They jogged onward, heading north and upland. He heard no sounds of pursuit.
* * *
The night watch woke Jute, reporting of strange sights and sounds to the west. Still groggy, but happy to have his cabin back now that the Mare youth had recovered and moved to sleeping in the hammocks with the crew, he pulled on his boots, wrapped himself in a thick fur cloak, and headed out.
The night air shocked him with its bracing cold. His fingers tingled. This didn’t feel like spring at all. Had more of the smell of autumn to it. The sailor motioned to the far shore, where it lay barely discernible in the dark overcast night – only the diffuse glow of the moon and stars behind the clouds allowed any visibility. Torches and lanterns swung and bobbed there, movement. A great number of people on the move in the dead of night.
Jute scratched his chin, wondering. Those would have to be the people from Wrongway up the coast. Given up on the goldfields, perhaps. But what would drive them onward through the night?
‘Jute Hernan,’ he heard Ieleen call, and he turned. She stood wrapped in a blanket in the doorway, a hand on the jamb.
‘Hmm? What is it, love? Sorry if I woke you.’
Her blind gaze was on the west and he was surprised to see her brows crimp in worry. ‘Sound the wake up and get dressed. Visitors.’
He stroked his chin. Well, if she insisted … it seemed quiet to him, but he’d lived this long by respecting her instincts. He nodded to the crewman. ‘Sound the alarm. All hands to readiness.’ He returned to their cabin as the hanging bronze alarm was banged, and feet pounded the deck.
When he returned, he found the crew at their posts and the ship’s marines at the sides together with the Malazans. Both officers, Letita and Giana, armed and armoured, stood before him. ‘Captain,’ Letita greeted him. ‘Your orders?’
He glanced to Ieleen sitting next to the tiller arm. She held her pipe in her mouth, but it wasn’t lit. The Mare lad, Reuth, sat cross-legged on the deck beside her. She withdrew the pipe and motioned to the bows. He followed the motion to see Cartheron leaning up against the side, peering to the west. He nodded to Letita and Giana to excuse him and went to the captain. His voice low, he asked, ‘What’s going on?’
The old fellow ran a hand over what little of his bristled hair remained. ‘Damned if I know…’
‘Commander Tyvar!’ one of the crewmen called out.
Tyvar came pounding up the gangway. Behind him came another person, startling Jute. It was the unmistakable tall figure of the foreign sorceress, Lady Orosenn. He bowed to her and she returned the courtesy.
‘Captain,’ she said. ‘I must apologize. I thought that disguising my presence would buy us more time – but I can see now that I need not have bothered.’
Jute blinked his confusion. ‘Your presence?’
Tyvar motioned to the switchback staircase. ‘I must get my men up at once.’
‘Their King Ronal will treat you as just another invader and attack,’ Cartheron warned. ‘Malle has made that clear.’
‘Malle of Gris?’ A new voice spoke up and everyone turned. It was that bedraggled Malazan Khall-head, straightening from where he’d been slouched next to the gangway. Somehow, Jute – everyone – had overlooked him. ‘She’s up there?’ he breathed, and he squinted at the heights.
Cartheron followed the man’s gaze. He started for him, ‘Don’t you dare…’ But the fellow slipped away down the gangplank with a fluid speed that surprised Jute. Cartheron hurried after him, cursing. He reappeared a moment later, rubbing his chest and wincing, winded. ‘He got away, damn his eyes.’
‘Never mind him,’ Jute said, wondering why it should matter if the fellow ran off.
But Cartheron was staring off at the cliff top. ‘The shit will well and truly fly now,’ he announced. Then he lowered his gaze, grinning savagely. ‘Malle will not like this, but she’ll have no choice.’
‘I see no one on the stairs,’ Tyvar said as he scanned the night.
‘He used his Warren,’ Lady Orosenn observed.
Jute felt his brows shoot up. Really? That broken-down derelict? He shuddered in memory of the insults he’d sent the fellow’s way.
‘Our troubles remain,’ Tyvar commented impatiently. ‘We will climb regardless. Now.’
Cartheron raised a hand for a pause. ‘Wait. Give it one glass’s time. If I know my man, this shouldn’t take long.’
‘Who? What?’ Jute demanded, frankly rather irritated with the old Malazan commander.
