The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (239 page)

‘I have just given them!’ she retorted, also standing.

‘Enough,’ he said, collecting his gear. ‘I’ve stopped playing, Lady Envy. Take the game elsewhere.’

‘Oh, how I dislike you when you’re like this!’

‘Sulk away,’ he muttered, setting off down the road.

‘I shall lose my temper, young man! Do you hear me?’

He stopped, glanced back. ‘We’ve got a few leagues’ worth of daylight left.’

‘Oh!’ She stamped her foot. ‘You’re just like Rake!’

Toc’s lone eye slowly widened, then he grinned. ‘Take a few deep breaths, lass.’

‘He
always
said that, too! Oh, this is infuriating! It’s all happening again! What is wrong with all of you?’

He laughed, not harshly, but with genuine warmth. ‘Come along, Envy. I’ll bore you with a detailed recounting of my youth – it’ll pass the time. I was born on a ship, you know, and it was more than a few days before Toc the Elder stepped forward to acknowledge his fatherhood – my mother was Captain Cartheron Crust’s sister, you see, and Crust had a temper…’

*   *   *

The lands lying just beyond Bastion’s walls were devastated. Farmsteads were blackened, smouldering heaps; to either side of the road the ground itself had been torn into, ripped open like wounds in flesh. Within sight of the small city’s squat walls, the remnants of massive bonfires dotted the landscape like round barrows dusted with white ash. No-one walked the wasteland.

Smoke hung over Bastion’s block-like, tiered buildings. Above the grey wreaths rode the white flags of seagulls, their faint cries the only sound to reach Toc and Lady Envy as the group approached the city’s inland gates. The stench of fire masked the smell of the lake on the other side of the city, the air’s breath hot and gritty.

The gates were ajar. As they neared, Toc caught a glimpse of movement beyond the archway, as of a figure swiftly passing, dark and silent. His nerves danced. ‘What has happened here?’ he wondered aloud.

‘Very unpleasant,’ Lady Envy agreed.

They strode beneath the shadow of the arch, and the air was suddenly sickly sweet with the smell of burning flesh. Toc hissed through his teeth.

Baaljagg and Garath – both returned to modest proportions – trotted forward, heads slung low.

‘I believe the question of sustenance has a grim answer indeed,’ Lady Envy said.

Toc nodded. ‘They’re eating their own dead. I don’t think it’s a good idea to enter this city.’

She turned to him. ‘Are you not curious?’

‘Curious, aye, but not suicidal.’

‘Fear not. Let us take a closer look.’

‘Envy…’

Her eyes hardened. ‘If the inhabitants are foolish enough to threaten us, they shall know my wrath. And Garath’s as well. If you think this is ruination now, your judgement will receive a lesson in perspective, my dear. Come.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Familiarity breeds facetiousness, I see. How regrettable.’

The two Seguleh and their unconscious master trailing three paces behind them, Toc and Lady Envy strode into the square.

Split human long bones were piled against the inner walls, some calcined by heat, others red and raw. The buildings facing onto the square were blackened, doorways and windows gaping. The bones of various animals – dogs, mules, horses and oxen – lay about, gnawed and split.

Three men who were obviously priests awaited them in the centre of the square, clean-shaven, gaunt and pale in their colourless robes. One took a step forward as Toc and Envy approached.

‘Strangers, welcome. An acolyte saw you on the road, and we three have hastened to greet you. You have chosen an auspicious day to visit glorious Bastion; alas, this day also places your lives in great peril. We shall endeavour to guide you, and thus improve the likelihood of your surviving the Embrasure’s violent … afterbirth. If you will follow us…’ He gestured towards a side street. ‘At the mouth of Iltara Avenue, we shall have removed ourselves from the exodus’s path, yet remain able to witness the miracle.’

‘Ideal,’ Lady Envy said. ‘We thank you, holy ones.’

The walk to the mouth of the side street was no more than fifty paces, yet in that time the city’s silence was replaced by a growing murmur, a dry susurration approaching from Bastion’s heart. Upon arriving, Baaljagg and Garath returned to flank Lady Envy. Senu and Thurule set the travois down against the wall of a corner building, then faced the square once more, hands on their weapons.

