your technique, or your speed is as great as it can be – then what differentiates those at the highest levels? The truth is that unquantifiable ability to read others. To enter into their skin. To be able to understand them so completely that you know what they will do before they do it themselves. A sort of complete empathy. Jan possessed that. We could not help but love him for it. Gall worshipped him. But Gall was a traditionalist and would not have followed the road Jan had chosen. And so Jan did what he had to do to ensure that the mask would not come to him. And Palla? Well, those two might as well have been husband and wife. She may never recover.’
‘And so it came to you – but you never challenged him!’
Lo’s voice took on an edge. ‘His entire life has been his test, Sall. That is my judgement.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Each was silent for a time, facing the shore where an honour guard surrounded a canopy over a wrapped body on its stretcher. They were taking the Second home for burial at Cant. Burial in the soil of their new homeland.
Lo tilted his mask aside, to where Yusek trained now with a group of the lesser ranks. ‘As for you … She has demonstrated endurance, spirit, speed with her knives.’ He pressed a hand to Sall’s shoulder. ‘Good choice, son. You have my approval.’ And the Eighth, perhaps soon to be the next Third, walked away.
Sall watched Yusek practising and he mused, I’m sorry to say this, Father, but I don’t think I know who made the choice – which, I suppose, is perhaps the way it ought to be.
On a hill of black stone on the shore of the glimmering Vitr sea, Leoman sat with the hulking soot-black figure of Maker.
‘ … and so after Lammala was Seuthess – or was it Cora? I’m not certain. In any case, Seuthess … now there was a beauty. And didn’t she know it. Full of herself she was. We fought like cat and dog.’
And Maker nodded his boulder-like head, a hand on his chin. ‘So – these many women – this is how things work among you humans …’
‘No, no, no!’ Leoman waved his hands. ‘That’s what I’m tryin’ to make you understand. It’s very unusual. Why, I’m one in a thousand, I am. They just can’t stay away from me. Like a curse, it is. They just can’t help it.’
Maker turned his head and gestured. ‘Indeed. You speak the truth, Leoman …’
Leoman leaned back to see a familiar figure all in dark clothes walking up. Her long black hair blew lightly in the thin wind off the Vitr sea and she strode with her hands tucked into her belt behind her back, her head cocked slightly as if to say: well, well … look who’s here.
‘By the Seven Holies …’ He climbed to his feet, dusted off his grimed robes. He set a hand on Maker’s shoulder and gave him a wink and a grin. ‘You see? It’s all in the moustache, friend. All in the moustache.’ He went to meet Kiska.
In his dream the short rotund man was drawn where he’d hoped he’d never need be drawn again. Out of the shaken, but recovering, city. Out past the shacks leaning as they did against its too-short walls, to the road that curved southwards leading to endless plain upon endless beckoning plain. And here to be waylaid into the stuttering light of a small fire in the dark next to a river where a single figure awaited.
And this figure! Dire and dark. Hooded and hunched. Oh dear!
Kruppe sat to pull on his thin rat-tail beard. ‘Kruppe admits to some trepidation. He believed himself free of mysterious lurkers at fires. To what does he owe this visitation?’
The figure waved a hand – and a youthful fit-looking hand at that. ‘Merely a social call, friend Kruppe. If I may call you that. No need for alarm.’
‘Kruppe is reassured, he assures you. It is not in the least alarming that his social calls should now take the form of hooded figures in his dreams. He is positively cheered.’
‘You should be. I am here to thank you – and to introduce myself.’ The figure pulled back the hood to reveal a tanned sharp-featured face, a long sharp nose, and hanging silvered dark hair.
Kruppe’s brows rose. ‘Fearsome High Mage Tayschrenn! I am … surprised. Are my dreams privy to everyone?’
Tayschrenn shook his head. ‘You need no longer play the innocent with me.’
‘Nay! Kruppe must be Kruppe! But what of … the other … may Kruppe ask?’
‘Still with me. I have much to learn yet. These things can take centuries.’
‘Ah … Why, of course! Kruppe is no stranger to such things!’
The man warmed his hands at the fire. Yet man no longer. Near force of nature now! ‘And that name,’ he began after a time. ‘Old names must pass away.’
‘Absolutely – was about to suggest that selfsame thing. How then, pray, shall you be called upon?’
The figure studied the fire, thinking. In his dark eyes the twinned flames danced just as brightly. Reaching a decision he crooked an amused smile and shifted those eyes to Kruppe. ‘You may call me T’renn.’
