The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (186 page)

“Assassinating Kellanved and Dancer? Aye, I ended their rule of the Malazan Empire. Usurped the throne. A most vicious betrayal, in truth. An empire is greater than any lone mortal—”

“Including you.”

“Including me. An empire enforces its own necessities, makes demands in the name of duty—and that particular burden is something you, as a soldier, most certainly understand. I knew those two men very well, Kalam—a claim you cannot make. I answered a necessity I could not avoid, with reluctance, with anguish. Since that time, I have made grievous errors in judgment—and I must live with those—”

“Dassem Ultor—”

“Was a rival. An ambitious man, sworn to Hood. I would not risk civil war, so I struck first. I averted that civil war, and so have no regrets on that.”

“It seems,” the assassin murmured dryly, “you've prepared for this.”
Oh, haven't you just
.

After a moment she went on. “So, if Dassem Ultor was sitting here right now, instead of me—tell me, Kalam, do you think he would have let you get this close? Do you think he would have sought to reason with you?” She was silent for a few more breaths, then continued, “It seems clear that my efforts to disguise the direction of my voice have failed, for you face me directly. Three, perhaps four strides, Kalam, and you can end the reign of Empress Laseen. What do you choose?”

Smiling, Kalam shifted the grip of the knife in his right hand.
Very well, I'll play along
. “Seven Cities—”

“Will be answered in kind,” she snapped.

Despite himself, the assassin's eyes widened at the anger he heard there.
Well, what do you know? Empress, you did not need your illusions after all. Thus, the hunt ends here
. He sheathed the knife.

And smiled in admiration when she gasped.

“Empress,” he rumbled.

“I—I admit to some confusion…”

I'd not thought acting one of your fortes, Laseen…
“You could have begged for your life. You could have given more reasons, made more justifications. Instead, you spoke, not with your voice, but with an empire's.” He turned away. “Your hiding place is safe. I will leave your…presence—”

“Wait!”

He paused, brows raised at the sudden uncertainty in her voice. “Empress?”

“The Claw—I can do nothing—I cannot recall them.”

“I know. They deal with their own.”

“Where will you go?”

He smiled in the darkness. “Your confidence in me is flattering, Empress.” He swung the stallion around, strode to the doorway, then turned back one last time. “If you meant to ask, will I come for you again? The answer is no.”

Minala was covering the entrance from a few paces away. She slowly straightened as Kalam stepped into the hallway. The crossbow held steady as the assassin pulled the stallion into view, then went around and shut the door.

“Well?” she demanded in a hiss.

“Well, what?”

“I heard voices—murmuring, garbled—is she dead? Did you kill the Empress?”

I killed a ghost, perhaps. No, a scarecrow I made in Laseen's guise. An assassin should never see the face behind the victim's mask
. “Naught but mocking echoes in that chamber. We're done here, Minala.”

Her eyes flashed. “After all this
…mocking echoes?
You've crossed three continents to do this!”

He shrugged. “It's our nature, isn't it? Again and again, we cling to the foolish belief that simple solutions exist. Aye, I anticipated a dramatic, satisfying confrontation—the flash of sorcery, the spray of blood. I wanted a sworn enemy dead by my hand. Instead—” he rumbled a laugh—“I had an audience with a mortal woman, more or less…” He shook himself. “In any case, we've the Claw's gauntlet ahead of us.”

“Terrific. What do we do now, then?”

He grinned. “Simple—straight down their Hood-damned throat.”

“A foolish belief if ever I've heard one…”

“Aye. Come on.”

Leading the stallion, they went down the hallway.

 

The unnatural darkness slowly dissipated in the old Main Hall. Revealed in one corner was a chair on which was seated a withered corpse. Wisps of hair fluttered lightly in a faint draft, the lips were peeled back, the eye sockets two depthless voids.

A warren opened near the back wall and a tall, lean man draped in a dark-green cloak stepped through. He paused in the center of the chamber, cocked his head toward the double doors opposite, then turned to the corpse on the chair. “Well?”

Empress Laseen's voice emerged from those lifeless lips. “No longer a threat.”

“Are you sure, Empress?”

