The complete malazan boo.., p.215
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen, page 215
He smiled wryly. ‘Not as many as you seem to think. I will tell you the biggest one. It’s this. We feel outmatched. By you – by Rake, by Caladan Brood, by Kallor. By the Tiste Andii army and that of the Rhivi and the Barghast. Hood, even that mob of mercenaries accompanying you makes us nervous. We don’t have your power. We’re just an army. Our best wizard isn’t even ranked. He’s a squad mage, and right now he’s very far away and, I suspect, feeling like a fly in a web. So, come the battles, we know we’ll be the spear’s head, and it’s going to cost us dear. As for the Seer himself, and whatever hides behind him, well, we’re now hoping you’ll deal with that. Same goes for the Crippled God. You’re right, Korlat, we’re just soldiers. Tired ones, at that. If we’re this combined army’s backbone, then Hood help us, it’s a bowed, brittle one.’
She reached up and laid her hand over his, pressed it against her cheek. Their eyes locked. ‘Bowed and brittle? I think not.’
Whiskeyjack shook his head. ‘I’m not being modest, Korlat. I speak the truth, though I fear you’re not prepared to hear it.’
‘Silverfox is manipulating her mother,’ the Tiste Andii said after a moment. ‘Somehow. Possibly even being responsible for the old woman’s terrible nightmares.’
‘I find that hard to countenance—’
‘Not something Tattersail would do, right? But what of this Nightchill? Or the Thelomen? You knew them, Whiskeyjack. Better than any of us, at least. Is it possible that one of them – or both – are responsible for this?’
He said nothing while he completed wiping clean the wounds on her cheek. ‘This will require a healer’s touch, Korlat, lest infection—’
‘Whiskeyjack.’
He sighed, stepped back. ‘Nightchill, I fear, might well harbour feelings of betrayal. Her targets for vengeance could be chosen indiscriminately. Same for Bellurdan Skullcrusher. Both were betrayed, after all. If you are right, about what’s happening to the Mhybe – that they’re doing something to her – then I still think that Tattersail would be resisting them.’
‘What if she’s already lost the struggle?’
‘I’ve seen no sign of—’
Korlat’s eyes flashed and she jabbed a finger against his chest. ‘Meaning your two marines have reported no sign of it!’
He grimaced. ‘They are volunteers none the less, Korlat. Given the alarming extent of our ignorance in these matters, it pays to be watchful. Those two marines chose to guard Silverfox because they see in her Tattersail. Not just physically, but in the woman’s personality as well. If anything had gone awry, they would’ve noticed it, and they would’ve come to me. Fast.’
Korlat lowered her hand. She sighed. ‘And here I’ve come storming in to tear your head from your shoulders. Damn you, Whiskeyjack, how did I come to deserve you? And, the Abyss take me, why are you still here? After all my accusations…’
‘A few hours ago, Dujek made a similar entrance.’ He grinned. ‘It’s just been that kind of day, I suppose. Now, we should call for a healer—’
‘In a moment.’ She studied him. ‘Whiskeyjack. You’ve truly no idea of how rare a man you are, do you?’
‘Rare?’ His grin broadened. ‘Of course I know. There’s only one of me, thank Hood.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
He moved closer and drew an arm about her waist. ‘Time to find a healer, woman. I’ve got simple needs, and we’re wasting time.’
‘A soldier’s reply,’ she said. ‘I’m not fooled, you know.’
Unseen by her, he closed his eyes. Oh, but you are, Korlat. If you’d known the full extent of my fear … that I might lose you …
* * *
Arms waving expansively, Kruppe, Eel of Darujhistan, occasional fence and thief, Defier of Caladan Brood the Warlord, ambled his way down the main avenue of tents towards the supply wagons. He had just come from the cook tent of the Mott Irregulars, and in each hand was a Nathi black-cake, dripping with syrup. A few paces in his wake, his mule kept pace, nose stretched out to those two cakes, ears pricked forward.
The second bell since midnight had just tolled through the camps, stirring the distant herds of bhederin to a mournful lowing, which faded as the beasts slipped back into slumber. As he reached the edge of the wagons – arranged rectangularly to form a wheeled fort – he noted two Malazan marines, cloaks wrapped about their bodies, sitting before a small dung-fire.
