The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (676 page)

Whatever was going on up there was well beyond the horizon. Although, given that, Banaschar reluctantly concluded, it was
big
.

But far away, so far away he quickly lost interest, at least after the first pitcher of ale had been drained. In any case, the four dromons that had just arrived had delivered a score of castaways. Found on a remote reef island southwest of the Horn (and what, Banaschar wondered briefly, were the dromons doing out there?), they had been picked up, brought to Malaz Island with four ships that had been losing a battle with shipping water, and this very night the castaways had disembarked into the glorious city of Malaz.

Now finding castaways was not entirely uncommon, but what made these ones interesting was that only two of them were Malazans. As for the others…Banaschar lifted his head from his cup, frowned across at his now regular drinking partner, Master Sergeant Braven Tooth, then over at the newcomers huddled round the long table at the back. The ex-priest wasn't alone in casting glances in that direction, but the castaways clearly weren't interested in conversation with anyone but themselves – and there didn't seem to be much of that, either, Banaschar noted.

The two Malazans were both drunk, the quiet kind, the miserable kind. The others were not drinking much – seven in all to share a single carafe of wine.

Damned unnatural, as far as Banaschar was concerned. But that in itself was hardly surprising, was it? Those seven were Tiste Andii.

‘I know one of those two, you know,' Braven Tooth said.

‘What?'

‘Them Malazans. They saw me. Earlier, when they came in. One of them went white. That's how I could tell.'

Banaschar grunted. ‘Most veterans who come in here do that the first time they see you, Braven Tooth. Some of them do that
every
time. How's that feel, b'the way? Striking terror in everyone you ever trained?'

‘Feels good. Besides, it's not everyone I trained. Jus' most of 'em. I'm used to it.'

‘Why don't you drag them two over here, then? Get their story – what in Hood's name are they doing with damned Tiste Andii, anyway? Of course, with the feel in the air outside, there's a good chance those fools won't last the night. Wickans, Seven Cities, Korelri, Tiste Andii – foreigners one and all. And the mob's got its nose up and hackles rising. This city is about to explode.'

‘Ain't never seen this afore,' Braven Tooth muttered. ‘This…hate. The old empire was never like that. Damn, it was the bloody opposite. Look around, Banaschar, if y'can focus past that drink in your hand, and you'll see it. Fear, paranoia, closed minds and bared teeth. You voice a complaint out loud these days and you'll end up cut to pieces in some alley. Was never like this afore, Banaschar. Never.'

‘Drag one over.'

‘I heard the story already.'

‘Really? Wasn't you sitting here wi'me all night tonight?'

‘No, I was over there for most of a bell – you never noticed – I don't even think you looked up. You're a big sea sponge, Banaschar, and the more you pour in the thirstier you get.'

‘I'm being followed.'

‘So you keep saying.'

‘They're going to kill me.'

‘Why? They can just sit back and wait for you to kill yourself.'

‘They're impatient.'

‘So I ask again, Banaschar, why?'

‘They don't want me to reach through to him. To Tayschrenn, you see. It's all about Tayschrenn, locked up there in Mock's Hold. They brought the bricks, but he's mixed the mortar. I got to talk to him, and they won't let me. They'll kill me if I even try.' He waved wildly towards the door. ‘I head out, right now, and start walking to the Stairs, and I'm dead.'

‘That damned secret of yours, that's what's going to kill you, Banaschar. It's what's killing you right now.'

‘She's cursed me.'

‘Who has?'

‘D'rek, of course. The Worm in my gut, in my brain, the worm that's eating me from the inside out. So what was the story?'