Cartheron leaned back against the gunwale, crossed his arms and nodded as he accepted the reasonableness of Jute’s annoyance. ‘He is, well, was, an imperial Claw. An assassin,’ he explained, speaking to Lady Orosenn. ‘I recognized him. Seen him around. Rose up through the ranks under, ah, the old emperor’s regime.’
Jute snorted at this. ‘That wreck?’
Cartheron’s lips clenched and he lowered his gaze. ‘Something happened to him. Something that shattered him.’ And he added, softly, as if speaking only for himself, ‘Something that hurt all of us.’
The Blue Shield commander was still scanning the west shore. Jute glanced over. The bobbing torches and lanterns were closer now, waving furiously, as if the people had now broken into a run. Tyvar actually growled as he spun away. ‘Lady Orosenn,’ he demanded, ‘if what you say is true we must go now. My people are ready. We will climb ten at a time. We must prepare.’
The foreign sorceress regarded Cartheron silently. Her almond-shaped eyes seemed to glow like those of a bird of prey, probing and gauging. The Malazan returned the stare without flinching. Jute reflected that the man must have faced down some pretty powerful entities in his time. She slowly nodded her inhumanly long head. ‘You have your time, Cartheron Crust.’
It was not many minutes after that that a crash sounded on the boards of the dock close to the base of the cliff. As if he’d been expecting exactly that, Cartheron nodded to everyone, turned, and jogged down the gangway. Tyvar, Jute and Giana followed.
It was the fellow himself, lying slashed and bloodied amid the broken timbers of the dock. Cartheron knelt and gently cradled his head on his lap. A smile raised the man’s lips as he croaked, ‘Didn’t get the landing right. Got him, though. Damn if those boys aren’t good with their spears.’
‘Don’t talk,’ Cartheron murmured, though it was clear from the many thrusts the man had taken that it would make no difference.
Then tears came to the man’s eyes and he clamped a blood-smeared hand on Cartheron’s arm. ‘I’m sorry!’ he gasped, suddenly panicked. ‘I’m so sorry she fell. I failed her. Do you forgive me?’
It was fairly clear to Jute that, like so many in dying, the man was now rambling of his past.
‘We all failed her,’ Cartheron answered, and Jute was surprised by the strength of emotion in his voice. ‘Only after she was gone did I see how much we needed her.’
The man clenched savagely at Cartheron’s arm as if he would pull himself erect. He left bright bloody smears down the Malazan’s sleeve. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he barely breathed.
Cartheron gently pressed shut his eyes and, with an effort, pushed himself erect. Peering down, he murmured so low Jute hardly heard, ‘I can forgive you…’
‘Who was he?’ Jute asked. ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s a light flashing from above,’ Giana observed, scanning the heights.
‘What does it say?’ Cartheron asked. He was still regarding the strange fallen fellow, who Jute gathered must have been more than a passing acquaintance. The old captain now suddenly appeared much older, much more beaten down by his years. He raised his gaze to blink at Jute as if only now recognizing his presence. ‘As I said. He once was a Claw. Bodyguard to Empress Laseen, in fact. They used to call him Possum.’
Laseen! The slain empress! So … this broken man … One slip, one mistake, and his entire world ended. How he now regretted his earlier harshness. ‘He was a friend, then?’
‘No. Couldn’t stand him
myself.’
Giana came to the commander’s side, murmured low and respectfully, ‘It says we can come up.’
Cartheron gave a tired nod. ‘Very good, lieutenant.’ He turned to study Tyvar. ‘You have your invitation to the party, Mortal Sword of Togg.’
* * *
Jute joined the file to climb even though, on the Dawn, Ieleen had made clear with her silence that she did not approve of his choice to go. They went in small groups. Tyvar’s Genabackans were by far the majority. Cartheron joined the file even though he’d sworn he’d never climb the damned stairs again. With the old commander went Lady Orosenn followed by her servant, Velman or -mar, Jute couldn’t remember. Lieutenant Jalaz led the contingent of every Malazan veteran from both ships.
As they gathered awaiting their turn upon the stairs, the Genabackan captain Enguf appeared. He swore the ships would all be safe with him and his crew remaining behind to guard them. He wished them all the best of luck then hurried back to his ship.