Kruppe altered his course and approached. ‘Gentle friends,’ he softly called. ‘’Tis late and no doubt your pretty selves are due for some sweetness.’
The two women glanced up. ‘Huh,’ one of them grunted. ‘It’s that fat Daru.’
‘And his mule, hovering there in the shadows.’
‘Unique indeed is Kruppe! Behold!’ He thrust forward the dripping cakes. ‘For you, darlings.’
‘So which should we eat, the cakes or your hands?’
The other drew her knife at her companion’s words. ‘A couple of quick cuts and we can choose for ourselves, right?’
Kruppe stepped back. ‘Queen of Dreams! Hard-bitten and distinctly unfeminine! Guardians of fair Silverfox, yes? Reassuring truth. Heart of Tattersail, shining so bright from the child-now-woman—’
‘Aye, we seen you before plenty enough. Chatting with the lass. She’s the sorceress, all right. Plain to see for them of us who knew her.’
‘Extraordinary disconnectiveness, this exchange. Kruppe is delighted—’
‘We getting them syrup cakes or what?’
‘Naturally, though the flash of that blade still blinds generous Kruppe.’
‘Y’ain’t got no sense of humour, have ya? Join us, if you dare.’
The Daru smiled and strode forward. ‘Nathi black-cakes, my dears.’
‘We recognize ’em. The Mott Irregulars used to throw them at us when they ran out of arrows.’
‘Jaybar got one full in the face, as I recall.’
‘That he did, then he stumbled and when he came up he was like the forest floor with eyes.’
‘Dreadful sap, deadly weapon,’ Kruppe agreed, once more offering the cakes to the two marines.
They took them.
‘Courageous task, protection of the Rhivi lass.’
‘She ain’t no Rhivi lass. She’s Tattersail. That fur and the hides are just for show.’
‘Ah, then you have spoken with her.’
‘Not much and we don’t need to. These cakes go down better without all the twigs and leaves, don’t they just.’
Kruppe blinked, then slowly nodded. ‘No doubt. Vast responsibility, being the eyes of your commander regarding said lass.’
Both women paused in their chewing. They exchanged a glance, then one of them swallowed and said, ‘Who, Dujek? If we’re his eyes then he’s blind as a mole.’
‘Ah, Kruppe meant Whiskeyjack, of course.’
‘Whiskeyjack ain’t blind and he don’t need us to see for him, either.’
‘None the less,’ the Daru smiled, ‘he no doubt is greatly comforted by your self-appointed task and reports and such. Were Kruppe Whiskeyjack, he knows he would.’
‘Would what?’
‘Why, be comforted, of course.’
Both women grunted, then one snorted and said, ‘That’s a good one. If you were Whiskeyjack. Hah.’
‘A figure of speech—’
‘Ain’t no such thing, fatty. You trying to walk in Whiskeyjack’s footsteps? Trying to see through his eyes? Hah.’
‘I’ll say,’ the other woman agreed. ‘Hah.’
‘And so you did,’ Kruppe noted.
‘Did what?’
‘Agree.’
‘Damned right. Whiskeyjack should’ve been Emperor, when the old one got knocked off. Not Laseen. But she knew who her rival was, didn’t she just. That’s why she stripped him of rank, turned him into a Hood-damned sergeant and sent him away, far away.’
‘An ambitious man, this Whiskeyjack, then.’
‘Not in the least, Daru. And that’s the whole point. Would’ve made a good Emperor, I said. Not wanting the job is the best and only qualification worth considering.’
‘A curious assertion, dear.’
‘I ain’t.’
‘Pardon, you ain’t what?’
‘Curious. Listen, the Malazan Empire would be a far different thing if Whiskeyjack had taken the throne all those years ago. If he’d done what we all wanted him to do and grabbed Laseen by the scruff of the neck and sent her through a tower window.’
‘And was he capable of such a remarkable feat?’
The two marines looked confused. One turned to her companion. ‘Seen him out of his boots?’
The other shook her head. ‘No. Still, they might be remarkable. Why not?’
‘Then it’d be a boot to the backside, but I said by the scruff of the neck.’
‘Well, feet that could do that would be remarkable, wouldn’t they?’
‘You got a point, friend.’
