Forge of the high mage, p.44
Forge of the High Mage, page 44
part #4 of Path to Ascendancy Series
‘That you have known and seen all this time, yes. But a threat is approaching. A very great danger. One that the Jhistal was exactly meant to answer.’
She turned away, shaking her head. ‘No. No more. I’ll not listen to you any more.’ She gestured to his rowboat. ‘Go. Leave. Goodbye.’
The fellow stood silent for a time. He examined his wide workman’s hands. ‘Yes. I suppose I deserve this. Very well. I will go. The threat comes from the south, by the way. A moving mountain of fire. You can see its smoke now.’
‘Just go.’
The fellow went to the side, threw a leg over. ‘I’m sorry. It seems I’ve failed you – and I’m sorry.’
He clambered down the rope ladder to his tiny rowboat where it bounced along next to the Glimmer’s side. He threw off the line and set the oars in their docks. Gianna watched the boat quickly fall behind.
Brevin came to her side. ‘What was all that about, lass?’
She let out a hard breath. ‘I suppose you could call it a religious dispute.’
Brevin set her hands on the railing. ‘High Priestess, is it?’ she asked, eyeing her narrowly.
She snorted. ‘Once, perhaps. No longer.’
‘Well, you have your chest, and the crew are eager to cash in their shares of the salvage. No holding them back now.’
She gave a wry laugh. ‘They want to get a move on, hey?’
‘Yes, lass. Apologies.’ She glanced back to the chest. ‘Not what you were hoping for, I understand. I have contacts in Gravid. Cousins. They’ll help us move all this. Then it’s north for us, I think. Plenty foreign ports up north where no one knows us.’
‘They hate Falarans. They won’t let you dock.’
Brevin offered a grin, rubbed her fingertips together. ‘Silver and gold smooths away so many obstacles.’
Gianna raised a hand, almost in surrender. ‘Yes. I understand.’ She sighed anew so heavily she felt her shoulders falling. ‘So, west it is.’
Brevin gave a curt half-bow, turned away. ‘Raise all sail!’
Gianna glanced aside to see Torva at the side, a slight distance off, eyeing her edgeways. ‘What do you have to say?’ she demanded.
The old smuggler shrugged. ‘Not for me to comment, hey? That’s all between you and your faith, I’m thinking.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. I suppose so. A faith I should’ve lost a long time ago.’
‘That’s not for no one to say. Not even you.’
She raised a brow. ‘Oh? You a religious man, Torva?’
He appeared uncomfortable, hunched his shoulders. ‘Age does things to a person. Some harden into their old ideas, shut their eyes. But others see things different when they look back. There’s those who say they have no regrets for anything – I say that’s complete stubborn ass-headedness. All I see are regrets.’ He drew a hand down his greying stubble. ‘All the things I wish I’d had the courage to say or to do at the time. All those lost chances …’ He shook his head.
‘Is that wisdom speaking there, Torva?’
‘Hunh. Age ain’t no guarantee of wisdom, lass. There’s plenty of stupid old people out there. Believe you me.’
She laughed then, unreservedly, hurting her stomach. ‘Thank you, Torva. For that bit of wholesome folk wisdom.’
He raised a greying beetle brow back at her. ‘Oh – was that what that was, lass?’
The winds remained strong and favourable. They stormed past Delanss and by late that day were already heading towards Ictor. Gianna looked up from her reading of the scrolls to scowl at the billowing sails.
Following her gaze, Brevin, from the stern, laughed her pleasure. ‘We’re fortunate! Such winds at this time of year? This keeps up we’ll set a new record for such a crossing.’
Gianna’s scowl deepened. Yes, unheard of …
She returned to her reading. Every scroll she opened only amazed her further. No wonder these records were sealed away! The very cult of Mael criminalizing the open and free worship of their own god? Stunning truths. She returned her latest scroll and sat back. Yet who would listen? How would she escape censure and arrest should she whisper one word of this?
‘Boats abows!’ came the shout from above.
She stood, peered ahead. Numerous small craft crowded the waters to the west. Having made such excellent time, she judged the Glimmer to be nearing the Strait of Lure.
Brevin called to lower canvas. The Glimmer slowed.
