About the Book
In the western sky, the bright emerald banner of the Visitor descends like a portent of annihilation.
On the continent of Jacuruku, the Thaumaturgs have mounted another expedition to tame the wild jungle that is their neighbour. Yet this is no normal wilderness. Named Himatan, it is said to be both of the spirit realm and of the earth. It is also said that it is ruled over by a powerful entity some call the Queen of Witches and others the ancient goddess Ardata. Saeng has grown up knowing only life under the Thaumaturgs – but it is the voices of her country’s forgotten past that speak to her. And when these magician rulers begin their invasion of Himatan, the voices strengthen – urging Saeng and her brother to undertake a desperate mission.
To the south, the desert tribes are united by the arrival of a foreign war leader, a veteran commander in battered mail. His men call him the Grey Ghost and he will lead these tribes on a raid like none that has gone before – deep into the heart of Thaumaturg lands.
And then the mercenary Crimson Guard are issued a contract against a renegade of their ranks. Skinner has returned to Jacuruku and is rumoured to want to reclaim a kingdom he once held. And who are the Guard to refuse the command of a god?
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Map
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Epilogue
Glossary
About the Author
Also by Ian C. Esslemont
Copyright
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
Also known as the Enchantress, T’riss
Dreams
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 dangerou
s 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 sudden 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.
‘Who are you talking to?’ he would sometimes ask from where he squatted under a tree.
‘The old dead,’ she’d answer.
‘Aren’t you scared?’
‘No. They’re dead.’
Befuddled, he’d throw up his hands. ‘Then – why aren’t they gone?’
‘Because they’re angry. Only anger is strong enough to keep the feet of the dead to the ground.’
Then he would glower because secretly he was afraid. And as the months passed he began to pester her. ‘It isn’t safe,’ he’d say. ‘We shouldn’t be here.’
And he was right. But not in the way either of them imagined.
One night she sat on the edge of a choked swampy depression. She was speaking with the shade of a woman who’d been drowned here in what she claimed had once been a great reservoir. In those days, the spirit asserted, its waters had been clear and deeper than a tall man. Among the trees behind her, Hanu pretended he was one of the ancient warrior-kings as he swung a heavy branch.
‘Drowned?’ she asked. ‘What do you mean you were drowned?’
‘Heavy rocks were tied to me and I was thrown in,’ the shade replied.
Saeng resisted the urge to curse. Sometimes the dead could be so literal. ‘I mean why were you drowned?’
‘I was a priestess of the old faith.’
‘The old faith? You mean—’ and Saeng lowered her voice, ‘the damned God-King?’
‘No,’ came the uninflected voice of the ghost. ‘Not him. It was at his orders that the temple was burned and I was slain. I speak of the ancient old religion. The worship of Light. The Great Sun.’
Saeng leaped up from the edge of the swamp. For the first time something said by one of these shades seemed to touch her very heart.
Hanu appeared at her side. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.
Saeng’s hand had gone to her throat. ‘A spirit,’ she managed. By the ancients! Could Mother have been right all this time? ‘She claims to be a priestess of an old faith.’
Hanu waved his contempt. ‘Which? They’re like flies.’
But she held his gaze long and hard and eventually his brows crimped. ‘No …’ he breathed, and she nodded her certainty.
‘Oh, yes.’
‘The one Mother goes on about …?’
‘The same faith that runs in your blood,’ came the shade’s voice from behind and Saeng jumped once again. She turned on it. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Who’s that?’ Hanu demanded, peering about.
The ghost raised an arm, pointing off into the jungle. ‘And now comes your time of trial and your time to choose. Remember all that we have taught.’
Saeng stared her confusion. ‘What? Taught? What do you mean?’
The woman clasped her hands before her and it seemed to Saeng that she was peering down at her as if she were her own daughter. ‘Really, child. You did not think that you were called for no reason, did you?’
‘What is it?’ Hanu whispered, insis
tent.
‘Called?’ But the shade dispersed like smoke. Saeng turned to her brother. ‘It seemed to suggest that something is coming.’
Hanu frowned, considering. ‘The Choosing is approaching,’ he murmured.
Of course. The Choosing. Suddenly her heart tripped as if a grip were attempting to stop it. ‘You mustn’t go.’
He snorted. ‘It’s required, Saeng. We’ll all be arrested if I’m not seen. Ancients, all our neighbours will see to that!’
Saeng knew what he meant. It was an ugly truth, but better one of another family be chosen than one of theirs.
A month later the great travelling column of the ruling Thaumaturgs swung through their province. And eventually a representative arrived even at their insignificant village. He came escorted by twenty soldiers and carried in a great palanquin of lacquered wood shaded by white silks.
Saeng watched from next to her mother among the villagers crowded together by the sharp proddings of the soldiers’ sticks while the menfolk of age lined up for the Choosing. She was apprehensive for Hanu, but not overly so, as it had been years since any son of the village had been selected for service.
The palanquin was lowered and the theurgist stepped out. He was dressed exquisitely in rich layered silks of deepest sea blue and blossom gold, and was rather fat about the middle, and short. Yet he held the all-important ivory baton of office, which he carried negligently in one ringed hand, swinging it back and forth.
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