The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1285 page)

‘It does not matter,' Brother Aloft announced. ‘We have before us a singular task, and in this we shall prevail. If it follows that we must retrace our steps to win once more the Altar of Judgement, then we shall do so.'

Sister Freedom spoke. ‘Brothers, I sense three threats before us, but one will not reach us in time to affect the forthcoming battle, so we can for the moment discount it. It is, however, the smaller of the two elements before us that troubles me. Clearly, they have a specific intention, and the main force marching towards us is positioning itself with the aim of blocking our advance. From this, I conclude that the purpose of the smaller force is of vital importance.'

Brother Aloft slowly nodded. ‘What do you propose, Sister?'

‘We each possess an army, Brothers. If my senses are accurate – and I assure you that they are – any one of us alone is more than a match for the main force ahead of us. However, bearing in mind that our enemy is perhaps formidable in ways we have not yet been made aware of – they did manage to cross the Glass Desert, after all – I advise that we commit two armies to their destruction. The third, perhaps yours, Brother Grave, sets off at a faster pace to hunt down the smaller force – and prevent them from doing whatever it is they plan to do.'

‘And this small force,' Brother Grave said in his thin voice, ‘they flee northwest, yes?'

‘I doubt it is flight as such, Brother,' Freedom said, frowning. ‘I continue to sense a measure of confidence in you, Brother Grave, perhaps somewhat overinflated under the circumstances.'

The older Pure snorted. ‘We shall face humans. Thus far, in all my thousands of years of life, I have yet to be impressed by these creatures.'

‘Nevertheless, I implore you to engage with surety tempered by caution, Brother.'

‘I shall be suitably exact in the execution of my mission, Sister Freedom. I shall hunt down this handful of humans and destroy them.'

‘Your words reassure me,' she replied. ‘Brother Aloft, I welcome your advice in the matter to follow, as much as I do Brother Grave's. That third element – so disturbingly efficacious against our northern forces – is, as I said, too far away to affect the engagements we anticipate. However, there is the slight risk – as it is known that certain companies among them are mounted – that they would in fact intercept Brother Grave should he lead his forces north from here in his effort to reach his target as quickly as possible. You see, my instincts are that Brother Grave's foe – despite its paltry size – is in fact the most dangerous element now arrayed before us.'

‘Understood, Sister Freedom. Then, might I suggest the following? That Brother Grave divide his army on the basis of speed of travel. That he personally lead his light and medium infantry not northwestward, but southwest skirting the force you and I shall engage, and then striking due north behind said enemy; while in turn his heavy infantry take the shorter northwest route – being heavy infantry, they can well successfully withstand incursions by cavalry should the unexpected happen. If led by the purest of the Watered, the heavy infantry element can coordinate their arrival at the target to coincide with Brother Grave's own companies, as rudimentary communication should be possible.'

Sister Freedom turned to Brother Grave. ‘Does this suit you, Brother?'

‘Light and medium elements constitute a little over two thousand soldiers – my force was ever weighted on the heavier elements, organized as it originally was for sieges and set battles. Sister Freedom, how accurate is your gauging of the complement of this smaller enemy force?'

‘No more than a hundred, I believe, Brother Grave.'

‘Well then.' The man smiled, face folding with the expression. ‘Two thousand against a hundred. Will you both forgive me for a small measure of confidence regarding those odds?'

Brother Aloft said, ‘Since we are certain that there is nothing like a pass or any other similar feature into which to force attackers, then I cannot but share your confidence, Brother Grave. At best, the enemy will be defending a hill – perhaps one of the ancient Elan barrow camps – and so can be attacked from all sides. And of course, even should the light and medium forces fail, the heavy infantry companies will rejoin you and thereby contribute to subsequent assaults. Given all this, I believe we have successfully addressed the matter of the smaller enemy force.' Aloft faced Freedom. ‘Only a hundred, you say? Perhaps they are deserters.'

‘It is possible,' she conceded. ‘Yet my instincts say otherwise.'

‘With vehemence?'

She glanced at him. ‘Yes, Brother Aloft, with vehemence.'

