The malazan empire, p.471
The Malazan Empire, page 471
Leoman of the Flails sat opposite him, a hookah filled with wine-soaked durhang at the man’s side, at his thin lips the mouthpiece of hard wood carved into the semblance of a woman’s nipple and stained magenta to add to the likeness. His leader’s eyes glistened dark red in the fire’s light, the lids low, the gaze seemingly fixed on the licking flames.
Corabb had found a piece of wood the length of his arm, light as a woman’s breath – telling him that a birit slug dwelt within – and he had just dug it out with the point of his knife. The creature squirmed on the blade’s tip, and it had been the sight of this that had, alas, reminded him of the debacle with his penis. Feeling morose, he bit the slug in half and began chewing, juices spurting down into his beard. ‘Ah,’ he said around the mouthful, ‘she has roe. Delicious.’
Leoman looked over, then he drew once more on the mouthpiece. ‘We’re running out of horses,’ he said.
Corabb swallowed. The other half of the slug was writhing on the knife tip, threads of pink eggs dangling like tiny pearls. ‘We’ll make it, Commander,’ he said, then poked out his tongue to lap up the roe, following up by inserting the rest of the slug into his mouth. He chewed, then swallowed. ‘Four, five days, I would judge.’
Leoman’s eyes glittered. ‘You know, then.’
‘Where we’re going? Yes.’
‘Do you know why?’
Corabb tossed the piece of wood onto the fire. ‘Y’Ghatan. The First Holy City. Where Dassem Ultor, curse his name, died in betrayal. Y’Ghatan, the oldest city in the world. Built atop the forge of a blacksmith of the Abyss, built on his very bones. Seven Y’Ghatans, seven great cities to mark the ages we have seen, the one we see now crouched on the bones of the other six. City of the Olive Groves, city of the sweet oils—’ Corabb paused, frowned. ‘What was your question, Commander?’
‘Why.’
‘Oh, yes. Do I know why you have chosen Y’Ghatan? Because we invite a siege. It is a difficult city to conquer. The fool Malazans will bleed themselves to death attempting to storm its walls. We shall add their bones to all the others, to Dassem Ultor’s very own—’
‘He didn’t die there, Corabb.’
‘What? But there were witnesses—’
‘To his wounding, yes. To the assassination…attempt. But no, my friend, the First Sword did not die, and he lives still.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘Where doesn’t matter. You should ask: Who is he? Ask that, Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas, and I will give you answer.’
Corabb thought about that. Even swimming in the fumes of durhang, Leoman of the Flails was too smart for him. Clever, able to see all that Corabb could not. He was the greatest commander Seven Cities had ever produced. He would have defeated Coltaine. Honourably. And, had he been left to it, he would have crushed Adjunct Tavore, and then Dujek Onearm. There would have been true liberation, for all Seven Cities, and from here the rebellion against the damned empire would have rippled outward, until the yoke was thrown off by all. This was the tragedy, the true tragedy. ‘Blessed Dessembrae hounds our heels…’
Leoman coughed a cloud of smoke. He doubled over, still coughing.
Corabb reached for a skin of water and thrust it into his leader’s hands. The man finally drew breath, then drank deep. He leaned back with a gusty sigh, and then grinned. ‘You are a wonder, Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas! To answer you, I certainly hope not!’
Corabb felt sad. He said, ‘You mock me, Commander.’
‘Not at all, you Oponn-blessed madman – my only friend left breathing – not at all. It is the cult, you see. The Lord of Tragedy. Dessembrae. That is Dassem Ultor. I don’t doubt you understood that, but consider this – for there to be a cult, a religion, with priests and such, there must be a god. A living god.’
‘Dassem Ultor is ascended?’
‘I believe so, although he is a reluctant god. A denier, like Anomander Rake of the Tiste Andii. And so he wanders, in eternal flight, and in, perhaps, eternal hunt as well.’
‘For what?’
Leoman shook his head. Then said, ‘Y’Ghatan. Yes, my friend. There, we will make our stand, and the name shall be a curse among the Malazans, for all time, a curse, bitter on their tongues.’ His eyes hardened suddenly on Corabb. ‘Are you with me? No matter what I command, no matter the madness that will seem to afflict me?’
Something in his leader’s gaze frightened Corabb, but he nodded. ‘I am with you, Leoman of the Flails. Do not doubt that.’