Braven Tooth scratched the bristling hair beneath his throat, then leaned back. ‘Marine recruit Mudslinger. Forget the name he started with, Mudslinger is the one I gave 'im. It fits, 'course. They always fit. He was a tough one, though, a survivor, and tonight's proof of that. The other one's named Gentur. Kanese, I think – not one of mine. Anyway, they was shipwrecked after a battle with the grey-skinned barbarians. Ended up on Drift Avalii, where things got real messy. Seems those barbarians, they was looking for Drift Avalii all along. Well, there were Tiste Andii living on it, and before anyone could spit there was a huge fight between them and the barbarians. An ugly one. Before long Mudslinger and the others with 'im were fighting alongside those Tiste Andii, along with someone named Traveller. The short of it is, Traveller told them all to leave, said he'd take on the barbarians by 'imself and anybody else around was jus' in the way. So they did. Leave, I mean. Only t'get hit by a damned storm, and what was left of 'em fetched up on an atoll, where they spent months drinking coconut milk and eating clams.' Braven Tooth reached for his tankard. ‘And that's Mudslinger's story, when he was sober, which he's not any more. The one named Traveller, he's the one that interests me…something familiar about him, the way 'Slinger d'scribes 'im, the way he fought – killing everything fast, wi'out breaking a sweat. Too bad he didn't come wi' these ones.'

Banaschar stared at the huge man opposite him. What was he talking about? Whatever it was, it went on, and on, and on. Travelling fast? Slingers and fights with barbarians. The man was drunk. Drunk and incomprehensible. ‘So, what was Mud's story again?'

‘I just told you.'

‘And what about those Tiste Andii, Braven Tooth? They're going to get killed—'

‘No they ain't. See the tallest one there, with the long white hair. His name is Nimander Golit. And that pretty woman beside him, that's Phaed, his first daughter. All seven of 'em are cousins, sisters, brothers, but it's Nimander who leads, since he's the oldest. Nimander says he is the first son of the Son.'

‘The what?'

‘The Son of Darkness, Banaschar. Know who that is? That's Anomander Rake. Look at 'em, they're all Rake's brood – grandchildren mostly, except for Nimander, who's father to a lot of 'em, but not all. Now, maybe someone's got a hate on for foreigners – you really think that someone would be stupid enough to go after the whelps of Anomander Rake?'

Banaschar turned slightly, stared over at the figures. He slowly blinked, then shook his head. ‘Not unless they're suicidal.'

‘Right, and that's something you'd know all about, ain't it?'

‘So, if Anomander Rake is Nimander's father, who was the mother?'

‘Ah, you're not completely blind, then. You can see, can't you? Different mothers, for some of 'em. And one of those mothers wasn't no Tiste Andii, was she? Look at Phaed—'

‘I can only see the back of her head.'

‘Whatever. I looked at her, and I asked her that very same question you just asked me.'

‘What?'

‘“Who was your mother?”'

‘Mine?'

‘And she smiled – and I nearly died, Banaschar, and I mean it. Nearly died. Bursting blood vessels in my brain, toppling over nearly died. Anyway, she told me, and it wasn't no Tiste Andii kind of name, and from the looks of her I'd say the other half was human, but then again, can you really tell with these things? Not really.'

‘No, really, what was the name?'

‘Lady Envy, who used to know Anomander Rake himself, and got her revenge taking his son as a lover. Messy, eh? But if she was anything like that Phaed there, with that smile, well, envy's the only word – for every other woman in the world. Gods below…hey, Banaschar, what's wrong? You suddenly look real sick. The ale's not that bad, not like what we had last night, anyway. Look, if you're thinking of fillin' a plate on the tabletop, there ain't no plate, right? And the boards are warped, and that means it'll sluice onto my legs, and that'll get me very annoyed – for Hood's sake, man, draw a damned breath!'

 

Leaning on the scarred, stained bartop fifteen paces away, the man Banaschar called Foreigner nursed a flagon of Malaz Dark, a brew for which he had acquired a taste, despite the expense. He heard the ex-priest and the Master Sergeant arguing back and forth at a table behind him, something they had been doing a lot of lately. On other nights, Foreigner reflected, he would have joined them, leaning back to enjoy what would be an entertaining – if occasionally sad – performance.

But not tonight.

Not with
them
, sitting back there.

He needed to think, now, and think hard. He needed to come to a decision, and he sensed, with a tremor of fear, that upon that decision rode his destiny.