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ORB SCEPTRE THRONE
Copyright © 2012 by Ian C. Esslemont
All rights reserved.
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, an imprint of Transworld Publishers
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
Maps by Neil Gower
eISBN 9781429943246
First eBook Edition : April 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Esslemont, Ian C. (Ian Cameron)
Orb sceptre throne : a novel of the Malazan Empire / Ian C. Esslemont.—1st U.S. ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7653-2996-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-2999-8 (trade pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4324-6 (e-book)
I. Title.
PS3605.S684O73 2012
813’.6—dc23
2012001825
First U.S. Edition: May 2012
BLOOD AND BONE
A NOVEL OF THE MALAZAN EMPIRE
Ian C. Esslemont
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
This novel is dedicated to the memory of my father, John Roy Esslemont, 1934–1989.
You are greatly missed.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
It is with gratitude that I acknowledge my time at the University of Minnesota, where I was encouraged to pursue my interest in nineteenth-century travel writing, colonial texts, and the myths of imperialism. I hope to return to this rich material some day. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Thaumaturg Villagers
Saeng
A descendant of local priestesses
Hanu
Her brother
Himatan Villagers
Oroth-en
Village headman
Ursa
A female warrior
The Mountain Bandits
Kenjak Ashevajak
The Bandit Lord
Loor-San
Myint
Thet-mun
Of the Thaumaturg
Golan
Commander of the Army of Righteous Chastisement
U-Pre
Second in Command
Thorn
Principal Scribe of the army
Waris
An officer of the
army
Pon-lor
A newly trained Thaumaturg
Tun
An overseer of the army (similar to a sergeant)
Surin
The Prime Master of the ruling Circle of Masters
Servants of Ardata
Rutana
A witch
Nagal
A warrior
Citravaghra
The ‘man-leopard’
Varakapi
The ‘man-ape’
Of the Tribes of the Adwami
Jatal
A prince of the Hafinaj
Andanii
Princess of the Vehajarwi
Ganell
A chief of the Awamir
Sher’ Tal
Horsemaster of the Saar
Pinal
Horsemaster of the Hafinaj
The Warleader
A mercenary commander
Scarza
His lieutenant
Of the Crimson Guard Avowed
K’azz D’Avore
Commander
Shimmer
A captain
Gwynn
A mage, once of Skinner’s company
Lor-sinn
A mage
Turgal
Cole
Amatt
Of the Disavowed
Skinner
Captain
Jacinth
Lieutenant
Mara
A mage
Petal
A mage
Red
A mage
Shijel
Weaponmaster
Black the Lesser
Hist
Leuthan
Of the Malazan Mercenaries
Yusen
Captain
Burastan
Lieutenant
Murk
A mage
Sour
A mage
Ostler
A soldier
Tanner
A soldier
Dee
A soldier
Sweetly
A scout
Others
Ardata
Also known as the Queen of Witches
The Queen of Dreams
Also known as the Enchantress, T’riss
Ina
A Seguleh, of the top thousand fighters, the Jistarii
The Witch Queen
Also known as the Queen of Monsters, Ardata
Old Man Moon
An elder
Ripan
One of his offspring
Sister Spite
Daughter of Draconus
Osserc
A Tiste Liosan, worshipped by some as a sky god
L’oric
Son of Osserc
Gothos
A Jaghut
PROLOGUE
In the third moon of the third year of the Great Drought, we put out to sea from the estuary of Holy Ubaryd. On the fifteenth day of the third moon we arrived at an island of the barbarian Falarese. From then on, we were harassed by contrary winds, which delayed our arrival. Further, we encountered treacherous fields of ice that could only be navigated with the greatest care. It was not until the eleventh moon when we finally dropped anchor at the mouth of a great river. Certain it is that so short a visit cannot encompass all the customs and peculiarities of this country, yet we may at least outline its principal characteristics.
Ular Takeq
Customs of Ancient Jakal-Uku
Ghosts ruled the jungles of Jacuruku. Saeng remembered staying awake through the night as she strained to understand their whispered calls. Somehow their murmuring beckoned so much more seductively than her own dreams. One of her earliest memories was of walking alone through moonlit leaves hunting for the source of the jungle’s voice. She’d been utterly self-composed and without fear – as only a child could be. Long into her wandering she distinctly recalled a hand taking hers and guiding her through the dense fronds and stands of damp grasses back to the village. Her mother swept up then, her face wet with tears, to squeeze her to her bony chest while Saeng calmly explained that everything was all right. That there was no need to cry. That a friend had brought her back.