‘Ahem,’ Kruppe interrupted. ‘A remarkable feat, dears. As in achievement.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh yeah, right. Got it. So you’re asking could he have done it if he’d a mind to? Sure. Not good to cross Whiskeyjack, and if that’s not enough, he’s got wits.’
‘So, why then, Kruppe asks in wonder, did he not do so at the time?’
‘Because he’s a soldier, you idiot. Laseen’s taking the throne was messy enough. The whole empire was shaky. People start stabbing and jumping into a blood-wet throne and sometimes it don’t stop, sometimes it’s like dominoes, right? One after another after another, and the whole thing falls apart. He was the one we all looked to, right? Waiting to see how he’d take it, Laseen and all that. And when he just saluted and said, “Yes, Empress,” well, things just settled back down.’
‘He was giving her a chance, you see.’
‘Of course. And do you lasses now believe he made a mistake?’
The women shrugged in unison. ‘Don’t matter, now,’ one said. ‘We’re here and here’s here and that’s that.’
‘So be it and so be it,’ Kruppe said, rising with a sigh. ‘Wondrous conversation. Kruppe thanks you and will now take his leave.’
‘Right. Thanks for the cakes.’
‘Kruppe’s pleasure. Good night, dears.’
He ambled off, back towards the supply wagons.
As he disappeared into the gloom the two marines said nothing for a time, busy as they were licking the sap from their fingers.
Then one sighed.
The other followed suit.
‘Well?’
‘Ah, that was damned easy.’
‘Think so?’
‘Sure. He came expecting to find two brains and found barely one.’
‘Still, it might’ve babbled too much.’
‘That’s the nature of half-brains, love. T’do otherwise would’ve made him suspicious.’
‘What do you figure he and Tattersail talk about, anyway?’
‘The old woman, is my guess.’
‘I’d figured the same.’
‘They got something in the works.’
‘My suspicions exactly.’
‘And Tattersail’s in charge.’
‘So she is.’
‘Which is good enough for me.’
‘Same here. You know, that black-cake wasn’t quite the same without the twigs and leaves.’
‘That’s odd, I was just thinking the same thing…’
* * *
Within the wheeled fort, Kruppe approached another campfire. The two men huddled around it looked up as he arrived.
‘What’s with your hands?’ Murillio asked.
‘All that Kruppe touches sticks to him, my friend.’
‘Well,’ Coll rumbled, ‘we’ve known that for years.’
‘And what’s with that damned mule?’ Murillio enquired.
‘The beast haunts me in truth, but never mind that. Kruppe has had an interesting discourse with two marines. And he is pleased to inform that the lass Silverfox is in capable hands indeed.’
‘Sticky as yours?’
‘They are now, dear Murillio, they are now.’
‘What you say is fine enough,’ Coll said, ‘but is it any help to us? There’s an old woman sleeping in yon wagon whose broken heart is the least of her pains and it’s bad enough to break the strongest man, let alone a frail ancient.’
‘Kruppe is pleased to assure you that matters of vast mercy are in progress. Momentary appearances are to be discounted.’
‘Then why not tell her that?’ Coll growled, nodding towards the Mhybe’s wagon.
‘Ah, but she is not yet ready to receive such truths, alas. This is a journey of the spirit. She must begin it within herself. Kruppe and Silverfox can only do so much, despite our apparent omnipotence.’
‘Omnipotence, is it?’ Coll shook his head. ‘Yesterday, and I’d laugh at that claim. So you faced down Caladan Brood, did you? I’m interested in precisely how you managed that, you damned toad.’
Kruppe’s brows rose. ‘Dear boon companion Coll! Your lack of faith crushes frail Kruppe to his very toes which are themselves wriggling in anguish!’
‘For Hood’s sake don’t show us,’ Murillio said. ‘You’ve been wearing those slippers for as long as I’ve known you, Kruppe. Poliel herself would balk at what might lurk likely between them.’
‘And well she should! To answer Coll with succinct precision, Kruppe proclaims that anger – nay, rage – has no efficacy against one such as himself, for whom the world is as a pearl nestled within the slimy confines of his honed and muscled brain. Uh, perhaps the allusion falters with second thought … and worse with third. Kruppe tries again! For whom, it was said, the world is naught but a plumaged dream of colours and wonders unimagined, where even time itself has lost meaning, speaking of which, it’s very late, yes? Sleep beckons, the stream of calm transubstantiation that metamorphoses oblivion into reparation and rejuvenation, and that alone is wonder enough for one and all to close this fitful night!’ He fluttered his hands in a final wave and walked off. After a moment, the mule trotted in his wake.