‘The will of the Faith has embraced the citizens of Bastion,’ the priest said. ‘It arrives like a fever … a fever that only death can abate. Yet it must be remembered that the Embrasure was first felt here in Bastion itself, fourteen years ago. The Seer had returned from the Mountain, speaking the Words of Truth, and the power of those words rippled outward…’ The priest’s voice broke with some kind of emotion wrought by his own words. He bowed his head, his entire body trembling.

Another priest continued for him. ‘The Faith flowered here first. A caravan from Elingarth was encamped beyond the walls. The foreigners were rewarded in a single night. And the First Child of the Dead Seed was gifted to the mortal world nine months later. That child has now come of age, an event that has triggered a renewed burgeoning of the Faith – a second Embrasure has occurred, under the command of the First Child, Anaster. You shall see him now – his mother at his side – leading his newfound Tenescowri. A war awaits them far to the north – the faithless city of Capustan must be rewarded.’

‘Holy ones,’ Lady Envy said, raising her voice to be heard over the growing roar of chanting voices, ‘please forgive my ignorance. A Child of the Dead Seed – what precisely is that?’

‘The moment of reward among the male unbelievers, mistress, is often marked by an involuntary spilling of life-seed … and continues after life has fled. At this moment, with a corpse beneath her, a woman may ride and so take within her a dead man’s seed. The children that are thus born are the holiest of the Seer’s kin. Anaster is the first to reach his age.’

‘That is,’ Lady Envy said, ‘extraordinary…’

Toc saw her face sickly pale for the first time in his memory.

‘The Seer’s gift, mistress. A Child of the Dead Seed bears the visible truth of death’s kiss of life – proof of the Reward itself. We know that foreigners fear death. The Faithful do not.’

Toc cleared his throat, leaned close to the priest. ‘Once these Tenescowri leave Bastion … is there anyone else still breathing in the city?’

‘Embrasure is absolute, sir.’

‘In other words, those who did not succumb to the fever have been … rewarded.’

‘Indeed.’

‘And then eaten.’

‘The Tenescowri have needs.’

Conversation ended then as the leading edge of a mass of humanity poured from the main avenue and began spreading to fill the square. A young man was in the lead, the only person mounted, his horse an aged roan draught animal with a bowed spine and botfly sores on its neck. As the youth rode forward, his head whipped suddenly to where Toc and the others stood. He stabbed a long, thin arm in their direction and shrieked.

The cry was wordless, yet it was understood by his followers. Hundreds of faces swung to look upon the strangers, then surged towards them.

‘Oh,’ Lady Envy said.

The second priest flinched back. ‘Alas, our protection is insufficient Prepare for your reward, strangers!’ And with that, the three acolytes fled.

Lady Envy raised her hands, and was suddenly flanked by two huge beasts. Both flowed in a blur to greet the mob. Suddenly, blood and bodies spilled onto the flagstones.

The Seguleh pushed past Toc. Senu stopped at Envy’s side. ‘Awaken our brother!’ he shouted.

‘Agreed,’ she said. ‘No doubt Tool is about to appear as well, but I suspect they will find themselves too busy to contest each other.’

Leather straps snapped as Mok seemed to fling himself upright, weapons already in his hands.

And here I am, all but forgotten.
Toc reached a decision. ‘Have fun, all of you,’ he said, backing up the side street.

As the ay and the hound chewed through the screaming mass, Lady Envy spun, eyes wide. ‘What? Where are you going?’

‘I’ve embraced the Faith,’ he called out. ‘This mob’s heading straight for the Malazan Army – though it doesn’t know it yet! And I’m going with it!’

‘Toc, listen! We shall obliterate this pathetic army and that pale runt leading them! There is no need—’

‘Don’t wipe them out! Please, Envy. Carve your way clear, yes, but I need them.’

‘But—’

‘No time! I’ve decided. With Oponn’s luck we’ll meet again – go find your answers, Envy. I’ve got friends to find!’

‘Wait—’

With a final wave, Toc whirled and ran down the street.

A concussive blast of sorcery threw him forward, but he did not turn. Envy was letting loose.
Hood knows, she might even have just lost her temper. Gods, leave some of them standing, lass …

He swung right at the first intersection he came to, and found himself plunging into the midst of screaming peasants, pushing like him towards the city’s main artery, where flowed the mass of the Faithful. He added his screams – wordless, the sounds that a mute man might make – and clawed with mindless zeal.

Like a leaf on a wide, deep river …

Chapter Ten

Mother Dark begat three children,

the First, Tiste Andii, were her dearest,

dwellers of the land before Light.

