Forge of the high mage, p.13
Forge of the High Mage, page 13
part #4 of Path to Ascendancy Series
Then he felt the entire tower leap like a startled animal.
He was thrown into a wall. The very dressed-stone blocks beneath his feet fought each other as if they wished to escape the floor. Dust choked and blinded him. An avalanche of stones crashed around him. Then, the entire edifice itself, all of it – he felt it – began to tilt outwards from the heart-rock of the mountainside it had been built into.
Overcoming his stunned amazement, and coming to his senses, Blues snapped up his D’riss Warren and strained, screaming with the effort, reaching out to every life spark he could find in the tower, and brought them with him through the Warren to fling himself clear. Never having dared do anything so reckless, so excessive, he felt his consciousness being stretched near to breaking – and then it did.
*
In the valley below Eagle Summit Pass, Karsden, Imperial sanctioned Historian, came stumbling from his tent, struggling to retain his footing while the ground juddered beneath him. Distant roaring sounded and in the half-light he saw the slopes over the valley shudder and writhe. Clouds rose, seemingly from every direction, as avalanches of rock came hurtling down upon the valley.
We are all dead, he thought to himself, oddly calm, as if detached from the event. Shame I shall not be able to record—
He froze, staring upwards as the mountain slope supporting the Red Fort, the famed Citadel of the Crimson Guard, appeared to slide down as if cut, severed somehow, as if by a god’s sword slice: down the immense length of the mountain’s face, onwards, tumbling, and the thought came, exultant – Yes!
Then the avalanches struck.
*
Tayschrenn rose unsteadily to his feet. Continuous rumblings and echoing, cascading roars pulled his attention to the mountains and he gaped, blearily. Gods! The pass!
The troops around him were running now, southwards. He found Dujek amid a crowd of staff and officers, yelling orders. Catching sight of Tayschrenn, the commander snapped, ‘What in the Abyss was that!’
Tayschrenn held his aching head. ‘I have to say I am not certain.’
‘An attack?’
‘I do not believe so. Not … deliberate, no.’
The blunt fellow pulled his hand down his face to wipe away the sweat and dust. ‘Gods! Hate to see a deliberate one.’ He eyed him. ‘The thing in the north?’
‘Yes.’
Dujek grunted at that. ‘Keep an eye on it.’ And that was a dismissal as the commander turned to creating some order from the chaos.
A thick mane of white hair marked the Seti shamaness, Sialle, and Tayschrenn pushed his way through the milling soldiery to her. When they met, the young woman said, dryly, ‘I certainly sensed that.’
He nodded his commiseration. ‘Have you seen the Sword? Is he safe?’
‘The Sword is in the pass helping to dig out troops and find survivors.’
A curt bob of approval. Good. That is where he should be. Though in Tayschrenn’s mind another less charitable voice whispered, And he would be – wouldn’t he?
‘And what of us?’ Sialle asked. ‘What should we be doing?’
‘Keeping watch. Guarding the perimeter. Make certain no one takes advantage of this.’
She inclined her head in agreement and jogged off.
He returned his attention to the north. He felt his shoulders almost slump with a presentiment of what awaited them. Was it hostile? Overtly hostile? Or perhaps this was all just the gods playing with them for sport, as some philosophers contended. He took a long breath. Whichever. It had to be dealt with regardless. It was too close to Malazan lands.
Or, perhaps more accurately, Malazan territory was advancing too close to it.
*
Gianna was on the Basilica’s main harbour waterfront, crouched behind cargo with Jan and her brother, eyeing the marina of quiet vessels. ‘Which one?’ she asked of the brother.
He shushed her, which rather irked her. These foreigners had no manners or proper respect. The harbour night watch passed with their lanterns on poles and she ducked while Jan and her brother did not. ‘Can’t they see us?’ she whispered to Jan, but it was her brother who answered by making the common sign of rubbed fingers for graft. Gianna was quite shocked; she thought the watch beyond reproach.
Still, the brother and sister waited until the watch was long past before urging Gianna onwards to scurry out towards one particular pier. She supposed there was no sense in being too bold.
