The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (739 page)

‘All? It is considerable. Madness. Myriad causes, some the result of physical damage to the brain, others due to dysfunctioning organs which can be ascribed to traits of parentage – an inherited flaw, as it were. Other sources include an imbalance of the Ten Thousand Secretions of the flesh, a tainting of select fluids, the fever kiss of delusion. Such imbalances can be the result of aforementioned damage or dysfunction.'

‘Can you heal him?'

The monk blinked. ‘Is it necessary?'

‘Well, that is why I sent for you – excuse me, but what is your name?'

‘My name was discarded upon attaining my present rank within the Unified Sects of Cabal.'

‘I see, and what rank is that?'

‘Senior Assessor.'

‘Assessing what?'

The expression did not change. ‘All matters requiring assessment. Is more explanation required?'

Yan Tovis scowled. ‘I'm not sure,' she muttered. ‘I think we are wasting our time.'

Another wild cavort in the monk's eyes. ‘The appearance of a foreign fleet among our islands required assessment. The empire that despatched it required assessment. The demands of this Emperor require assessment. And now, as we see, the condition of this young soldier requires assessment. So I have assessed it.'

‘So where, precisely, does your talent for healing come in?'

‘Healing must needs precede assessing success or failure of the treatment.'

‘What treatment?'

‘These things follow a progression of requirements, each of which must be fully met before one is able to proceed to the next. Thus. I have assessed this soldier's present condition. He is mad. I then, for your benefit, described the various conditions of madness and their possible causes. Thereafter we negotiated the issue of personal nomenclature – an aside with little relevance, as it turns out – and now I am ready to resume the task at hand.'

‘Forgive my interruption, then.'

‘There is no need. Now, to continue. This soldier has suffered a trauma sufficient to disrupt the normal balance of the Ten Thousand Secretions. Various organs within his brain are now trapped in a cycle of dysfunction beyond any measures of self-repair. The trauma has left a residue in the form of an infection of chaos – it is, I might add, never wise to sip the deadly waters between the warrens. Furthermore, this chaos is tainted with the presence of a false god.'

‘A false god – what is false about it?'

‘I am a monk of the Unified Sects of Cabal, and it now seems necessary that I explain the nature of my religion. Among the people of Cabal there are three thousand and twelve sects. These sects are devoted, one and all, to the One God. In the past, terrible civil wars plagued the islands of Cabal, as each sect fought for domination of both secular and spiritual matters. Not until the Grand Synod of New Year One was peace secured and formalized for every generation to come. Hence, the Unified Sects. The solution to the endless conflicts was, it turned out, brilliantly simple. “Belief in the One God occludes all other concerns.”'

‘How could there be so many sects and only one god?'

‘Ah. Well, you must understand. The One God writes nothing down. The One God has gifted its children with language and thought in the expectation that the One God's desires be recorded by mortal hands and interpreted by mortal minds. That there were three thousand and twelve sects at New Year One is only surprising in that there were once tens of thousands, resulting from a previous misguided policy of extensive education provided to every citizen of Cabal – a policy since amended in the interests of unification. There is now one college per sect, wherein doctrine is formalized. Accordingly, Cabal has known twenty-three months of uninterrupted peace.'

Yan Tovis studied the small man, the dancing eyes, the absurd mask of paint. ‘And which sect doctrine did you learn, Senior Assessor?'

‘Why, that of the Mockers.'

‘And their tenet?'

‘Only this: the One God, having written nothing down, having left all matters of interpretation of faith and worship to the unguided minds of over-educated mortals, is unequivocally insane.'

‘Which, I suppose, is why your mask shows wild laughter—'

‘Not at all. We of the Mockers are forbidden laughter, for that is an invitation to the hysteria afflicting the One God. In the Holy Expression adorning my face you are granted a true image of the One Behind the Grand Design, in so far as our sect determines such.' The monk suddenly clasped his hands beneath his chin. ‘Now, our poor soldier has suffered overlong as it is, whilst we digressed yet again. I have assessed the taint of a false god in the beleaguered mind of this wounded man. Accordingly, that false god must be driven out. Once this is done, I shall remove the blockages in the brain preventing self-repair, and so all imbalances will be redressed. The effects of said treatment will be virtually immediate and readily obvious.'