Jute found the night climb easier than his first ascent. It was either that he couldn’t see his actual height clearly, or he’d done it already and so had lost his fear of it. In either case, it was over far more quickly than the first climb. The structure groaned and shifted alarmingly, but he found he could put that out of mind more easily by concentrating on his handholds on the dried grey slats of the scaffolding.
It was dark at the top, though there was a glow of moving torches and lanterns beyond the outer curtain wall where it arced in a broad semicircle from cliff edge to cliff edge. Tyvar was there, whispering commands to his officers. Cartheron and Lady Orosenn stood aside, scanning the crowded grounds. The old Malazan looked very much worse for having made the climb. He was pale, pressing a hand to his chest, apparently in some measure of pain.
Giana Jalaz gained the top and nodded to Cartheron, awaiting orders. The old captain waved for her to take to the walls. She bowed and jogged off with her command.
A knot of the locals, spears in hand, came marching up. Almost invisible in their midst was the short and wiry shape, all in black, of Malle of Gris.
The company halted before Cartheron and stamped their spear-butts to the ground. Malle stepped forth and indicated one of the party: a youth, and like these locals tall and slim with a great mane of brown curls. He was studying Cartheron and did not appear to be impressed by what he saw.
‘This is Voti,’ Malle began, ‘nephew of King Ronal who now lies upon his bier, cut down by an outlander assassin sent by the besiegers…’ her voice quite hardened at that last part as she eyed Cartheron. She bowed to the lad, Voti. ‘May I present Cartheron Crust – a great veteran commander of the Empire.’
The lad, the king presumptive, Jute assumed, gave the merest nod. ‘Malle tells us you know these outlander ways. You may advise during the coming battle.’
Cartheron was experienced enough not even to blink as he inclined his head. ‘My thanks.’
The lad next turned to the figure of Lady Orosenn, dressed now in her tanned hunting leathers, a long-knife at her side. Tall she was, even in this company, her auburn hair unbound in a great wild mane. Jute was suddenly struck by the resemblance between her and these people in their features and general build.
He remembered then her saying that she was returning home.
‘You look familiar…’ the lad said, addressing her, frowning as if trying to recall just where he’d seen her.
She inclined her head. ‘I do not believe so. My name is Orosenn. I have been a long time away. It is merely the family resemblance.’
The lad grunted at this, satisfied. ‘Very well.’ Then, as if suddenly remembering his duties, he added, gruffly, ‘You are welcome.’ He strode off followed by his bodyguard of spearmen.
Malle, however, remained. Her glare, fixed upon Cartheron, could’ve melted iron. The commander, still pale and haggard from the climb, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I know, I know.’
‘I thought I made it clear,’ she hissed, her lips tight, ‘the old ways of doing things are over.’
‘I’m all tradition, Malle.’
She snorted her agreement, but then a new light came into her eyes – something like grudging admiration. She gestured to the nearest section of wall to invite Cartheron, Jute, and Lady Orosenn forward. ‘Well, by now you’ve guessed the Empire saw its chance for a toehold on this continent and we were sent to establish relations. What I didn’t expect was to find myself in the middle of a full-scale invasion.’
‘There is far more at stake here than a mere change in rulership,’ came the rich tenor of Lady Orosenn.
Malle stopped short and turned to peer up at the woman. She did not flinch, and Jute realized just how apposite Cartheron’s warning about not getting in the woman’s way had been. She appeared wrought entirely of iron, from her iron-grey hair to her thin arms of twisted iron bar. ‘I know your heritage, sorceress. I know the name of the cold winds blowing down from these mountains. I know we sit at the feet of a Jaghut refugium.’
‘But do you know that your being here is no accident?’ the sorceress countered, her voice hardening as well. ‘That we should be here at all is entirely your fault?’
Malle was clearly rocked by the accusation. Her mouth drew down into a sour scowl. ‘Explain yourself, sorceress…’ Even Jute heard the cold menace in the old woman’s words.
‘You Malazans,’ Lady Orosenn continued. ‘Your being here is no accident. I knew this the moment I encountered Cartheron here on his way to these lands. And so I enrolled Tyvar and his Blue Shields in helping escort him north.’