“At some point in our conversation, Kalam realized that I was not here in the flesh, that he would have to resume his hunt. It seemed, however, that my words had an effect. He is not an unreasonable man, after all. Now, if you would kindly call off your hunters.”

“We have been over this—you know that is impossible.”

“I would not lose him, Topper.”

His laugh was a bark. “I said I cannot call off my hunters, Empress—do you take that to mean you actually expect them to
succeed
? Hood's breath, Dancer himself would have hesitated before taking on Kalam Mekhar. No, better to view this disastrous night as a long-overdue winnowing of the brotherhood's weaker elements…”

“Generous of you, indeed.”

His smile was wry. “We have learned lessons in killing this night, Empress. Much to ponder. Besides, I have a victim on which to vent my frustration.”

“Pearl, your favored lieutenant.”

“Favored no longer.”

A hint of warning entered Laseen's tone. “I trust he will recover from your attentions, Topper.”

He sighed. “Aye, but for the moment I will leave him to sweat…and consider Kalam's most pointed lesson. A certain measure of humility does a man good, I always say. Would you not agree, Empress?

“Empress?”

I have been talking to a corpse. Ah, Laseen, that is what I love most about you—your extraordinary ability to make one eat one's own words…

 

The captain of the Guard literally stumbled on them as they edged their way alongside the old keep's outer wall. Minala raised the crossbow and the man cautiously held his hands out to the sides. Kalam stepped forward and dragged him into the shadows, then quickly disarmed him.

“All right, Captain,” the assassin hissed. “Tell me where the Hold's unwelcome guests are hiding.”

“I take it you don't mean yourselves,” the man said, sighing. “Well, the gatehouse guard's been muttering about figures on the stairs—of course, the old bastard's half blind. But in the grounds here…nothing.”

“You can do better than that, Captain…?”

The man scowled. “Aragan. And here I am only days away from a new posting…”

“And that doesn't have to change, with a little cooperation.”

“I've just done the rounds—everything's quiet, as far as I can tell. Mind you, that doesn't mean a thing, does it?”

Minala glanced pointedly up at the pennant flapping from the weathervane above the Hold. “And your official guest? No bodyguards?”

Captain Aragan grinned. “Oh, the Empress, you mean.” Something in his tone hinted at great amusement. “She's not aged well, has she?”

Inky blackness billowed in the courtyard. Minala shouted a warning even as the crossbow bucked in her hands. A voice shouted in pain.

Kalam straight-armed the captain, sending him sprawling to one side, then spun, knife flashing in his hand.

Four Hands of the Claw had appeared—twenty killers were converging on them. Throwing stars hissed through the darkness. Minala cried out, the crossbow flying from her grip as she staggered back. A bucking wave of sorcery rolled over the cobbles—and vanished.

Shadows swirled in the midst of the Hands, adding to the confusion. When something huge and ungainly stepped into view, Kalam's eyes widened with recognition.
Apt!
The demon lashed out. Bodies flew in all directions. The Hand most distant turned as one to meet this new threat. A rock-sized object flew toward them. The five hunters scattered—but too late, as the sharper struck the flagstones.

The explosion sent shards of iron scything through them.

A lone hunter closed with Kalam. Two thin-bladed knives darted forward in a blur. One struck the assassin in his right shoulder, the other missed his face by inches. Kalam's knife fell from nerveless fingers and he reeled back. The hunter leaped at him.

The sack of cloth-tacks intercepted the path of the man's head with a sickening crunch. The hunter dropped to writhe on the ground.

Another sharper detonated nearby. More screams rang through the courtyard.

Hands gripped Kalam's tattered apron, dragged him into the shadows. The assassin weakly struggled. “Minala!”

A familiar voice whispered close to him. “We've got her—and Crokus has the stallion—”

Kalam blinked. “Sorry?”

“It's Apsalar these days, Corporal.”

The shadows closed on all sides. Sounds faded.

“You're full of holes,” Apsalar observed. “Busy night, I take it.”

He grunted as the knife was slowly withdrawn from his shoulder, and he felt the blood welling in the blade's wake. A face leaned into his view, a gray-streaked red snarl of beard, a battered soldier's visage that now grinned.

“Hood's breath!” Kalam muttered. “That's a damned ugly face you've got there, Fid.”