‘Coop, another Dark here, will you?'

 

The carrack
Drowned Rat
looked eager to pull away from the stone pier south of the rivermouth as the tide tugged fitfully on its way out. Scrubbed hull, fresh paint, and a bizarre lateen rig and centre-stern steering oar had garnered the curious attention of more than a few sailors and fisher folk who'd wandered past in the last few days. Irritating enough, the captain mused, but Oponn was still smiling nice twin smiles, and before long they'd be on their way, finally. Out of this damned city and the sooner the better.

First Mate Palet was lying curled up on the mid deck, still nursing the bruises and knocks he'd taken from a drunken mob the night before. The captain's lizard gaze settled on him for a moment, before moving on. They were docked, trussed up neat, and Vole was perched in his oversized crow's nest – the man was mad as a squirrel with a broken tail – and everything seemed about right, so right, in fact, that the captain's nerves were a taut, tangled mess.

It wasn't just the fever of malice afflicting damned near everyone – with all those acid rumours of betrayal and murder in Seven Cities, and now the unofficial pogrom unleashed against the Wickans – there was, in addition,
all that other stuff
.

Scratching at the stubble on his scalp, Cartheron Crust turned and fixed narrow eyes on Mock's Hold. Mostly dark, of course. Faint glow from the gatehouse top of the Stairs – that would be Lubben, the old hunchback keeper, probably passed out by now as was his wont whenever the Hold had uninvited guests. Of course, all guests were uninvited, and even though a new Fist had arrived a month ago, that man Aragan had been posted here before and so he knew the way things worked best – and that was lying as low as you could, not once lifting your head above the parapet.
Who knows? Aragan's probably sharing that bottle with Lubben.

Uninvited guests…like High Mage Tayschrenn. Long ago, now, Crust had found himself in that snake's company all too often, and he'd struggled hard not to do something somebody'd probably regret.
Not me, though. The Emperor, maybe. Tayschrenn himself, definitely, but not me.
He would dream of a moment alone, just the two of them. A moment, that was all he'd need. Both hands on that scrawny neck, squeeze and twist. Done. Simple. Problem solved.

What problem?
That's what Kellanved would have asked, in his usual apoplectic way. And Crust had an answer waiting.
No idea, Emperor, but I'm sure there was one, maybe two, maybe plenty.
A good enough reply, he figured, although Kellanved might not have agreed.
Dancer would've, though
. Hah.

‘Four dromons!' Vole called down suddenly.

Crust stared up at the idiot. ‘We're in the harbour! What did you expect? That's it, Vole, no more sending your meals up there – haul your carcass down here!'

‘Cutting in from the north, Captain. 'Top the masts…something glinting silver…'

Crust's scowl deepened. It was damned dark out there. But Vole was never wrong.
Silver…that's not good. No, that's plain awful.
He strode over to Palet and nudged the man. ‘Get up. Send what's left of the crew back to those warehouses – I don't care who's guarding them, bribe the bastards. I want us low in the water and scuttling outa here like a three-legged crab.'

The man looked up at him with owlish eyes. ‘Captain?'

‘Did they knock all sense from your brain, Palet? Trouble's coming.'

Sitting up, the First Mate looked round. ‘Guards?'

‘No, a whole lot troubler.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like the Empress, you fool.'

Palet was suddenly on his feet. ‘Supplies, aye, sir. We're on our way!'

Crust watched the fool scamper. The crew was drunk. Too bad for them. They were sorely undermanned, too. It'd been a bad idea, diving into the bay when old
Ragstopper
went down, what with all those sharks. Four good sailors had been lost that night.
Good sailors, bad swimmers. Funny how that goes together
.

He looked round once more.
Damn, done forgot again, didn't I?
No dinghies.
Well, there's always something.