They found themselves amidst a rag-tag flotilla, or convoy, of fishing boats and other small family craft.
‘Ahoy!’ Brevin called from the prow. ‘What’s this? What news?’
‘Don’t go west!’ came an answering shout. ‘Head off with us – north!’
‘Why?’ Brevin answered, almost laughing.
‘The gods’ own retribution is upon us!’ someone else yelled back. ‘From the south! We are doomed!’
Gianna let the bone and horn tubes fall. She threw herself to the rail.
Brevin now eyed her, almost warily.
‘What do you mean – retribution?’ Gianna shouted back.
As one craft passed, the fellow at the side-tiller answered, ‘A great mountain of fire! A walking volcano! All will burn! Where do you think all this smoke is from, fool!’
Gianna thumped back down to her seat.
‘Where?’ Brevin called to another passing boat.
‘The mainland coast of Lure Sea! South of Cabil.’
Gianna pressed her hands to her mouth. Brevin came to her, stood before her.
‘What is this?’ the captain breathed, her eyes on the passing craft.
Gianna stifled a near-manic giggle. The true purpose of the Jhistal, he’d said.
She lowered her hands. ‘Set sail for Lure Sea.’
Brevin pressed a hand to her heavy jowls. ‘I was planning a more northern crossing, lass.’
Gianna snorted a laugh. She noted the strong gusting winds. ‘I have a feeling the seas would be against that, captain.’
CHAPTER 26
BLUES AND GWYNN BUSIED THEMSELVES DRYING AND SMOKING any game brought back by Black and Jacinth – while keeping an eye on the limping mountain as it laboured northwards like a wounded god. Blues estimated two days were left at the most before they’d know the fate of it or the region: drowning in the sea, or a cataclysm of eternal smoke, mists and poisonous fumes.
‘We’re not alone,’ Gwynn announced late that afternoon, and nodded to the tall, windswept grasses of the slope. Blues scanned them, seeing nothing, but feeling … something. A presence.
Gwynn urged whoever or whatever it was up from cover.
A figure rose from the waving grasses: slim, female, bearing a thick shock of white hair. She approached.
Blues nodded to himself. ‘Ah. The Beast Hold. Always hard to detect.’
‘How did you know?’ the young woman asked of Gwynn, looking irked, the nostrils of her narrow and sharp nose flaring.
‘Just a feeling. And I’ve learned to trust my feelings.’
She brushed a hand through the tall grass. ‘Should’ve known. Crimson Guard ’n all. I considered joining, you know.’
Blues invited her forward. ‘We could use you.’
Gwynn shot him a look. ‘Blues, no poaching. I understand our friend here is spoken for.’
She actually almost blushed. ‘Yes. The last thing I expected to find – a home.’
Blues nodded his understanding. ‘Yes. Congratulations. Finding such a thing is rare in this world.’
She inclined her head in acknowledgement, cleared her throat, looking away. ‘Then on to business. My mistress could not help but notice that you have not yet departed the region.’
‘This is so,’ Gwynn answered.
‘May she ask, then, your intentions?’
Blues eyed Gwynn. ‘Regarding …?’
The young woman appeared embarrassed. ‘Gwynn … despite m’lady’s great friendship and gratitude, she must let you know that she is considering a treaty with the Malazans.’
Blues raised his brows. ‘Ah …’ He noted then that the girl – a Beast Hold mage – remained a good ten paces distant from them.
‘We are too few to cause any trouble,’ Gwynn supplied. ‘In any case, our main interest is the artefact and its fate.’
The young woman could not help but glance behind her to the great bulk, its smoke-obscured top just below their altitude on the coastal mountainside. ‘Indeed. And once we all witness this you will withdraw?’
‘I expect so,’ Gwynn admitted.
She nodded. ‘Very well. I will inform my mistress. And remember,’ she pointed to the sky, ‘she is always watching.’
She turned and leapt, sembling in mid-air into a white furry beast, an ermine perhaps, and disappeared among the grass.
Two other figures then arose from the tall grasses, Black and Jacinth, some way off to either side. Both looked a touch surprised. ‘She’s damned fast,’ Black observed, scratching his beard.