The grin broadened. “Funny,” Fiddler said, “I was just thinking the same—and that's what I don't get, what with you finding this flash lady for company—”

“Her wounds—”

“Minor,” Apsalar said from close by.

“Did you get her?” Fiddler asked. “Did you kill the Empress?”

“No. I changed my mind—”

“Damn, we could—you
what
?”

“She's a sweet sack of bones after all, Fid—remind me to tell you the whole tale some time, provided you repay in kind, since I gather you managed to use the Azath gates.”

“Aye, we did.”

“Any problems?”

“Nothing to it.”

“Glad to hear one of us had it easy.” Kalam struggled to sit up. “Where are we?”

A new voice spoke, sibilant and wry. “The Realm of Shadow…My realm!”

Fiddler groaned, looked up. “Shadowthrone is it now? Kellanved, more like it! We ain't fooled, y' got that? You can hide in those fancy shadows all you like, but you're still just the damned Emperor!”

“Ai, I quail!” The insubstantial figure giggled suddenly, edging back. “And you, are you not a soldier of the Malazan Empire? Did you not take a vow? Did you not swear allegiance…to
me
?”

“To the Empire, you mean!”

“Why quibble about such minor distinctions? The truth remains that the aptorian has delivered you…to me, to me, to me!”

Sudden clicking, buzzing sounds made the god shift around to face the demon. When the strange noises coming from Apt ceased, Shadowthrone faced the group once again. “Clever bitch! But we knew that, didn't we? She and that ugly child riding her, agh! Corporal Kalam of the Bridgeburners, it seems you've found a woman—oh, look at her eyes! Such fury! I am impressed, most impressed. And now you wish to settle down, yes? I wish to reward you all!” He gestured with both hands as if delivering blessings. “Loyal subjects that you all are!”

Apsalar spoke in her cool, detached way. “I do not seek any reward, nor does my father. We would have our associations severed—with you, with Cotillion, and with every other Ascendant. We would leave this warren, Ammanas, and return to the Kanese coast—”

“And I with them,” Crokus said.

“Oh, wonderful!” the god crooned. “Synchronous elegance, this fullest of full circles! To the Kanese coast indeed! To the very road where first we met, oh yes. Go, then! I send you with the smoothest of gestures. Go!” He raised an arm and caressed the air with his long, ghostly fingers.

Shadows swept over the three figures, and when they cleared, Apsalar, her father and Crokus had vanished.

The god giggled again. “Cotillion will be so pleased, won't he just. Now, what of you, soldier? My magnanimity is rarely seen—I have so little of it! Quickly, before I tire of all this amusement.”

“Corporal?” Fiddler asked, crouching beside the assassin. “Kalam, I ain't too thrilled with a god making offers, if you know what I mean—”

“Well, we haven't heard much of those offers yet, have we? Kell—Shadowthrone, I could do with a rest, if that's what you've in mind.” He glanced across and met Minala's eyes. She nodded. “Some place safe—”

“Safe! Nowhere safer! Apt shall be at your side, as vigilant as ever! And comfort, oh yes, much comfort—”

“Ugh,” Fiddler said. “Sounds dull as death. Count me out.”

The god seemed to cock its head. “In truth, I owe you nothing, sapper. Only Apt speaks for you. Alas, she's acquired a certain…leverage. And oh, yes, you were a loyal enough soldier, I suppose. You wish to return to the Bridgeburners?”

“No.”

Kalam turned in surprise, to see his friend frowning.

“On our way up to Mock's Hold,” the sapper explained, “we listened in on a group of guards during a shift-change—seems there's a last detachment of recruits holed up in Malaz Harbor on their way to join Tavore.” He met Kalam's eyes. “Sorry, Corporal, but I'm for getting involved in putting down that rebellion in your homeland. So, I'll enlist…again.”

Kalam reached out a blood-smeared hand. “Just stay alive, then, that's all I ask.”

The sapper nodded.

Shadowthrone sighed. “And with such soldiers, it is no wonder we conquered half a world—no, Fiddler, I do not mock. This once, I do not mock. Though Laseen does not deserve such as you. Nonetheless, when these mists clear, you will find yourself in the alley back of Smiley's Tavern.”