Four dromons, visible now, rounding into the bay, backlit by one of the ugliest storms he'd ever seen. Well, not entirely true – he'd seen the like once before, hadn't he? And what had come of it?
Not a whole lot…except, that is, a mountain of otataral
…

The lead dromon – Laseen's flagship,
The Surly.
Three in her wake. Three, that was a lot –
who in Hood's name has she brought with her? A damned army?

Uninvited guests.

Poor Aragan.

As the longboat from the Jakatakan fleet's flagship drew up alongside, the commander and four marines quickly clambered aboard the
Froth Wolf
.

They were Untan, one and all, bedecked in elaborate, expensive armour, the commander tall, weak-chinned with a watery, uneasy look in his pale eyes. He saluted Admiral Nok first, and then the Adjunct.

‘We were not expecting you for months, Adjunct Tavore.'

Arms crossed, Fist Keneb stood a short distance away, leaning against the mainmast. After the commander's words, Keneb shifted his attention to the marines.
Is that parade kit you're wearing?
And then he noticed their expressions of disdain and hatred as the soldiers stared over to where stood Nil and Nether. Keneb glanced round, then hesitated.

The Adjunct spoke, ‘Your name, Commander?'

A slight bow. ‘My apologies, Adjunct. I am Exent Hadar, of House Hadar in Unta, firstborn—'

‘I know the family,' Tavore cut in, rather sharply. ‘Commander Hadar, tell your marines to stand down immediately – if I see one more hand casually touch a sword grip they can swim back to your ship.'

The commander's pale eyes flicked to Admiral Nok, who said nothing.

Keneb relaxed – he had been about to walk over to strip the hides from those fools.
Adjunct Tavore, you miss nothing, do you? Ever. Why do you continue to surprise me? No, wrong way of putting that – why am I constantly surprised?

‘Apologies again,' Hadar said, his insincerity obvious as he gestured to his guards. ‘There have been a succession of, uh, revelations—'

‘Regarding what?'

‘Wickan complicity in the slaughter of Pormqual's Loyal Army at Aren, Adjunct.'

Keneb stared at the man, dumbfounded. ‘Complicity?' His voice was hoarse and the word barely made it out.

The Adjunct's expression was as fierce as Keneb had ever seen on the woman, but it was Admiral Nok who spoke first. ‘What insanity is this, Commander Hadar? The loyalty and service of the Wickans was and remains beyond reproach.'

A shrug. ‘As I said, Admiral. Revelations.'

‘Never mind that,' the Adjunct snapped. ‘Commander, what are you doing patrolling these waters?'

‘The Empress commanded that we extend our range,' Hadar replied, ‘for two reasons. Foremost, there have been incursions from an unknown enemy in black warships. We have had six engagements thus far. Initially, our ship mages were not able to contend with the sorcery the black ships employed, and accordingly we suffered in the exchanges. Since then, however, we have increased the complement and the calibre of our own cadres. Negating the sorcery in the battles evened matters considerably.'

‘When was the last encounter?'

‘Two months past, Adjunct.'

‘And the other reason?'

Another slight bow. ‘Intercepting you, Adjunct. As I said, however, we were not expecting you for some time. Oddly enough, our precise position right now came by direct command from the Empress herself, four days ago. Needless to say, against this unseasonal gale, we were hard pressed to make it here in time.'

‘In time for what?'

Another shrug. ‘Why, it turns out, to meet you. It seems obvious,' he added with condescension, ‘that the Empress detected your early arrival. In such matters, she is all-knowing, and that is, of course, only to be expected.'

Keneb watched as the Adjunct mulled on these developments, then she said, ‘And you are to be our escort to Unta?'

‘No, Adjunct. I am to instruct you to change the course of the imperial fleet.'

‘To where?'

‘Malaz City.'

‘Why?'

Commander Hadar shook his head.

‘Tell me, if you know,' Tavore said, ‘where is the Empress right now?'

‘Well, Malaz City, I would think, Adjunct.'

 

‘See that marine on the left?' Kalam asked in a low whisper.

‘What of him?' Quick Ben asked with a shrug.

‘He's a Claw.'

