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

  ‘Mara’s with us!’ Shijel laughed, panting, and he waved his approval.

  ‘The tower, fools!’ the priest called from the open doorway.

  Mara gestured everyone on. Slogging past, Jacinth pointed aside, and Mara saw Petal lying there. She laboured through mud brittle with ice and turned him over. Blood smeared the side of his head. He’d fallen or been driven against rocks. She felt at his neck – the flesh was bitter cold, but possessed a pulse.

  ‘Bring him,’ she ordered two Disavowed, Farese and Hist. They carried him up steps that were an ice-slick waterfall of pouring water. Within, the main floor was awash; foaming water was even rushing down stairways from the higher levels. Corpses of Stormriders and others in blue tabards over mailed armour lay about in the blood-streaked flow. Those in the blue tabards Mara now recognized as Korelri Chosen, Stormguards, guardians of the storied Wall. They were in the lands some named Korel.

  Why would the priest bring them here during an attack by the Riders?

  Skinner and Red were facing the bedraggled priest, who, though wearing only a ragged loincloth here amid the frigid waters, still jerked and hopped as urgently as before.

  ‘There is no way down,’ Red was telling Skinner.

  The priest tore at his few remaining strands of hair. ‘I tell you – the way is down!’

  Red jabbed a finger to his temple to indicate what he thought of the priest.

  ‘Another wave!’ Jacinth called from the entrance where the heavy iron doors hung warped and askew, blasted from their hinges.

  ‘Brace yourselves!’ Skinner bellowed.

  Mara turned: Another wave this high?

  The dressed granite stones beneath her feet juddered and shook at the approach of something immense. A landslide roaring tore the air. Jacinth backed away from the gaping entrance. ‘Burn protect us,’ she breathed, awed.

  Mara glimpsed a solid wall of water choking the opening then something slammed her into a wall and held her there, crushed and pressed so hard that she could not draw breath – even if there were air to breathe. A terrible heart-stopped cold clawed at her. It pulled her strength and her life from her as water might douse a flame. Her slashed side stung as if burned.

  The pressure relented and she fell from the wall to her hands and knees, coughing, gasping for air. Fighting surrounded her. She straightened, pushed aside her hair. Several Disavowed were down, run through by lethal ice-shards that stood from them like spears, hissing and steaming. Skinner had a Stormrider by the arm, and as Mara watched he lifted the entity and brought it down over his knee. A loud wet crack sounded and the creature spasmed. Skinner straightened, allowing the corpse to slide off his coat of mail to splash into the water that foamed about their knees.

  New war shouts sounded and Korelri came charging down the stairs and from halls leading further back into the tower. They faced the Disavowed with spears levelled and broad shields raised. The shields held their sigil: a stylized tower or wall standing against swirling waters.

  One of them pushed his way forward. He was old, his hair as white as snow, but he was still slim and straight. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Skinner answered.

  The man glanced past them to the entrance and the overcast murk beyond where the surf boomed loud and echoing. ‘Well,’ he allowed, ‘our thanks – but we are holding.’ He studied them now, narrowly. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘What matters that?’ Skinner answered. ‘We are come to your aid.’

  ‘You are not allowed—’

  ‘Another!’ a Stormguard called from up the stairs.

  The man’s jaws worked as he swallowed all further argument or objections. ‘Very well,’ he snapped. To his men, he continued, ‘As before. Allow the surge to fade then counter-attack!’

  The Chosen clashed their spears to the floor. ‘Aye, Marshal!’ They retreated to their posts.

  Mara came to Skinner’s side. ‘We are weakening,’ she whispered. ‘We can’t endure much more of this.’

  He nodded his understanding. He raised a hand in a sign: ambush.

  The Disavowed eyed one another in silent understanding.

  A wave was building; she could feel it in the pregnant charged atmosphere. A wind of displaced air preceded it: the howling came surging through the entrance, ruffled her hair and chilled her further, then went on its way up the stairs and through the tower rooms. The avalanche roar returned, surging, until, paradoxically, she could hear nothing at all. This time she would be ready: she raised her Warren and created a sphere of outward pressure about her. She concentrated upon it with all her might.