Cartheron almost jumped at that. ‘What the…?’ He coughed, utterly shocked. ‘I’m just making a delivery.’
Orosenn nodded. ‘Yes, for this woman to use to back up a Malazan client state here in the north – conveniently near a goldfield.’
Now Malle’s gaze narrowed. Her hands disappeared among the long black lace trimmings at her wrists. ‘You are too well informed, sorceress.’
Cartheron raised a hand in warning. ‘Malle … don’t.’
Jute’s hair rose as he realized that this woman fully intended to attack the sorceress. The servant – whatever his name was – tried to push forward but Orosenn held him back.
‘Why this delay!’ boomed a new voice as Tyvar came jogging up. His armour jangled loudly and he carried his helmet in a fist, his other on the long leather-wrapped grip of his sword. ‘Those without the walls are clamouring to be allowed in. Our fair ruler refuses. And,’ he added, his tone sharpening, ‘m’lady, of the enemy you mentioned, there is yet no sign at all…’
Jute felt as if he could suddenly breathe once more. Malle’s hands reappeared among the hanging lace at her wrists. She demanded, ‘What army? What state’s? More Lether reinforcements?’
‘We should have until dawn,’ Lady Orosenn answered Tyvar. She turned her attention to Malle. ‘What army, you ask? One might argue that it is the army of the past that comes now to throttle the future.’
Jute felt his face wrinkle up in confusion. What nonsense was this now?
‘The army of the past,’ Malle echoed, wonderingly. Her gaze shot to Cartheron. ‘It cannot be…’
Jute was surprised to see the old general’s face harden and lose all hint of his habitual mocking humour. ‘You’re on dangerous ground hinting at such things, Lady Orosenn.’
‘I? I am on dangerous ground? You Malazans have no idea what you’ve been meddling in. The old war was over until your emperor broke the balance. Now all this blood spilled is your fault and you must make reparation.’
Jute cleared his throat loudly. ‘Please, Lady Orosenn – of what do you speak?’
The sorceress turned to him and her features softened. A smile came to her lips, but it was a wistful one. ‘Jute of Delanss – I am sorry. You are right. We dance around the subject because it is almost too terrifying to name. I speak of course of the T’lan Imass, reawoken by the old emperor. Their Summoner nears even as we speak.’
>
Cartheron was shaking his head in hard denial. ‘No. You say we’re culpable. But we helped bring them this Summoner, Silverfox.’
‘Or she emerged in a desperate effort to right the imbalance,’ the sorceress countered.
‘Word is, Silverfox has nothing against the Jaghut,’ Cartheron growled.
‘Evidently she does not speak for all clans.’
Malle snapped up a hand. ‘Enough. This cannot be settled now. Sorceress – you claim the T’lan Imass are marching here. Yet what is this to us? I gather they seek these Icebloods, who I suspected are Jaghut. They will ignore us and pass on into the heights to track down their old enemies. It is sad and regrettable … but we could not interfere even if we wished.’ Malle made a show of studying the sorceress up and down. ‘Indeed, Lady Orosenn, I understand the fierceness of your advocacy. And considering this, you would be well advised to flee immediately yourself.’
‘Tell them what you told me,’ Tyvar Gendarian rumbled, his voice deep with suppressed emotion.
The sorceress sighed and there was now compassion in her gaze as she studied Cartheron. ‘This is a hard thing to tell you Malazans, but all these locals who live in the north, who occupy this keep, who farmed and lived here … they all share some measure of Jaghut blood. The T’lan Imass are marching north and killing all as they come. They will take this keep by storm and slay every living original inhabitant of these lands.’
Jute found that he almost blacked out at the thought of it. His vision darkened and his face and hands became frigid and numb. All the gods forfend! How could such things be allowed? Surely the injustice of it must offend all. He’d never considered the idea of evil before, but surely such an act must be condemned as such.
If Jute felt sickened, he could not imagine what Cartheron was feeling now. The man had appeared haggard and tired before, but this news seemed to age him decades as a weight slowly settled upon his shoulders and gouged fresh depth in the already creased and furrowed brackets at his mouth and eyes. He pulled a shaking hand down his face. ‘If that’s so, then there’s nothing we can do.’
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 389