Halfway up the pier she halted as a jolt cleaved through her; it came from the water of the harbour, the bay, and the seas beyond that. She did not know how to understand it save that the water seemed to flinch as a shock pounded through it. Then the stones of the pier leapt sideways to send her stumbling. Jan and her brother fought to retain their footing. Wood crashed and iron screeched as the boats rocked, bashing the stone pier. Masts waved like saplings in a wind-storm. From the shore came the worst: the avalanche-like crash of brick and stones tumbling as arches collapsed and walls fell. Screams sounded even from this distance.
The sharp jolts subsided; only smaller shudders rumbled beneath Gianna’s feet now. The entire calamity must have taken only a few instants, but it had seemed to go on almost for ever. She made a wobbling turn, though the ground continued to buck at random moments, and began making her way back to the harbour-front.
‘What are you doing?’ Jan called after her in wonderment.
She pointed. ‘There are wounded! I can heal!’
‘No, damn you – now’s our best chance!’ The High Priestess did not answer or slow her uncertain progress. ‘Little fool,’ Jan snarled and the auras of Warren magics bloomed round her hands. She raised a fist to gesture but her brother Janul rested a hand upon her shoulder.
‘No. She’s strong in Ruse, remember. We could lose her. And so much for any quiet getaway.’
Janelle snorted her frustration at that. The blooms of power dancing at her hands dispersed. ‘But in the chaos …’
Janul shook his head. ‘The gates aren’t opening now, are they.’
Janelle looked to the night sky, her jaws writhing.
Behind them a concatenation of power and water sprayed high above the sea-walls as a monstrous wave crashed into the outer defences. A heavy mist from the spray hissed down around them; Janelle wiped the cold salt water from her face while glaring back at the wharf.
Janul gestured her onwards. ‘Come, let’s make a show of helping – get into her favour, yes?’
She looked again to the night sky. Gods! The things she did for the magister!
*
Blues awoke at a blow to his chest. He raised his dizzy, throbbing head to peer around; he was on a rocky forested mountainside, probably not too far from the Red Fort – or rather, where the Red Fort once stood. Groans sounded, announcing the presence of others, and he pushed himself to his feet to find them.
After searching among the rocks and brambles he gathered together Gwynn and Smoky, and Black the Lesser and Jacinth joined them. Blues eyed the four; every one of them, including him, carried deep cuts, were covered in rock dust, clothes torn from savage blows. ‘Is this all?’ he panted, wincing. ‘Any others?’
Gwynn shook his head. ‘Fell in the landslide. Only we survived.’
Blues felt his shoulders slump. He turned away. I tried. Gods I tried. But it wasn’t enough.
‘So … you were correct,’ Gwynn murmured.
Blues winced anew.
‘Now what?’ Smoky asked. ‘We’re not exactly well equipped.’
Blues turned back; the mage of Telas was right. None carried any armour or a weapon more than a dagger. He was dressed in leathers; Gwynn must have still been up as he wore his usual black. Smoky was barefoot, in nothing but trousers and a long shirt – he must have been in bed – while Black the Lesser and Jacinth both wore only their padded belted gambesons and boots.
No food, no water. No armour or weapons.
Blues shook his head.
Black the Lesser seemed to read his mood as he pulled a hand down his thick black beard, observing, ‘We’re alive, Blues.’
‘Question still stands,’ Smoky reminded.
‘I’m going north,’ Blues answered, rather surprising himself.
‘As am I,’ Gwynn added. Blues looked to him, surprised again.
Smoky set his hands to his hips. ‘Really? Like this? What in the Abyss for?’
‘The Malazans are going north.’
Smoky snorted, ‘They’re going everywhere.’
‘We should investigate – off contract,’ Gwynn put in.
All four eyed Gwynn, startled. ‘Really?’ Jacinth asked for them all. He gave a sombre nod in answer – much more his usual self.
Blues rubbed his shoulder where a stone had hit a glancing blow. ‘Well, the Malazans have stores …’
The tall and hulking Black the Lesser stroked his beard and crooked a smile. ‘And armour.’
Grinning, Jacinth chimed in, ‘And weapons.’