  Darkness obscured the entrance: a murky olive green.

  Here it comes!

  A solid wall of icy water came exploding in. It struck the circumference of her protective sphere and could not penetrate. But the blow shocked her backwards into the wall once again, knocking the wind from her. Shapes moved past through the water and flowed up the stairs, glimmering a phosphorescent emerald and sapphire. One shape seemed to pause, wavering, before her. A lance shot through the wall of water. She flinched her head aside and it yanked on her hair as it slammed into the wall and burst into a thousand fragments of ice.

  Snarling, her face slashed, she sent force to strike the shape and slam it spinning backwards.

  The water churned, losing its forward urgency. It pulled now, escaping. Grateful, Mara eased her concentration; she didn’t think she could’ve lasted much longer.

  The Korelri emerged again. They pushed back the last few remaining Riders, who fought to the end, silent, yielding nothing. An ages-old unrelenting enmity here, Mara knew. This war was the stuff of songs and epic poems all round the world.

  When the last fell, the marshal approached Skinner. ‘Thank you for your aid, but we are holding. I must ask that you leave now during this lull.’

  ‘Your numbers appear to be much diminished.’ Skinner said. ‘I do not believe you will hold.’

  ‘That is our concern. We will defend to the end, in any case. You are an outsider. I ask again that you leave.’

  Skinner’s scaled armour scraped and slithered as he held out his arms. ‘I understand. We will go. I just have one request.’

  The marshal raised his pale white brows. ‘Oh? Yes?’

  Skinner’s hand snapped out to clench the man’s throat. The Disavowed lunged forward, thrusting and slashing to push back his fellows. ‘Where is the shard!’ Skinner yelled.

  A strong wind pushed against Mara’s back and she glanced behind. The light outside had dimmed to a near subsurface dark green. So soon? Oh, shit …

  She was behind the melee line of Disavowed engaging Korelri defenders. The priest, she noted, was somehow still with them, hopping and waving his fists, appearing even more demented.

  ‘Wave!’ she called, and raised her Warren, bracing herself.

  The water slammed her to a wall once more. Through the swirling webbed green she saw shapes writhing and thrusting in a chaotic struggle of all against all. She could not even be certain which shapes were which. A blade thrust through the wall of water, narrowly missing her. She moved to answer the threat but found that her hands were now numb clubs, the nails dark blue.

  Gods! It’s almost too late!

  When the water receded the Disavowed were the majority standing. They fell upon the remaining Korelri. Skinner rose to his feet, water pouring from him: he still held the marshal by the throat, but the man had been thrust through the back and Mara doubted he still lived.

  Skinner shook him. ‘The shard!’

  The old man just bared his blood-smeared teeth in defiance, and shook his head. Cursing, Skinner threw him aside. ‘Mara!’ he called.

  She pushed forward through the swirling water. ‘Yes?’

  Skinner pointed to the set and dressed stones of the floor. Mara sagged inwardly. ‘I am nearly spent,’ she gasped. Her words were jagged as she stuttered with cold.

  ‘Red!’ No answer. Skinner and Ma
ra peered about. ‘Red?’

  ‘Aye,’ came a weak response. The man straightened. He cradled an arm gashed open. Blood streamed from his fingertips, darkening the water round him. ‘Make it quick,’ he said, smiling bleakly.

  ‘Warm Mara.’

  The old man nodded. ‘Then I’ll have me a nap – if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Farese!’ Skinner called. ‘See to his arm.’

  The small Talian swordsman jogged to Red. Mara waited, shivering uncontrollably, while the mage summoned his strange form of elder magic – a kind of animism still retained in some backward regions. Mara couldn’t understand the first of it; unlike the clarity of the Warrens, it seemed to lack logic or order. Farese knelt at Red’s side and tore strips from his ratty sodden blanket.

  Welcome sensual warmth infused Mara, yet it came on too strongly and too quickly. She felt her flesh tingling with the onset of burning. Steam rose from her. She felt faint and dizzy.

  ‘Now!’ Skinner demanded.

  She nodded, barely able to see. She focused her Warren and gathered her energy. She collected it, guarded it, allowed it to swell until she was on the verge of losing the control that kept it from consuming her flesh entirely.