They stood on the forecastle deck, watching the proceedings below. The air was fresh, warm, the seas surprisingly gentle despite the hard, steady wind. Damned near paradise, the assassin considered, after that wild three days in the raw, tumultuous warren of Togg and Fanderay. The ships of the fleet, barring those of the Perish, were badly battered, especially the transports. None had gone down, fortunately, nor had any sailor or marine been lost. A few dozen horses, alas, had broken legs during the storms, but such attrition was expected, and no-one begrudged fresh meat in the stew-pots. Now, assuming this wind stayed at their backs, Malaz Island was only two days away, maybe a touch more.

With his message delivered, Commander Hadar's haste to leave was pathetically obvious, and it seemed neither the Adjunct nor the Admiral was inclined to stretch out his stay.

As the visitors returned to their longboat, a voice spoke quietly behind Kalam and Quick Ben. ‘Did I hear correctly? We are now sailing for Malaz City?'

Kalam fought down a shiver – he'd heard nothing.
Again
. ‘Aye, Apsalar—'

But Quick Ben had wheeled round in alarm and, now, anger. ‘The damned steps up here are right in front of us! How in Hood's name did you get there, Apsalar? Breathing down our damned backs!'

‘Clearly,' the Kanese woman replied, her almond-shaped eyes blinking languidly, ‘you were both distracted. Tell me, Kalam Mekhar, have you any theories as to why an agent of the Claw accompanied the Jakatakan commander?'

‘Plenty, but I'm not sharing any of them with you.'

She studied him for a moment, then said, ‘You are still undecided, aren't you?'

Oh how I want to hit her. Right here, right now.
‘You don't know what you're talking about, Apsalar. And I don't, neither.'

‘Well, that hardly makes sense—'

‘You're right,' Quick Ben snapped, ‘it doesn't. Now get out of our shadows, damn you!'

‘High Mage, it occurs to me that you are under a certain misapprehension. The Hounds of Shadow, in G'danisban, were after
you
.'

‘Opportunistic!'

‘Certainly, if you care to believe that. In any case, it should then follow – even for one as immune to logic as you – that I acted then. Alone. The choice was mine, High Mage, and mine alone.'

‘What's she talking about, Quick?' Kalam demanded.

But his friend was silent, studying the woman before him. Then he asked, ‘Why?'

She smiled. ‘I have my reasons, but at the moment, I see no reason to share any of them with you.'

Apsalar then turned away, walked towards the prow.

‘It's just that, isn't it?' Quick Ben muttered under his breath.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Undecided, Kal. We're all undecided. Aren't we?' Then he swung round and looked back down at the Adjunct.

The assassin did the same.

Tavore and Nok were talking, but quietly, their words stolen by the wind.

‘Now,' Quick Ben continued, ‘is she?'

Undecided? Not about anything, it seems.
Kalam grimaced. ‘Malaz City. I didn't have much fun the last time I visited. Your skin crawling, Quick? Mine is. Crawling bad.'

‘You notice something?' the wizard asked. ‘That commander – he didn't ask a damned thing about the Perish ships with us. Now, that Claw, he must have made his report already, by warren, to Topper or the Empress herself. So…'

‘So, she knows we've got guests. Maybe that's why she doesn't want us sailing into Unta's harbour.'

‘Right, Laseen's rattled.'

Then Kalam grunted. ‘I just realized something else,' he said in a low voice.

‘What?'

‘The Adjunct, she sent the Destriant to her cabin. And she made no formal invitation to the commander the way she's supposed to – no, she made them all discuss things out here, in the open. Anyway, maybe the Adjunct didn't want the commander or that Claw to see Run'Thurvian, or talk to him, about anything.'

‘She's no fool.'

‘A damned game of Troughs between them, isn't it? Quick Ben, what is going on here?'

‘We'll find out, Kal.'

‘When?'

The High Mage scowled, then said, ‘The moment, friend, we stop being undecided.'