*
Imperial Historian Karsden awoke in a cot in a tent alongside a crowd of other cots and bedding occupied by wounded. He raised a hand to find sticky cloth wrapped round his head. ‘Medicer!’ he yelled, and winced with a groan.
A private came to him. ‘Yes, Commander?’
‘A quill, lad! And vellum!’
The young soldier demurred. ‘You are wounded, sir. A severe blow to the head.’
‘Never mind that! Do it! Now!’ The young fellow peered round, perhaps for help, but finding himself alone, he bobbed his head. ‘Very well, ah, sir.’
Karsden rearranged his bedding so that he could sit up. The private brought a flat board, vellum, an inkwell and a quill. Karsden nodded his thanks then shooed the lad off. He dipped the quill then raised his eyes for a time, arranging his gyring flying thoughts, then set tip to vellum and wrote:
The Fall of the Crimson Guard.
So did Glorious Emperor Kellanved finally set his troops ’gainst the last foothold of the defeated Crimson Guard upon the Quon Talian mainland. And seeing their petty and sullen defiance of his honourable claim to all lands, was reluctantly forced to bring his righteous might down upon their rebellious heads. Raising his puissance, he smote the mountainside with his dread power and crushed the last great fortress of the Citadel. Its broken stones came raining down upon the valley below. And though some Malazan forces were lost in this great siege, and some wounded, it remains a great victory, and a final death-blow to that wicked order.
Setting down his quill, Imperial Historian Karsden sat back with a sigh. There, a strong beginning to a true recording of events. He gently pressed a hand to his bandaged head. Yes, he could probably anticipate a new posting for this work. Perhaps even at the capital.
He smiled then, easing even further into the pillows, and shut his eyes imagining the luxuries and fame that most certainly would be his.
*
Dancer braced himself at stanchions on board the Twisted as yet another monstrous wave bore down upon them. Holding tight while the bows rose up the great sweep of water, with Cartheron yelling commands to the steersman and the crew in the sheets, he was beginning to wonder whether there really was some antagonistic force opposing their advance. For no sooner had they left the fields of ice-crags behind, and reorganized their rag-tag flotilla, than a series of gigantic waves had now come storming down upon them.
Their fleet – if you could call it that – was scattered across the seas again. Gods knew how long it would take to herd them together once more; and some, no doubt, had already decided those very gods were against them and had turned tail to return to home ports.
The Twisted seemed to fly, as, for an instant, only clouds and sky showed before the bowsprit. Then the ship tilted and fell bow-wards, gaining momentum, charging down a broad mountain-slope of mottled green and blue. Dancer swallowed hard to ease his queasy stomach: most comfortable in the city, he’d never found his true sailorly legs.
The Twisted levelled, yawed slightly with its speed, and Cartheron stomped by, shouting commands but grinning; he shot Dancer a wink. Dancer carefully unlatched his hands from the wood and eased his shoulders. He shook his head. Grinning? These Napan sailors were mad.
The cabin door banged open and out staggered Kellanved, looking very green around the gills – as these sailors would say. He made for the side, gasping, ‘Sea power! Outrageous foolishness!’ He leaned over the railing, groaning. ‘Whose idiotic idea was this?’
Dancer felt no need to answer that.
Kellanved vomited over the side, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and moaned anew. Then he straightened, waving the stained cloth. ‘Where is our glorious fleet? Have they all bolted? Disloyal scum!’ He pointed to Cartheron. ‘Round them up!’
The Napan admiral was still grinning behind his scraggly beard. ‘Oh, we will all right.’
Kellanved nodded at this, swallowing. ‘Good, good.’ Then he bent over the side once more, gagging. Above the bent and heaving form, Dancer and Cartheron’s gazes met, both men grinning now, and both looked to the sky.
From the shrouds above came an eerie, nearly human, mocking laugh from that odd creature, the sometime pet nacht.
