Return of the Crimson Guard (34 page)

When his feet brushed cut stones, he stopped. A set of stairs overgrown by vines and layered in moss led up to the clifftop fortress, Haven. More of a tower, really, than a full-sized fort. Since it was plain by now that there was no one but his blade around, he decided to climb.

The steps brought him to a dark humid tunnel that opened on to a central court. Saplings had pushed up through the flags and vines gripped the mottled walls. Kyle studied the grounds and it was clear that no one ever came up here. He crossed to another set of stairs along one wall that led up to the battlements. On his way the pale smear of aged ivory caught his eye and he knelt. A skull grinned up at him, helmet fused to it with age and green verdigris. Nearby lay a corroded sword overgrown by moss. Small animals had foraged the carcass, but no larger beasts. Not even humans had scavenged here it seemed, unless swords and armour used to be as common as weeds. No, this soldier still lay where he fell, arms and all. Question was: which army? Was this a fallen brother? Or one of those Malazans? There was no telling now; time
and the gnawing teeth of scavengers had rendered them akin.

Straightening from the remains, Kyle wondered at the meanderings of his strange thoughts. Never before had he given a body a second thought. Was this lofty perspective taught by travel? He started up the stairs. Halfway, he paused as the steps ahead seemed to shimmer in the tatters of moonlight. Empty night appeared to be gliding down towards him, engulfing the steps one by one in some dark tide. Then the clouds passed and the shadows dispersed. Kyle felt at the stairs and his hand came away dust dry. An omen? But of what?

From the battlements ragged moonlight painted the Sea of Chimes a mottled blue and silver. Not one light was visible along all the shore. Was this the land the Guard had fled so long ago? Where was everyone? He leant against the gritty stones and let the evening breeze cool him. It was surprisingly quiet but for the wind hissing through the trees and the flutter of night insects. But standing there Kyle slowly became aware of another noise – that hushed whispering called from the night once again and he slowly turned. The patchy shadows of the derelict courtyard seemed to flicker and shift. He thought he could almost see shapes within them – was this why no one was supposed to come up here? Some kind of haunting? He wished Trench had been more plain about the dangers. He wondered if he was now stuck up there all night. It might just be the murmuring of the surf far below, but he imagined he could almost hear a multitude of soft voices down there.

A fresh wind brushed his cheek, this one crossways to the sea-breeze. It was hot and thick and smelled not of the sea but of some other place. From a corner turret came a whirlwind of leaves and with them something iridescent in the moonlight. Puzzled, he knelt. A scattering of gold and pink flower petals. Soft and fresh. The wind out of the turret picked up and the stink of rot filled Kyle's nostrils. He backed away. The whispering from the courtyard rose to an eager susurration louder than the wind through the trees then abruptly cut off as if swept away.

A heavy step sounded from the turret, the stamp of iron on stone. Kyle's hand went to his tulwar. Another heavy step and a figure emerged. Layered iron armour that glittered darkly in the silver light encased it head to toe. A tall closed helm accented the man's great height and his hands in articulated gauntlets rested on the grip of a greatsword belted at his waist. Kyle dreaded that he faced one of those nightmares from his people's legends, a Jhag. It waved an arm, seeming to dismiss him.

‘The ships await, brother,’ it announced in Talian. ‘Go now. Kellanved and his lackeys are close. We are agreed on the Diaspora.’

Wonder clenched Kyle's throat. His hand was slick on his tulwar that seemed oddly warm to his touch.

The helm turned and regarded him more closely. Kyle now saw that flower petals dusted the man's surcoat, which was of a dark, almost black, shimmering cloth.

‘Go! Dancer has taken too many of our mages, though Cowl made him pay for it. We can counter Tayschrenn no longer. Flee while you may. I will delay them.’

Still Kyle could not move. Was this an apparition? A ghost reliving its last moments in the moonlight? Perhaps its skull was the one below.

The figure seemed to have found its doubts as well for its gauntleted hands returned to the long grip of its sword. ‘Who are you, brother? Name yourself. What blade?’

Kyle struggled to find his voice. ‘Kyle,’ he managed, weakly. ‘The Ninth.’

‘You lie!’ The sword sprang from its sheath.

‘Skinner!’ someone shouted and Kyle spun to see Stoop at the stairs. ‘Skinner! Damn, you're a sight for these old eyes.’ Stoop stepped past Kyle while at the same time pushing him away. ‘Welcome back. You gave me ‘n’ the lad here quite the start.’

The helmed head inclined ever so slightly. ‘Stoop … You are here? Shimmer's command has already departed.’

Stoop gave a loud exaggerated laugh. ‘Why, we've returned, man. We're back. Near a century's passed an’ we're back.’

The apparition, if it was indeed this Skinner that Kyle had heard so much of, stilled for a time, sword raised to strike. ‘Returned? But … Malazan columns in the forest…’

‘Gone, man. Long gone. Just us Guardsmen now.’

A hand went to the helm. ‘Yes, of course. I too escaped. Yet, returning, it is as if …’ Skinner sheathed his blade.

Kyle was relieved to see that sword safely put away. The glimpse he had of it made him recoil. The blade had been mottled black in corrosion and something told him that its slightest touch would be unhealthy.

‘Yes,’ Skinner continued, his voice firming. ‘Now we will crush them.’ He raised a gauntleted hand, clenching a fist, iron grating upon iron. ‘The last time I nearly had Kellanved but for Dassem's intervention and now I am returned far more than I was then.’

‘That so?’ said Stoop. ‘Thought you looked … different.’

