The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (850 page)

And, had anyone been looking, they would have seen a speck above the horizon to the north. Growing ever larger.

 

One street away from the Eternal Domicile, Fiddler led his squad onto the rooftop of some gutted public building. Flecks of ash swirled in the hot morning air and all the city that they could see was veiled behind dust and smoke.

They'd lost Gesler and his squad, ever since the garrison ambush, but Fiddler was not overly concerned. All opposition was a shambles. He ran in a crouch to the edge facing the Eternal Domicile, looked across, and then down to the street below.

There was a gate, closed, but no guards in sight.
Damned strange. Where is everyone?

He returned to where his soldiers waited, catching their breaths in the centre of the flat rooftop. ‘All right,' he said, setting down his crossbow and opening his satchel, ‘there's a gate that I can take out with a cusser from here. Then down we go and straight across and straight in, fast and mean. Kill everyone in sight, understood?' He drew out his cusser quarrel and carefully loaded the crossbow. Then resumed his instructions. ‘Tarr takes up the rear crossing the street. Bottle, keep everything you got right at hand—'

‘Sergeant—'

‘Not now, Corabb. Listen! We're heading for the throne room. I want Cuttle out front—'

‘Sergeant—'

‘—with sharpers in hand. Koryk, you're next—'

‘Sergeant—'

‘What in Hood's name is it, Corabb?'

The man was pointing. Northward.

Fiddler and the others all turned.

To see an enormous white dragon bearing down on them.

 

An infrequent scattering of cut-down Letherii soldiers and small fires left behind by munitions had provided enough of a trail for Quick Ben and Hedge, and they were now crouched at the foot of a door to a burnt-out building.

‘Listen,' Hedge was insisting, ‘the roof here's right opposite the gate. I know Fid and I'm telling you, he's on that Hood-damned roof!'

‘Fine, fine, lead on, sapper.' Quick Ben shook his head.
Something…I don't know…

They plunged inside. The stench of smoke was acrid, biting. Charred wreckage lay all about, the detritus of a ruined empire.

‘There,' Hedge said, then headed on into a corridor, down to a set of stairs leading upward.

Something…oh, gods!

‘Move it!'
Quick Ben snarled, shoving the sapper forward.

‘What—'

‘Hurry!'

 

The huge dragon angled down, straight for them.

Fiddler stared for a moment longer, seeing the beast opening its mouth, knowing what was coming, then he raised his crossbow and fired.

The bolt shot upward.

A hind limb of the dragon snapped out to bat the quarrel aside.

And the cusser detonated.

The explosion flattened the marines on the rooftop, sent Fiddler tumbling backward.

The roof itself sagged beneath them with grinding, crunching sounds.

Fiddler caught a glimpse of the dragon, streaming blood, its chest torn open, sliding off to one side, heading towards the street below, shredded wings flailing like sails in a storm.

A second bolt flew out to intercept it.

Another explosion, sending the dragon lurching back, down, into a building, which suddenly folded inward on that side, then collapsed with a deafening roar.

Fiddler twisted round—

—and saw Hedge.

—and Quick Ben, who was running towards the roof's edge, his hands raised and sorcery building round him as if he was the prow of a ship cutting through water.

Fiddler leapt to his feet and followed the wizard.

From the wreckage of the building beside the Eternal Domicile, the dragon was pulling itself free. Lacerated, bones jutting and blood leaking from terrible wounds. And then, impossibly, it rose skyward once more, rent wings flapping – but Fiddler knew that it was sorcery that was lifting the creature back into the air.

As it cleared the collapsed building, Quick Ben unleashed his magic. A wave of crackling fire crashed into the dragon, sent it reeling back.

Another.

And then another – the dragon was now two streets away, writhing under the burgeoning assault.

Then, with a piercing cry, it wheeled, climbed higher, and flew away, in full retreat.

Quick Ben lowered his arms, then fell to his knees.

Staring after the fast-diminishing dragon, Fiddler leaned his crossbow onto his shoulder.

‘This ain't your fight,' he said to the distant creature. ‘
Fucking dragon
.'

Then he turned and stared at Hedge.

Who, grinning, stared back.

‘No ghost?'

‘No ghost. Aye, Fid,
I'm back
.'

Fiddler scowled, then shook his head. ‘Hood help us all.' Then he turned to Quick Ben. ‘And where in the Abyss have
you
been?'

 

Picking himself up from the buckled rooftop, Bottle stared across at those three soldiers. Didn't know one of them except that he was a sapper. And a damned Bridgeburner.

Beside him, Koryk groaned, then spat. ‘Look at 'em,' he said.

Bottle nodded.

And, oddly enough, for all the soldiers in the squad, nothing more about it needed saying.

Bottle squinted at the fast-dwindling dragon.
Allow us to introduce ourselves…

 

Trull Sengar gently lifted Seren's arms and stepped back from her embrace. She almost sagged forward, not wanting the moment to end, and something cold formed a fist in her stomach. Wincing, she turned away.

‘Seren—'

She waved a hand, then met his eyes once more.

‘My brother. My parents.'

‘Yes,' she said.

‘I cannot pretend that they are not there. That they mean nothing to me.'

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He crossed the dusty room, kicking through rubbish – the place had been stripped of virtually everything, no matter how worthless. They had lain together on their cloaks, watched by spiders in the corners near the ceiling and bats slung in a row beneath a window sill. He picked up the Imass spear from where it leaned against a wall and faced her, offering a faint smile. ‘I can protect myself. And alone, I can move quickly—'

‘Go, then,' she said, and felt anguish at the sudden hardness in her voice.