The two men stared after them.
‘Would that Brood’s hammer connected with that oily pate,’ Coll rumbled after a moment.
‘It’d likely slip,’ Murillio said.
‘Aye, true enough.’
‘Mussels and brains and cheesy toes, by the Abyss, I think I’m going to be sick.’
* * *
High above the camp, Crone crooked her weary, leaden wings and spiralled down towards the warlord’s tent. Despite her exhaustion, shivers of excitement and curiosity ran through her. The fissure to the north of the encampment still bled Burn’s fouled blood. The Great Raven had felt that detonation when still over the Vision Mountains far to the southeast, and had instantly known it for what it was.
Caladan Brood’s anger.
Kiss of the hammer, and with it an explosive reshaping of the natural world. She could see despite the darkness, and the sharply defined spine of a basaltic mountain range loomed where no mountains belonged, here at the heart of the Catlin plain. And the sorcery emanating from the blood of the Sleeping Goddess – it, too, Crone recognized.
The touch of the Crippled God. Within Burn’s veins, a transformation was taking place. The Fallen One was making her blood his own. And that is a taste I know well, for it was as mother’s milk to me, so very long ago. To me, and to my kin.
Changes had come to the world below, and Crone revelled in changes. Her soul and that of her kin had been stirred once more to acute wakefulness. She had never felt more alive.
Slipping beneath the warm thermals, she descended, bobbing on pockets of cool air – echoes of the traumatic disturbance that had churned through the atmosphere at the eruption of Brood’s fury – then sliding down to land with a soft thump on the earth before the warlord’s tent.
No lights showed within.
Faintly cackling, Crone hopped beneath the half-hitched entrance flap.
‘Not a word,’ Brood rumbled from the darkness, ‘about my temper’s snapped leash.’
The Great Raven cocked her head towards the cot. The warlord was seated on its edge, head in his hands. ‘As you wish,’ Crone murmured.
‘Make your report.’
‘I shall. First, from Anomander Rake. He has succeeded. Moon’s Spawn has passed unseen and now … hides. My children are ranging far over the lands of the Pannion Seer. Warlord, not just their eyes have witnessed the truth of all that lies below. I myself have seen—’
‘Save those details for later. Moon’s Spawn is in place. Good. Did you fly to Capustan as I requested?’
‘I did, grave one. And was witness to the first day and first night of battle.’
‘Your assessment, Crone?’
‘The city will not hold, Warlord. Through no fault of the defenders. What opposes them is too vast.’
Brood grunted. ‘Perhaps we should have reconsidered Dujek’s disposition of the Black Moranth—’
‘Ah, they too are emplaced, precisely where Onearm wanted them to be.’ Crone hesitated, turning first one eye then the other towards Caladan Brood. ‘One unusual detail must be uttered now, Warlord. Will you hear it?’
‘Very well.’
‘The Seer wages a war to the south.’
Brood’s head snapped up.
‘Aye,’ Crone nodded. ‘My children have seen Domin armies, routed and retreating north. To Outlook itself. The Seer has unleashed formidable sorceries against the unknown enemy. Rivers of ice, walls of ice. Blistering cold, winds and storms – it has been a long time since we have witnessed said particular warren unveiled.’
‘Omtose Phellack. The warren of the Jaghut.’
‘Even so. Warlord, you seem less surprised by that than I had anticipated.’
‘Of a war to the south, I am indeed surprised, Crone.’ He rose, drawing a fur blanket about his shoulders, and began pacing. ‘Of Omtose Phellack … no, I am not surprised.’
‘Thus. The Seer is not as he seems.’
‘Evidently not. Rake and I had suspicions…’
‘Well,’ Crone snapped, ‘had I known them I would have more closely examined the situation at Outlook. Your recalcitrance wounds us all.’
‘We’d no proof, Crone. Besides, we value your feathered hide too highly to risk your close approach to an unknown enemy’s fastness. It is done. Tell me, does the Seer remain in Outlook?’