‘Then, if I may,' said Aloft, ‘we should perhaps discuss another concern. The third force, which has so thoroughly negated our efforts at defeating or even containing it, is now marching with the clear intention of joining this battle – though as you say, Sister, they will be too late. My thoughts are these: it is too great a reach to imagine that there has been no coordination here. To begin, the strongest fortress in Estobanse is taken, thus threatening our north and, more important, our primary source of food, being the valley province. We respond by sending armies against them, only to have them crushed. Now, from what we are able to glean from Sister Reverence and Brother Diligence, at the Spire, two distinct elements have engaged us from the south. And we of course now march to block an incursion from the west. For all we know, a foreign fleet is even now entering Kolanse Bay.' He surveyed the expressions before him and slowly nodded. ‘This was well planned, do you not agree? Its principal aim, to draw apart our active armies, has already succeeded. In each instance, we are forced to react rather than initiate.'

‘A proficient high command, then,' said Sister Freedom, nodding.

But Aloft shook his head. ‘In truth, this has the feel of a grand strategy, and just as your instincts speak with vehemence to you about the matter of the smaller force, Sister Freedom, so now my instincts have been shouting that this invasion – this strategy and each and every tactical engagement – is in fact the product of a single individual's will.' He nodded to Brother Grave. ‘I accept your assessment of humans, in general. But is it not also true that, on rare occasions, there rises from the multitude of mediocrity that is humanity a single person of extraordinary vision conjoined with the will to achieve that vision, who presents a most formidable presence. One to shape the course of history.'

Brother Grave grunted. ‘Charismatic tyrants, you mean. Indeed, they do appear from time to time, burning bright and deadly and expunged just as quickly. Such individuals, among humans, are inevitably self-corrupting, and for all that they may shape history, that shaping is more often than not simply born out of that tyrant's indulgence in destruction. Brother Aloft, you may well be right that we face such a person behind all of this. But does it matter in the end? And is it not that unbridled ambition that assures the fool's demise? I would venture, with considerable amusement, that we now represent that fatal overreaching on that tyrant's part.' He faced Sister Freedom. ‘Have you not confirmed that the northern threat is too far away? This grand execution of coordinated invasions has failed, in fact.'

‘It may be as you say,' acknowledged Brother Aloft. ‘But what if our eyes deceive us? What if what we are seeing is in fact precisely what our opponent wants us to see?'

‘Now you are too generous by far,' Sister Freedom admonished him. ‘This is a breakdown in timing, perhaps precipitated by our detecting this western threat almost the instant it stepped out from the Glass Desert, and already being in perfect position to strike them with little delay.'

‘I accept the wisdom of your words, Sister.'

‘I will not castigate you, Brother, for listening to your instincts. Although, as we all know, if left unrestrained instincts have a way of encouraging panic – as they lie beyond the control of the intellect to begin with, theirs is the shorter path to fear.'

The three Forkrul Assail were silent then, each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

And then Sister Freedom said, ‘I shall seek to enslave the soldiers we face. They could prove useful.'

‘But not the hundred I hunt,' said Brother Grave.

‘No,' she agreed. ‘Kill them all, Brother.'

 

Ben Adaephon Delat reined in hard, his horse's hoofs skidding through the parched grasses.

Cursing, Kalam wheeled his mount round, the beast pitching beneath him in its exhaustion. He glared back his friend. ‘What is it now, Quick?'

But the wizard held up a hand, shaking his head.

Settling back to ease his aching spine, Kalam looked round, seeing nothing but empty, rolling land. The taint of green from the jade slashes overhead made the world look sickly, but already he was growing used to that.

‘Never mind the Adjunct,' Quick Ben said.

Kalam shot him a startled look. ‘What? Her brother—'

‘I know – you think this was easy? I felt them pulling apart. I've been thinking about that all morning. I know why Ganoes wants us to find her – I know why he sent us ahead. But it's no good, Kalam. I'm sorry. It's no good.'

The assassin stared at his friend for a moment longer, and then he sagged, spat to clear the taste of ashes from his mouth. ‘She's on her own, then.'

