The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (151 page)

“The reek of lemon is making my blind eyes water,” Heboric whispered. “I sense greed but no ill will…”

“Nor I,” Kulp said beside them. “Only…his porters are undead, not to mention strangely
…chewed
.”

“I see you hesitate and I applaud caution at all times. Aye, my servants have seen better days, but they are harmless, I assure you.”

“How is it,” Kulp called out, “you oppose the Whirlwind?”

“Not oppose, sir! I am a true believer and most humble. The goddess grants me ease of passage, for which I make constant propitiation! I am naught but a merchant, my trade is select merchandise—of the magical kind, that is. I am making my return journey to Pan'potsun, you see, after a lucrative venture to Sha'ik's rebel camp.” The man smiled. “Aye, I know you as Malazans and no doubt enemies of the great cause. But cruel retribution finds no root in my soil, I assure you. And truth to tell, I would enjoy your company, for these dread servants are obsessed with their own deaths and there is no end to their complaints.”

At a gesture, the four bearers set the sedan chair down. Two of them immediately began removing camp gear from the storage rack behind the seat, their movements careless and loose, while the other pair set to levering their master onto his feet.

“There is a most potent salve,” the man wheezed. “In yon wooden chest—there! The one called Nub carries it. Nub! Set that down, you gnawed grub! Nub the grub, hee! Leave off fumbling with the catch—such nimble escapades will melt your rotting brain. Aai! You've no hands!” The man's eyes had found Heboric, as if for the first time. “A crime, to have done such a thing! Alas, none of my healing unguents could manage such complex regeneration.”

“Please,” Heboric said, “do not feel distressed at what I lack, or even at what you lack. I've need for nothing, although this shelter from the wind is most welcome.”

“Yours is assuredly a tragic tale of abandonment, once-priest of Fener, and I shall not pry. And you—” the man swung to Kulp—“forgive me, the warren of Meanas, perchance?”

“You do more than sell sorcerous trinkets,” Kulp growled, his face darkening.

“Long proximity, kind sir,” the man said, bowing his head. “Nothing more, I assure you. I have devoted my life to magery, yet I do not practice it. The years have granted me a certain…sensitivity, that is all. My apologies if I gave offense.” He reached out and cuffed one of his servants. “You, what name did I give you?”

Felisin stared in fascination as the corpse's gnawed lips peeled back in a twisted grin. “Clam, though I once knew myself as Iryn Thalar—”

“Oh, shut up with what you once knew! You are Clam now.”

“I had a horrid death—”

“Shut up!” his master shrieked, his face suddenly darkening.

The undead servant fell silent.

“Now,” the man gasped, “find us that Falari wine—let us celebrate with the Empire's most civil gifts.”

The servant stumbled off. Its nearest companion's head swiveled to follow with desiccated eyes. “Yours was not as horrid as mine—”

“The Seven Holies preserve us!” the merchant hissed. “I beg of you, Mage, a spell of silence about these ill-chosen animations! I shall pay in jakata imperials, and pay well!”

“Beyond my abilities,” Kulp muttered.

Felisin's eyes narrowed on the cadre mage.
That has to be a lie
.

“Ah, well,” the man sighed. “Gods below, I have not yet introduced myself! I am Nawahl Ebur, humble merchant of the Holy City Pan'potsun. And what names do you three wish to be known by?”

Oddly put
.

“I'm Kulp.”

“Heboric.”

Felisin said nothing.

“While the lass is shy,” Nawahl said, his lips curving into an indulgent smile as he looked upon her.

Kulp crouched down at the wooden chest, released the catch and lifted the lid.

“The white clay bowl with the wax seal,” the merchant said.

The wind was a distant moan, the ochre dust of the calm slowly settling around them. Heboric, still gifted with an awareness that dispensed with the need for sight, sat down on a weathered boulder. A faint frown wrinkled his broad forehead, and his tattoos were dull beneath a veil of dust.

Kulp strode to Felisin, the bowl in one hand. “It's a healing salve,” he affirmed. “And potent indeed.”

“Why didn't the wind tear your skin, Mage? You've not got Heboric's protection—”

“I don't know, lass. I had my warren open—perhaps that was enough.”

“Why didn't you extend its influence over me?”

He glanced away. “I thought I had,” he muttered.

