The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (796 page)

The Adjunct was eyeing her now, one of those gauging regards she settled on Shurq Elalle whenever the undead pirate said anything. Her own fault, actually – Shurq had sent Skorgen back to the
Undying Gratitude
. Her first mate's unfortunate assortment of afflictions had proved far too distracting for everyone else, until she realized he was becoming a liability, undermining her…professionalism.
Yes, that's the word I was looking for. Got to be taken seriously here. I suspect my very existence depends on it.
But she now found herself missing his weeping hole in the face, his mangled ear, blinded eye, stumped arm and bad leg – anything to swing away Tavore's attention every time she was unwise enough to voice an opinion or observation.

Throatslitter, who sat opposite Shurq, now cleared his throat – producing an odd squeak – and smiled across at her.

She looked away, pointedly. That man was not a nice man. The way Gerun Eberict hadn't been a nice man. Took too much pleasure in his job, she suspected. And even for a soldier, that wasn't sensible. People like that tended to linger when lingering wasn't good. Tended to put other soldiers at risk. Tended to get carried away. No, she didn't like Throatslitter.

Yet her glance away had inadvertently shifted her attention to Corporal Deadsmell.
Oh, funny name, that.
In some ways, that man was even worse. No secrets from him, she suspected, no matter how coy she was – yes, he could smell her, and not stale herbs either.
Had
smelled her, from the very start.
Had it been some bastard like him who wove the curse now afflicting me?
No, that wasn't right. Deadsmell had talents unknown here on Lether. Talents that made her think of that dying tower in Letheras, and Kettle, and the barrows in the yard.

Fortunately, he was dozing at the moment, bearded chin on his broad chest, thus sparing her his knowing look.

Ah, if only Tehol Beddict was here with me – he'd have them all reeling. In confusion or laughter? Laughter would be bad, very bad. For me. For anyone sitting too close to me. Very well, forget Tehol Beddict. I must be losing my mind.

The Adjunct addressed her. ‘Captain, I have spoken at length with Shake Brullyg, seeking to complete my understanding of this Letherii Empire. Yet I find his replies increasingly unsatisfactory—'

‘Poor Brullyg's despondent,' Shurq said. ‘And lovelorn. Well, perhaps unrequited lust is more accurate a description for his sordid, uncommunicative state of mind.'
Hah, she could out-Tehol Tehol Beddict! With no risk of laughing either!

Brullyg blinked at her.

Sergeant Balm leaned towards Throatslitter. ‘What did she just say?'

‘The Emperor,' said Tavore.

Shurq frowned, but waited.

‘Of a Thousand Deaths.'

‘The title's an exaggeration, I'm sure. Maybe a few hundred. Champions. They all die, eventually.'

‘Presumably he is well protected by his Edur in the palace.'

Shurq Elalle shrugged. ‘Not many details creep out of the Eternal Domicile, Adjunct. The Chancellor and his entire staff – Letherii – were retained after the conquest. There is also, now, a very powerful secret police, also Letherii. As for the economic apparatus, well, that too is Letherii.'

The tattooed woman named Lostara Yil snorted. ‘Then what in Hood's name are the Edur doing? Where do they fit?'

‘On top,' Shurq replied. ‘Wobbling.'

There was a long moment of silence.

‘Yet,' Tavore finally said, ‘the Edur Emperor cannot be killed.'

‘That is true.' Shurq watched as these details worked their way through the Malazans, with the exception of Deadsmell, of course, whose snores were waves rolling ashore in the little dank cavern of a room.

‘Is that,' Tavore asked, ‘irrelevant?'

‘Sometimes seems that way,' Shurq conceded. Oh, she wished she could drink wine without its draining out everywhere. She could do with a tankard or two.

‘An Emperor whose very rule is dictated by the sword,' Tavore said. ‘What remain unhoned, however, are the necessities of administering an empire.'

‘Very dull necessities, aye,' Shurq said, smiling.

‘The Tiste Edur, leaning hard against the undying solidity of their ruler, exist under the delusion of mastery,' Tavore continued. ‘But reality is not so generous.'

Nodding, Shurq Elalle said, ‘The Tiste Edur were fisher folk, seal-hunters. Builders in wood. A half-dozen or so tribes. There was someone called the Warlock King, Hannan Mosag, who waged a war of subjugation – why he didn't end up with that dreadful sword only the Edur know and it is not something they talk about.'