Blues looked to Gwynn. ‘I’m sorry …’
The mage of Rashan raised a hand. ‘It’s fine. Ullara is right to pursue such a course. She is thinking of her people, their welfare.’ He clasped his hands at his back, nodding to himself. ‘I would expect no less from her.’
‘And those people, should all Chaos be unleashed here?’
Gwynn turned to regard him, blinking. ‘Well, I imagine they would withdraw to the south. Wait it out. The Jhek are an ancient kind. No strangers to isolation.’
Blues was shaking his head. ‘Well, let’s hope they will be safe in the south.’
* * *
It was a very footsore and winded Cartheron Crust who came limping in to join Dujek’s expeditionary force. His crew followed, straggled-out, escorted by scouts, and he found the commander, Dujek himself, awaiting his arrival, with the mage Hairlock, and flanked by two staff: a tall Dal Hon female officer, and a young, bookish-looking fellow.
Dujek cuffed his shoulder as Cartheron halted, puffing and blowing. ‘Good to see you, Crust.’
Unable to speak, Cartheron nodded his own heartfelt relief.
‘Scouts report there was a Thelomen with you,’ Hairlock put in.
Cartheron continued his nodding until he got his breath. ‘Yes. He pulled away – wasn’t sure of his reception.’
‘Ah,’ nodded Dujek. ‘Well, he’d be welcome. But what of you? Who’s with the Twisted?’
‘The Twisted? You have word?’
‘Yes. It’s reappeared.’
Cartheron snorted. ‘Hunh. Thought as much. And you?’ He jerked his chin to the distant shadowed bulk of the artefact. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘We found some civilians, captured raiders we think, who know their way around that thing. They’re guiding a small party to try ’n shut it down.’
‘Who? Who went?’
Dujek rubbed the stump of his arm and grimaced his discomfort. ‘Well, was the High Mage, Dancer, and the Sword.’
Cartheron let out a long whistle, eyed the mountain. ‘Gods, man. How could you allow that?’
‘Couldn’t very well stop ’em, could I?’
Hairlock chuckled, as if at the image of that.
Cartheron blew out a long breath, almost thinking, Better him than me! ‘Well, no. I suppose not. How long do you think we have?’
Dujek looked to the young officer. ‘Ullen?’
‘Scouts say tomorrow or the next day, sir. That’s it.’
Crust examined the encampment lines. ‘Gonna follow?’
‘Don’t know. Don’t want to be too close when that thing hits the water.’
‘I agree.’
The Fist next turned to the Dal Hon officer. ‘Orosé, any mounted messengers left?’
‘A bare few.’
‘Send one out to invite that Thelomen into camp.’
‘Aye, sir.’ She jogged off.
Both commanders stood for a time eyeing the towering artefact. Dujek cleared his throat and spat aside. ‘What’s the report I hear of this Jhistal? A giant wave? You saw it, hey?’
‘Yes. Enormous.’
‘Those are the legends,’ Hairlock added.
‘Well, if I was these Falarans, I’d use it against this thing.’
‘Maybe they plan to,’ the mage growled. ‘Maybe it has to be in the water.’
Dujek nodded thoughtfully, pulled his hand down his chin. He eyed the coastal mountain slopes to either side of the river valley. ‘Maybe we should hold back even farther – just in case.’
Cartheron added his sober assent. ‘I think maybe so. But, for now,’ and he studied the camp, ‘is that cooking I’m smelling? Me ’n the crew could eat old canvas.’
The Fist chuckled and invited him onwards. ‘Apologies – not much of a host, am I. This way.’
Cartheron pointed the crew to cooking fires then followed Dujek to his tent. Hairlock inclined his head and padded off northwards to resume his watch. Inside, Crust fell on sliced meats and old preserves. While he ate a knock came on the post of the tent and a voice announced, ‘The Thelomen is arrived.’
Dujek grunted and motioned for Crust to follow.
The giant waited outside the tent. Crust did the honours: ‘Thelomen Koroll, this is Dujek, commander of the Malazan expeditionary force.’
Koroll inclined his shaggy head in acknowledgement. ‘Greetings. I am here on behalf of my kind to offer an agreement of mutual tolerance – if not a working treaty – eventually.’
Dujek gave a slight bow from the waist. ‘We’d be honoured to accept such an offer. I can speak for Malaz.’