The salve was cool and seemed to absorb the pain. Beneath its colorless patina, she saw her skin grow anew. Kulp applied it where she could not reach, and half a bowl later, the last flare of agony was healed. Suddenly exhausted, Felisin sat down on the sand.

A broken-stemmed glass of wine appeared before her face. Nawahl smiled down on her. “This shall restore you, gentle lass. A pliant current will take the mind past suffering, into life's most peaceful stream. Here, drink, my dear. I care for your well-being most deeply.”

She accepted the glass. “Why?” she demanded. “Why do you care most deeply?”

“A man of my wealth can offer you much, child. All that you grant of your free will is my reward. And know, I am most gentle.”

She downed a mouthful of the tart, cool wine. “Are you now?”

His nod was solemn, his eyes glittering between the folds of dimpled flesh. “This I promise.”

Hood knows I could do worse. Riches and comfort, ease and indulgences. Durhang and wine. Pillows to lie on…

“I sense wisdom in you, my dear,” Nawahl said, “so I shall not press. Let you, rather, yourself ascend to the proper course.”

Bedrolls had been laid out. One of the undead servants had fanned to life a camp stove, the remnants of one sleeve catching light and smoldering in the process, a detail none commented on.

Darkness swiftly closed in around them. Nawahl commanded the lighting of lanterns and their positioning on poles situated in a circle around the camp. One of the corpses stood beside Felisin and refilled her glass after every mouthful. The creature's flesh looked gnawed. Gaping bloodless wounds lined his pallid arms. All his teeth had fallen out.

Felisin glanced up at him, willing herself against recoiling. “And how did you die?” she asked sardonically.

“Terribly.”

“But how?”

“I am forbidden to say more. I died terribly, a death to match one of Hood's own nightmares. It was long, yet swift, an eternity that passed in an instant. I was surprised, yet knowing. Small pain, yet great pain, the flood of darkness, yet blinding—”

“All right. I see your master's point.”

“So you shall.”

“Go easy on that, lass,” Kulp said from near the camp stove. “Best have your wits about you.”

“Why? It's not availed me yet, has it?” In defiance, she drained the glass and held it up to be refilled. Her head was swimming, her limbs seeming to float. The servant splashed wine over her hand.

Nawahl had returned to his wide, padded chair, watching the three of them with a contented smile on his lips. “Mortal company, such a difference!” he wheezed. “I am so much delighted, I need only bask in the mundane. Tell me, where do you seek to go? Whatever launched you on such a perilous journey? The rebellion? Is it truly as bloody as I have heard rumored? Such injustice is ever repaid in full, alas. This lesson is lost, I am afraid.”

“We're going nowhere,” Felisin said.

“Might I convince you to revise your chosen destination, then?”

“And you offer protection?” she asked. “How reliable? What happens if we run into bandits, or worse?”

“No harm shall come to you, my dear. A man who deals in sorcery has many resorts in defense of selves. Not once in all my travels have I been beset by nefarious fools. Accosted on occasion, yes, but all have turned away when I gifted them wisdom. My dear, you are positively breathtaking—your smooth, sun-honeyed skin is a balm to my eyes.”

“What would your wife say?” Felisin murmured.

“Alas, I am a widower. My dearest passed through the Hooded One's Gates almost a year ago to this day. Hers was a full, happy life, I am pleased to say—and that gives me great comfort. Ah, would that her spirit could arise and set you at ease with reassurances, my dear.”

Tapu skewers sizzled on the camp stove.

“Mage,” Nawahl said, “you have opened your warren. Tell me, what do you see? Have I given you cause for mistrust?”

“No, merchant,” Kulp said. “And I see nothing untoward—yet the spells surrounding us are High castings…I am impressed.”

“Only the best in protection of oneself, of course.”

The ground trembled suddenly and something huge pushed a brown-furred shoulder into the sphere opposite Felisin. The beast's shoulder was almost three arm-lengths high. After a moment the creature growled and withdrew.

“Beasts! They plague this desert! But fear not, none shall defeat my wards. I urge calm.”

Calm, I am very calm. We're finally safe. Nothing can reach us—

Finger-long claws tore a swath down the sphere's blurry wall, a bellow of rage ripping forth to shiver the air.

Nawahl surged upright with surprising speed. “Back, damned one! Away! One thing at a time!”

She blinked.
One thing at a time?