Then were birthed in pain the Second, Tiste Lians,

the burning glory of Light itself,

and so the First denied their Mother,

in their fury, and so were cast out,

doomed children of Mother Dark.

She then gave rise, in her mercy, to the Third,

spawn of the war between Dark and Light,

the Tiste Edur, and there was shadow

upon their souls.

K
ILMANAR’S
F
ABLES

S
EBUN
I
MANAN

The hand slapped him hard, the shock quickly fading even as he struggled to comprehend its significance, leaving a tingling numbness that he was content to ride back into unconsciousness.

He was slapped a second time.

Gruntle pried open his eyes. ‘Go away,’ he mumbled, shutting them again.

‘You’re drunk,’ Stonny Menackis snarled. ‘And you stink. Gods, the blanket’s soaked with vomit. That’s it, he can rot for all I care. He’s all yours, Buke. I’m heading back to the barracks.’

Gruntle listened to boots stamping away, across the creaking, uneven floorboards of his squalid room, listened to the door squeal open, then slam shut. He sighed, made to roll over and go back to sleep.

Cold, wet cloth slapped down on his face. ‘Wipe yourself,’ Buke said. ‘I need you sober, friend.’

‘No-one needs me sober,’ Gruntle said, pulling the cloth away. ‘Leave me be, Buke. You, of all people—’

‘Aye, me of all people. Sit up, damn you.’

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulled him upright. Gruntle managed to grab Buke’s wrists, but there was no strength in his arms and he could only manage a few feeble tugs. Pain rocked through his head, swarmed behind his closed eyes. He leaned forward and was sick, fermented bile pouring out through mouth and nostrils onto the floor between his scuffed boots.

The heaves subsided. His head was suddenly clearer. Spitting out the last dregs of vomit, he scowled. ‘I’m not asking, you bastard. You got no right—’

‘Shut up.’

Grumbling, he sank his head into his hands. ‘How many days?’

‘Six. You’ve missed your chance, Gruntle.’

‘Chance? What are you talking about?’

‘It’s too late. The Septarch and his Pannion army have crossed the river. The investiture has begun. Rumour is, the blockhouses in the killing fields beyond the walls will be attacked before the day’s done. They won’t hold. That’s one big army out there. Veterans who’ve laid more than one siege – and every one successful—’

‘Enough. You’re telling me too much. I can’t think.’

‘You won’t, you mean. Harllo’s dead, Gruntle. Time to sober up and grieve.’

‘You should talk, Buke.’

‘I’ve done my grieving, friend. Long ago.’

‘Like Hood you have.’

‘You misunderstand me. You always have. I have grieved, and that’s faded away. Gone. Now … well, now there’s nothing. A vast, unlit cavern. Ashes. But you’re not like me – maybe you think you are, but you’re not.’

Gruntle reached out, groped for the wet cloth he’d let fall to the floor. Buke collected it and pushed it into his hand. Pressing it against his pounding brow, Gruntle groaned. ‘A pointless, senseless death.’

‘They’re all pointless and senseless, friend. Until the living carve meaning out of them. What are
you
going to carve, Gruntle, out of Harllo’s death? Take my advice, an empty cave offers no comfort.’

‘I ain’t looking for comfort.’

‘You’d better. No other goal is worthwhile, and I should know. Harllo was my friend as well. From the way those Grey Swords who found us described it, you were down, and he did what a friend’s supposed to do – he defended you. Stood over you and took the blows. And was killed. But he did what he wanted – he saved your hide. And is this his reward, Grande? You want to look his ghost in the eye and tell him it wasn’t worth it?’

‘He should never have done it.’

‘That’s not the point, is it?’

Silence filled the room. Gruntle scrubbed his bristled face, then slowly lifted bleary eyes to Buke.

The old man had tears tracking down the lines of his weathered cheeks. Caught by surprise, he turned away. ‘Stonny’s in a mood to kill you herself,’ he muttered, walking over to unlatch the lone window’s shutters. He opened them. Sunlight flooded the room. ‘She lost one friend, and maybe now another.’

‘She lost two out there, Buke. That Barghast lad…’

‘Aye, true enough. We ain’t seen much of Hetan and Cafal since arriving. They’re tight with the Grey Swords – something’s brewing there, I think. Stonny might know more about it – she’s staying at the barracks as well.’

‘And you?’

‘Still in the employ of Bauchelain and Korbal Broach.’