‘Aye. Her choice.'

‘No – don't even try that, Quick. This is
your
choice!'

‘She's forced my hand, damn you!'

‘How? What has she done? What's all this about pulling apart? What in Hood's name does that even mean?'

Quick Ben's horse must have picked up some of its rider's agitation, for it now shied beneath him and he fought to regain control for a moment. As the animal backed in a half-circle, the wizard swore under his breath. ‘Listen. It's not with her any more. She's made herself the sacrifice – how do you think I can even know this?
Kalam, she's given up her sword
.'

Kalam stared. ‘What?'

‘But I can feel it – that weapon. It's the blank place in my vision. That's where we have to go.'

‘So she dies, does she? Just like that?'

Quick Ben rubbed at his face. ‘No. We've been doing too much of this – all of us. From the very start.'

‘Back to the fucking riddles.'

‘Underestimating her! From damned near the first day I ended up with the Bonehunters, I've listened to us all second-guessing her, every damned step she took. I did my share, Hood knows. But it wasn't just me, was it? Her officers. The marines. The fucking camp cook – what did you tell me a while back? About that moment in Mock's Hold, when she asked you to save her? You did it, you said, because she just asked you – no bargaining, no reasons or explanations. She just went and asked you, Kalam. Was it hard saying yes? Tell me the truth. Was it?'

Slowly, Kalam shook his head. ‘But I sometimes wondered…did I just feel sorry for her?'

Quick Ben reacted as if he'd been slapped. In a soft voice he asked, ‘Do you still think that, Kalam?'

The assassin was silent, thinking about it. Then he sighed. ‘We know where Ganoes wants us. We even know why – he's her brother, for Hood's sake.'

‘We know where she wants us, too, Kalam.'

‘Do we?'

Quick Ben slowly nodded.

‘So which of the fucking Parans do we obey here?'

‘Which one would you rather face – here or other side of the Gates – to tell 'em you failed, that you made the wrong choice? No, I don't mean brazening it out, either. Just standing there, saying what needs saying?'

Fuck.
‘I feel like I'm back in Mock's Hold,' he said in a growl. ‘I feel as if I never left.'

‘And she meets your eyes.'

Abruptly a sob took the assassin, vicious as a body blow and just as unexpected.

His friend waited, saying nothing – and Kalam knew that he wouldn't, because they'd been through it all together. Because true friends knew when to keep silent, to give all the patience needed. Kalam struggled to lock down on his emotions – he wasn't even sure what had taken him, in that moment.
Maybe this unrelenting pressure. This endless howl no one else even hears.

I stood looking down on the city. I stood knowing I was about to walk a path of blood.

The betrayal didn't even matter, not to me; the Claw was always full of shits. Did it matter to her either? No. She'd already dismissed it. Just one more knife in her chest, and she was already carrying plenty of those, starting with the one she stuck there with her own hands.

Kalam shook himself. ‘Same direction?'

‘For now,' Quick Ben replied. ‘Until we get closer. Then – southwest.'

‘To the sword.'

‘To the sword.'

‘Anyone babysitting it, Quick?'

‘I hope not.'

Kalam gathered his reins, drew a deep breath and slowly eased it back out. ‘Quick – how did she manage to cross that desert anyway?'

The wizard shook his head, half smiled. ‘Guess we…underestimated her.'

After a moment, they set out once again.

 

Wings crooking, Silchas Ruin slid earthward. After a moment, Tulas Shorn followed. To the south they could see something like a cloud, or a swarm. The air hissing past their wings felt brittle, fraught with distant pain rolling like waves across the sky.

Silchas Ruin landed hard on the ground, sembled almost immediately, and staggered forward, hands held over his ears.

Taking his Edur form, Tulas Shorn studied his friend, but drew no closer. Overhead, one of the jade slashes began edging across the face of the sun. A sudden deepening of shadow enveloped them, the gloom eerie and turgid.

Groaning, Silchas finally straightened, stiff as an old man. He looked across. ‘It's the Hust sword,' he said. ‘Its howling was driving me mad.'