A wry smile. ‘I shall not hold you to that. But I thank you for your words nonetheless.’
‘Why would you doubt them?’
‘Because only I know what I intend to do.’
‘Tell me.’
‘No, my friend. This burden is mine.’
‘You lead us, Leoman of the Flails. We shall follow. As you say, you carry all of us. We are the weight of history, of liberty, and yet you are not bowed—’
‘Ah, Corabb…’
‘I only say what is known but has never before been said aloud, Commander.’
‘There is mercy in silence, my friend. But no mind. It is done, you have indeed spoken.’
‘I have assailed you further. I am sorry, Leoman of the Flails.’
Leoman drank again from the waterskin, then spat into the fire. ‘We need say no more of it. Y’Ghatan. This shall be our city. Four, five days. It is just past crushing season, yes?’
‘The olives? Yes, we shall arrive when the grovers have gathered. A thousand merchants will be there, and workers out on the road leading to the coast, setting new stones. And potters, and barrel-makers, and wagoners and caravans. The air shall be gold with dust and dusted with gold—’
‘You are a poet indeed, Corabb. Merchants, and their hired guards. Tell me, will they bow to my authority, do you think?’
‘They must.’
‘Who is the city’s Falah’d?’
‘Vedor.’
‘Which one?’
‘The ferret-faced one, Leoman. His fish-faced brother was found dead in his lover’s bed, the whore nowhere to be found, but likely rich and in hiding or in a shallow grave. It’s the old story among the Fala’dhan.’
‘And we are certain Vedor continues to deny the Malazans?’
‘No fleet or army could have reached them yet. You know this, Leoman of the Flails.’
The man slowly nodded, eyes once more on the flames.
Corabb looked up at the night sky. ‘One day,’ he said, ‘we shall walk the Roads to the Abyss. And so witness all the wonders of the universe.’
Leoman squinted upward. ‘Where the stars are thick as veins?’
‘They are roads, Leoman. Surely you do not believe those insane scholars?’
‘All scholars are insane, yes. They say nothing worth believing. The roads, then. The trail of fire.’
‘Of course,’ Corabb continued, ‘that shall be many years from now…’
‘As you say, friend. Now, best get some sleep.’
Corabb rose, bones cracking. ‘May you dream of glory this night, Commander.’
‘Glory? Oh, yes, my friend. Our trail of fire…’
‘Aai, that slug has given me indigestion. It was the roe.’
‘The bastard’s heading for Y’Ghatan.’
Sergeant Strings glanced over at Bottle. ‘You’ve been thinking, haven’t you? That’s not good, soldier. Not good at all.’
‘Can’t help it.’
‘That’s even worse. Now I have to keep an eye on you.’
Koryk was on his hands and knees, head lowered as he sought to breathe life back into the bed of coals from the night just past. He suddenly coughed as he inhaled a cloud of ashes and ducked away, blinking and hacking.
Smiles laughed. ‘The wise plainsman does it again. You were asleep, Koryk, but I should tell you, Tarr pissed that fire out last night.’
‘What!?’
‘She’s lying,’ Tarr said from where he crouched beside his pack, repairing a strap. ‘Even so, it was a good one. You should have seen your expression, Koryk.’
‘How can anyone, with that white mask he’s wearing? Shouldn’t you be painting death lines through that ash, Koryk? Isn’t that what Seti do?’
‘Only when going into battle, Smiles,’ the sergeant said. ‘Now, leave off, woman. You’re as bad as that damned Hengese lapdog. It bit a Khundryl’s ankle last night and wouldn’t let go.’
‘Hope they skewered it,’ Smiles said.
‘Not a chance. Bent was standing guard. Anyway, they had to get Temul to pry the thing off. My point is, Smiles, you ain’t got a Wickan cattle-dog to guard your back, so the less you snipe the safer you’ll be.’
No-one mentioned the knife Koryk had taken in the leg a week past.
Cuttle came wandering into the camp. He’d found a squad that had already brewed some foul-smelling tea and was sipping from his tin cup. ‘They’re here,’ he said.
‘Who?’ Smiles demanded.
Bottle watched as their sergeant settled back down, leaning against his pack. ‘All right,’ Strings said, sighing. ‘March will be delayed. Someone help Koryk get the fire going – we’re going to have a real breakfast. Cuttle the cook.’