  ‘Back off!’ she heard Skinner yelling, distantly, through a thundering roar in her ears.

  She released the pent-up energies, sending them blasting down into the centre block of the floor. Rock shattered. The block shifted beneath her feet. She tottered forward but an arm encircled her waist, holding her. Skinner. Clattering rock resounded from beneath them. Several stone blocks had fallen away, revealing floored-over circular stone stairs.

  The priest appeared from nowhere, cackling and waving his arms in triumph. He jumped and leaped his way down the steps. Skinner released Mara and rushed to follow. ‘Remain!’ he ordered, adding, ‘Hold them here…’ as he disappeared from sight.

  Jacinth came to Mara, steadied her; the woman’s blazing mane of hair now hung bedraggled and lank about her shoulders. Ice rime feathered the red-stained leather scales of her armour. ‘I’ll hold the stairs,’ Mara told her.

  The swordswoman nodded and glanced about at the remaining Disavowed – a mere eight. And of Petal there was no sign. Washed away, Mara imagined, feeling an unexpected pang of loss.

  Another wave surged towards them. Mara readied herself. The avalanche of water hit the chamber and Mara fought to repel it. But an opening had been created, and she could not contain the pressure; the force pushed her aside like a cork and the course streamed past her to rush down the throat of the staircase. Almost immediately the waters round them swirled down to a mere wash about their knees and this too was sucked away down the stairs.

  Damn. Skinner … I’m sorry.

  A convulsion from below kicked the floor. Everything loose jumped, including all bodies, living and dead. Mara rammed her elbow into the floor, raising stars in her vision.

  Stones came crashing down among them. Cracks tore the set blocks apart.

  ‘Out! Now!’ Jacinth bellowed.

  The Disavowed all ran scrambling for the entrance. Mara descended the iced stairs down the front then stopped to look back. Further concussions shook the ground beneath her feet. Great cracks now climbed the walls of the tower.

  Skinner! Come on!

  The priest appeared. He came running and dodging from the entrance. Mara didn’t think that holding his hands above his head would really have helped him much, but he did make it out. She caught hold of one skinny blue-hued arm as he ran past. ‘What happened? Where’s Skinner!’

  ‘He has it,’ the priest growled, enraged. He pounded his chest and shouted, scattering spittle: ‘I should have the honour! It is mine!’

  ‘Your god’s, you mean,’ Mara answered and released him to totter onward.

  Skinner … now would be good …

  She scanned the water for any sign of a new wave. The sea raged, choked by clashing white-capped waves that broke in every direction. It is as though they are confused, unsure. Hurry, Skinner. We have a chance!

  Farese pointed. ‘Someone!’ It was the wide black-robed figure of Petal emerging from among the broken boulders of the slope. Farese ran to help him.

  Mara felt an unaccountable degree of relief. Now at least I still have someone to talk to.

  ‘Do you feel that?’ Jacinth called. ‘It is quiet.’

  Mara felt for tremors: the ground was still but for the pounding of waves. The tower remained, though wide cracks climbed its sides. It also stood rather canted in its rise.

  ‘There!’ Shijel called, pointing.

  Skinner was at the entrance. He came stepping over fallen blocks and he carried a large chest in both hands. The chest gleamed silver in the overcast half-light.

  ‘Open your Warren!’ Jacinth told the priest. ‘Now!’

  Mara’s attention was drawn from Skinner as he descended the slope. She felt something tug at her awareness. Magery, on the far side of the tower. Someone familiar.

  ‘Someone comes!’ she shouted to everyone.

  The priest opened a gate. The chaos roiling through it made Mara gag once more. It gave her a headache like a spike being pounded into her temple.

  ‘Go now,’ Jacinth ordered the Disavowed. ‘Go!’ They hurried through one after the other.

  She shoved the priest but he would not move. ‘Not until I have it!’ he yelled.

  ‘Just send us all now!’ Mara shouted over the wind and crashing surf.

  ‘Someone must bring it,’ he answered, snarling his frustration.

  ‘Go!’ Mara told Jacinth. Furious, the lieutenant backed into the gate, glaring.