Yan Tovis blinked. ‘You can truly heal him?'

‘Have I not said so?'

‘Senior Assessor.'

‘Yes?'

‘Are you aware of the purpose you are meant to serve here in Letheras?'

‘I believe I will be expected to meet the Emperor on a pitch, whereupon we shall endeavour to kill each other. Furthermore, I am led to understand that this Emperor cannot be slain with any measure of finality, cursed as he is by a false god – the very same false god who has afflicted this soldier here, by the way. Thus, it is my assessment that I will be killed in that contest, to the dismay of no-one and everyone.'

‘And your One God will not help you, a senior priest of its temple?'

The man's eyes glittered. ‘The One God helps no-one. After all, should it help one then it must help all, and such potentially universal assistance would inevitably lead to irreconcilable conflict, which in turn would without question drive the One God mad. As indeed it did, long ago.'

‘And that imbalance can never be redressed?'

‘You lead me to reassess you, Atri-Preda Yan Tovis. You are rather clever, in an intuitive way. I judge that your Ten Thousand Secretions flow even and clear, probably the result of remorseless objectivity or some similar blasphemy of the spirit – for which, I assure you, I hold no particular resentment. So, we share this question, which enunciates the very core of the Mockers' Doctrine. It is our belief that, should every mortal in this realm achieve clarity of thought and a cogent regard of morality, and so acquire a profound humility and respect for all others and for the world in which they live, then the imbalance will be redressed, and sanity will return once more to the One God.'

‘Ah…I see.'

‘I am sure you do. Now, I believe a healing was imminent. A conjoining of the warrens of High Mockra and High Denul. Physiological amendment achieved by the latter. Expurgation of the taint and elimination of the blockages, via the former. Of course, said warrens are faint in their manifestation here in this city, for a variety of reasons. Nonetheless, I do indeed possess substantial talents, some of which are directly applicable to the matter at hand.'

Feeling slightly numbed, Yan Tovis rubbed at her face. She closed her eyes – then, at a ragged sigh from Varat Taun, opened them again, to see her second in command's limbs slowly unfold, the fierce clutch of muscles on his neck visibly ease as the man, blinking, slowly lifted his head.

And saw her.

‘Varat Taun.'

A faint smile, worn with sorrow – but a natural sorrow. ‘Atri-Preda. We made it back, then…'

She frowned, then nodded. ‘You did. And since that time, Lieutenant, the fleet has come home.' She gestured at the room. ‘You are in the Domicile's Annexe, in Letheras.'

‘Letheras? What?' He struggled to rise, pausing a moment to look wonderingly at the Cabalhii monk; then, using the wall behind him, he straightened and met Twilight's eyes. ‘But that is impossible. We'd two entire oceans to cross, at the very least—'

‘Your escape proved a terrible ordeal, Lieutenant,' Yan Tovis said. ‘You have lain in a coma for many, many months. I expect you are feeling weak—'

A grimace. ‘Exhausted, sir.'

‘What do you last recall, Lieutenant?'

Dread filled his wan features and his gaze fell away from hers. ‘Slaughter, sir.'

‘Yes. The barbarian known as Taralack Veed survived, as did the Jhag, Icarium—'

Varat Taun's head snapped up. ‘Icarium! Yes – Atri-Preda, he – he is an
abomination
!'

‘A moment!' cried the Senior Assessor, eyes now piercing as he stared at the lieutenant. ‘Icarium, the Jhag Warrior?
Icarium, Lifestealer?
'

Suddenly frightened, Yan Tovis said, ‘Yes, Cabalhii. He is here. Like you, he will challenge the Emperor—' She stopped then, in shock, as the monk, eyes bulging, flung both hands to his face, streaking across the thick paint, and, teeth appearing to clench down hard on his lower lip, bit. Until blood spurted. The monk reeled back until he struck the wall beside the doorway – then, all at once, he whirled about and fled the room.

‘Errant take us,' Varat Taun hissed, ‘what was all that about?'

Forbidden laughter?
She shook her head. ‘I don't know, Lieutenant.'

‘Who…what…?'