His half-smile held a moment longer, then he nodded and walked into the corridor that led to the front door.

After a moment Seren Pedac followed. ‘Trull—'

He paused at the doorway. ‘I understand, Seren. It's all right.'

No it's not all right!
‘Please,' she said, ‘come back.'

‘I will. I can do nothing else. You have all there is of me, all that's left.'

‘Then I have all I need,' she replied.

He reached out, one hand brushing her cheek.

And then was gone.

Emerging from the pathway crossing the yard, Trull Sengar, the butt of the spear ringing like the heel of a staff on the cobbles, walked out into the street.

And set off in the direction of the Eternal Domicile.

From the shadows of an alley opposite, the Errant watched him.

 

‘I feel much better.'

Brys Beddict smiled across at his brother. ‘You look it. So, Tehol, your manservant is an Elder God.'

‘I'll take anybody I can find.'

‘Why are your eyes two different colours now?'

‘I'm not sure, but I think Bugg may be colour blind. Blue and green, green and blue, and as for brown, forget it.'

Said manservant who happened to be an Elder God walked into the room. ‘I found her.'

Tehol was on his feet. ‘Where? Is she alive?'

‘Yes, but we've work to do…again.'

‘We need to find that man, that Tanal—'

‘No need for that,' Bugg replied, eyes settling on the corpse of Karos Invictad.

Brys did the same. A two-headed insect was slowly making its way towards the spilled entrails. ‘What in the Errant's name is that?'

And Bugg hissed through his teeth. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘he's next.'

Outside, in the compound, in the street beyond, a mass of citizens were gathering. Their sound was like an advancing tide. There had been some thunderous explosions, and the unmistakable roar of sorcery, from the direction of the Eternal Domicile, but that had all been short-lived.

Tehol faced Bugg, ‘Listen to that mob. We going to be able to leave here alive? I'm really not in the mood for a Drowning. Especially my own.'

Brys grunted. ‘You've not been paying attention, brother. You're a hero. They want to see you.'

‘I am? Why, I never imagined that they had it in them.'

‘They didn't,' Bugg replied, with a sour expression. ‘Ormly and Rucket have spent a fortune on criers.'

Brys smiled. ‘Humbled, Tehol?'

‘Never. Bugg, take me to Janath. Please.'

At that, Brys Beddict's brows rose.
Ah, it is that way, then.

Well.

Good.

 

A surviving officer of the city garrison formally surrendered to the Adjunct just inside the west gate, and now Tavore led her occupying army into Letheras.

Leaving Fist Blistig in charge of the main force, she assembled the five hundred or so surviving marines, along with Fist Keneb, and her own troop of mounted cavalry, and set out for the imperial palace. This ill-named ‘Eternal Domicile'.

Sinn, riding behind Lostara Yil, had cried out when the dragon had appeared over the city; then had laughed and clapped her hands when at least two cussers and then wave after wave of ferocious sorcery routed the creature.

Captain Faradan Sort's advance squads were still active – that much had been made abundantly clear. And they were at the palace, or at least very close.
And they were in a mood.

Most commanders would have raged at this – uncontrolled soldiers raising mayhem somewhere ahead, a handful of grubby marines who'd lived in the wilds for too long now battering at the palace door, frenzied with bloodlust and eager to deliver vengeance. Was this how she wanted to announce her conquest? Would the damned fools leave anything still breathing in that palace?

And what of this un-killable Emperor? Lostara Yil did not believe such a thing was even possible.
A cusser in the bastard's crotch there on that throne and he'll be giving to the people for days and days.
She wouldn't put it past Fiddler, either. One step into the throne room, the
thwock
of that oversized crossbow, and then the sergeant diving back, trying to get clear as the entire room erupted. He'd probably happily kill himself for that pleasure.

Yet, while without doubt the Adjunct shared such visions, Tavore said nothing. Nor did she urge her troops to any haste – not that any of them were in shape for that, especially the marines. Instead, they advanced at a measured pace, and citizens began appearing from the side lanes, alleys and avenues, to watch them march past. Some even cried out a welcome, with voices breaking with relief.

The city was a mess. Riots and earthquakes and Moranth munitions. Lostara Yil began to realize that, if the arrival of the Bonehunters signified anything, it was the promise of a return to order, a new settling of civilization, of laws and, ironically, of peace.

But Adjunct, if we tarry here too long, that will turn. It always does. Nobody likes being under an occupier's heel. Simple human nature, to take one's own despair and give it a foreigner's face, then let loose the hounds of blood.

See these citizens? These bright, gladdened faces? Any one of them, before long, could turn. The reapers of violence can hide behind the calmest eyes, the gentlest of smiles.

The column's pace was slowing, with ever more crowds before them. Chants were rising and falling here and there. Letherii words, the tone somewhere between hope and insistence.

‘Adjunct, what is it they're all saying?'

‘A name,' she replied. ‘Well, two names, I think. One they call the Saviour. The other…'

‘The other…what, sir?'

She cast Lostara a quick glance, then her mouth set, before she said, ‘
Emperor
.'

Emperor? ‘But I thought—'

‘A
new
Emperor, Captain. By proclamation, it would seem.'

Oh, and have we nothing to say on this?

Directly ahead was a wall of citizens, blocking all hopes of passage, through which a small group was moving, pushing its way to the forefront.

The Adjunct raised a gloved hand to signal a halt.

The group emerged, an enormously fat woman in the lead, followed by a gnarled little man who seemed to be carrying rats in the pockets of his cloak, and then two men who looked like brothers. Both lean, one in the uniform of an officer, the other wearing a tattered, blood-stained blanket.