A laugh from Skinner. ‘Different? More than you imagine, Stoop.’

The old saboteur gestured to the surcoat whose heraldry was too dark to make out in this light. ‘And these colours?’

‘Heraldry of our Patron, Queen Ardata.’

‘Never heard of her. You been with her all this time?’

‘She has been very generous to us.’

‘Us? How many of our brothers and sisters do you speak for, Skinner?’

The Guard champion shifted to look out over the court. Kyle had noted that the whispering had returned. Its rustling was driving him to distraction; weren't these two bothered?

‘I speak for over fifty Avowed and of regular recruits, many thousands.’

The whispering was stilled as if swept away by the wind. Stoop took Kyle's arm. ‘You can go back to camp. Get some sleep.’

‘Shall I report to Trench? What of the
Kestral?’

‘They know, lad. They know. Word's bein’ spread.’

* * *

The Imperial Council was convened in new quarters: one of the oldest of Imperial holdings in the capital city – the ancient castle of the old Untan city state overlooking the broad arc of the harbour. Possum, first to arrive in what proved to be a bare stone-walled room, tried to puzzle out the hidden message in this sudden new venue of Laseen's rulership. Was it a subtle reminder for the council of the traditional Untan ruling family, eradicated by Kellanved, Dancer, and, he constantly struggled to keep in mind, Laseen herself? A table only, no chairs, no food or wine in evidence – a calculated insult? But why bother? The council and Laseen were hardly on speaking terms; each treated the other as irrelevant.

It was, he reflected, dragging a gloved finger through the dust layering the thick embrasure of the single window, a damned inefficient way to run an empire. Through his control of the Assembly Mallick held the treasury and the government bureaucracy. Meanwhile, as Sword of the Empire, Korbolo Dom commanded the military. That is, what remained of it. Tayschrenn's continued unsettling silence and Quick Ben's desertion to follow Tavore left command of the Imperial Mage Cadre to the completely unknown Havva Gulen – once Archiveress of Imperial Records. A librarian. Gods above and below, Possum brushed the dust from his hands, the new Imperial High Mage was an ex-librarian. The old emperor, who
some say ascended to godhood after his death, must be falling off his throne laughing.

The heavy door rattled open and in strode High Fist Anand, commander of the Malazan 4th Army, its domestic defence forces, which by Possum's intelligence sources now mustered less than twenty thousand men all told. The old commander stopped short at the threshold of the empty room. His white brows rose in silent comment. Possum shrugged.

Pursing his lips as if to say ‘well, well’, Anand crossed to the table, began sifting through the maps provided.

Possum rocked back and forth on his heels. And what of the Claw?
He
followed Laseen's command, for now. Yet knives were being sharpened all down the hierarchy. It was just a question of where they would be pointed.

The door opened once more and in came the tall and broad figure of Havva Gulen wrapped in dark robes. Again Possum gauged first reactions. A pause of rapid blinking followed by a wide sly smile. Possum gave a nod in welcome, thinking that he just might come to like this new High Mage – despite her matted unwashed hair and ink-spotted robes.

‘Chilly in here,’ she offered with a mock shudder.

He smiled. ‘Palpably.’

‘It's the wind off the straits,’ Anand said without looking up.

Havva and Possum shared a wry look. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Looks like the wind is changing.’

The door banged open. Possum watched surprise, consternation and finally anger darken the blue-Napan features of the Sword of the Empire, Korbolo Dom. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Possum shrugged. Havva studied Korbolo the way a scholar might examine a curious specimen. Anand did not even bother to look up from the map table. ‘Look at this!’ Korbolo waved a hand about the room. ‘This is an insult!’

‘Rather appropriate, I should think,’ said Possum.

Korbolo turned on him. ‘You! Why are you even here? You are irrelevant.’

Possum opened his mouth to make the obvious reply when Havva cut in, ‘Perhaps we all are, Sword of the Empire. Have you considered that?’

‘What are you going on about, woman?’

She glanced about the bare walls. ‘In the old days, when a councillor to the King or any high military officer was called to a meeting only to find himself delivered to an empty prison-like room
… well, the conclusion would be inescapable, don't you think?’ She put a fat, ink-stained finger to her mouth. ‘Shall we perhaps try the door? Does it even open from the inside, do you think?’

Korbolo stared at the High Mage, his eyes bulging. Possum could not hold back a laugh. The door rattled and everyone glanced to it; Mallick stood in the threshold, blinking. ‘Nothing important missed, I trust?’

‘Nothing important,’ said Possum, ‘just us talking.’

Smiling, Mallick rubbed his pale hands together. ‘Good.’ He shut the door, peered about the room. ‘How very severe. Proper war footing, yes? I see we have quorum. Let us begin. High Fist Anand, the Assembly asks me to humbly convey their concerns. How go domestic preparations?’

Anand looked up, frowning. ‘Assembly? What Assembly? What can it possibly consist of now? You and your dog?’

Mallick's bland smile on his round moon-like face did not waver. ‘Assurances, commander. We have maintained full membership throughout traitorous desertions. Brave new representatives have consented to sit. All provisional, of course, until peace and order restored.’

‘And how much did that cost,’ Anand muttered into his maps. Sighing, he shrugged his high thin shoulders. ‘It is going as well as can be hoped given how hamstrung we are. We've lost most of our resources across the continent. Entire regiments have fallen back to their roots and come out as Itko Kanese or Grisan. Ugly rumours of ethnic slaughters accompany those reports. Armouries have been confiscated; ships impounded. The shortage of competent mages means communication by the old ways of road and sea. It's a damned mess.’