‘A healer,' she replied in a shaky voice, forcing herself to draw a steadying breath. ‘The one who awakened you, Varat. A guest of the Emperor's – from Uruth's fleet.'

Varat Taun licked chapped, broken lips. ‘Sir.'

‘Yes?'

‘Icarium…Errant save us, he must not be awakened. Taralack knows, he was there, he saw. The Jhag…have him sent away, sir—'

She approached him, boots hard on the floor. ‘The Gral's claims are not exaggerated, then? He will bring destruction?'

A whisper: ‘
Yes
.'

She could not help herself then, and reached out, gloved hands grasping the front of Varat's ragged shirt, dragging him close. ‘Tell me, damn you! Can he kill him?
Can Icarium kill him?
'

Horror swirled in the soldier's eyes as he nodded.

Errant's blessing, maybe this time
…‘Varat Taun. Listen to me. I am leading my company out in two days. Back to the north. You will ride with me, as far up the coast as necessary – then you ride east – to Bluerose. I am assigning you to the Factor's staff there, understood? Two days.'

‘Yes sir.'

She released him, suddenly embarrassed at her own outburst. Yet her legs were weak as reeds beneath her still. She wiped sweat from her eyes. ‘Welcome back, Lieutenant,' she said in a rough voice, not meeting his gaze. ‘Are you strong enough to accompany me?'

‘Sir. Yes, I shall try.'

‘Good.'

Emerging from the room, they came face to face with the Gral barbarian. Breath hissed from Varat Taun.

Taralack Veed had halted in the corridor and was staring at the lieutenant. ‘You are…recovered. I did not think—' He shook his head, then said, ‘I am pleased, soldier—'

‘You warned us again and again,' Varat Taun said.

The Gral grimaced and seemed ready to spit, then decided otherwise. Gravely, he said, ‘I did. And yes, I was foolish enough to be an eager witness…'

‘And next time?' The question from Varat Taun was a snarl.

‘You do not need to ask me that.'

The lieutenant stared hard at the savage, then he seemed to sag, and Yan Tovis was astonished to see Taralack Veed move forward to take Varat's weight.
Ah, it is what they have shared. It is that. That.

The Gral glared over at her. ‘He is half dead with exhaustion!'

‘Yes.'

‘I will help him now – where would you lead us, Atri-Preda?'

‘To more hospitable quarters. What are you doing here, Veed?'

‘A sudden fear,' he said as he now struggled with Varat's unconscious form.

She moved to help him. ‘What sort of fear?'

‘That he would be stopped.'

‘Who?'

‘Icarium. That you would stop him – now, especially, now that this man is sane once more. He will tell you – tell you everything—'

‘Taralack Veed,' she said in a harsh tone, ‘the lieutenant and I leave this city in two days. We ride north. Between then and now, Varat Taun is under my care. No-one else's.'

‘None but me, that is.'

‘If you insist.'

The lieutenant between them, the Gral studied her. ‘You know, don't you. He told you—'

‘Yes.'

‘And you mean to say nothing, to no-one. No warning—'

‘That is correct.'

‘Who else might suspect – your ancient histories of the First Empire. Your scholars—'

‘I don't know about that. There is one, and if I am able he will be coming with us.'
That damned monk. It should be simple enough. The Cabal priests misunderstood. Sent us an ambassador, not a champion. No value in killing him – the poor fool cannot fight – imagine Rhulad's rage at wasting his time…yes, that should do it.

‘No scholars…'

She grimaced and said, ‘Dead, or in prison.' She glared across at the Gral. ‘What of you? Will you flee with us?'

‘You know I cannot – I am to share Icarium's fate. More than any of them realize. No, Atri-Preda, I will not leave this city.'

‘Was this your task, Taralack Veed? To deliver Icarium here?'

He would not meet her eyes.

‘Who sent you?' she demanded.

‘Does it matter? We are here. Listen to me, Twilight, your Emperor is being sorely used. There is war among the gods, and we are as nothing – not you, not me, not Rhulad Sengar. So ride, yes, as far away as you can. And take this brave warrior with you. Do this, and I will die empty of sorrow—'

‘And what of regrets?'

He spat on the floor. His only answer, but she understood him well enough.