The sphere glowed as the jagged tears closed. The apparition beyond bellowed again, this time in what was clearly frustration. Claws scored another path, which healed even as it appeared. A body thundered against the barrier, withdrew, then tried again.

“We are safe!” Nawahl cried, his face dark with fury. “It shall not succeed, no matter how stubborn! But still, how shall we sleep in such racket!”

Kulp strode up to the merchant, who unaccountably backed away a step. The mage then turned to face the determined intruder. “That's a Soletaken,” he said. “Very strong—”

From where Felisin sat, all that followed appeared in a seamless flow, with something close to grace. As soon as Kulp swung his back to the merchant, Nawahl seemed to blur beneath his silks, his skin deepening into glistening black fur. Sharp spice overpowered the citrus perfume in a hot gust. Rats poured forth, a growing flood.

Heboric screamed a warning, but it was already too late. The rats flowed over Kulp and swallowed him entirely in a seething cloak, not by the score but in the hundreds.

The mage's shriek was a dull muffle. A moment later the mound of creatures seemed to buckle, their weight crushing Kulp down.

The four bearers stood off to one side, watching.

Heboric plunged into the mass of rats, his ghost-hands now glowing gauntlets of fire, one jade green, the other rust-red. Rats flinched away. Each one he grasped burned into black, mangled flesh and bone. Yet the swarm spread outward, more and more of the silent creatures, clambering over one another, heaving in waves over the ground.

They dissipated from the place where Kulp had lain. Felisin saw the flash of wet bones, a ragged raincape. She could not comprehend its significance.

The Soletaken beyond the wards was attacking the barrier in a frenzy. The torn wounds were slower in closing. A bear's paw and forearm, as wide around as Felisin's waist, plunged through a rent.

The rats rose in a writhing crest to sweep down on Heboric. Still screaming, the ex-priest staggered back.

A hand clutched Felisin's collar from behind and yanked her upright. “Grab him and run, lass.”

Head spinning, she twisted around, to find herself staring up into Baudin's weathered face. He held in his other hand four of the lanterns. “Get moving, damn you!” He pushed her hard toward the ex-priest, who was still stumbling back, the tide seething in pursuit. Behind Heboric, two tons of bear was pushing through the barrier.

Baudin leaped past Heboric, smashing one of the lanterns against the ground. Lamp oil sprayed in gushing streaks of flame.

A furious scream erupted from the rats.

The four servants broke into hacking laughter.

The crest crashed over Baudin, but they could not drag him down as they had Kulp. He swung the lanterns, shattering them. Fire leaped around him. A moment later he and hundreds of rats were engulfed in flames.

Felisin reached Heboric. The old man was sheathed in blood from countless small wounds. His sightless eyes seemed focused on an inner horror that matched the scene before them. Grasping an arm, she pulled him to one side.

The merchant's voice filled her mind.
Do not fear for yourself, my dear. Wealth and peace, every indulgence to sate your desires, and I am gentle—to those I choose, oh so gentle…

She hesitated.

Leave to me this hard-skinned stranger and the old man, then I shall deal with Messremb, that foul, most rude Soletaken who so dislikes me…

Yet she heard pain in his words, an edge of desperation. The Soletaken was sundering the barrier, its hungry roar deafening in its reverberations.

Baudin would not fall. He killed rat after rat, all within a shroud of flame, yet they surged over him in ever-growing numbers, the sheer mass of bodies smothering the burning oil.

Felisin glanced at the Soletaken, gauging its awesome power, its fearless rage. She shook her head. “No. You're in trouble, D'ivers.” She took hold of Heboric once again and dragged him to the dying barrier.

My dear! Wait! Oh, you stubborn mortal, why won't you die!

Felisin could not help but grin.
That won't work—I should know
.

The Whirlwind had begun its own assault against the sphere. Wind-whipped sand rasped against her face.

“Wait!” Heboric gasped. “Kulp—”

Cold gripped Felisin.
He's dead, oh, gods, he's dead! Devoured. And I watched, drunk and uncaring, noticing nothing—“one thing at a time.” Kulp's dead
. She bit back a sob, pushed the ex-priest into, then through, the barrier, even as it finally collapsed. The Soletaken's roar of triumph announced its surging charge into the midst of the rats. Felisin did not turn to watch the attack, did not turn to discover Baudin's fate. Dragging Heboric, she ran into the dusk-darkened storm.