‘Does this Hannan Mosag still live?' Tavore asked.

‘The Emperor's new Ceda.'

Deadsmell's snores ceased. ‘Imperial High Mage,' he said. ‘Ceda, a degradation of “Cedance”, I'd wager. “Cedance” was some sort of ritual back in the days of the First Empire.' His eyes opened halfway. ‘Ebron won't be at all surprised. These Letherii are some lost colony of the First Empire.' The heavy lids slid down once more, and a moment later his snores groaned back to life.

Shurq Elalle thought to clear her throat, changed her mind. Things were rank enough as it was. ‘The point I was making, Adjunct, is that the Tiste Edur couldn't administer their way through a mooring tithe. They're warriors and hunters – the males, that is. The females are, as far as I can tell, completely useless mystics of some sort, and since the conquest they've virtually disappeared from sight.'

Boots echoed from the corridor and moments later the door opened. Accompanied by Galt and the odd little man named Widdershins, two Letherii soldiers strode into the chamber. One of them was an Atri-Preda.

Shake Brullyg lurched back in his chair, almost toppling it. Face twisting, he rose. ‘Damn every damned witch to the deep!'

‘It gets worse,' the Atri-Preda replied with a faint smile on her lips. ‘I choose my own Rise, and you are not him. Yedan, throw this fool out on his arse – any window will do.'

Sudden alarm in Brullyg's eyes as he stared at the soldier at the captain's side, who made to move forward.

Galt's sword was out of its scabbard in a blur, settled flat against the soldier's stomach, halting the man in his tracks. ‘Maybe we should all back this up a few steps,' he said in a drawl. ‘Adjunct, allow me to present Atri-Preda Yan Tovis and Shore Watch Yedan Derryg – which I take it is some kind of sergeant in charge of some kind of coastal patrol. What's “Atri-Preda”? Captain? Commander? Whatever, they was in charge of that half-drowned bunch the Perish plucked from the storm.'

The Adjunct was frowning at Yan Tovis. ‘Atri-Preda, welcome. I am Adjunct Tavore Paran of the Malazan Empire—'

Yan Tovis glanced across at her. ‘You're commanding this invasion? How many soldiers did you land on the coast, Adjunct? Ten thousand? Twenty? I saw the ships, the burning ships – you followed our fleets all the way from your empire? That's a long way for a little vengeful bloodletting, isn't it?'

Shurq dreamed of downing another tankard of wine. At least the Malazans weren't looking her way any more.

The Adjunct's frown deepened, accentuating her drab plainness. ‘If you wish,' she said coolly, ‘we can formalize your status as prisoners of war. Yet I find it difficult to characterize your sinking ferry as a punitive invasion expedition. According to the reports I have received, your status is better likened as refugees, yes? A modest company of soldiers overseeing a sizeable collection of old men and women, children and other non-combatants. Were you sailing here assuming the island remained independent?' She flicked her gaze across to Brullyg, who stood leaning against the far wall. ‘That you and Shake Brullyg are acquainted suggests you are here to resolve some private matter between you.'

Yan Tovis's eyes were flat as she shrugged and said, ‘Hardly private. “Shake” is a tribe's name and could, if desired, precede the names of myself and Yedan here, as well as our “collection” of “refugees”. The Shake were the original inhabitants of the central west coast and some of the islands off shore. We were long ago subjugated by the Letherii.' She shrugged again. ‘My issue with Brullyg refers to a matter of succession.'

Tavore's brows rose. ‘Succession? You retain such things even when subjugated?'

‘More or less. The line is maintained through the women. The Queen – my mother – has recently died. It was Brullyg's hope that I not return to claim the title. Brullyg wanted to rule the Shake for himself. He also wanted, I suspect, to make some bold claim to independence, riding the wave of your invasion – assuming it proves successful. Casting off the Letherii yoke and creating a new centre for our people, on this once-holy island. Although a murderer and a betrayer, Brullyg is an ambitious creature. Alas, his rule on this island has come to an end.'

Throatslitter hissed laughter. ‘Hear that, Masan Gilani? You can stop showing all that sweet flesh now.'

‘I am not sure,' the Adjunct said, ‘the decision is yours to make, Atri-Preda.'

‘That rank is now gone. You may address me as Queen or, if you like, as Twilight.'