CHAPTER 8
FOR ULLARA, THE GREAT KICKING AND SHAKING OF THE EARTH had been terrifying – the worst she’d ever experienced in her life. But at least she and her guards had been on open ground. She lost none of them to this fit of Burn’s wrath. When it struck she’d been asleep, surrounded by her guard of bear-warriors. After those first shocks passed and the embers of the fire stopped bouncing, she immediately cast her vision to the night-hunters ranging round the home village. The night-eyes of owls revealed little damage; the huts were small and light after all, of wattle and daub. A few had fallen, but the main temple of thick wood pillars still stood. The wolf-warriors were all astir, hurrying about. Strangely, though, she saw no sign of the Thelomen mage, Koroll.
‘Home is safe,’ she told Ursana, the leader of her guard. The huge bear-matron grunted her relief at the news.
‘We should return,’ the giant growled, eyeing the south.
‘But we are so close!’
‘Exactly. After this, they may not be in the mood to talk.’
‘So, we just turn around?’
The huge matron of bears nodded ponderously. ‘Yes. They will be worried for you. They do not know what has happened.’
‘We could send a messenger. One of your warriors.’
Ursana shook her head. ‘No. You must return to the people. They have had a shock.’
‘But the Malazans …’
The bear-warrior snorted her disdain. ‘They will keep. Now, we must go.’
‘What? Right now?’
‘Yes.’ She gestured for the litter to be readied.
Ullara almost – but not quite – stamped her foot at this, this, defiance. ‘I am the Bird Priestess. You must do as I say.’
A small upturn of one edge of the veteran’s lips was all this stirred. ‘And I am charged with your safety for the people. So … we leave now.’
The guard of bear-warriors had broken camp and four brought the litter. Ursana gestured her in with one broad paw-like hand.
Ullara twisted her hands together. ‘Well – if I must. But I think this is a mistake: the Malazans must be dealt with.’
‘These Malazans,’ Ursana judged, ‘will no doubt come to us.’
Settling into the blankets and cushions within the narrow litter, Ullara reflected that, yes, that was most likely to be the case. As the bear-warriors set off at double-pace she banged her head against the wall of the covered box.
The journey back took half the time; even the preternatural stamina of these Jhek bear-warriors was tested for Ullara could hear them panting and chuffing through the last portion of the way. They reached the village the dawn of the fourth day. Wolf-warriors bounded about them – some no doubt running ahead to bring the news.
Looris met them before the entrance to the temple. ‘We are glad to see you unharmed,’ he said as Ursana helped her from the litter; she leaned on the bear-woman, her legs numb and tingling.
‘My thanks,’ she answered. ‘And you as well. Everyone?’
Looris nodded. ‘Everyone is well. There were no deaths.’
Ullara felt her shoulders ease. ‘Good, good.’
‘And these invaders? You simply returned, I take it?’
Ursana walked her into the temple. ‘Yes,’ she told Looris. ‘But they are coming. Have no doubt of that.’
‘Good,’ he answered, sounding pleased. ‘We will meet them and destroy them.’
Ullara almost fell – Ursana holding her up by an arm. ‘No! You most certainly will not!’
Looris waved a dismissal. ‘They are mere men and women – no match for us.’
Ullara halted abruptly just inside the temple. Her pets cawed and screeched a welcome, many flying tight circles within the broad vaulted chamber. ‘They are normal men and women,’ she said, ‘this is true. However, they fight differently from you: not as warriors but as soldiers, together, organized.’
The wolf war-leader raised his bony shoulders in a shrug. ‘This may be true but it will make no difference.’
Ullara resisted raising her eyes to the ceiling: how to penetrate such self-satisfaction? She pointed a finger. ‘I forbid you to challenge or attack them, Looris. We must talk first. Spread the word.’
He gave his typical toothy grin, bowing his head slightly. ‘As you wish.’
‘Now … where is Koroll? I would speak with him.’
‘Ah.’ The war-leader gestured her inside. ‘Now we must talk.’
She allowed Ursana to guide her to her seat. The largest of the hunting birds flapped down to perch about her: mountain eagles, red falcons and giant owls. She reached up to stroke an eagle. ‘Yes? Where is Koroll then?’
Looris cleared his throat. ‘Troubling news, Priestess. The Thelomen Bellurdan returned alone from the north and tried to force his way inside these precincts. No doubt he killed all those we sent with him and was intent upon attacking you.’