  ‘You, too,’ the priest told Mara. She ignored him.

  Closer now, Skinner called out, ‘Go now, all of you…’ Mara edged back into the gate, slowly. The priest followed after her, also backing in. As Mara went she heard a bull-throated yell sound out, so loud it drowned all the noise of the roaring wind and the pounding combers: ‘Skinnnnerrr!’ it bellowed on and on.

  She tried to return but it was too late. The gate had hold of her. She heard, or thought she heard, Skinner calling something, and then she was gone. The repulsive touch of chaos enmeshed her and her own absolute abhorrence made her push at it as if she could somehow keep it from touching her.

  She fell out on to hard dry dirt, choking humidity, and the screeching of birds. Jacuruku. The land was not welcome, but its heat certainly was. She fought down her heaving empty stomach and watched, fascinated, while streamers of mist rose from her arms and blue-tinged hands. Never again would she complain about the heat. Never.

  The priest emerged and moments later Skinner appeared. He still carried the large chest, which Mara saw now was indeed made of hammered silver. ‘Who was that?’ she demanded. ‘Someone shouted. Who was it?’

  Skinner just tossed his wet hair and laughed. ‘Bars! Can you imagine? And Blues. They must have come for the shard.’ He hefted the chest. ‘Well … it is ours now.’

  Blues? Really? Mara felt astonishment, but also relief. She was strong in D’riss, but his understanding of it was far more subtle, and deeper.

  ‘My god’s, you mean,’ the priest snarled. ‘Now open it and give it to me.’

  Skinner set the chest down. The priest threw himself upon it, rubbed his hands over it. ‘How do you open it? Is there a catch? A latch?’

  Mara flexed her hands; feeling was returning to them in a most painful wave of pins and needles.

  ‘I believe you open it like this,’ Skinner said, reaching down. And he clasped hold of the priest’s head and savagely twisted it. The snap of his neck made Mara jump.

  The body fell aside. Mara’s gaze climbed to Skinner. Her amazement and horror must have shown on her face for he shrugged. ‘We have no more use for him. He has delivered to us a shard. Now we have a bargaining chip in all this.’

  ‘But you are King of Chains – what of that?’

  He picked up the chest. ‘It too has served its purpose. Now it is no longer necessar
y either.’

  ‘But are you not … what of retribution?’

  Skinner threw his head back and laughed again. ‘Retribution?’ He started walking. ‘That creature has far greater things to worry about.’ He raised his voice: ‘Shijel! Which way?’ The swordsman pointed. ‘Very good. Farese, help Red. Mara, can you help Petal?’

  Mara took hold of the mage’s arm through his frigid sodden robes. ‘What happened to you?’

  The big man touched a hand to his head, hissed his pain. ‘I almost drowned.’

  Mara nearly laughed aloud. Yes, drowned. There were times when plodding literalness is somehow appropriate.

  Later in the afternoon Petal was treading along in front of Mara, swinging from side to side with his elephant-like gait, when he suddenly stopped. Mara nearly ran into him. ‘What is it?’ she asked, rather annoyed.

  He was peering up at the canopy. ‘Someone … some thing … watching.’

  ‘Tell Skinner.’

  He twisted his hands together. ‘I may be wrong…’

  She sighed her impatience, shouted, ‘Skinner!’

  He glanced back from the fore. She raised a hand, signed: company.

  He nodded, raised a hand to sign for a halt. Everyone crouched, hands going to weapons.

  ‘Where?’ Mara whispered to Petal.

  The big man lifted his chin to one side. ‘Right over—’

  Something came streaking down to hammer into Skinner and the two went careering off through the brush, rolling and crashing. Mara had a momentary glimpse of a shape that resembled a woman, yet not a woman, something half else.

  Everyone set off in pursuit.

  They found Skinner engaged in a tug of war with a woman smeared in dried mud and wearing only a loincloth. What was even more astonishing to Mara was that when she yanked upon the chest she pulled Skinner entirely off-balance. And she recognized the woman: she’d been trapped among the Dolmens of Tien the last time they saw her.

  ‘Let … go!’ she panted, snarling. ‘This one is mine.’