Shurq Elalle saw Deadsmell's eyes flick open then, saw them fix hard and unblinking on Yan Tovis.

The Adjunct missed nothing, for she glanced at Deadsmell for a moment, then away again.

‘Twilight, Watch and Rise,' Deadsmell muttered. ‘Covered the whole night, haven't ya? But damn me, the blood's awful thin. Your skin's the colour of clay – couldn't have been more than a handful at the start, probably refugees hiding among the local savages. A pathetic handful, but the old titles remained. Guarding the Shores of Night.'

Yan Tovis licked her lips. ‘Just the Shore,' she said.

Deadsmell smiled. ‘Lost the rest, did you?'

‘Corporal,' Tavore said.

‘Our squad spent time on the right ship,' Deadsmell explained. ‘Enough for me to do plenty of talking with our black-skinned guests. Twilight,' he said to Yan Tovis, ‘that's a Letherii word you use. Would you be surprised if I told you the word for “twilight”, in your original language, was “yenander”? And that “antovis” meant “night” or even “dark”? Your own name is your title, and I can see by your expression that you didn't even know it. Yedan Derryg? Not sure what “derryg” is – we'll need to ask Sandalath – but “yedanas” is “watch”, both act and title. Gods below, what wave was that? The very first? And why the Shore? Because that's where newborn K'Chain Che'Malle came from, isn't it? The ones not claimed by a Matron, that is.' His hard eyes held on Yan Tovis a moment longer, then he settled back once more and closed his eyes.

Errant fend, is he going to do that all evening?

‘I do not know what he is talking about,' Yan Tovis said, but it was clear that she had been rattled. ‘You are all foreigners – what can you know of the Shake? We are barely worth mentioning even in Letherii history.'

‘Twilight,' said Tavore, ‘you are here to assert your title as Queen – will you also proclaim this island sovereign?'

‘Yes.'

‘And, in that capacity, do you seek to treat with us?'

‘The sooner I can negotiate you Malazans off this island, the happier I will be. And you, as well.'

‘Why is that?'

The mage named Widdershins spoke up, ‘Those refugees of hers, Adjunct. One big squall of witches and warlocks. Oh, squiggily stuff for the most part – fouling water and cursin' us with the runs and boils and the like. Mind, they could get together and work nastier rituals…'

Shurq Elalle stared at the strange man.
Squiggily?

‘Yes,' said Yan Tovis. ‘They could become troublesome.'

Galt grunted. ‘So saving all their lives don't count for nothing?'

‘It does, of course. But, like all things, even gratitude wanes in time, soldier. Especially when the deed hangs over us like an executioner's axe.'

Galt's scowl deepened, then he prodded Yedan Derryg with his sword. ‘I need to keep this here?' he asked.

The bearded, helmed soldier seemed to chew on his reply before answering, ‘That is for my Queen to decide.'

‘Belay my last order,' Yan Tovis said. ‘We can deal with Brullyg later.'

‘Like demon-spawn you will!' Brullyg drew himself up. ‘Adjunct Tavore Paran, I hereby seek your protection. Since I have co-operated with you from the very start, the least you can do is keep me alive. Sail me to the mainland if that suits. I don't care where I end up – just not in that woman's clutches.'

Shurq Elalle smiled at the fool.
Only everything you don't deserve, Brullyg. Mercy? In the Errant's fart, that's where you'll find that.

Tavore's voice was suddenly cold. ‘Shake Brullyg, your assistance is duly noted, and you have our gratitude, although I do seem to recall something about this island's imminent destruction beneath a sea of ice – which we prevented and continue to prevent. It may please the Queen that we do not intend to remain here much longer.'

Brullyg paled. ‘But what about that ice?' he demanded. ‘If you leave—'

‘As the season warms,' Tavore said, ‘the threat diminishes. Literally.'

‘So what holds you here?' Yan Tovis demanded.

‘We seek a pilot to the Lether River. And Letheras.'

Silence again. Shurq Elalle, who had been gleefully observing Brullyg's emotional dissolution, slowly frowned. Then looked round. All eyes were fixed on her. What had the Adjunct just said? Oh. The Lether River and Letheras.

And a pilot to guide their invasion fleet.

‘What's that smell?' Widdershins suddenly asked.

Shurq scowled. ‘The Errant's fart, is my guess.'