Ullara stared, unable to form a reply. ‘I find that hard to believe,’ she managed after a time.
He was thrown into a wall. The very dressed-stone blocks beneath his feet fought each other as if they wished to escape the floor. Dust choked and blinded him. An avalanche of stones crashed around him. Then, the entire edifice itself, all of it – he felt it – began to tilt outwards from the heart-rock of the mountainside it had been built into.
Overcoming his stunned amazement, and coming to his senses, Blues snapped up his D’riss Warren and strained, screaming with the effort, reaching out to every life spark he could find in the tower, and brought them with him through the Warren to fling himself clear. Never having dared do anything so reckless, so excessive, he felt his consciousness being stretched near to breaking – and then it did.
*
In the valley below Eagle Summit Pass, Karsden, Imperial sanctioned Historian, came stumbling from his tent, struggling to retain his footing while the ground juddered beneath him. Distant roaring sounded and in the half-light he saw the slopes over the valley shudder and writhe. Clouds rose, seemingly from every direction, as avalanches of rock came hurtling down upon the valley.
We are all dead, he thought to himself, oddly calm, as if detached from the event. Shame I shall not be able to record—
He froze, staring upwards as the mountain slope supporting the Red Fort, the famed Citadel of the Crimson Guard, appeared to slide down as if cut, severed somehow, as if by a god’s sword slice: down the immense length of the mountain’s face, onwards, tumbling, and the thought came, exultant – Yes!
Then the avalanches struck.
*
Tayschrenn rose unsteadily to his feet. Continuous rumblings and echoing, cascading roars pulled his attention to the mountains and he gaped, blearily. Gods! The pass!
The troops around him were running now, southwards. He found Dujek amid a crowd of staff and officers, yelling orders. Catching sight of Tayschrenn, the commander snapped, ‘What in the Abyss was that!’
Tayschrenn held his aching head. ‘I have to say I am not certain.’
‘An attack?’
‘I do not believe so. Not … deliberate, no.’
The blunt fellow pulled his hand down his face to wipe away the sweat and dust. ‘Gods! Hate to see a deliberate one.’ He eyed him. ‘The thing in the north?’
‘Yes.’
Dujek grunted at that. ‘Keep an eye on it.’ And that was a dismissal as the commander turned to creating some order from the chaos.
A thick mane of white hair marked the Seti shamaness, Sialle, and Tayschrenn pushed his way through the milling soldiery to her. When they met, the young woman said, dryly, ‘I certainly sensed that.’
He nodded his commiseration. ‘Have you seen the Sword? Is he safe?’
‘The Sword is in the pass helping to dig out troops and find survivors.’
A curt bob of approval. Good. That is where he should be. Though in Tayschrenn’s mind another less charitable voice whispered, And he would be – wouldn’t he?
‘And what of us?’ Sialle asked. ‘What should we be doing?’
‘Keeping watch. Guarding the perimeter. Make certain no one takes advantage of this.’
She inclined her head in agreement and jogged off.
He returned his attention to the north. He felt his shoulders almost slump with a presentiment of what awaited them. Was it hostile? Overtly hostile? Or perhaps this was all just the gods playing with them for sport, as some philosophers contended. He took a long breath. Whichever. It had to be dealt with regardless. It was too close to Malazan lands.
Or, perhaps more accurately, Malazan territory was advancing too close to it.
*
Gianna was on the Basilica’s main harbour waterfront, crouched behind cargo with Jan and her brother, eyeing the marina of quiet vessels. ‘Which one?’ she asked of the brother.
He shushed her, which rather irked her. These foreigners had no manners or proper respect. The harbour night watch passed with their lanterns on poles and she ducked while Jan and her brother did not. ‘Can’t they see us?’ she whispered to Jan, but it was her brother who answered by making the common sign of rubbed fingers for graft. Gianna was quite shocked; she thought the watch beyond reproach.
Still, the brother and sister waited until the watch was long past before urging Gianna onwards to scurry out towards one particular pier. She supposed there was no sense in being too bold.