‘Me? All right, just don’t blame me.’
‘For what?’ Strings asked with an innocent smile.
Cuttle walked over to the hearth, reaching into a pouch. ‘Got some sealed Flamer dust—’
Everyone scattered, Strings included. Suddenly, Cuttle was alone, looking round bemusedly at his fellow soldiers, now one and all at least fifteen paces distant. He scowled. ‘A grain or two, nothing more. Damn, do you think I’m mad?’
Everyone looked to Strings, who shrugged. ‘Instinctive reaction, Cuttle. Surprised you ain’t used to it by now.’
‘Yeah? And how come you were the first belting out of here, Fid?’
‘Who’d know better than me?’
Cuttle crouched down beside the hearth. ‘Well,’ he muttered, ‘I’m absolutely crushed.’ He withdrew a small clay disk from the pouch. It was a playing piece for the board-game called Troughs, the game being Cuttle’s favourite pastime. The sapper spat on it, then tossed it into the coals. And quickly backed away.
No-one else moved.
‘Hey,’ Koryk said, ‘that wasn’t a real Troughs piece, was it?’
Cuttle glanced over. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because those things get thrown around!’
‘Only when I lose,’ the sapper replied.
A burst of ash, sudden flames. Cuttle walked back and began flinging pieces of dung on the fire. ‘All right, somebody tend to this. I’ll get what passes for food around here and figure something out.’
‘Bottle has some lizards,’ Smiles said.
‘Forget it,’ Bottle shot back. ‘They’re my, uh, friends.’ He flinched as the other squad members turned to regard him.
‘Friends?’ Strings asked. He scratched his beard, studying his soldier.
‘What,’ Smiles said, ‘the rest of us too smart for you, Bottle? All these confounding words we use? The fact we can read those squiggly etchings on clay and wax tablets and scrolls? Well, except for Koryk, of course. Anyway. Feeling insufficient, Bottle? I don’t mean physically – that goes without saying. But, mentally, right? Is that the problem?’
Bottle glared at her. ‘You’ll regret all that, Smiles.’
‘Oh, he’s going to send his lizard friends after me! Help!’
‘That’s enough, Smiles,’ Strings said in a warning growl.
She rose, ran her hands through her still-unbound hair. ‘Well, I’m off to gossip with Flashwit and Uru Hela. Flash said she saw Neffarias Bredd a couple of days ago. A horse had died and he carried it back to his squad’s camp. They roasted it. Nothing but bones left.’
‘The squad ate an entire horse?’ Koryk snorted. ‘How come I’ve never seen this Neffarias Bredd, anyway? Has anybody here seen him?’
‘I have,’ Smiles replied.
‘When?’ Koryk demanded.
‘A few days ago. I’m bored talking to you. Your fire’s going out.’ She walked off.
The sergeant was still tugging at his beard. ‘Gods below, I need to hack this thing off,’ he muttered.
‘But the chicks ain’t left the nest yet,’ Cuttle said, settling down with an armful of foodstuffs. ‘Who’s been collecting snakes?’ he asked, letting the various objects drop. He picked up a long, rope-like thing. ‘They stink—’
‘That’s the vinegar,’ Koryk said. ‘It’s an old Seti delicacy. The vinegar cooks the meat, you see, for when you ain’t got the time to smoke it slow.’
‘What are you doing killing snakes?’ Bottle demanded. ‘They’re useful, you know.’
Strings rose. ‘Bottle, walk with me.’
Oh damn. I’ve got to learn to say nothing. ‘Aye, Sergeant.’
They crossed the ditch and headed onto the broken sweep of the Lato Odhan, the mostly level, dusty ground home to a scattering of shattered rock, no piece larger than a man’s head. Somewhere far to the southwest was the city of Kayhum, still out of sight, whilst behind them rose the Thalas Mountains, treeless for centuries and now eroded like rotting teeth. No cloud relieved the bright morning sun, already hot.
‘Where do you keep your lizards?’ Strings asked.
‘In my clothes, out of the sun, during the day, I mean. They wander at night.’
‘And you wander with them.’
Bottle nodded.
‘That’s a useful talent,’ the sergeant commented, then went on, ‘especially for spying. Not on the enemy, of course, but on everyone else.’