And of course later everyone swore to seeing her wander in from the dark alone.
Since then the leagues of impenetrable jungle surrounding the village had held no fear for her. A dangerous and, she could admit, rather reckless attitude in a land where flower garlands and prayer scarves festooned trees in honour of countless spirits, restless dead, ghosts, lost forgotten gods, and far too many missing children and adults.
Growing up she continued to steal away into the woods whenever she could. And there among the hanging vines and leaves dripping night-mist the old spirits of the land came to her and she learned many forgotten things. In the morning she would return from her wanderings through the jungle tracks, her legs and feet sheathed in mud and grass and webs tangled in her hair. At first her mother beat her and twisted her ears. ‘You are no low-bred farmer’s daughter!’ she would screech. ‘We come from an ancient family of priestesses and seers!’
And often, during the midday meal, her mother would take her hands and always it would be the same story: ‘Saeng,’ she would begin, as if so disappointed in her. ‘Our family has kept the old faith. Not like these ignorant fools surrounding us with their grovelling to idols, charms and amulets. All these superstitious mouthings to earth goddesses, or beast gods, or the cursed God-King, or the Witch – all of these empty words. Or worse. Our family, we women, we descend from the original priestesses of the Sky and the Sun! We worship Light. Remember that! The Light that gives all life!’
Her mother would try to capture her gaze as if pleading with her to understand but she would glance away, mouthing, ‘Yes, Mother.’ Eventually her mother gave up even these exhortations and she was allowed to continue her wanderings in pursuit of the voices that whispered from the great green labyrinth that surrounded them.
As she grew older, and her mastery of the whispered teachings grew more assured, she found she could summon these ghosts, which she now knew as the dreaded land and ancestor spirits, the Nak-ta. And as her skills advanced these spirits and shades came to her from ever further into the ancient gulf of the land’s past. And each commanded greater and greater puissance in the manipulation of their talents. In the murmurings of these restless dead she learned how to bind the will of animals, how to interpret the voices of the wind, how to trick the senses, and how to tease knowledge from the earth itself. As she drifted, half asleep, it seemed to her that they stole close to her ears where they whispered of darker secrets. Of ancient forbidden charms, of lost deadly wards, and how to dominate the recesses of the human mind.
At first she thought nothing of this, even as the shades crowded ever nearer and proved ever more difficult for her to dismiss. Until one night the tenebrous clawed hand of one clutched her arm. Its voice was no more than the sighing of the wind through the leaves as it hissed, ‘The High King will be well pleased with you.’
She remembered her shock at its frigid touch. ‘All that was dust ages ago.’
‘Nay, ’tis of the moment. No more foolishness from you.’ It began to sink into the wet ground, yanking her down by the arm.
A yell shocked her even more then as a branch swung through the shade, dispersing it. She lay staring up at her elder brother, Hanu, while he glared about, branch readied. Strangely, all she felt was outrage. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
He pulled her up. ‘You’re welcome. I’ve been following you. And thank the ancestors for it, too.’
‘What?’ She danced away from him. ‘For how long?’
He shrugged his broad shoulders in the shadowed darkness. ‘Whenever I can. Someone has to keep an eye out while you offer yourself up to these feral spirits.’
‘I can control them.’
‘Clearly not.’
‘That one surprised me, that’s all.’ A sudd
en thought occurred to her and she drew closer, biting her lip. ‘You’re not … you’re not going to tell Mother, are you?’
‘Great Witch, no. She’s worried enough as it is.’
‘Well … you can’t stop me.’
‘That much is clear as well,’ and he crossed his thick arms, peering down at her.
She raised her chin in defiance and saw how the sweat of the humid night ran in streams down his face and neck. Through her skills she sensed his drumming heart and rushing blood and she realized: He is terrified. Terrified of the night – just like all of them. Yet he is here. He came to protect me.
His breathing was heavy as he scanned the deep forest shadows. ‘At least promise me that you’ll wake me, yes? That you won’t go out alone.’ His gaze swung to her, pleading. ‘Yes?’
And how could she refuse? Her own defiant front melted. ‘Yes, Hanu. I promise.’
* * *
For another year the nights passed in this fashion; she waking her brother and the two stealing out to where she communed with the wild Nak-ta ghosts that haunted the jungle. And with far older spirits of stone, stream and wind. Night after night she sat for hours under the wary gaze of Hanu and spoke to things he could not see nor sense. It was then she realized that while he might protect her from any physical threat, he remained susceptible to their compellings and charms, and so she surreptitiously cast over him protections and guardings against such magics.
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 262