Halfway up the pier she halted as a jolt cleaved through her; it came from the water of the harbour, the bay, and the seas beyond that. She did not know how to understand it save that the water seemed to flinch as a shock pounded through it. Then the stones of the pier leapt sideways to send her stumbling. Jan and her brother fought to retain their footing. Wood crashed and iron screeched as the boats rocked, bashing the stone pier. Masts waved like saplings in a wind-storm. From the shore came the worst: the avalanche-like crash of brick and stones tumbling as arches collapsed and walls fell. Screams sounded even from this distance.
The sharp jolts subsided; only smaller shudders rumbled beneath Gianna’s feet now. The entire calamity must have taken only a few instants, but it had seemed to go on almost for ever. She made a wobbling turn, though the ground continued to buck at random moments, and began making her way back to the harbour-front.
‘What are you doing?’ Jan called after her in wonderment.
She pointed. ‘There are wounded! I can heal!’
‘No, damn you – now’s our best chance!’ The High Priestess did not answer or slow her uncertain progress. ‘Little fool,’ Jan snarled and the auras of Warren magics bloomed round her hands. She raised a fist to gesture but her brother Janul rested a hand upon her shoulder.
‘No. She’s strong in Ruse, remember. We could lose her. And so much for any quiet getaway.’
Janelle snorted her frustration at that. The blooms of power dancing at her hands dispersed. ‘But in the chaos …’
Janul shook his head. ‘The gates aren’t opening now, are they.’
Janelle looked to the night sky, her jaws writhing.
Behind them a concatenation of power and water sprayed high above the sea-walls as a monstrous wave crashed into the outer defences. A heavy mist from the spray hissed down around them; Janelle wiped the cold salt water from her face while glaring back at the wharf.
Janul gestured her onwards. ‘Come, let’s make a show of helping – get into her favour, yes?’
She looked again to the night sky. Gods! The things she did for the magister!
*
Blues awoke at a blow to his chest. He raised his dizzy, throbbing head to peer around; he was on a rocky forested mountainside, probably not too far from the Red Fort – or rather, where the Red Fort once stood. Groans sounded, announcing the presence of others, and he pushed himself to his feet to find them.
After searching among the rocks and brambles he gathered together Gwynn and Smoky, and Black the Lesser and Jacinth joined them. Blues eyed the four; every one of them, including him, carried deep cuts, were covered in rock dust, clothes torn from savage blows. ‘Is this all?’ he panted, wincing. ‘Any others?’
Gwynn shook his head. ‘Fell in the landslide. Only we survived.’
Blues felt his shoulders slump. He turned away. I tried. Gods I tried. But it wasn’t enough.
‘So … you were correct,’ Gwynn murmured.
Blues winced anew.
‘Now what?’ Smoky asked. ‘We’re not exactly well equipped.’
Blues turned back; the mage of Telas was right. None carried any armour or a weapon more than a dagger. He was dressed in leathers; Gwynn must have still been up as he wore his usual black. Smoky was barefoot, in nothing but trousers and a long shirt – he must have been in bed – while Black the Lesser and Jacinth both wore only their padded belted gambesons and boots.
No food, no water. No armour or weapons.
Blues shook his head.
Black the Lesser seemed to read his mood as he pulled a hand down his thick black beard, observing, ‘We’re alive, Blues.’
‘Question still stands,’ Smoky reminded.
‘I’m going north,’ Blues answered, rather surprising himself.
‘As am I,’ Gwynn added. Blues looked to him, surprised again.
Smoky set his hands to his hips. ‘Really? Like this? What in the Abyss for?’
‘The Malazans are going north.’
Smoky snorted, ‘They’re going everywhere.’
‘We should investigate – off contract,’ Gwynn put in.
All four eyed Gwynn, startled. ‘Really?’ Jacinth asked for them all. He gave a sombre nod in answer – much more his usual self.
Blues rubbed his shoulder where a stone had hit a glancing blow. ‘Well, the Malazans have stores …’
The tall and hulking Black the Lesser stroked his beard and crooked a smile. ‘And armour.’
Grinning, Jacinth chimed in, ‘And weapons.’
*
Imperial Historian Karsden awoke in a cot in a tent alongside a crowd of other cots and bedding occupied by wounded. He raised a hand to find sticky cloth wrapped round his head. ‘Medicer!’ he yelled, and winced with a groan.