‘So far. I mean, we haven’t been close enough to the enemy—’
‘I know. And that’s why you ain’t told nobody yet about it. So, you’ve listened in on the Adjunct much? I mean, since that time you learned about the fall of the Bridgeburners.’
‘Not much, to tell the truth.’ Bottle hesitated, wondering how much he should say.
‘Out with it, soldier.’
‘It’s that Claw…’
‘Pearl.’
‘Aye, and, well, uh, the High Mage.’
‘Quick Ben.’
‘Right, and now there’s Tayschrenn, too—’
Strings grasped Bottle’s arm and pulled him round. ‘He left. He was only here for a few bells, and that was a week ago—’
‘Aye, but that doesn’t mean he can’t come back, at any time, right? Anyway, all these powerful, scary mages, well, they make me nervous.’
‘You’re making me nervous, Bottle!’
‘Why?’
The sergeant squinted at him, then let go of his arm and resumed walking.
‘Where are we going?’ Bottle demanded.
‘You tell me.’
‘Not that way.’
‘Why?’
‘Uh. Nil and Nether, just the other side of that low rise.’
Strings loosed a half-dozen dockside curses. ‘Hood take us! Listen, soldier, I ain’t forgotten anything, you know. I remember you playing dice with Meanas, making dolls of Hood and the Rope. Earth-magic and talking with spirits – gods below, you’re so much like Quick Ben it makes my hair stand on end. Oh, right, it all comes from your grandmother – but you see, I know where Quick got his talents!’
Bottle frowned at the man. ‘What?’
‘What do you mean what?’
‘What are you talking about, Sergeant? You’ve got me confused.’
‘Quick’s got more warrens to draw on than any mage I’ve ever heard about. Except,’ he added in a frustrated snarl, ‘except maybe you.’
‘But I don’t even like warrens!’
‘No, you’re closer to Nil and Nether, aren’t you? Spirits and stuff. When you’re not playing with Hood and Shadow, that is!’
‘They’re older than warrens, Sergeant.’
‘Like that! What do you mean by that?’
‘Well. Holds. They’re holds. Or they were. Before warrens. It’s old magic, that’s what my grandmother taught me. Real old. Anyway, I’ve changed my mind about Nil and Nether. They’re up to something and I want to see it.’
‘But you don’t want them to see us.’
Bottle shrugged. ‘Too late for that, Sergeant. They know we’re here.’
‘Fine, lead on, then. But I want Quick Ben to meet you. And I want to know all about these holds you keep talking about.’
No you don’t. ‘All right.’ Quick Ben. A meeting. That was bad. Maybe I could run away. No, don’t be an idiot. You can’t run away, Bottle. Besides, what were the risks of talking with the High Mage? He wasn’t doing anything wrong, exactly. Not really. Not so anybody would know, anyway. Except a sneaky bastard like Quick Ben. Abyss, what if he finds out who’s walking in my shadow? Well, it’s not like I asked for the company, is it?
‘Whatever you’re thinking,’ Strings said in a growl, ‘it’s got my skin crawling.’
‘Not me. Nil and Nether. They’ve begun a ritual. I’ve changed my mind again – maybe we should go back.’
‘No.’
They began ascending the gentle slope.
Bottle felt sudden sweat trickling beneath his clothes. ‘You’ve got some natural talent, haven’t you, Sergeant? Skin crawling and all that. You’re sensitive to…stuff.’
‘I had a bad upbringing.’
‘Where’s Gesler’s squad gone?’
Strings shot him a glance. ‘You’re doing it again.’
‘Sorry.’
‘They’re escorting Quick and Kalam – they’ve gone ahead. So, your dreaded meeting with Quick is still some time off, you’ll be glad to know.’
‘Gone ahead. By warren? They shouldn’t be doing that, you know. Not now. Not here—’
‘Why?’
‘Well. Because.’
‘For the first time in my career as a soldier of the Malazan Empire, I truly want to strangle a fellow soldier.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Stop saying that name!’
‘It’s not a name. It’s a word.’
The sergeant’s battered hands clenched into fists.
Bottle fell silent. Wondering if Strings might actually strangle him.
They reached the crest. Thirty paces beyond, the Wickan witch and warlock had arranged a circle of jagged stones and were seated within it, facing each other. ‘They’re travelling,’ Bottle said. ‘It’s a kind of Spiritwalking, like the Tanno do. They’re aware of us, but only vaguely.’