‘Excellent!’ Koroll gestured his tall staff towards the artefact. ‘I see that you are keeping your distance. This is wise.’
‘Do your people have any knowledge of this thing?’ Dujek asked. ‘Anything that might help?’
‘Sadly no. We try to have very little to do with the K’Chain Che’Malle.’
Crust gave a dry laugh. ‘That’s wise.’
‘Also,’ Dujek said, ‘one of your people took a mage of ours for healing. Do you know anything of this?’
‘Yes. I heard. She is recovering, I assure you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And may I ask of your plans – regarding the Hive?’
Dujek snorted. ‘Abyss. What can we do? Wait ’n see once this thing hits the water. Maybe it will be snuffed out. Though, we do have a few people inside trying to turn it off, or whatever.’
Koroll lowered his head, appearing troubled. ‘That is unfortunate. I think little of their chances.’
Cartheron shared an uneasy glance with the Fist, then asked, ‘What do your people know of this Falaran weapon. This Jhistal?’
‘Ah! Mael’s Gift, we know it as. We have never actually seen it. You are perhaps counting on this?’
Crust raised his hands in a shrug. ‘Who knows? It’s their land – shouldn’t they protect it?’
‘I suppose we shall see.’
‘Tomorrow, or day after,’ Dujek added.
The giant now pointed his staff southwards. ‘Is that a Jhek encampment there?’
‘Yes. Their Bird Priestess is with us. She’s concerned as well.’
‘And rightly so! I would speak with her – if you do not mind.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Dujek invited him onwards. ‘We can talk later.’
Bowing, the giant shambled off. Dujek and Crust watched him go, the Fist rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I don’t like what he said ’bout Dancer and the rest.’
‘Well, if anyone can manage, it’ll be them.’
‘That’s damned true. You finished eating?’
‘Gods no! What kind of wine you got?’
‘The lousy kind.’
Crust headed for the tent. ‘Why did I even ask?’
* * *
On the waterfront wharf of the enclosed and walled Cabil harbour, two ageing servants of the Abbey sat together watching the sunset and perhaps taking comfort from each other’s company.
The woman, known locally as Jan, a lowly scullery maid of the kitchens, angrily filled her pipe and whispered, fierce, to her companion, ‘This is taking too long – we have lost the initiative. I heard an enclave has been cleared out! Soon they’ll manage to band together against all the rest.’
‘Reinforcements,’ her companion, Janul, answered. ‘Wasn’t that what he said?’
‘Yes. But they’ve been held up, haven’t they?’
‘The capriciousness of the gods …’
‘And what is he waiting for? Why doesn’t he just sweep in?’
Janul peered about, uncomfortable. ‘There are a lot of mages of Ruse hereabouts.’
Janelle snorted her dismissal of the mages of Ruse.
The fellow lifted his fishing pole, examined its line. ‘Don’t be impatient. So this gambit is pushed aside? We’ll try again next summer.’
‘That’s not what happened down south,’ she answered through clenched teeth.
He just pursed his lips.
After a time, she drew breath to speak again, but stopped herself, coughed into a fist.
Footsteps scraped the grit of the stone wharf. A portly figure came to stand near them, apparently regarding the harbour waters: a priest of Mael.
‘What news, Brother Lethor?’ Janul whispered.
The priest nervously glanced about, murmured, ‘News worthy of immunity for anyone who dares breathe it.’
‘And you are most daring, are you not?’ soothed Janelle.
A choked laugh that the priest tried to disguise by hawking up catarrh that he then spat over the edge of the wharf. ‘Or most foolish,’ he murmured.
‘Talk or move on,’ Janul hissed, and let out more line on the pole.
‘Do not rush our friend,’ Janelle scolded him out of the side of her mouth. ‘What he is doing is difficult.’
‘Yes, difficult,’ the priest answered. He drew out a small cloth and mopped his glistening forehead. He swallowed then, steeling himself, blurting, ‘There will be no more Jhistal.’
Janelle and Janul shared startled glances.
‘You are certain of this?’ she whispered.
‘Yes. It is gone. Can never be summoned again.’
Janul peered about, warned, ‘Best move on now.’