A private came to him. ‘Yes, Commander?’
‘A quill, lad! And vellum!’
The young soldier demurred. ‘You are wounded, sir. A severe blow to the head.’
‘Never mind that! Do it! Now!’ The young fellow peered round, perhaps for help, but finding himself alone, he bobbed his head. ‘Very well, ah, sir.’
Karsden rearranged his bedding so that he could sit up. The private brought a flat board, vellum, an inkwell and a quill. Karsden nodded his thanks then shooed the lad off. He dipped the quill then raised his eyes for a time, arranging his gyring flying thoughts, then set tip to vellum and wrote:
The Fall of the Crimson Guard.
So did Glorious Emperor Kellanved finally set his troops ’gainst the last foothold of the defeated Crimson Guard upon the Quon Talian mainland. And seeing their petty and sullen defiance of his honourable claim to all lands, was reluctantly forced to bring his righteous might down upon their rebellious heads. Raising his puissance, he smote the mountainside with his dread power and crushed the last great fortress of the Citadel. Its broken stones came raining down upon the valley below. And though some Malazan forces were lost in this great siege, and some wounded, it remains a great victory, and a final death-blow to that wicked order.
Setting down his quill, Imperial Historian Karsden sat back with a sigh. There, a strong beginning to a true recording of events. He gently pressed a hand to his bandaged head. Yes, he could probably anticipate a new posting for this work. Perhaps even at the capital.
He smiled then, easing even further into the pillows, and shut his eyes imagining the luxuries and fame that most certainly would be his.
*
Dancer braced himself at stanchions on board the Twisted as yet another monstrous wave bore down upon them. Holding tight while the bows rose up the great sweep of water, with Cartheron yelling commands to the steersman and the crew in the sheets, he was beginning to wonder whether there really was some antagonistic force opposing their advance. For no sooner had they left the fields of ice-crags behind, and reorganized their rag-tag flotilla, than a series of gigantic waves had now come storming down upon them.
Their fleet – if you could call it that – was scattered across the seas again. Gods knew how long it would take to herd them together once more; and some, no doubt, had already decided those very gods were against them and had turned tail to return to home ports.
The Twisted seemed to fly, as, for an instant, only clouds and sky showed before the bowsprit. Then the ship tilted and fell bow-wards, gaining momentum, charging down a broad mountain-slope of mottled green and blue. Dancer swallowed hard to ease his queasy stomach: most comfortable in the city, he’d never found his true sailorly legs.
The Twisted levelled, yawed slightly with its speed, and Cartheron stomped by, shouting commands but grinning; he shot Dancer a wink. Dancer carefully unlatched his hands from the wood and eased his shoulders. He shook his head. Grinning? These Napan sailors were mad.
The cabin door banged open and out staggered Kellanved, looking very green around the gills – as these sailors would say. He made for the side, gasping, ‘Sea power! Outrageous foolishness!’ He leaned over the railing, groaning. ‘Whose idiotic idea was this?’
Dancer felt no need to answer that.
Kellanved vomited over the side, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, and moaned anew. Then he straightened, waving the stained cloth. ‘Where is our glorious fleet? Have they all bolted? Disloyal scum!’ He pointed to Cartheron. ‘Round them up!’
The Napan admiral was still grinning behind his scraggly beard. ‘Oh, we will all right.’
Kellanved nodded at this, swallowing. ‘Good, good.’ Then he bent over the side once more, gagging. Above the bent and heaving form, Dancer and Cartheron’s gazes met, both men grinning now, and both looked to the sky.
From the shrouds above came an eerie, nearly human, mocking laugh from that odd creature, the sometime pet nacht.
CHAPTER 8
FOR ULLARA, THE GREAT KICKING AND SHAKING OF THE EARTH had been terrifying – the worst she’d ever experienced in her life. But at least she and her guards had been on open ground. She lost none of them to this fit of Burn’s wrath. When it struck she’d been asleep, surrounded by her guard of bear-warriors. After those first shocks passed and the embers of the fire stopped bouncing, she immediately cast her vision to the night-hunters ranging round the home village. The night-eyes of owls revealed little damage; the huts were small and light after all, of wattle and daub. A few had fallen, but the main temple of thick wood pillars still stood. The wolf-warriors were all astir, hurrying about. Strangely, though, she saw no sign of the Thelomen mage, Koroll.