 

Aboard the
Silanda
, Fiddler had crawled from the hold like a crippled rat, dishevelled, pale and greasy. He spied Bottle and slowly, agonizingly, made his way over. Bottle was feeding out line. There were shoals out there, and he'd seen fish leaping clear of whatever chased them beneath the surface. One of the Jakatakan dromons was sidling past to port, a rock's throw away, and the rest of the squad had lined up to give them a show.

Bottle shook his head, then glanced over as his sergeant arrived. ‘Feeling any better?'

‘I think so. Gods, I think that nightmare realm cured me.'

‘You don't look any better.'

‘Thanks, Bottle.' Fiddler pulled himself into a sitting position, then looked over at the rest of the squad. ‘Hood's breath!' he exploded. ‘What are you doing?!'

Koryk, Smiles, Cuttle and Tarr had joined up with Deadsmell, Throatslitter and Widdershins, standing in a row at the rail, looking across at the passing dromon, and under each soldier's left arm was a Tiste Andii head.

At Fiddler's outburst, Gesler and Stormy appeared on deck.

Bottle watched them take it all in, then Gesler called out, ‘Give 'em a wave!'

The soldiers complied, began waving cheerfully across at what seemed to be a mass of staring sailors and marines and – Bottle squinted – officers.

Smiles said, ‘It's all right, Sergeant. We just thought they'd appreciate a change of scenery.'

‘Who?'

‘Why, these heads, of course.'

Then Stormy was running past, towards the stern, where he dragged down his breeches and sat over the rail, his back end hanging open, exposed. With a savage grunt, he began defecating.

And while his comrades lining the rail all turned to stare at the mad corporal, Bottle was transfixed by the ghastly expressions of delight on those severed heads.
Those smiles
– the line in Bottle's hands kept spinning out, then vanished, unnoticed, as sudden nausea clenched his gut.

And he bolted for the opposite rail.

 

Captain Kindly made a gagging sound. ‘That is disgusting.'

Lieutenant Pores nodded. ‘I'll say. Gods, what did that man eat to produce
those
?'

A crowd was gathering on the deck as laughing marines and sailors all watched the antics proceeding apace on the
Silanda
half a cable ahead. The Jakatakan dromon was now to port, a mass of onlookers on the decks, silent, watching.

‘That is highly unusual,' Pores commented. ‘They're not rising to the bait.'

‘They look scared witless,' Kindly said.

‘So those marines have got themselves a collection of heads,' Pores said, shrugging.

‘You idiot. Those heads are still alive.'

‘They're what?'

‘Alive, Lieutenant. I have this from reliable sources.'

‘Even so, sir, since when did Malazans get so soft?'

Kindly regarded him as he would a skewered grub. ‘Your powers of observation are truly pathetic. That ship is filled with Untans. Coddled nobleborn pups. Look at those damned uniforms, will you? The only stains they got on 'em is gull shit, and that's because the gulls keep mistaking them for dead, bloated seals.'

‘Nice one, sir.'

‘Another comment like that,' Kindly said, ‘and I'll get the stitcher to sew up your mouth, Lieutenant. Ha, we're changing course.'

‘Sir?'

‘For Hood's sake, what are those fools doing?'

Pores followed his captain's glare, to the stern of their own ship, where two heavy infantry soldiers were seated side by side, their leggings round their ankles. ‘I would hazard a guess, sir, that Hanfeno and Senny are adding their stone's worth.'

‘Get back there and make them stop, Lieutenant. Now!'

‘Sir?'

‘You heard me! And I want those two on report!'

‘Stop them, sir? How do I do that?'

‘I suggest corks. Now move!'

Pores scrambled.

Oh please, please be finished before I arrive. Please…

 

The send-off to the Jakatakan Fleet encompassed every Malazan ship, a cavalcade of defecation that brought seagulls for leagues round with mad shrieks and wheeling plunges. The Adjunct had not remained on deck for very long, but issued no orders to halt the proceedings. Nor did Admiral Nok, although Keneb noticed that the sailors of the dromon escorts and the transports did not participate. This gesture belonged exclusively to the Fourteenth Army.