‘Home is safe,’ she told Ursana, the leader of her guard. The huge bear-matron grunted her relief at the news.
‘We should return,’ the giant growled, eyeing the south.
‘But we are so close!’
‘Exactly. After this, they may not be in the mood to talk.’
‘So, we just turn around?’
The huge matron of bears nodded ponderously. ‘Yes. They will be worried for you. They do not know what has happened.’
‘We could send a messenger. One of your warriors.’
Ursana shook her head. ‘No. You must return to the people. They have had a shock.’
‘But the Malazans …’
The bear-warrior snorted her disdain. ‘They will keep. Now, we must go.’
‘What? Right now?’
‘Yes.’ She gestured for the litter to be readied.
Ullara almost – but not quite – stamped her foot at this, this, defiance. ‘I am the Bird Priestess. You must do as I say.’
A small upturn of one edge of the veteran’s lips was all this stirred. ‘And I am charged with your safety for the people. So … we leave now.’
The guard of bear-warriors had broken camp and four brought the litter. Ursana gestured her in with one broad paw-like hand.
Ullara twisted her hands together. ‘Well – if I must. But I think this is a mistake: the Malazans must be dealt with.’
‘These Malazans,’ Ursana judged, ‘will no doubt come to us.’
Settling into the blankets and cushions within the narrow litter, Ullara reflected that, yes, that was most likely to be the case. As the bear-warriors set off at double-pace she banged her head against the wall of the covered box.
The journey back took half the time; even the preternatural stamina of these Jhek bear-warriors was tested for Ullara could hear them panting and chuffing through the last portion of the way. They reached the village the dawn of the fourth day. Wolf-warriors bounded about them – some no doubt running ahead to bring the news.
Looris met them before the entrance to the temple. ‘We are glad to see you unharmed,’ he said as Ursana helped her from the litter; she leaned on the bear-woman, her legs numb and tingling.
‘My thanks,’ she answered. ‘And you as well. Everyone?’
Looris nodded. ‘Everyone is well. There were no deaths.’
Ullara felt her shoulders ease. ‘Good, good.’
‘And these invaders? You simply returned, I take it?’
Ursana walked her into the temple. ‘Yes,’ she told Looris. ‘But they are coming. Have no doubt of that.’
‘Good,’ he answered, sounding pleased. ‘We will meet them and destroy them.’
Ullara almost fell – Ursana holding her up by an arm. ‘No! You most certainly will not!’
Looris waved a dismissal. ‘They are mere men and women – no match for us.’
Ullara halted abruptly just inside the temple. Her pets cawed and screeched a welcome, many flying tight circles within the broad vaulted chamber. ‘They are normal men and women,’ she said, ‘this is true. However, they fight differently from you: not as warriors but as soldiers, together, organized.’
The wolf war-leader raised his bony shoulders in a shrug. ‘This may be true but it will make no difference.’
Ullara resisted raising her eyes to the ceiling: how to penetrate such self-satisfaction? She pointed a finger. ‘I forbid you to challenge or attack them, Looris. We must talk first. Spread the word.’
He gave his typical toothy grin, bowing his head slightly. ‘As you wish.’
‘Now … where is Koroll? I would speak with him.’
‘Ah.’ The war-leader gestured her inside. ‘Now we must talk.’
She allowed Ursana to guide her to her seat. The largest of the hunting birds flapped down to perch about her: mountain eagles, red falcons and giant owls. She reached up to stroke an eagle. ‘Yes? Where is Koroll then?’
Looris cleared his throat. ‘Troubling news, Priestess. The Thelomen Bellurdan returned alone from the north and tried to force his way inside these precincts. No doubt he killed all those we sent with him and was intent upon attacking you.’
Ullara stared, unable to form a reply. ‘I find that hard to believe,’ she managed after a time.
